And so much, Darcy thought wryly, for my feeble attempt at romance. For Elizabeth had at once stepped away, pulling her hands from his. He felt the loss keenly.
Out from the ballroom came Emma Woodhouse, with flaming cheeks and blazing eyes. Had Elton thrown caution to the winds and forced a passionate kiss? Darcy knew he ought to feel pity for the man, but alas. It was all he could do not to laugh.
“Oh!” cried Miss Woodhouse. “Insufferable man!”
Darcy leaned in and caught Elizabeth’s eye. “Romance novels,” he told her, “are most unhelpful. Once a fellow takes to reading those, he’s doomed.”
“I beg your pardon?” cried Miss Woodhouse.
“I merely mean,” explained Darcy, “that novels are not a reliable guide to courtship. If a man’s suit is unwelcome, a display of passion only makes matters worse.”
As if on cue, Elton appeared at the open doorway, looking remarkably angry, with a scarlet patch on his left cheek. Without meeting Darcy’s eye, Elton put up his chin and stalked down the stairs to the entrance hall. He could then be heard demanding his hat and coat.
Darcy glanced down at Elizabeth’s hands. Surely there was no chance of holding them while Emma Woodhouse was here. Then too, she was still holding her bracelet.
“Shall I keep your bracelet in my pocket?” said Darcy softly. She passed it to him at once.
He murmured something about having the clasp mended, but was interrupted by shouting in the drawing room. “Dear me,” he remarked. “Apparently Wickham’s charm is unequal to the occasion.”
Miss Woodhouse drew near to Elizabeth. “If you saw how Mr. Elton looked at me, heard how he spoke to me!” Darcy heard her say.
“I quite understand,” said Elizabeth. “You have no idea how well.”
“Why is it that men are so—so stupid?”
“It is because we cannot help ourselves, Miss Woodhouse,” Darcy said. He looked to Elizabeth. “We men are hopelessly inept when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“Matters of the heart?” cried Miss Woodhouse. “Mr. Elton loves Harriet, not me! He gave every sign, every indication, of sincere and heartfelt attachment. Well,” she amended, after a pause, “if not precisely every sign, near enough. I was thoroughly taken in. What I shall say to poor Harriet I do not know.”
“It is awkward, yes,” agreed Elizabeth.
“Mr. Knightley did say that this might happen with Mr. Elton—that he preferred me. But I would not believe him.”
The drawing room door jerked open. “I’ll not stay and be insulted,” shouted George Wickham.
Darcy kept his face expressionless as Wickham came striding out. “Then again,” he added, over his shoulder, “what can be expected from ignorant, prejudicial rustics?” Wickham had the audacity to look at Elizabeth then—was he seeking her support? Darcy put a possessive hand to the small of her back.
Wickham’s lips twisted into a sneer. Like Elton before him, he strode to the stairs and descended. Ned Parks and Mr. McGready followed with a purposeful gait. Darcy hid another smile. It would be best for Wickham to travel the road back to Meryton at a run!
Sir Hugh appeared next. “I’m sorry for the fracas, Bingley,” he said, taking his leave. “Better to have the rumpus now than to wait for the assizes. The sooner that fellow is gone from the district, the better. Good evening.”
Darcy nodded to Sir Hugh and, in answer to Charles’ mute inquiry, slightly shook his head. Bingley returned to the drawing room; Sir Hugh made his way down the stairs.
“All my fine plans,” said Miss Woodhouse to Elizabeth, “are quite ruined. I had so wished you to be a titled lady, but now I see that it would never do. Nor will the match I had in mind for Miss Bingley.” She sighed heavily. “I wonder why Aunt Jane sent me here at all.”
Darcy lifted an eyebrow. “A match could be coming Miss Bingley’s way. She rather fancies being a titled lady.”
“Do you mean with Mr. Bertram? I was much deceived in him. Why, he is little better than a gamester. Why did I not see this?”
“We all have our areas of blindness,” said Elizabeth. “For my part, I was taken in by George Wickham’s glib charm.”
“Him, charming?” Miss Woodhouse wrinkled her nose. “He is quite commonplace, is he not?”
Darcy gave a crack of laughter. To a man of Wickham’s stamp, there was no worse insult.
Below in the entrance hall, there were voices—Sir Hugh departing, Darcy assumed. The main door closed and was bolted. Then came the butler, ascending the stairs with a small silver tray.
A caller? Darcy peered over the bannister rail. Sure enough, a man in a greatcoat stood below, hat in hand.
“Ah well,” said Miss Woodhouse, “he is gone now, and so is Mr. Elton. I suppose the last laugh belongs to Mr. Knightley.
“Miss—Woodhouse?” The man below gazed up at them and then began to mount the stairs.
When he reached the landing, Emma Woodhouse gave a gasp of recognition. “Mr. Knightley,” she cried and ran down to meet him. He stepped back a pace, gripping the banister rail with a firm hand. His hat fell behind onto the stairs.
“Oh!” she cried. “How I wanted you!”
“You—did?” said the man, who was obviously Knightley.
“Yes, for it was just as you said. Mr. Elton—oh. I am not supposed to say what happened, am I? But I daresay you can guess what he said to me.”
“I daresay I can,” said Mr. Knightley pleasantly. His arm slipped round her shoulders. “Poor Emma.”
“And that is not the worst of it,” she confessed, as they ascended together. “All my schemes, every one of my matchmaking endeavours, have ended in disaster.”
“That is only to be expected, you know.”
“But—Mr. Knightley, you are wet.” Miss Woodhouse brushed droplets from the lapels of his coat.
“It is raining again, I’m afraid,” he said.
“A wet trot to Meryton for Wickham,” said Darcy to Elizabeth.
Miss Woodhouse then became aware of her surroundings. “Do come and meet my delightful new friends, Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Knightley’s head came up. “Darcy? You don’t say.” He shook Darcy’s hand warmly.
“Do you know one another?”
“I—have heard of him,” said Mr. Knightley, smiling.
Darcy was not sure what to make of this. The drawing room door opened and Miss Bates came rustling out. “Mr. Knightley,” she called. “How delightful to hear your name announced. Do come in and warm yourself. Everyone else has gone away. Save for Mr. Bertram, but he is in the sulks.”
Darcy saw Knightley hesitate, but he answered with perfect cordiality, “A cheerful fireside will be very welcome, thank you.” He looked down at Emma, who nestled against his shoulder. “I am come to take you home, you know,” he said. “You and Miss Bates.”
Miss Woodhouse looked at him shyly. “Did Father send you?”
“Yes, my dear, he did. Along with, ah, someone else.” The drawing room door closed behind them.
“In the sulks, is he? Poor Bertram,” said Mr. Darcy.
“And poor Emma. It is hard to have schemes go awry. As well as being sized-up by suitors. He certainly did so.”
Darcy smiled fondly down at her. “He?”
“Mr. Wickham. I caught him looking at Emma—as if he were judging the merits of a horse!”
The drawing room door opened, and the butler came out. So did Mr. Knightley.
“Darcy,” he said, “I have something for you. Being situated so near to London, I am often called upon to perform errands for our aunt.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Aunt,” he repeated softly. “Aunt Jane?”
“Aunt Jane Austen, yes.” From a pocket Knightley removed a folded paper—a letter? “She was most insistent that I give this to you as soon as I arrived. To save time, she said. I surmise that she is rather in a hurry.”
“For what?” said Darcy, all at sea.
“For the happy ending. You know, a merry Yuletide for one and all. Apparently there was too much angst building up. Too many complications.”
“Complications,” said Darcy.
There was something in Knightley’s smile that made Darcy uneasy. He unfolded the paper he’d been given. The letterhead was unmistakable: Vicar-General, The Faculty Office of the Archbishop of Canterbury—
Darcy’s cheeks began to burn. “Doctor’s Commons?” he whispered. “You went to Doctor’s Commons?”
“If I were you,” said Knightley pleasantly, “I’d not delay beyond tomorrow. There’s snow in the air.”
“Impossible. It’s not nearly cold enough—”
“I daresay it will be,” said Knightley, smiling again. “Your sister and Miss Annesley will be ready to depart for Pemberley as soon as you arrive in London. As for what should happen before that time, you know best.” With a nod, Mr. Knightley returned to the drawing room.
“What is it?” said Elizabeth, drawing nearer. “Is something wrong?”
At once Darcy refolded the license. “Nothing is wrong,” he managed to say. “To the contrary, everything has suddenly come right.”