The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

“Mais, oui,” Richard responded with a grin. “Is there any superior reason?” Darcy gave him the ghost of a smile. “I received a letter from my mother’s friend Mrs. Radnor. She is married to a Frenchman, Robert du Plessy, who is now an advisor to Bonaparte himself. They have a grand house in a fashionable part of Paris.”

“Your mother associates with one of Napoleon’s advisors?” Darcy arched an eyebrow skeptically at Richard.

“We are no longer at war, remember?”

“Old enmities are not easily forgotten. Many people in London do not believe the peace will hold.”

“So it is fortuitous we are visiting Paris while we can, eh?” Richard gave Darcy a rakish smile. “Mrs. Radnor has invited us to a ball she is holding at her townhouse the day after next. Would you like to attend?”

“A ball full of the beau monde of Paris?” This was precisely the type of social event he had been avoiding in London.

“I believe it will be populated mostly by visitors like us or Englishmen living in France. Lady Radnor wrote that she grows lonely for her countrymen and holds balls to bring them together.”

“That is no inducement. I do not want to attend a ball,” Darcy scowled at the thought. “I left England to escape them.”

“I thought you left England to escape Miss Bennet.” Richard replied promptly.

“I still do not wish to attend any balls.” Darcy said firmly.

“Perhaps you will be introduced to a comely English lass.”

“Poor girl.”

“Or perhaps a fun-loving French lass.” Darcy simply scowled at this suggestion, but Richard grinned, not at all discouraged. “I have not conceded defeat. We will improve your spirits somehow.”

“You shall have to find another means of doing so. I will not attend any balls.”

Darcy surveyed the ballroom at Radnor House. How did I let Richard talk me into this? He wondered for the hundredth time. At one time he had felt he was master of his life, but now – between Elizabeth’s rejection and Richard’s machinations – everything seemed to spiral beyond his control.

It was quite a crush, all over the ballroom ladies in glittering dresses and gentlemen in brocaded waistcoats and lace cravats were jostling and maneuvering just to edge their way from one place to another. It was hot. It was loud. Everyone had to raise their voices to be heard. It was exactly the kind of event Darcy hated. Watching the milling throngs, he contemplated strategies that would allow him to depart early.

Balls were particularly painful because they could only remind him of Elizabeth. Elizabeth laughing at him behind her fan at the Meryton Assembly. Elizabeth lightly grasping his hand during the dance at Netherfield. He even thought fondly of Elizabeth’s rejection of him as a dance partner at Lucas Lodge. I would give anything for a glimpse of her – even that angry and impertinent Elizabeth! He sternly reminded himself that a glimpse would do him no good. She would never be his, but was destined to be some other man’s bride. Angrily, he attempted to push that thought, and its accompanying despair, away.

As he watched the revelers, he realized he had been foolish to believe that Paris would help him forget Elizabeth. Everywhere he experienced reminders of her: a yellow bonnet on the street; the melodious sound of a woman’s laugh; a clever turn of phrase by a traveling companion. Even the sight of lavender ribbon in a shop window sent him into an emotional whirlwind one afternoon. If Richard knew the extent of my infatuation, he would give me up as a lost cause immediately. Even as he watched the crowds of revelers, he noticed a woman with a hairstyle similar to one Elizabeth had worn. For a moment his pulse accelerated, but then he glanced away, angry at himself for his reaction.

Chastising himself, Darcy threaded his way through the crowd to where Richard and his two army compatriots were talking with a few other men about the state of the peace between England and France. “I do not believe Parliament will ever consent to surrender Malta to France. No matter what the treaty says,” said Major Broadmoor with a shake of his head. “Its strategic value is too great.”

“They already agreed. Do you believe they will not honor the treaty?” Monsieur duBois was a Frenchman Darcy and his friends had been introduced to by Mrs. Radnor. He spoke excellent, though heavily accented, English. “If they do not give up Malta, they will violate it.”

“Napoleon has already violated terms of the Treaty. He has not quitted the Batavian Republic,” noted Colonel Wilkins somewhat emphatically. “Many in England believe he never intended to honor his promises.”

“You may be correct,” shrugged duBois. “I do not agree with all of the Emperor’s actions.”

“If both nations do not meet the promises set down in the treaty, we will be at war once again,” said Major Broadmoor with a sigh.

“Yes, I am afraid so,” conceded duBois. “The emperor has already threatened war if Malta and Egypt are not evacuated.”

“Yes, and Parliament is recruiting more men for the navy,” put in Wilkins.

Broadmoor shook his head sadly. “If you ask me, Napoleon is simply taking this time to consolidate his hold on power and organize his army.”

“Hopefully the Treaty will hold for some time, though. I am thoroughly enjoying my visit to your fair city and would hate to cut it short,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said to duBois, apparently attempting to steer the conversation onto less gloomy – and controversial – topics.

“I am always pleased when visitors enjoy the city. Have you visited Notre Dame?” duBois seemed to welcome the change in subject.

Darcy left to collect more punch as the conversation turned to visiting the city’s sights, which he was already weary of despite the fact that they still had over a week of traveling remaining! Not that he was yearning to return to England; here, at least, he was relieved of the burden of pretending to Georgiana that everything was fine. Darcy ladled punch into a cut glass cup and then stood to admire the view from the window. Half an hour more, he calculated; then he could claim fatigue and leave.

“Darcy!” He turned to see Colonel Fitzwilliam approach with a lovely woman on his arm. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very young face. “Here you are!” Richard said jovially. “I was explaining to Miss Howard how you yearned for an English woman t