“So, brother, did you successfully complete your errands?”

Darcy grudgingly tore his eyes away from Elizabeth and replied, “Yes, Georgie. I first stopped at Fletcher & Byrd, the new plumassier, and am embarrassed to admit I became quite adrift. The fledgling business is located in a-loft; and one must follow the arrows up several flights of stairs and down a long corridor to the building’s oldest wing. I took several wrong terns before entering the correct doorway, which was so low I had to duck. I feathered their nest with a swift purchase of a large clutch of ostrich and peacock plumage but was in a hurry and may have been gulled by their soaring prices. I managed to swallow my spleen and sign my name with an ornate goose quill, and then the owlish Mr. Fletcher perched himself on the counter and had the pluck to say our patronage would be a feather in his cap. Mr. Byrd, the pompous coxcomb, agreed and crowed that customers would soon flock to their shop. To be honest, Georgie, I found both men to be quite flighty; and they may, in fact, have been robin me.

Fortunately, I was also able to obtain the desired cake just one block away. The package is being dispatched tout de sweet, my errands were completed more rapidly than expected, and I was able to meet, at the appointed hour, four very lovely ladies.”

His gaze naturally settled upon one particular lovely lady again; and her cheeks grew rosy as he performed a head to foot, and back again, appreciative appraisal of her person. Lizzy was not affronted and thought he was quite justified in his scrutiny in return for the way she had overtly ogled him at Pemberley.

With a glint in her eye, Anna explained, “My brother went shopping today because we are often asked to forward certain items from Town to Rosings Park in order to appease, er, satisfy the rather eccentric demands … I mean, the discriminating tastes of Lady Catherine de Bourgh … a nutty fruitcake … and large bird feathers. You see, our aunt really takes the cake for being plume crazy.”

The five entered the Royal Academy building. Lizzy, being a painter, was eager to view J.M.W. Turner’s recent Mercury and Herse plus several other of his newest works. She and Darcy stood in front of the masterpiece while the others went in the opposite direction to view portraits.

“Are you familiar with the depicted mythology, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Somewhat, Mr. Darcy; I admit I much prefer Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’ over alternative versions of the story, as it is less tragic.”

“Indeed, madam, for in Ovid’s version Mercury, or Hermes, falls in love with Herse upon first seeing her in Athens and asks for her hand, which I agree is highly preferable over an insane Herse leaping to her death from the Acropolis.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I always enjoy a tale in which the hero and heroine live happily ever after, sir, even if they do have to suffer some misunderstanding, separation, and angst along the way.”

“Ah, but the misunderstanding, separation, and angst are what make the ‘happily ever after’ more worth the earning, Miss Elizabeth; and a romance story would be quite lacking without it. Shall we move on?”

“Yes, I am rather curious to see why so many people are gathered in front of a canvas in the alcove over there. It is obvious the artist can certainly draw a crowd.”

“Is that an intended pun, Miss Elizabeth? If so, I am surprised you would stoop to, as Dr. Samuel Johnson called it, ‘the lowest form of humour.’”

“Shamefully, I must confess it was intentional, Mr. Darcy. Please forgive my flippant folly; for I fear I am fated to foolishly follow in the fallible footsteps of my fantastic but formidably farcical father, who is a fancier of the foible and fatuously fond of tomfoolery. Oh, fie! I feel you are fully fed up. I will finally finish with a flourish and thank you for your forbearance. I forthwith promise to forgo and forsake further frustrating frivolity for now but, unfortunately, not forever.”

Darcy stared incredulously at Elizabeth, cleared his throat, and said, “Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to allay and also alleviate any alarm about an altercation over your alacrity for aloud alliteration. Although allegedly always appearing aloof, I actually ardently admire and approve alert and amusing allegorical allusions. All along, it has been apparent our minds are alike and I, alone, am already an ally and offer my allegiance and alliance. I alternatively allude to your altogether alive, altruistic, and appealing allure. Alas, my allocated allotment of allowable alliterations is almost accomplished. All right, shall we amble along to another alcove of artwork?”

They grinned at one another and strolled over to the depiction that had been so admired by the crowd. Darcy contemplated the lavish banquet on canvas and said, “Now, this painting has taste, and the artist obviously used his palette wisely.”

“Mr. Darcy! Upun my word, sir! How very unrepentantly unsophisticated and laughingly lowbrow of you, sir.”

The gentleman attempted a straight face as he asked, “Whatever do you mean, madam?”

As Lizzy Bennet and her companion turned toward one another and smiled, the room, the Royal Academy building, and then the entire world around them, vanished. Darcy longingly stared at her mouth and thought, Yes, smile, Elizabeth. It is the second best thing you could do with those luscious lips. He raised his gaze, dark eyes locked with dark eyes, and he slowly moved in closer, breathed in her enticing scent, leaned slightly forward and said in a low, husky voice, “Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to … ”

“Mr. Darcy! Yoo-hoo, Mr. Darrrceeey.” A woman’s shrill voice pierced their bubble of sensuous solitude.

He groaned and muttered, “Oh, God. Please, no.”

A tall woman of questionable fashion approached with another young lady in tow. The gentleman gritted his teeth, bowed, and greeted the newcomers. “Miss Bingley, Miss Dalrymple, what an unexpected … pleasure. Ladies, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire. Miss Elizabeth, allow me to introduce to you Miss Caroline Bingley. You met her brother, Charles, at Pemberley. And this is her friend, Miss Sarah Dalrymple.”

All the ladies curtsied. The orange-clad Caroline Bingley snootily said, “Oh, have you had the privilege of visiting the magnificent Darcy home, Miss Elizabeth? Is it not the most beautiful and noble place you have ever seen? I keep telling Charles he must make a purchase in that neighbourhood and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire, I have often remarked. Were you on a tour of the grand estate, Miss Elizabeth?”

Caroline looked down her hawk-like nose at the young woman’s simple ensemble of an ivory dress of good-quality linen trimmed with ecru ribbon. Over it she wore a pretty fringed beige shawl of fine wool embroidered in metallic threads with tiny flowers in shades of gold, bronze, copper, and green. Fortunately, the soft coppery cloth bonnet Elizabeth had hurriedly grabbed, almost without looking, matched her outfit quite well.

“No. Initially I was visiting Mrs. Reynolds with … ”

“Mrs. Reynolds? Why, is she not the estate’s housekeeper? You were at Pemberley to visit a servant?”

“Why, yes. The amiable Mrs. Reynolds is a dear friend of my aunt, with whom my sister and I were traveling … ”

Caroline ignored the rest of the insignificant chit’s words, turned her eagle eyes toward her prey, and dug her talons into his forearm. “Are you here unaccompanied, Mr. Darcy?”

The gentleman extricated his sleeve from her clutch and exclaimed, “Miss Bingley! As you can see, I am here with Miss Elizabeth; and her sister and both of mine are roaming about somewhere as well.”

“Oooh, dear Georgiana and Anna are here? Where are my dearest friends? I absolutely must pay my respects.” The ostrich-feather-festooned, turban-headed woman in the outrageous orange organza outfit swivelled her head in an owl-like manner, searching for familiar faces in the crowd while Darcy dodged being whipped in the face by the long plumage.

“Yoo-hoo, Miss Darrrceeey, Miss Annnaah!” As Caroline waved her fan aloft in an attempt to gain the attention of his sisters, Darcy boldly latched onto Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her away from the two unwelcome birds of prey. The startled young lady blushed at his forward action as she was pulled along behind him.

They came to a halt around a corner, in front of an unappealing canvas depicting an unappetizing bowl of fruit and berries. Once again, Darcy very reluctantly and slowly released her hand.

“Good God. What a monstrosity. I do not know which is more disconcerting, Miss Bingley or this painting. Miss Elizabeth, I apologize for that unpleasant encounter, for my impulsive and presumptuous action, and for stopping at this particular piece of cra ... aft. Who would dare have the audacity, not to mention bad taste, to actually create, frame, and hang such a garish eyesore?”

Elizabeth squinted and scrutinized the squiggly signature. “His name is unknown to me; and I must agree the rendering is a rather peculiar piece of cra ... aft, with no depth, no sense of perspective, or lighting. Where is the texture of the strawberry? Er, that is supposed to be a strawberry, is it not? And the gaudy colours are all wrong. Perhaps the poor fellow is actually colour-blind. Really, I do not care to boast; nevertheless, I could do better justice to the subject matter than has this painter. I hesitate to refer to him as an artist, because … ”

“Yes, yes, I get the picture, Miss Elizabeth; you do not care for his style either. Did I not say our minds are alike?”

“Well, we are certainly in agreement, sir, that such a distorted display of still-life art is not at all moving.”

Darcy realized he had never before enjoyed an art exposition as much as that afternoon. In fact, scarcely had he enjoyed any afternoon half as much. He had allowed himself to openly have fun in a public setting and relaxed some of his emotional guardedness … all because of this quirky, incomparable woman. Elizabeth Bennet, you might not live up to my unreasonably high standards, and you are definitely not the sort of woman I thought I wanted, but my expectation of perfection has thus far resulted in disappointment. I never thought I would find such a paragon in one so lively and lovely. But perhaps …

Their sisters waved to them from across the way, and it was fairly obvious Georgiana and Anna wished to be rescued from Miss Bingley’s peckish attention. Darcy and Elizabeth reluctantly joined their siblings and the other two young women. The expanded group wandered the gallery together, admiring or criticizing everything they saw, and some of the party even looked at the paintings on the walls. Miss Bingley ignored the works of art and especially turned a blind eye to the Bennet sisters. When she did condescend to speak, it was merely to insult or offend them. Although the Darcy siblings took great interest in the exhibit, they were preoccupied with attempts to diffuse Caroline’s snide jibes and bitter barbs ruthlessly aimed directly at Elizabeth.

Inwardly, Caroline Bingley seethed with curiosity, jealousy, and pique. Who are these countrified Bennet hoydens who scamper off to Pemberley, visit a servant, and end up consorting with Darcy and his sisters? He certainly seems to look in the direction of the dark-haired dairymaid a great deal, and Miss Eliza is obviously using her ample armoury of arts and allurements to draw him in. How despicable for a woman to be such a flagrant social-climbing fortune hunter.

Jane Bennet paid scant attention to either the displays of art or bad manners. She was far too busy stealing glimpses of and glances at the attractive, self-assured man across the room. Where in the world have I encountered him before? I am positive we are somehow and somewhat acquainted, yet I cannot recall where … Oh! Jane suddenly coloured and immediately wondered whether her sister’s perfect recall might be hereditary because an unforgettable image insistently clung and would not relent. It was at Pemberley. On the lawn. I met him that sultry and steamy hot summer afternoon.

Darcy was in no humour to give much consequence to anyone or anything other than the beautiful brunette Bennet by his side. He was quite distracted by her proximity, by an infernal internal impulse, and by protecting Miss Elizabeth from Caroline Bingley’s snotty snootiness.

Elizabeth’s attention was equally divided between the beautiful works of art on the walls and the statuesque one walking beside her. She took advantage of an opportunity to gaze up at him as she said, “Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy, that artists are colourful people who draw on their emotions and pigments of their imagination?” She was a smidgen disappointed when the gentleman merely nodded and agreed with the comment, apparently deep in thought and unaware of her wordplay.