Chasing Elizabeth Page 5

  The character of Mr. Lucas’ brother was much more difficult to sketch. George Lucas possessed none of the airs of his older brother. To the contrary, when George Lucas was not deep in conversation, he sought out the ladies who sat on the chairs lining the fringes of the ballroom floor for want of a partner.

  Where Mr. Lucas proudly scorned his social inferiors, George (Darcy would think of him by his Christian name to avoid confusion) was considerate. While Mr. Lucas was unmarried (and, from his appearance, around the age of forty), George often sought out the attention of his wife and their three children. His eldest, a girl with two missing front teeth, giggled while they turned about the room with her feet on top of his boots just as Georgiana had done with their own father once upon a time. At Pemberley.

  George Lucas was a family man through and through, resembling his father in his amiable manners and attentiveness to everyone. But that knowledge, and the likelihood that Sir William had established a treasonous liaison with The Four Horsemen, lent Darcy motive enough to keep a watchful eye on George. At a time when many families suffered to keep their estates whole under the weighty demands of the taxes levied against them, how far would he go to secure his extensive manor and property for his family? Especially if his father demanded it of him?

  Darcy drew nearer to the trio, careful to appear as if he were intent on the dancers and not on their conversation.

  Mr. Bennet said, “Ah, but is it fair to assume that your definition of justice is the same as mine, or anyone else’s in the room for that matter?”

  What an interesting question. Darcy would never presume to speak for others, but he did not wane in his own estimation of right and wrong.

  Mr. Lucas yawned.

  George, however, rubbed his chin before replying, “Had you asked me that same question a few years ago, I would have insisted that justice is as plain to distinguish from injustice as black is from white. But the war has a way of changing perspectives and including more shades of gray I would never have acknowledged before.”

  “Even values and morals? That is a bold claim, indeed,” countered Mr. Bennet, rubbing his hands together with a smile which implied a love for thoughtful conversation. He was the sort of man to get so lost in theory, he never got around to practical application.

  George answered, “I do not speak of values and morals. A good man will always live by the norms he demands of himself or risk losing all self-respect.”

  Mr. Lucas rolled his eyes and dangled his eyepiece in one hand.

  George added, “Perhaps an example will clarify my meaning. Let us consider taxes. Would it be just for a gentleman to refuse to pay an unreasonable tax when he has no way of knowing if his money is being used for an honorable purpose? I, for one, would gladly pay a tax if I knew the funds would be used to supply warm blankets, nourishing food, and quality horses to the men for which I assume such taxes are intended. However, it is a bitter drought to swallow when I read of Prinny’s extravagant residences and immoderate parties.”

  Mr. Lucas scoffed, although Darcy imagined he would not have been above attending one of those parties, had he been invited.

  Mr. Bennet leaned back against his heels. “Perhaps so, from a gentleman’s point of view. But you can hardly expect a king’s son, born into privilege, to understand our plight. Does that make him unjust … or merely ignorant?”

  “Both. Any man can learn if he has the inclination. Ignorance is dangerous, and any man’s insistence on remaining so when he is in a position of great power and responsibility is a horrible injustice to the people who by law and tradition must look to him and submit to his authority,” George replied.

  Mr. Bennet bowed his head, his shoulders slumping. “Ay, that it is,” he muttered.

  George’s eyes widened, and he clapped his hand on Mr. Bennet’s shoulder. “Pray do not misunderstand me, Mr. Bennet. When I spoke of ignorance, I never meant to imply—”

  “It is true, though, is it not?” Mr. Bennet interrupted. “It is the reason I allow my girls more intellectual liberties — and less opportunities — than is generally approved of by society. Had I not been ignorant of my son’s—”

  “Charlotte tells me Miss Elizabeth is counting the days to her tour with the Gardiners. Mrs. Gardiner will be happy to pass through Derbyshire, I imagine,” George said, preventing the older gentleman from uttering what he had been about to reveal.

  Darcy strained to listen. Any mention of Derbyshire was of interest to him, and he could more easily join their conversation now the subject had been broached.

  Recovering himself, Mr. Bennet began, “About that…”

  “What is the countryside compared to the luxuries and diversions of town?” Miss Bingley’s imperious tone at Darcy’s opposite side overpowered Mr. Bennet’s revelation.

  Darcy bristled. Her timing was horrendous. Not only had Darcy been about to learn about Miss Elizabeth’s journey to Derbyshire, but George had expressed some contrary views regarding justice and their Prince Regent which merited further conversation.

  Miss Bingley whined, “To think we are missing the theater for this! I do not know what Charles was thinking.” She fanned her face, and for the second time that evening, Darcy could not help but notice the similarities between her and Mrs. Bennet.

  “You could ask him,” Darcy suggested, moving away from her lest she think him encouraging. If he moved to the other side of the conversing trio, he could still listen for another opportunity to join their conversation without drawing attention to himself. Maybe then, Miss Bingley would go away.

  “He is busy dancing. I should very much like to dance, but there is a shocking deficiency of suitable gentlemen here.” She arched her neck and looked up at him expectantly.

  “I do not intend to dance,” he said, more determined than ever to commit to his decision. He could not have voiced his determination with greater precision.

  Just then, several dancers circled the refreshment table, and a few ladies sat waiting for their next partner. One of them was Miss Elizabeth. Several of the “unsuitable” gentlemen to whom Miss Bingley had referred looked her way. One of them had the gall to take a step toward her.

  Miss Bingley huffed and stormed off in the opposite direction.

  Darcy struggled to tune his attention on the conversation, of which he had missed a goodly portion by now. To his vexation, he was too keenly aware of Miss Elizabeth sitting so near where he had stood moments ago. There were dozens of empty chairs lining the walls around the room. Why had she chosen that one?

  His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. Focus, man, focus!

  “It is difficult to maintain loyalty to a monarch who flaunts his wealth while his subjects suffer,” George said.

  Delicately sniffing his nose, Mr. Lucas said, “It is a wonder nobody has taken affairs into their own hands.”

  “How so?” asked Mr. Bennet.

  Darcy held his breath to overhear the reply.

  “For example, my father—”

  “Darcy!” called Bingley jovially. “What are you doing standing in a corner when you ought to be dancing?”

  Darcy crossed his arms over his chest. It was either that or strangle his friend. How would he ever complete his mission if everyone seemed intent on interrupting at the most inconvenient times? He shot Bingley a glare meant to silence him, but it was too late. Mr. Lucas’ revelation about his father was said, and he was now regarding Bingley through his eyepiece.

  The moment was lost. Another vital clue had slipped through his fingers.

  Shaking with repressed frustration, Darcy seethed, “I do not wish to dance.”

  “Do not be stupid, man. There is more than one lady sitting for want of a partner.” Bingley babbled about how lovely Miss Bennet was, adding, “Look! There is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay very agreeable.” Of all the women in the room Bingley could have indicated, he nodded at Miss Elizabeth. Darcy did not need to look behind him to see
. He was well aware of Miss Elizabeth’s position in the room.

  Taking a step toward Miss Elizabeth, Darcy’s heart leapt into his throat when Bingley said, “Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

  To the very lady with whom Darcy would deny himself the pleasure of a dance for the danger she posed to him? On a night full of distractions and impediments? When Bingley himself had caused Darcy to miss the most valuable piece of information he had collected about Sir William until now?

  It was too much.

  Darcy snapped, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

  The harsh words effectively carried out what Darcy had meant them to. Bingley left in a confusion of shock and apology.

  Darcy knew better than to look behind him, but Bingley’s flustered reaction prompted him to ignore his intuition.

  The flush in Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks and the rapidity with which George asked her to dance told Darcy that Bingley had not been the only person to hear his insult.

  George scowled disapproval, as was to be expected. Darcy knew he deserved it. Unable to attack his tender friend, he had attacked a young lady whose only fault had been her uncanny ability to distract him. He had acted unjustly.

  He felt like the raincloud that ruined the parade and melted the children’s sweets. How could he have been such a brute when he was a gentleman?

  However, it was Miss Elizabeth’s smile and the defiantly humorous twinkle in her eye that cut Darcy to the core. How could she possibly be so gracious as to spare him a smile after he had insulted her vanity?

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth accepted George’s proffered arm, resisting the temptation to look over her shoulder at Mr. Darcy. Turning would have ruined the effect of her regal bearing in which she strove to prove how far above his snub she was. Like a queen teaching a lesson to an unmannerly peasant. Now, there was a picture to restore her humor!

  “Serves him right for refusing to dance with you and every other lady in the room,” George said as they joined the dancers in the quadrille.

  Her anger, having sparked to a brilliant and brief flash, dwindled in favor of curiosity. Not that Elizabeth had forgiven Mr. Darcy — far from that! Only that she was now sensible enough to reason on his actions in a way she would have rejected a moment before. “I wonder why a gentleman would bother coming to an assembly if he is disinclined to dance,” she mused.

  Mr. Darcy had been watching — or perhaps it might have been more accurately stated, studying — everyone at the assembly, but he had not danced at all. Not even with the ladies of his party, one of whom Elizabeth was certain had exercised all of her feminine wiles in an attempt to secure a dance.

  “Could it be pride?” Elizabeth wondered aloud when she and George met on a turn.

  She was inclined to believe Mr. Darcy too lofty and proud for their company, but his intense interest in observing the crowd created doubt. His was not the look of disdain, but of interest — of, dare she say it, curiosity. That was a quality about which Elizabeth understood a great deal.

  Curiosity was fast becoming the theme of the evening. Mr. Darcy had certainly aroused hers. The man was intriguing, and since he was also very pleasant to look upon, she had stolen several glances of the gentleman over the past few hours. With his height, attractive features, and reported wealth, he could very well be proud … but there was something else about him she could not quite ascertain.

  George considered his answer carefully, as was his custom. He never made decisions lightly nor offered his opinion without sufficient consideration. After some time, he finally spoke. “If the gentleman possesses pride, I am inclined to believe it well-deserved. His comment was rude, but did you see his reaction once he realized you had heard him?”

  Elizabeth scoffed. “How could he have doubted I heard his insult? A true gentleman would not have said what he did at all.” That was not proof enough to forgive him in her mind. George would have to do much better than that to restore Mr. Darcy to her good opinion.

  “You make friends easily, Miss Elizabeth. But even with the advantage of your ability, I daresay you would suffer from a degree of anxiety at being the new lady amongst a pack of unfamiliar faces. Add to that the general hum of the less discreet who speak of the newcomer’s income and status, and a man not given to making friends easily would soon find himself at a tremendously uncomfortable disadvantage.”

  She could not rebuff his sound reasoning. Especially when her own mother was one of the “less discreet” of whom George referred.

  He must have sensed her willingness to listen, for he continued, “How would you like to be looked upon by every single person in an assembly room, assessed and scrutinized and the main topic of conversation? Reduced to nothing more than your annual income and social status so that all the maidens and their mothers might make you the object of their ambitions? It is enough to test the mettle of any man. No, Miss Elizabeth, I will give Mr. Darcy the benefit of the doubt and choose to believe his comment to be a rare lapse in gentility and not a permanent stain upon his character.”

  Elizabeth twisted her mouth. George’s arguments were sound even if they were overly generous. Then again, did not her reluctance to embrace them reveal a resentment which reflected poorly on herself and threatened to ruin a perfectly lovely evening — the one and only high point in a dreadful, traitorous day? Her spine straightened at the thought. She was not so weak-willed to allow herself to be influenced by the whims and moods of others, most of all by a stranger who had no hold over her at all.

  She sighed resignedly. “You would make me sympathize with Mr. Darcy after he insulted my vanity. Very well, I will overlook his poor display of manners this time. However, I still wonder why he bothered to come if he did not intend to widen his circle of acquaintances.”

  George grinned. “You take an interest in the gentleman. I saw you glancing his way several times.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. “He is new, a novelty. I must entertain my mind with something, and Mr. Darcy offers an interesting puzzle.”

  Her partner’s grin widened. “A puzzle you would like to solve?”

  Could her face burn any more than it did at that moment?

  “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth. I ought not tease and torment you as I do my own sisters. I have no doubt you are correct in your estimation, and I must say it does not surprise me that you are drawn to the complexities Mr. Darcy’s character seems to offer. He reminds me very much of Tempest.”

  Elizabeth gasped in mock horror. “Mr. Darcy would not be amused at your comparison of him to a temperamental mare!”

  George laughed, and she laughed freely with him. She could not remain resentful against Mr. Darcy for an ungentlemanly comment when he would unquestionably take offense at her current conversation and subsequent merriment. She had yet to meet a gentleman who could stand to be laughed at, and she supposed Mr. Darcy was no different.

  But there was truth to George’s assessment. Tempest had been a challenge, and yet she had been Elizabeth’s favorite in the Lucas Lodge stables. Another sigh escaped her lips. “I miss her, you know.”

  George met her gloved palm, his smile replaced with the tender look he often gave his children when they needed comfort. Elizabeth felt as though she was ten-years-old again.

  “I miss them when they leave the stables, too,” he said softly. Then, his smile returned. “But Mr. Bingley is a kindly fellow who will treat her well, of that I am certain. And, he has danced twice with Miss Bennet. If they marry—”

  “You are as bad as my mother, George Lucas! Two dances are nothing when the ratio of ladies far exceeds that of the gentlemen.”

  “Still. You may have occasion to ride Tempest again sooner than you think.”

  If only. Unless her father changed his mind, she would have to d
eny herself the pleasure of riding Tempest again. She forced a smile at George’s optimism, knowing she could not tell him of the consequences of her morning spill without embarrassing herself by crying during the reel. Then, everyone would want to know why she was upset, and she would spend the rest of the evening repeating the same wretched story.

  She would not wallow in self-pity when Tempest was probably in a comfortable stall with fresh hay and kind stable boys to groom her. Mr. Bingley seemed kind. Unlike his sisters.

  Elizabeth hated to think of Miss Bingley or her surly sister, Mrs. Hurst, using their whips on the spirited mare. They had looked down their noses at Elizabeth’s friends and neighbors all evening, the few comments she had overheard as harsh as the crack of a whip. Miss Bingley had even brushed her sleeve off after a gentleman had passed too closely to her on his way to the refreshment table. As if she was above breathing the same air.

  Elizabeth mostly forgot about Mr. Darcy for the rest of the dance, and so it was with great surprise she saw him rooted in the same spot where he had been standing before she flounced away.

  George bent down and whispered to her, “Problems are best resolved quickly and directly. Allow him the opportunity to apologize. If he takes it, you might gain a friend … and a puzzle to entertain your intellect. If he does not, then you are better off without his acquaintance.”

  With a mischievous grin, he deposited Elizabeth beside Mr. Darcy and promptly excused himself on the pretext of seeking Charlotte for a dance. George took care of his family first and foremost. Elizabeth rather wished he would not treat her so much like he treated his own family when it left her standing beside the same gentleman who had insulted her so recently. It would have been much easier to think ill of Mr. Darcy and avoid his company, to call him proud and forget him.

  But George was right. The easiest path rarely led to the best solution, and Elizabeth was not afraid of confrontation.