Page 37 of Cousin Conundrum

“Charles would remain all evening.” Mrs. Hurst’s aggrieved voice drew away as she spoke, brightening when she added, “Do you know that Mrs. Archer’s sister was married to a baron?”

“Was?”

“Well, she is dead now, poor dear, but that does not negate the connection, does it?”

As Mr. Hurst replied, their voices and footfalls faded from hearing. Kitty gasped in a breath, dropping her heels back to the floor.

If she met with Mr. Hurst again, she would be far more careful. As delightful as tormenting one of her rivals would be, she was not truly K. B. Hert. She was Kitty Bennet, and as such, she must take better care with her reputation.

Chapter Eleven

Darcy stepped through one of the assembly hall’s side doors and sucked in a deep breath of cool night air. Inside, with the crush of people and that odious Mr. Collins, the heat stifled. Here at least he could breathe. Behind him rose a clamor of music and talk. Before him, pinpoints of light dotted the velvet darkness above. At the far end of the alleyway that ran alongside the hall, lanternlight danced, but he stood cloaked in blessed, peaceful darkness.

After glimpsing Elizabeth Bennet, as he now knew her to be, from the window of Bingley’s carriage when they’d come up to inspect Netherfield Park, Darcy should never have returned to Hertfordshire. Better he’d remained in London to do his aunt’s bidding. For a second look at Miss Elizabeth, an evening of watching her dance, had completed the beguiling begun in Bingley’s carriage weeks ago.

By her attire and relations, Elizabeth Bennet was not worthy of being mistress of Pemberley. She would bring no wealth. No connections. Possibly not even good manners, if her youngest sister were any indication. Although, he’d observed the opposite in her older sister, and manners could be learned.

No. Manners would never be enough. Clearly, Elizabeth Bennet would not ‘bring at least as much to Pemberley as Anne would,’ no matter how alluring he found her.

For years, that vow tormented Darcy. Now, he wished he could go back in time and remove his tongue before he could utter the words. Better never to speak again than to have made a promise that forbade him the most enticing woman he’d ever seen.

He hoped her younger sister, Miss Kitty, overheard his conversation with Bingley. Darcy meant his words for her, to be passed along to Miss Elizabeth, and would apologize to his friend later. Or not. How could he, after all, without revealing the impetus of such vitriol? Like as not, Bingley would forgive him even without an apology.

Darcy certainly would not forgive himself, but what else could he do? He must drive Miss Elizabeth away. He wasn’t certain his honor would survive a convivial encounter with her. She must hate him before she could come to do otherwise.

The door swung open in a cacophony of sound and wavering candlelight. Darcy shifted silently, deeper into the shadows. Idle chatter would be a torture, and were it Collins or one of those clearly mercenary Archer women, Darcy would rather walk back to Netherfield Park now than be stuck conversing alone with them. An advantage of the countryside should be a respite from sycophants and husband-grubbing misses.

The door swung back closed. A shape stepped free of the wall. A hint of summer blossoms reached him, the scent enticing.

“Kitty? Kitty, are you out here?” a voice called softly.

Elizabeth’s voice. Not that he’d spoken to her. He’d arduously avoided doing so. Yet, he’d been unable not to pick her lovely contralto, her delightful chuckle, out of the crowd.

“Kitty?” Silence, then a mutter of, “Where can she have sneaked off to?” She turned in a swish of skirts. Reached for the door.

“She is not out here.”

With a gasp, Elizabeth whirled back.

Darcy stifled a curse. How had those words left his mouth?

“Mr. Darcy?” Tentative. Almost…afraid?

That would not do. True, he could not have Miss Elizabeth. He’d already attempted to make her despise him. But fear him? Unbearable.

One stride brought him to stand before her in the near darkness. His gaze, his eyes already adjusted to the starlight above, skimmed her high cheekbones. The elegant arc of her neck. Those full, slightly parted lips.

“Miss Kitty is not here. When last I caught sight of her, she went in the direction of the entrance hall.” After, hopefully, overhearing him. For he wanted Elizabeth to hate him.

He needed her to.

“Oh.” She stared at him, her face tipped up to catch the starlight.

How much of his downturned visage could she discern? Could she see the longing that surely gleamed in his eyes? He fervently hoped not. “Is your quest for her urgent?” He bit back an offer of assistance.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No.” A long, quaking breath escaped her.

Quaking? How could she fear him so greatly?