42. Chapter 42

A huge thank you to my beta: the amazing, incredible, incomparable, CassandraLowery!

Chapter 41

Darcy deftly wove through the ball guests, searching for his errant friend with single-minded purpose and feeling as if he were descending into purgatory. His senses were assailed with loud chatter, braying laughter, cloying perfume, and the ostentatious ensembles of the women and even some of the men. He nodded a greeting to several gentleman acquaintances, ignoring their attempts to engage him in mindless conversation, oblivious to the forlorn expressions of their female companions he left in his wake.

Darcy paused by a marbled pillar near the doors leading to the balcony, and Lady Worthington's famed ornamental gardens. It was rumored that the garden boasted several topiaries in the likeness of individuals who had crossed Lady Worthington, a tribute memorializing their stupidity. He was contemplating the likelihood of locating Bingley outside when the music swelled to a crescendo and stopped. He moved behind a pillar to avoid being seen as a steady stream of guests began walking in his direction, the open doors promising an escape from the stifling ballroom. He remained concealed until the last of the guests had exited and the music for the next dance had begun before resuming his search.

"Ah, Darcy!"

Darcy closed his eyes in frustration. He turned, breathing a quiet sigh of relief at seeing his host. "Lord Worthington," Darcy nodded to the elderly man as he approached. "Your ball appears to be a great success. My compliments to your wife."

Worthington looked askance at Darcy, swinging his ever-present quizzing glass like a pendulum. "Come now, Darcy. Tell me what you really think."

Darcy regarded Worthington for a brief moment before bowing his head. "As you wish. With few exceptions, I find it is nothing more than a disgusting display of individuals with loose morals and few principles flaunting their status and wealth."

Worthington's quizzing glass froze its hypnotic swing as he stared at Darcy. He laughed, drawing the attention of those nearby. "That's why I like you, Darcy. You're refreshingly honest, like my dear wife." He leaned in, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "I heartily agree with you."

Darcy nodded, unsurprised at Worthington's confession. He had long suspected that he simply played the role society expected of him as the eccentric husband of Lady Worthington.

"If you dislike London society, my lord, why do you live in town year round?"

Worthington raised his brows. "I think the reason would be quite obvious, Darcy."

"But surely Lady Worthington could spend a few months of the year at your country estate?" Worthington raised his quizzing glass to study Darcy, making him feel as if he were a rare specimen under a microscope.

He dropped his quizzing glass with a sigh. "For better or worse, my lady wife has become their conscience." He waved his hand in the general direction of his guests. "Besides," he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eye reminiscent of his wife's, "Sophie is not at all fond of our neighbor."

Darcy's mouth twitched in amusement. "My Aunt Catherine shares the sentiment."

Worthington snorted. "I have never heard my dear wife rail against anyone with as much vigor as your Aunt Catherine."

"I can well imagine," Darcy responded dryly. "My aunt seems to have a talent for inciting… strong emotions."

Worthington chuckled. "Speaking of someone who incites strong emotions…." He pointed with his quizzing glass.

Darcy's eyes narrowed as he spied Lady Emily with her mother, Lady Sefton, on the side opposite them conversing with Lady Morton and her insipid daughter. It soon became apparent that they were not enjoying whatever Lady Emily was saying. Miss Morton appeared uncomfortable, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape, while Lady Morton was regarding Lady Emily as someone utterly beneath her notice. Lady Morton interrupted Lady Emily, a derisive sneer on her face before grabbing her daughter and left without acknowledging Lady Sefton. Lady Emily appeared shaken, but she rallied and began speaking with her mother, her countenance murderous.

Darcy didn't feel an ounce of guilt at seeing Lady Emily treated so callously. It must have been a double blow to her pride to be treated thus from those considered her social inferiors. In his opinion, she deserved far worse.

"Lady Emily hasn't been asked to dance yet." Worthington appeared inordinately pleased with that fact.

Darcy nodded in satisfaction before putting all thoughts of Lady Emily out of his mind and resumed his search for Bingley.

"If you're looking for Miss Elizabeth, she's dancing with Mr. Coombs." Worthington glanced at Darcy as he spoke, his grin growing wider at Darcy's darkening countenance.

Darcy scanned the dancers, immediately identifying Elizabeth about halfway down the set. She was indeed with that imbecile Coombs. He clenched his fists and fought the urge to cut in and remove Elizabeth from the unworthy gentleman's presence. After observing them for some minutes, he visibly relaxed. Elizabeth's expression was polite but distant as she conversed with her partner who was no doubt boring her with talk of his latest acquisition at Tattersall's. The man's expertise on horseflesh may be second to none, but such knowledge was wasted on his Elizabeth. He settled for watching his betrothed as she drew closer, admiring her figure as she performed the movements of the dance with grace and precision.

Darcy was reminded of the first time he watched Elizabeth dance at Lynton's ball. The emotions he felt that night came rushing back: elation, relief, awe, and if he were perfectly honest with himself, a healthy dose of fear that he would prove unworthy. He had immediately recognized that she was different from the posturing peacocks who constantly vied for his attention, from the simple elegance of her gown to her unaffected manner. She radiated an innocence and innate goodness that was truly genuine. He could not think of a single acquaintance who would have shown such sincere concern for another as Elizabeth demonstrated when her sister fell during the dance.

Darcy watched the woman he loved, a feeling of immense gratitude filling his breast that such a woman had agreed to be his. Elizabeth suddenly looked up as if she sensed his intense perusal, a slow smile lighting her face as their gazes locked. Worthington's soft chuckle drew his attention back to his surroundings.

Darcy cleared his throat. "I am looking for Bingley. Have you seen him?"

Worthington absentmindedly rubbed his chin with his quizzing glass. "Bingley? The gentleman who danced the opening waltz with Miss Bennet?"

Darcy gave a terse nod.

"I believe he went to the card room after the opening dance. You could try there."

The entrance to the card room was located at the opposite end of the ballroom. He would have to traverse its entire length to get to his destination, and with any luck, his efforts would be rewarded. He gritted his teeth and waded into the fray, making it through relatively quickly. He pushed open the heavy wood door and was immediately assailed with the acrid smell of cigars, the thick permeation of smoke causing his eyes to water and his lungs to ache. He suppressed the urge to cough as he peered into the gloomy depths. He could barely make out a half dozen tables littering the richly appointed room with five to six gentlemen to a table. He didn't see Bingley at the tables nearest the door, so he squared his shoulders and entered the dim room.

Several gentlemen called out a greeting, inviting him to join in their game. Darcy refused. Although this was not a gaming hell, bets were generally high, and excessive amounts of money were lost and won with unsettling regularity. He had an inherent distaste for gambling after learning that his grandfather, the late Lord Matlock, had lost nearly his entire fortune due to his addiction to cards. In his experience, a taste for gambling often led to other unsavory vices.

He neared the back of the smoke-filled with no sign of Bingley. As he studied the occupants of the last table, his lip curled in disgust as he recognized them: men who in his opinion did not deserve the title "gentlemen." To the last man, they were immoral reprobates he would not give the time of day. Unfortunately, they were also considered some of the most influential members of society. Darcy shook his head as he observed their inebriated state so early in the evening. A gentleman rose from the table and approached through the haze of smoke. He was astounded to see it was Lynton.

Lynton raised his glass to Darcy. "Darcy! I offer my congratulations. When is the happy day?"

Darcy didn't respond as raucous laughter assailed him as the "gentlemen" made several ribald comments regarding the marriage state. Darcy stepped forward, eyes blazing with fury.

Lynton laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Steady on, Darcy. They don't mean any harm." He steered Darcy away to the side of the room.

Lynton tossed back his drink, grabbing the brandy decanter for a refill. "Come, have a drink with me to celebrate the end of your bachelor days."

"No, thank you, Lynton."

"Always so principled." Lynton gave Darcy a wry smile. "You know, many at Cambridge mocked you for your strict morals; they thought it was…unnatural." Lynton swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking a drink, his expression pensive. "No women, no gambling." He snorted. "I know you never even participated in the revel-routs(1) at Cambridge." He eyed Darcy speculatively, likely hoping he would admit to some previously undisclosed indiscretion. "But I always admired your self-control. You never compromised your standards or succumbed to the many vices that plagued our social set."

Darcy didn't respond, surprised at Lynton's honest admission. From the time he was out of short pants, he had been carefully taught by his parents how a gentleman should behave. The idea of going against his parents' teachings was inconceivable. He hadn't realized how sheltered a life he lived until he went to Cambridge and was confronted with different views, where depravity and indulgence were the norm rather than soberness and restraint. He remembered all too well his peers' taunts and insults and their numerous attempts to get him to participate in the pleasures that were readily available. He had refused their invitations. Every single time.

Truth was, he had been tempted. Many times. But each time his resolve wavered, he had thought of the woman in his mother's drawing. He would stare at her picture, the sound of his peers' derision still echoing in his ears. As he looked into her eyes, he knew that somewhere she was waiting for him. He could do no less. A moment of meaningless pleasure was not worth a lifetime of regret.

"Perhaps that is why you deserve a woman like Miss Elizabeth."

Darcy was so surprised at the hopelessness in Lynton's voice that he barely registered his remark. When he did, he stared at Lynton with growing unease. Surely he was not pining after Elizabeth? He had bowed out gracefully after their night at the opera, and Darcy had given no more thought to Elizabeth's one-time suitor. He had never doubted that she was meant be his, that she would choose him over Lynton. But looking at the despondent man before him, he could clearly see how it could have ended much differently. If he had simply returned to Pemberley instead of remaining in town or even disregarded Richard's advice in attending events of the season, he never would have seen Elizabeth at Lynton's ball, and the gentleman before him could have won her hand in marriage. The pain he felt was immeasurable at the mere thought of meeting Elizabeth for the first time and learning that she belonged to another.

Lynton, seeing Darcy's unease, was quick to reassure him. "Don't worry, Darcy. I have no designs on your Miss Elizabeth." He smiled, all trace of his former despair gone. "She is an extraordinary woman, but not for me." His smile faltered. "Women like Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet are rare. I will not deny that I envy you your happiness." He raised his glass to Darcy in a salute. "You are a lucky man." He took a healthy swallow of his drink before adding, "I will have to console myself with the lovely offerings of the ton."

Darcy raised his brows at Lynton's sarcastic tone. He understood Lynton's sentiments. Now that he was off the marriage market, Lynton would likely be pursued more ruthlessly by well-meaning matrons and their charming daughters. His musings were interrupted by a burst of laughter from Lynton's companions as one stood on the table and began singing a rather bawdy drinking song. He turned to Lynton who had an indulgent smile on his face as he watched his drinking companions.

Darcy shook his head, and gestured toward the boisterous "gentlemen." "Since when do you associate with that crowd?"

Lynton shrugged. "Not long. They may have the manners of pigs, but they amuse."

Darcy pierced Lynton with his gaze. "You're better than them, Lynton."

"Am I?" Lynton mused.

Darcy studied his companion, disturbed by his unusually despondent attitude. Outwardly, there appeared to be nothing amiss. He was impeccably dressed as always and carried himself with the self-assurance of a man who knew his place in the world. He caught the look on Lynton's face as he watched his companions. His expression had changed from indulgent amusement to resigned acceptance, as if he were seeing a future that he couldn't escape. An air of discontentment had settled over Lynton like a dirty garment. He had a keen intellect and a good sense of judgement. He did not suffer fools lightly which was why he was disturbed to see him in the company of such degenerate imbeciles. What hold did they have over him?

Although he was keen to continue his search for Bingley, the hopelessness he sensed in Lynton kept him from leaving. He didn't consider Lynton a close acquaintance, but he respected him and knew him to be an honorable gentleman. He felt that he could not leave without pricking his conscience if he was indeed becoming involved in the debauched activities of the rabble behind him as he suspected.

"Lynton." Darcy's tone was firm, commanding Lynton's undivided attention.

Lynton turned to Darcy with a genial smile. Upon seeing Darcy's serious expression, his smile disappeared.

"You are a good man. Don't let them pull you down to their level. The only power they hold over you is what you give them." Darcy paused as he remembered Lynton's earlier comment about envying his happiness. Lynton deserved a woman as rare and as wonderful as Elizabeth. "If you knew a woman like Elizabeth was in your future, what type of man do you think would attract her notice?" Lynton's expression turned contemplative as he considered Darcy's words. He clapped a hand on Lynton's shoulder. "Live worthy of the woman you wish to marry."

Lynton gave Darcy a sardonic smile. "And if such a woman doesn't exist?"

"Then at least your regrets will be few."

Lynton stared down into his empty glass, a slight frown marring his features.

Darcy watched Lynton for a moment before turning to leave.

"They're not that depraved, you know."

Lynton's foolish comment stopped Darcy, and he fixed him with an incredulous stare. He didn't associate with the "gentlemen" in question, but even he knew the extent of their dissolute behavior.

"If you continue to associate with 'pigs,' eventually you're going to get dirty." He nodded to Lynton and left the card room to the sound of boisterous laughter.

He took a deep breath as soon as he stepped into the hallway, clearing his lungs of the acrid smoke that made his chest ache and his eyes water. He shook his head, dismayed to see a good man fall into the pit that had snared so many others. He hastened to the ballroom, hoping his brief delay in talking with Lynton would not prove detrimental.

He paused at the entrance to the ballroom, evaluating his options. With the supper set imminent, it seemed the best course of action would be to locate Elizabeth and her sister and remain by their side, thus preventing Bingley from dancing with Miss Bennet.

Decision made, he stepped into the ballroom when he saw Lady Sefton alert her daughter to his presence. Darcy stiffened, his mask firmly in place as Lady Emily boldly approached him. Unescorted. In the middle of a crowded ballroom. Lady Worthington's ballroom. Darcy mentally shook his head at her ill-conceived ploy. What did she hope to gain? Apparently, the woman's shame knew no bounds. He had hoped to avoid what was coming, but he felt no regret for what he was about to do. He had only to remember the look on Elizabeth's face when she learned of Lady Emily's slander to harden his resolve.

Darcy kept his gaze fixed on a distant point, careful not to meet Lady Emily's overly eager gaze. When she was a meter away, he walked forward, sidestepping Lady Emily with ease, passing her without a word or any form of acknowledgement; his slight could not be mistaken for anything but intentional. By the end of the evening, everyone present would know that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had given Lady Emily Pratt the cut direct.

Darcy spied Mrs. Gardiner's distinctive headdress and headed in that direction, knowing Elizabeth would be present unless she was dancing. He neared Mrs. Gardiner, smiling with relief when he saw Elizabeth and her sister. He quickened his pace when he realized they were not alone.

~oOOo~

Elizabeth scanned the ballroom for Fitzwilliam, her anxiety increasing with each passing moment. Soon after Mr. Coombs had escorted her back to Aunt Gardiner and Jane, Mr. Bingley had approached, his steadfast gaze directed at her sister. Elizabeth and Aunt Gardiner had taken up a protective stance on either side of Jane as if their sheer presence could shield her from his unsolicited attentions. For the past quarter hour, her aunt had kept up a near constant stream of nonsensical chatter, not allowing Mr. Bingley any opportunity to speak. Elizabeth's mouth twitched in amusement at the glazed look in Mr. Bingley's eyes as her aunt continued her rant about the increasing rise in the cost of lace. She glanced at Jane, her amusement dissipating at her sister's obvious distress. Although to an outside observer, she was the picture of calm serenity. Elizabeth squeezed her sister's hand, conveying that she would not leave her alone with Mr. Bingley.

Her aunt paused in her chatter, and before Elizabeth could intervene, Mr. Bingley turned to Jane with a relieved smile.

"Miss Bennet, I believe it is almost time for our dance."

Before Mr. Bingley could offer his arm to escort Jane to the dance floor, a familiar figure appeared behind him.

"There you are, Bingley," Fitzwilliam said in a loud voice, causing Mr. Bingley to jump.

Elizabeth exchanged a smile with Aunt Gardiner as Fitzwilliam loomed over the suddenly nervous Mr. Bingley.

"Ah, Darcy. Good to see you." Mr. Bingley directed his gaze to Fitzwilliam's shoulder, unable to meet his eyes.

Fitzwilliam stared at Mr. Bingley, his expression inscrutable. His continuing silence caused Mr. Bingley to fidget like a boy facing his father when he had done something naughty. If Elizabeth had any doubt that Mr. Bingley had taken Jane's letter, it was immediately dispelled at the obvious look of guilt on his face as he stood in the shadow of Fitzwilliam's intimidating presence. Mr. Bingley shifted from one foot to the other as the silence stretched out.

"I need to speak with you, Bingley." Fitzwilliam's tone was firm and unyielding.

Mr. Bingley raised his eyes to meet Fitzwilliam's and visibly flinched at the coldness in his friend's expression. His gaze moved to Jane and lingered, his manner indecisive as if he were weighing the consequences of refusing his friend's request. A brief flash of regret crossed his face before changing to one of resignation. He straightened, raising his head to meet Fitzwilliam's gaze with determination.

"Very well, Darcy. But I…I…." Mr. Bingley's voice stuttered to a stop as his face drained of color, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He mumbled a hasty, "Excuse me," and without further explanation, turned and fled.

Elizabeth stared in astonishment at Mr. Bingley's rapidly retreating figure. Jane and Aunt Gardiner began speaking in low, hushed voices as she moved to stand next to Fitzwilliam, hoping he could explain the cause of Mr. Bingley's strange behavior.

The question died on her lips at the look of bemusement on Fitzwilliam's face who was peering in the opposite direction of his departed friend. Curious, she followed his gaze, inhaling sharply at the unexpected but welcome sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam striding toward them with purpose, his gaze fixed on her oblivious sister. He was in full military dress and cut an impressive figure in a long-tailed scarlet coat; the collar, cuffs, and facings in a dark blue collar edged with gold lace, white pantaloons, and long white gaiters covering ebony boots, dress sword at his hip.

"Jane." Elizabeth's voice was a strangled whisper. She grasped Jane's arm to gain her attention rather than try another attempt at speaking.

Jane turned, concern etched on her lovely face. "Lizzy, what…?" She gasped loudly when she saw the colonel mere feet away.

Elizabeth reached for Fitzwilliam, wrapping her gloved hand around his arm as the colonel stood before Jane, his eyes unwavering from her radiant face. They stared at one another in awed silence, unmindful of anything but each other. Jane glowed with happiness, and Elizabeth thought she had never appeared more beautiful than in that moment as she gazed at the man she loved and whom she feared she would not see for many months. The music for the cotillion began, the lively melody a sharp contrast to the significance of the moment playing out before them. Finally, the colonel broke the silence.

"Jane." Her name fell from his lips like a lover's embrace, his longing and adoration evident in that single word.

"Are you well?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I am now."

Jane blushed, lowering her head for a brief moment before lifting her gaze to meet his, the love in her blue eyes laid bare for all to see.

The colonel stepped closer. "My dearest Jane, will you accept my hand, my heart, and all that I am?"

Jane released a sound between a laugh and a sob. "Yes," she whispered, then louder, "Yes! With all my heart, yes!"

He smiled, clasping Jane's hand as if it were something infinitely precious before bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. He tucked Jane's hand around his elbow and without a word led her to the dance floor.

Elizabeth released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding and stared after the departing couple in stunned disbelief. She looked up at Fitzwilliam. "Did your cousin just ask for my sister's hand in marriage in the middle of a crowded ballroom?"

He looked down at her with an amused expression. "Richard is the consummate soldier. He has learned to take advantage of opportunities presented to him." He shrugged. "I am not surprised he used the same approach in his personal life. It is rather…effective."

"That, my dear Darcy, is an understatement. But then, Richard never did anything halfway." Lord Matlock grinned proudly as he gazed after his son. Elizabeth blinked. She hadn't even noticed Lord Matlock and Lady Eleanor's arrival, the latter of whom was talking animatedly with her aunt while her uncle looked in the direction of the newly engaged couple with a rather perplexed expression.

Lord Matlock offered his arm to Elizabeth. "I believe you promised the supper set to me, Miss Elizabeth. Shall we?"

~oOOo~

Lord Matlock escorted Elizabeth to the large dining room adjacent to the ballroom after their dance. Fitzwilliam was waiting for them at the entrance, causing Lord Matlock to chuckle.

"You shall not steal away my dinner partner." Lord Matlock wagged his finger at his nephew.

"I would not dream of it, Uncle. I will sit on Miss Elizabeth's other side."

Elizabeth smiled as Lord Matlock threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, young love."

The colonel and Jane approached, their heads so close together it appeared as if they were touching. Elizabeth stared unabashedly at the couple, her heart swelling with happiness at their new-found understanding.

Elizabeth and Lord Matlock led the way into the dining room. She halted abruptly at the unbelievable display before her. "Oh my," she gasped.

Before her was the most extraordinary thing she had ever seen in her nearly twenty years of life. In the center of the enormous room was a large dining table that could easily seat one hundred guests. But what was so incredible was the in the center of the table was a flowing stream, complete with intricate bridges made of wood, mossy banks, rocks, and even what appeared to be live goldfish. (2) In each corner of the room was a smaller table decorated with large vases containing water and more goldfish.

"Do you suppose our hosts' intent was for us to catch our own supper?" Colonel Fitzwilliam quipped, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lord Matlock chuckled. "This is nothing. The last time Lady Worthington hosted a ball she had a Pantomime (3) performed during supper."

"I don't see how that was more astonishing than this." Elizabeth waved a hand in the direction of the table.

Lord Matlock smiled. "She had the performers join the guests for dinner."

"She didn't," said Jane.

"Oh, she most certainly did. It created quite the scandal. No one but Lady Worthington could have gotten away with it. I admit it still makes me smile every time I remember the performer who sat next to Lady Sedgewick and sang a love ballad while trying to feed her from her own plate."

~oOOo~

Supper passed in a very pleasant manner with Lord Matlock regaling her with amusing anecdotes of his youth while Fitzwilliam alternated between holding her hand and pressing his leg against hers under the table. Jane and the colonel conversed exclusively with each other, and judging by the constant rosy hue of Jane's cheeks, she suspected the colonel was engaging in similar activities with her sister under the long tablecloth.

Elizabeth glanced around the full dining room and noticed Lady Emily and Lady Sefton sitting at one of the smaller tables, a large gap on either side of them. Elizabeth frowned. After a few minutes of observing their table, it was apparent that the other guests had shifted their chairs away from Lady Emily and her mother; no one was acknowledging their presence in any way. Lady Emily looked up, meeting Elizabeth's gaze. She sneered, her lip curling in a most unattractive manner. Elizabeth raised a brow but didn't look away. Lady Emily's eyes narrowed, her animosity apparent even from a distance. A couple passed in front of Elizabeth, blocking Lady Emily from view. When they passed, Lady Emily was talking to her mother, her body movement and facial expression indicating her displeasure.

Elizabeth sighed, drawing the attention of Fitzwilliam who had been conversing with his aunt seated on his other side.

"Is something wrong?" he asked in a low voice.

"Lady Emily."

Fitzwilliam's countenance darkened. "You don't need to concern yourself with that woman."

Elizabeth gave him a half-smile. "I know, but I cannot help but feel sorry for her."

"She does not deserve your pity. She brought it on herself, and now she is reaping the consequences."

Elizabeth nodded, knowing he was right.

Fitzwilliam leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "Have you seen Lady Worthington's gardens?"

She turned to Fitzwilliam with an eager expression, all thoughts of Lady Emily forgotten. "No, I have not."

Fitzwilliam smiled. "Unless you are keen to dance, will you accompany me to the gardens, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I would love to." She bit her lip. "Perhaps it would be more prudent for you to leave first, and I'll follow with my aunt." She looked to where her aunt had been seated. It was empty. She then noticed that Jane and the colonel were missing as well. "It appears Colonel Fitzwilliam had a similar idea."

Elizabeth bit her lip to contain her laughter as Fitzwilliam grumbled his irritation with his cousin. She squeezed his hand under the table. "I will ask your aunt to accompany me. Go, Fitzwilliam. I will follow shortly."

Fitzwilliam stood and bowed, bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss. He turned and followed several other guests who were returning to the ballroom, unaware of a pair of ice-blue eyes that followed his movement as he left the dining room.

As soon as Fitzwilliam left, her Aunt Gardiner came bustling up. "Forgive me, Lizzy for deserting you." She sat in Fitzwilliam's vacated seat, out of breath. "I am ready to return to the ballroom whenever you are, my dear."

"I would like to see the gardens, Aunt."

Aunt Gardiner pursed her lips. "Very well, but I want you to stay within sight of the house."

"Why Aunt, whatever do you mean?"

Aunt Gardiner regarded her niece through narrowed eyes. "I notice that Mr. Darcy is not here. I bet my turban he is waiting for you in the gardens."

"Just like Colonel Fitzwilliam was waiting for Jane?"

Aunt Gardiner heaved a sigh and stood. "Very well, I will perform the same office for you as I did for your sister. I only do so because I trust Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy to be honorable."

Elizabeth spoke a few words of farewell to Lord Matlock before standing, linking her arm with her aunt's. They left the dining room arm in arm, conversing of the colonel's unexpected arrival and his very public declaration to Jane. Elizabeth's pace quickened in anticipation as they neared the double doors leading to the gardens. Before they could exit the house, a voice, full of fury, called her name.

Elizabeth reluctantly turned to face Lady Emily. She stood with hands clenched into tight fists, her face flushed with anger. Lady Sefton stood next to her, casting nervous glances at her irate daughter.

Elizabeth raised her head. "Lady Emily."

Lady Emily stalked toward Elizabeth until she was inches away. Elizabeth remained still, resisting the urge to back away. Aunt Gardiner clutched Elizabeth's arm, her nails digging through her evening gloves.

"I have nothing to say to you, Lady Emily. If you will excuse us." Elizabeth spoke calmly through the rapid beating of her heart.

"I most certainly have something to say to you!" Lady Emily hissed. Lady Sefton plucked at her daughter's arm in a vain attempt to get her to cease, but her arm was batted away like a pesky insect.

The nearby guests began moving closer, drawn by the promise of a spectacular scene, their avid gazes fixed on the four women. Elizabeth straightened, her eyes flashing with anger at the impossible situation she found herself in. She knew she should walk away, but her pride would not allow it.

Lady Emily's scathing gaze fell on the necklace around Elizabeth's neck. She sneered, "I see that Mr. Darcy branded you like the cow you are."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed as shocked gasps emanated from the guests who had drifted close enough to hear Lady Emily's insulting words.

"I am indeed fortunate to wear the proof of Mr. Darcy's approbation and regard. He is well-known for his fastidious and impeccable taste, is he not?" Elizabeth's brow raised in silent challenge.

Lady Emily's face turned an unbecoming shade of vermillion. Lady Sefton tried once again to pull her daughter away.

"Enough!" Lady Emily pushed her mother away. In a low voice, she hissed, "You are nothing! You are not worthy to bear the Darcy name." Her gaze rested on the necklace, her eyes wild. "That should be mine, you scheming hussy!"

As Lady Emily made a wild grab for her necklace, strong arms gripped Elizabeth's shoulders, pulling her out of the way of Lady Emily's grasping fingers. In the same moment, Lady Worthington moved forward with a speed belying her age.

"Oh no, you don't!" Lady Worthington exclaimed as she grabbed the back of Lady Emily's coiffured hair.

Elizabeth was unaware of Fitzwilliam's strong hands gripping her shoulders. She was staring, mouth agape at what appeared to be Lady Emily's elegant coiffure dangling from Lady Worthington's forefinger. The guests stared in stunned silence for a few seconds as they processed what had just happened. Soft laughter trickled through the crowd, growing in volume as Lady Worthington continued to swing her prize from one bejeweled finger.

Lady Emily clutched her head, eyes wide with horror. Gone was the elegantly styled coiffure the color of ebony. Her real hair was the color of dark honey, cropped close to her head. Lady Sefton removed her shawl, draping it over her daughter's shorn head.

"Oh dear, I do so hate it when that happens." Lord Worthington came to stand beside his wife, swinging his quizzing glass in a languid hand.

"Oh yes, quite unfortunate." Lady Worthington's voice practically purred with smugness.

Elizabeth stared at Lady Worthington. She knew. She knew that Lady Emily wore a wig. And she chose to reveal that secret to defend Fitzwilliam. A small voice whispered it was not just Fitzwilliam she wanted to defend but her as well. She finally understood the immense power the woman before her held in the eyes of the ton.

Lord Worthington raised his quizzing glass. "I do believe she resembles a plucked chicken, my dear."

Loud chuckles accompanied Lord Worthington's acute observation. Elizabeth looked away, uneasy at the public disgrace Lady Emily was suffering although she couldn't deny that she had brought it on herself. Fitzwilliam squeezed her shoulders, sensing her distress.

"Hmmm…I don't believe chickens belong in a ballroom." Lady Worthington responded, eliciting more laughter from the assemblage of guests.

Lady Worthington snapped her fingers, and a footman appeared at her side, an empty silver tray in his hand. "Fawcett, take this…article and dispose of it." She dropped the wig on the tray without ceremony.

Lady Sefton finally found her voice, and she rounded on Lady Worthington. "I demand that you return my daughter's property, Sophie. This is low, even for you."

Lady Worthington waved the footman away before turning to Lady Sefton, regarding the younger woman with barely concealed disdain. In a voice so quiet that Elizabeth had to strain to hear, Lady Worthington asked, "Tell me, how is your son and heir?"

The innocuous question caused Lady Sefton's face to blanch, eyes wide with fear. Her eyes darted to the assembled guests before turning pleading eyes to Lady Worthington. Seeing her unrelenting expression, Lady Sefton grasped her daughter's arm in desperation. Lady Emily refused to be moved, her eyes glaring at those who were witness to her humiliation.

Lady Worthington made a shooing motion with her hands. "Yes, time to go. Cluck, cluck."

Lady Emily stomped her foot in outrage before Lady Sefton was finally successful in dragging her daughter away. The crowd parted for the disgraced and thoroughly humiliated woman, laughter following her as she left the ballroom.

Lady Worthington watched them leave, a pleased smile on her face. "I believe I have found the subject for my next topiary."

"Don't forget to add the wig, my dear." Lord Worthington resumed swinging his quizzing glass.

Lady Worthington laughed, winking at Elizabeth. "Well, that is quite enough excitement for one evening."

Elizabeth heartily agreed with her. Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived with Jane on his arm, and Elizabeth observed her sister's heightened color and soft smile. The colonel looked back and forth between Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam's solemn expressions and the animated guests hovering around Lord and Lady Worthington. He turned to Fitzwilliam, his expression dejected. "What did I miss?"

A/N: How many of you sqee'd/squealed/shouted, etc. when the good colonel showed up? *Grin* I know some of you saw him coming from a mile away, but I am sure I surprised a good many of you. Hah!

So, should we just let Bingley slink away? Hmmm…I think not. J I had the hardest time deciding exactly how to handle Bingley. But when I stopped and really thought about it, it became blaringly obvious. So stay tuned for the confrontation next chapter.

I am so sorry for the extra-long wait for this chapter—we moved, which effectively ate up any spare time I had for a while. I am now back into my regular routine, so I should be cranking out the chapters with more regularity. If I have not posted for over a month, go to my profile page and I'll have an update on the reason for my absence.

A huge shout out to my reviewers, new and old for your continued support, encouragement, and enthusiasm. You're awesome! Also, to all you silent readers/lurkers—I love you too! As I said in a previous post, I will NOT abandon this story. I promise.

Much love,

MAH

(1) Revel-rout: It was a gathering of usually young men (sometimes as many as 100 students) for the specific purpose of drinking and engaging in revelry. This was practically a requirement of an Oxbridge (Oxford/Cambridge) education. Being inebriated was not only acceptable but, in some circles expected.

(2) The Prince Regent gave a dinner party in 1811 with the main table described thus. When I read about it, I just had to use it J

(3) A Pantomime was a theatrical production adapting stories from European fairy tales, fables, folk tales, classic literature or nursery rhymes. They were often comedy's or satires with dancing, songs, acrobatics, and gender-crossing roles. Not to be confused with miming (the meaning of pantomime outside Britain).

Next chapter: Col F and Darcy confront Bingley, Col F says good-bye to Jane *sniffle*, Mr. Williamson makes a brief appearance, and the return to Longbourn (Finally!)