Pride and Prescience

Three

Elizabeth glanced round the lobby of the Pulteney, taking in the lavish furnishings and equally opulent-looking guests. Even she, who until now had come to London rarely and stayed with the Gardiners in Cheapside when she did, had heard of the Piccadilly hotel. A year ago she never would have dreamed she might dine here, but a year ago the thought of marrying Mr. Darcy had also been unimaginable. How much her life had changed in a twelvemonth — in twelve hours!

“This is considerably more pleasant than our carriage, is it not?” Darcy asked as they crossed to the dining room.

“Perhaps a degree. Though I had nearly convinced myself that I wanted to be traipsing about London instead of comfortably settled at home.”

As Darcy enquired after a table, a well-dressed young couple entered the lobby. The gentleman, upon spotting Darcy, guided his companion’s attention toward them. The lady smiled in greeting as the pair approached.

“Darcy! I had no idea you were in town.” Though the man had a long, narrow face and high forehead, he was not unattractive. His whole lanky frame seemed animated with genuine delight at encountering them. “I’d heard you were off in Hertfordshire getting married.” He directed a curious, but friendly, glance at Elizabeth.

She sensed her husband’s usual public stiffness relax a bit. Apparently, Darcy shared more than a passing acquaintance with the gentleman. “Yes, I was. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth, this is the Earl of Chatfield and his wife, Lady Chatfield.”

The earl bowed. The countess’s smile broadened, lighting her bright blue eyes as she addressed Elizabeth. “It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My friends shall be envious to hear that I’ve been introduced to the new Mrs. Darcy so soon.”

Elizabeth judged the lady to be about her own age, a few years younger than the earl. She had a delicate visage, small hands, and hair the color of Longbourn’s honey. She carried herself with an air of self-possession that Elizabeth associated with those born into privilege, but it was complemented by a natural warmth that made her seem altogether a kind, unaffected person. “The pleasure is mine,” she responded.

“Are you in town for Christmas?” asked Lady Chatfield.

“No, only until Thursday week,” Elizabeth replied.

“Then I’m delighted we happened upon you here, Darcy,” said the earl. “With such a lovely bride to escort around town, I doubt I’ll see you at White’s this visit.”

Darcy acknowledged the possibility as unlikely.

“Say, though — you should pop in to see the betting book,” Chatfield said. “Half the members have wagers on whether Lord Griswell’s wife will finally produce a son this time around or daughter number seven. Griswell swears it will be a boy, but everyone’s betting on another girl just to aggravate the chap. I even put in a wager myself for ten guineas.”

“Poor Griswell. You torment him.”

“Nay, it’s only sport. You should place a wager yourself.”

Darcy shook his head. “I am not a gambling man.”

“Neither am I. Don’t go in for the cards or dice at all. But a small private wager every once in a while is all in good fun. Say, I’ve seen the name of a friend of yours in the betting book quite often of late. What’s the fellow’s name? Hurst, that’s it! Just last Saturday, he bet a hundred guineas that Frederick Parrish would find his way to the altar before year’s end. Parrish, of all people! Even Beau Brummell gave up betting on him marrying anytime soon after he suddenly cried off Miss Kendall last month.”

Elizabeth started in surprise at the gossip. Lady Chatfield caught her reaction. “Do you know Mr. Parrish?”

“Only slightly,” Elizabeth responded. “We learned today of his engagement to our friend Miss Bingley. They plan to marry next week.”

“Really?” Lord Chatfield chuckled. “Capital! Hurst must have had inside information on that one. Well, good for him — makes up for some of his card losses.”

“James, sometimes you are too much.” Lady Chatfield rolled her eyes, but her gaze held affection when it rested on her husband once more. She turned to Elizabeth. “I realize this is short notice, and you’re on your honeymoon. But we’re hosting a dinner party Saturday evening, and I’d be honored if you and Mr. Darcy would join us.”

Flattered by the impromptu invitation, Elizabeth glanced to Darcy. He nodded ever so slightly, indicating his interest in attending but leaving the decision up to her.

“It will be our pleasure,” she responded.

Their conversation ended as the couples were seated at separate tables.

“I hope Mrs. Hale has some apples in the house,” Elizabeth said as she examined the menu.

Darcy raised a brow. “And why is that?”

“I need to thank a horse for throwing its shoe. We might not otherwise have chanced upon the earl and his wife.”

“I would have left them our cards while we are in town, even if we had not met them here. Their townhouse is but a few doors from ours.”

“I like them. Are they intimate friends of yours?”

“Chatfield and I dine together fairly often. We met through White’s, before he married the countess. I admire him — he may speak like an idle young buck, but he possesses a strong understanding. He patronizes numerous scientists in the Royal Society.”

“Then I look forward to this dinner party even more.” Elizabeth brimmed with questions about some of the earl’s statements, particularly those relating to Bingley’s present and future brothers-in-law. “What is this ‘betting book’ of which the earl spoke?”

“A tradition at White’s — a form of entertainment, really. Members record their private wagers there, in part to keep them honest about payment, but also to impress others with their wit and outrageousness.”

“What do they bet on, besides Lord Griswell’s children?”

“Anything — politics, the weather, Napoleon’s next move.” He sipped his wine and shrugged. “Mr. Parrish’s marriage plans.”

“Miss Bingley’s announcement today must have delighted Mr. Hurst. Will his fellow wagerer accuse him of cheating?”

“I doubt it. The bride may be Hurst’s sister-in-law, but Parrish’s engagement to Miss Bingley happened so fast, who can say whether Mr. Hurst knew any more about it than the rest of us?”

Indeed, Elizabeth silently conceded. Given that all her encounters with the indolent Mr. Hurst had seen him eating, drinking, playing cards, or dozing on the sofa, she believed the proposal could have taken place on his lap without the man noticing. It may well have been a perfectly fair wager.

“Did Lord Chatfield’s remark about Mr. Hurst’s card losses concern you?”

Darcy shook his head. “Hurst hardly conducts himself like one of those wild dandies who lose the entire family estate in a game of faro. He likely just forfeited a few pounds at whist.” He seemed pensive as he took another sip of wine. “Perhaps I should caution you, Elizabeth, that gossip makes the beau monde go round. Rumor becomes news, and news becomes scandal, all in just a few retellings by people with nothing better to occupy their minds. Do not believe everything you hear.”

She ruefully recalled how she’d once been deceived about Darcy’s real character by half-truths someone else had told her. “London society hardly has a monopoly on slander,” she said. “Don’t worry — I have learned to exercise discernment.” She would not allow prejudice, nor the smooth words of another one such as Mr. Wickham, to similarly blind her again.

They spent the greater part of the meal in discussion of more pleasant matters. Darcy expressed a wish to visit the British Museum during their time in London; Elizabeth, an art exhibition. They made plans for their first Christmas together at Pemberley. They spoke of the wedding and their guests — who had said what, who had looked well, who had not. Elizabeth confirmed Darcy’s impression that Charlotte was in the way of adding to the number of Collineses in the world.

“Will her mother attend her when the time comes?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, and will stay until the child is a month or two old. Though with Lady Catherine there, heaven knows Charlotte shan’t want for advice.”

“My aunt is certainly generous with her opinions. Perhaps I should strive to heal our breech directly, so that when your time comes, you, too, may benefit from her instruction.”

She called his bluff. “I thought rather to invite my mother to live with us for six months. Women want their mothers at such — Darcy, are you choking on a fish bone?”

In the carriage, Elizabeth yawned. Though the happiest of her life, the day had been excessively long. “To think that when I awoke this morning, I thought merely getting married would occupy my day.”

“Me, too.” Darcy took her hand and with his thumb traced her wedding band through the glove. “Do you think the house is ready for us yet?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not a bit.”

She nestled into her husband’s side, resting her cheek against his chest. “Mr. Darcy, take me home.”