She gave him an impertinent look. “Well, I would imagine that would be quite clear. After all, I am only after your money, Mr. Darcy.”
He laughed heartily. “Yes, undoubtedly, my dear. Come, or we will be late.”
It seemed Darcy had been correct, for no sooner had they entered the opera house in Haymarket Square than Elizabeth witnessed an endless sea of fashionably attired necks straining to better observe them. There appeared to be an infinite number of private conversations whispered behind lace fans and gloved hands, as well as an abundance of less discreet commentary, all with regard to the mystery of her identity, the attractiveness of her person, and the simple, yet elegant, style of her dress. Elizabeth steeled herself against the intense scrutiny of the London ton and held her head a little higher. She felt her husband’s free hand cover hers in a gesture of reassurance, his fingers linking with hers. She turned to look at him, flashing him a smile of gratitude, which he returned. To her very great relief, Darcy ignored all the curious glances and pointed looks they received and continued to lead her up the staircase to their private box, where they met the Gardiners, Lord and Lady Matlock, and Jane and Bingley.
“Well, well, my dear Mrs. Darcy,” said Lord Matlock with a wink, “I believe you have succeeded in drawing the interest of quite a crowd tonight.”
Elizabeth observed him archly as she replied, “How naïve of me, your lordship, for I have been under the impression these people were here to see a performance of The Magic Flute.”
“No, no”—he laughed—“that is just an added attraction, my dear lady. Is it not, gentlemen?” Mr. Gardiner and Bingley concurred with warm smiles.
Darcy observed his wife openly and with admiration. “Indeed, Uncle. Though I cannot profess myself capable of speaking for the rest of the parties in attendance, I can heartily assure you I will find it very difficult to focus my attention elsewhere this evening.” He gave Elizabeth a slow, seductive smile that made her blush becomingly.
Bingley could not but laugh at his once-taciturn friend. “We are already well aware of that, Darcy! I declare, until I leased Netherfield and we made the fortuitous acquaintance of the Bennets, I had never known you to possess such an agreeable humor! Of course, one would be a simpleton, indeed, not to find the society of such beautiful ladies anything but completely engaging.” Here, he looked with love upon his dear Jane, who gave him a smile full of appreciation and affection.
“Here, here!” exclaimed Mr. Gardiner and Lord Matlock, both with indulgent smiles upon their faces.
True to his word, Darcy did almost nothing but stare at his wife for most of the evening. Indeed, Elizabeth was stunning in her elegant dove-gray silk, which seemed to shimmer with every movement of her body. He admired the way Sonia had arranged her hair, with what appeared to be one long, delicate, curling branch of sterling silver leaves entwined throughout her gorgeous mass of curls. The contrast between the color of her hair and the highlights of the silver was eye-catching. If his life had depended upon it, Darcy could not have imagined tearing himself away from the picture of enticing elegance before him.
At one point in the performance, Elizabeth turned her gaze upon him, and their eyes held for several long moments. She reached for his hand, and as the music soared, Darcy found himself leaning in, his gaze now upon her lips, and before either of them knew what they were about, Darcy surrendered every claim to rational thought and kissed her. He heard a loud gasp of shock, though whether it had come from Elizabeth or from some other source, he could not determine, for Elizabeth had immediately turned away, and as he glanced around him in the dim interior of the opera house, he noticed many curious pairs of eyes turned upon him in wonder, amusement, and censure.
“Whoever is that beautiful creature who has so enchanted your nephew, Catherine, that he would abandon all sense of propriety in full company?” asked the all-powerful Lady Malcolm, who happened to be sharing a box with several other notable dowagers across the way.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh sniffed. “She is of no consequence.”
Lady Malcolm raised her brow. “Really?” she inquired dryly. “Well, I never would have guessed, as she seems to be most comfortably installed with your brother and sister-in-law, not to mention that Darcy has not taken his eyes from her all night. Humph. Nobody of consequence, indeed.”
“Yes,” chimed the agreeable Lady Sowersby, “I have noticed that myself. Come, Catherine! Indulge us and tell us her name.”
Lady Catherine huffed and, in her most disagreeable tone of voice, said, “She was known as Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire.”
Lady Sowersby and Lady Malcolm exchanged knowing looks and smiled to themselves.
“So are we to understand that the highly coveted and ever-elusive master of Pemberley has found someone who has enticed him to the altar at last?” asked Lady Sowersby, barely able to conceal her enthusiasm.
Lady Catherine snorted. “You do not know the half of it, Eleanor!”
Lady Malcolm appraised her shrewdly. “If my eyes have not deceived me, Catherine, your nephew has fallen in love with this pretty, young woman, leaving you with no prospective bridegroom for Anne and a bitter taste in your mouth.”
“Fallen in love with her!” she spat. “What has love to do with anything? She has drawn him in and has ruined any chance Anne has of finding happiness. Just look what she has done to him! She is penniless and unconnected, yet he can hardly attend to anything but her!” She gestured furiously at Darcy, who was, at that very moment, speaking in Elizabeth’s ear, an intimate smile playing across his lips. His wife turned to him with a smile that echoed his and laughed at whatever he had said; then she rested her hand upon his upper arm and laid her head against his shoulder for a few moments. Darcy pressed a kiss to her temple and closed his eyes. In a gesture of obvious devotion, Elizabeth lifted his hand to her lips, bestowing a kiss upon his knuckles. Lady Sowersby sighed at their touching, yet highly improper display.
“Yes,” countered Lady Malcolm, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “God forbid the poor man ever finds himself happy in life.” She turned toward Lady Catherine. “I daresay your favorite nephew is far better off as he is now, Catherine—married to an agreeable young woman who obviously cares a great deal for his society, rather than being constantly pursued by the countless others who care only for his prominent position in it.”
“And a love match at that,” sighed Lady Sowersby. “Just like that of his dear parents. It is precisely like a fairy tale, is it not?”
Lady Catherine only scowled, choosing not to respond, and they soon turned their attention back to the performance on stage.
Chapter 23
Forgive me, Bingley. I realize I should not have allowed my temper to get the better of me, but considering the circumstances, I am afraid it could not be helped. I had it on good authority your sister had been responsible for regaling her friends with her distorted prejudices regarding Elizabeth’s situation and the nature of my attentions to her during the course of our courtship. She was hardly discreet, as several of Mrs. Duval’s assistants were speaking most improperly of the hateful gossip Caroline had imparted to Cecelia Hayward in their presence.”
Darcy rose from the mahogany desk in his study to stand before the window, clearly agitated. “To this day, Elizabeth has not spoken of it to me, but Georgiana immediately informed me she had witnessed firsthand the very great pain and mortification Elizabeth experienced that day in Bond Street. Your sister’s bitterness led the staff to treat Elizabeth with rudeness and contempt. In light of that fact and the unpleasant scene that unfolded at Hurst’s home shortly before my wedding day, I can no longer pretend your sister’s behavior toward my wife is anything other than calculating and spiteful. I will not stand idly by and allow my wife to be harassed and humiliated, Bingley.”