ended their affair.) In Lille, he had been quite alone and altogether distracted. The desire to reach out to him—to becalm his brow, arouse his spirit, enjoy his touch was almost too much to bear. To her great chagrin, she found that she still had no rule over him. He spoke only of his wife and his need to contact her. In the end she agreed to carry a missive, full of dear words, no doubt, to his wife.
The letter was destroyed.
When she returned to London, an odd whim overtook her. She decided to meet with the woman who had stolen Darcy’s heart. Simply by professing to be in possession of a letter from Darcy, she commanded Elizabeth Darcy to hie to town to meet her. Tres enciente , Mrs. Darcy had not hesitated to come, leaving Juliette almost chastened to have enticed her on what could have been accused of being a pretence. After their talk, Juliette harboured a certain admiration for her. No other gentlewoman would have gone to such lengths merely to hear word from their husband. (Therefore, there were few gentlewomen who had Juliette’s good opinion.) Theirs had been an unusual encounter, leaving Juliette with an odd sense of need. For a while she became the self-ordained champion of the Darcys’ union. It was an odd caprice, nothing more. Her life’s work had been to avoid encumbrances such as friendship and affection—especially when one’s own interests were at stake.
Time, it is said, makes more converts than reason. And in time, another conviction comforted her. It was the unassailable truth that time was any marriage’s most insidious enemy. To maintain steady ardour for so long would have been unthinkable. To sustain passion, one must create unease, cause jealousy, cast spells. No doubt the Darcys’ wedded bliss would be on the wane. Nothing Mrs. Bingley said altered that conviction.
It was that thought that fed her eagerness to attend the Pemberley ball.
As guests moved to and fro, she could see Darcy more clearly. Time had not altered his bearing or his countenance. As if entranced, she stepped in his direction. Then, abruptly, she turned away, wholly thwarted.
For standing next to Mr. Darcy was Mrs. Darcy, her arm clasping his. Juliette did not fault her for that. Had he belonged to her, she would be just as chary. Although marauding ladies were circling him even then, his wife seemed oblivious to her competition.
Whilst taking delicate sips of her wine, Juliette took a moment to scrutinise Elizabeth Darcy. Albeit begrudgingly, she admitted that Elizabeth had gained in countenance. That afternoon in London, her face had been drawn and worry troubled her expression. Tonight, her cheeks were flushed. (Either that or she was not above applying a bit of rouge.) A bit smugly, Juliette opined that Elizabeth was not near the beauty as her sister, Jane. Fancy that. Mr. Darcy not only married beneath him, it was to a second, less desirable daughter.
Slyly, she looked at Elizabeth again.
Through further study, Juliette decided that she approved of Elizabeth’s gown. Although it was pale, it complimented her, almost as much as the exquisite necklace. It was a significant enough piece to arrest everyone’s attention. Juliette did not envy it, for she had been bestowed exceptional pieces of jewellery over the years. She wore them only to impress other women. When gentlemen were about, she disliked adorning herself with anything that might compete with her own countenance.
As the Darcys stood side by side, oblivious to any menace, Juliette carried on planning a seduction with an air of purposefulness. She told herself that her quarry was merely that—a means to an end. It did not cross her mind that, by harbouring an abiding and all-consuming yen for this man, she breached every tenet she had ever held dear. There was but one thing Juliette thought of nothing else from that moment thenceforth.
She must have Darcy again or she just might die of want.
Chapter 17
Old Friends, New Chapters
Within
The letter was destroyed.
When she returned to London, an odd whim overtook her. She decided to meet with the woman who had stolen Darcy’s heart. Simply by professing to be in possession of a letter from Darcy, she commanded Elizabeth Darcy to hie to town to meet her. Tres enciente , Mrs. Darcy had not hesitated to come, leaving Juliette almost chastened to have enticed her on what could have been accused of being a pretence. After their talk, Juliette harboured a certain admiration for her. No other gentlewoman would have gone to such lengths merely to hear word from their husband. (Therefore, there were few gentlewomen who had Juliette’s good opinion.) Theirs had been an unusual encounter, leaving Juliette with an odd sense of need. For a while she became the self-ordained champion of the Darcys’ union. It was an odd caprice, nothing more. Her life’s work had been to avoid encumbrances such as friendship and affection—especially when one’s own interests were at stake.
Time, it is said, makes more converts than reason. And in time, another conviction comforted her. It was the unassailable truth that time was any marriage’s most insidious enemy. To maintain steady ardour for so long would have been unthinkable. To sustain passion, one must create unease, cause jealousy, cast spells. No doubt the Darcys’ wedded bliss would be on the wane. Nothing Mrs. Bingley said altered that conviction.
It was that thought that fed her eagerness to attend the Pemberley ball.
As guests moved to and fro, she could see Darcy more clearly. Time had not altered his bearing or his countenance. As if entranced, she stepped in his direction. Then, abruptly, she turned away, wholly thwarted.
For standing next to Mr. Darcy was Mrs. Darcy, her arm clasping his. Juliette did not fault her for that. Had he belonged to her, she would be just as chary. Although marauding ladies were circling him even then, his wife seemed oblivious to her competition.
Whilst taking delicate sips of her wine, Juliette took a moment to scrutinise Elizabeth Darcy. Albeit begrudgingly, she admitted that Elizabeth had gained in countenance. That afternoon in London, her face had been drawn and worry troubled her expression. Tonight, her cheeks were flushed. (Either that or she was not above applying a bit of rouge.) A bit smugly, Juliette opined that Elizabeth was not near the beauty as her sister, Jane. Fancy that. Mr. Darcy not only married beneath him, it was to a second, less desirable daughter.
Slyly, she looked at Elizabeth again.
Through further study, Juliette decided that she approved of Elizabeth’s gown. Although it was pale, it complimented her, almost as much as the exquisite necklace. It was a significant enough piece to arrest everyone’s attention. Juliette did not envy it, for she had been bestowed exceptional pieces of jewellery over the years. She wore them only to impress other women. When gentlemen were about, she disliked adorning herself with anything that might compete with her own countenance.
As the Darcys stood side by side, oblivious to any menace, Juliette carried on planning a seduction with an air of purposefulness. She told herself that her quarry was merely that—a means to an end. It did not cross her mind that, by harbouring an abiding and all-consuming yen for this man, she breached every tenet she had ever held dear. There was but one thing Juliette thought of nothing else from that moment thenceforth.
She must have Darcy again or she just might die of want.
Chapter 17
Old Friends, New Chapters
Within
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