What an interesting change in tactics. “For what, pray tell?”
“I did not insist on escorting you home, and after I nearly caused you grave injury. I feel I now owe you some service in recompense.”
She smoothed the frown from her face. “How ridiculous.”
“Only if you are in want of certain information.”
He disliked being called ridiculous. His posture altered slightly, as if he were suppressing the urge to crowd her against the wall. Eyes tracing broad shoulders down until her gaze rested on his hands, she watched the elegant fingers flex for a moment. She nearly smiled, pleased he was annoyed with her as she with him—it made them even.
“What information, sir?”
Her jaw ached, back clenched in tension. Usually, she only felt this way when in Adelaide’s company. Hunted. As if wit, a sharp tongue, and determination to never allow an enemy to cow her into submission was the only shield against the world.
So why did this man, this near stranger, affect her so?
Mr Williams watched her unblinkingly. “Wickham appeared to enjoy your company. I observed how he looked at you.”
“You did not observe for long. We spent barely a moment in each other’s company after we danced.”
“I am not referring to when you spoke. But after. You did not feel his eyes on you? I thought women possessed certain instincts.”
“What are you implying?”
“Stay away from Wickham, Miss Elizabeth. He is not safe company for a gentlewoman. And certainly not for your younger sisters.”
One breath, two. “What do you know that you are not telling me?” That he knew something, she was for certain. The edge in his tone, the flash of something darker than dislike in blue eyes were the signs of a man well acquainted with an adversary. “What is he guilty of?”
“I have said too much.”
“What you have said, and refuse to say, makes you a gossip offering a useless warning.”
Mr Williams’ expression shut down. The sudden blankness revealed how expressive it had been before.
“If you have any sense, Miss Elizabeth, you will never put yourself in a position to find out.”
Perhaps he had reacted in haste—it happened at least once to everyone, he supposed.
“I fear you must. I am in no mood to dance,” he had told Charles. An understatement. He was in the mood to do murder and for no better reason than when he had finally laid eyes on his mystery woman, she had all but been in the arms of his greatest enemy.
When he had finally captured her gaze, it had speared through him with a venom particular to feminine creatures. Almost as if she perceived he had wronged her.
Darcy suppressed a foul curse, tight-lipped to avoid indulging himself. Bitter, bitter disappointment cut with the edge of a honed blade. Disappointment and something hotter, less. . .pleasant.
Darcy had seen her first, damn Wickham.
After observing Wickham escort Elizabeth to the dance floor, the familiar hatred welled up. Had Wickham spied his scrutiny of her? Darcy had not disguised it as well as he thought if Bingley had remarked on his interest in Elizabeth. Charles and Wickham, two very different sides of the same coin, but both identifying the same unusual leaning.
Towards a woman he was unable to banish from his thoughts, in Wickham’s arms.
Was she innocent, or was she a part of his enemy’s nefarious schemes? Perhaps he had stolen the ring not to force Georgiana into a marriage or for revenge, but to present it to a fiancée of his own.
Wickham had never believed in the tales surrounding the sapphire. Its otherworldly properties only activated when on the hand of a Darcy bride of Pemberley; on the bride of any other man it would simply be an expensive jewel.
It would be impossible to sell it on the black market, it was too distinctive. But if by some chance he slid it onto the finger of a bride and it stayed there, not to be separated until her death, then it was lost to Pemberley at least for the life of that bride. Once accepted, it could never be removed.
That was the crux, was it not? Wickham was not simply a former family retainer. He was, on the distaff side, a distant blood relation. There was some small chance the ring would recognise him.
The vision of the sapphire on Elizabeth’s elegant, well-made ring finger rose in his mind. She kept her nails short, he had noticed—a practical woman or at least not a vain one.
“What do you think of her?” Charles asked, having emerged from the crowd to join Darcy in this corner.
“I cannot tell if she is in league with Wickham or not.”
Once Darcy had realised she’d overheard his words, he had had to quickly make amends. It would be impossible to pick her mind for information if she disliked him for a perceived offense. His plan was to get her alone as soon as he’d seen her leave Wickham’s company. His own desire to warn her off the miscreant—that had surprised him, though.
Once her wide, dark gaze latched onto his face, the haughty slant of slender shoulders and the subtle clenching of her jaw all indicating a woman ready to do battle, he had desired to answer the silent gauntlet. No woman had presented such a challenge in. . .ever.
Was she a woman strong enough to match his true self? His eyes never left her straight back as she wove through the crowd, the crown of her raven hair no less glossy though she wore it severely for a gentlewoman attending a social gathering.
“Ah. . . .” Charles looked at him sideways. “Why would Miss Bennet be in league with Wickham? She is the sweetest creature I have ever beheld.”
Darcy glanced at his friend. The man was lost, and so quickly. “Are you certain of this woman, Charles? You have only just met her.”
“I have. But I do not exaggerate when I say she possesses the most soothing manner. Her voice is music, and I do not think I have enjoyed conversation this much in a long while. There is not a combative bone in her body.”
“Don’t fall in love with a woman simply because she is nothing like Caroline.”
Charles clapped him on the back, grinning. “There are worse reasons to fall in love, old son.”
True.
“What do you know of her family?”
“Little, other than she came with her stepmother and her sisters. But she is of gentle birth. Come! There is time for all the formalities.”
An idea stirred. “You should call on her tomorrow.” He needed to see Miss Elizabeth again without looking as if he had arranged the meeting.
“That is a capital idea. You don’t think it would be too forward?”
“You are rich and single. Her family would be beside itself, I should think.”
“True, true, though I am certain Miss Bennet does not think like that.”
Darcy was certain Miss Bennet did, though he did not fault her. It was the natural desire, and duty, of every woman to wed as well as possible.
“You should not disdain her even if she does, if she is a good woman. Women must wed.”
“I noticed you spoke with Miss Elizabeth.”
“You notice quite a bit.”
Charles beamed. “I have an idea! Why don’t you come with me? That way whatever disagreement you had with Miss Elizabeth, you may take the opportunity to mend it. I hope for us all to be friends.”
“I agree. That is a sensible idea.”
“Then we shall call on the morrow.” Charles frowned. “Perhaps I should go and ensure the family will be home and accepting callers.”
There was something charming about Charles’ naiveté. Darcy was positive that even if the family was not planning on being home once they learned Bingley desired to call they would change their plans. So far, no hint of Darcy‘s true identity had been discovered, so at least he did not have to worry about husband-hunting mothers for the time being. He had told Georgiana he was coming to Hertfordshire to find a bride, which meant at some point he would have to go through the bare motions to avoid making a liar of himself.
He searched the crowd for Elizabeth an
d her arresting eyes. If she was not in league with Wickham, then she was an innocent.
Chapter Eight
“Do you think I misread him, Lizzy?” Jane asked.
She’d been brushing her hair ten minutes longer than normal now. Elizabeth rose from her seat and crossed the small room, taking the brush from Jane’s hand and setting it down.
“That man has not a subtle bone in his body. He will call.” She made short work of styling Jane’s hair. “Now, something pretty, but not too pretty. We don’t want him to think you are trying too hard. The pale blue ribbons, I think.”
Jane sighed. “Here we are like two girls Mary’s age, plotting to secure a husband.”
“Age has nothing to do with it. Women will always plot to capture an ideal man. If Bingley had a twin, I might be tempted myself.”
Jane turned, looking up at Elizabeth. “You do like him, don’t you? And not just because he is rich?”
“I do like him, indeed. He seems to be a kind man and one with a sense of humour. Those are two of the best traits in a husband. Plus, he had the absolute good taste to single you out in a room full of ladies.”
“You had something to do with that, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth laughed at the dry note in Jane’s tone and waved a hand. “A little something. But I am no witch. If he had not liked you our plans would have ended there.”
“Do not speak of witches.” Jane shivered. “Remember when Mr Lawson was caught with a love potion?”
“There has not been a hearth witch in these parts for decades. If he loves you, it is all him, and no befuddlement involved.”
They left the room and went downstairs to join the family at the table, their stepmother aiming a dagger sharp look at Elizabeth and Jane as soon as they entered. The ride home in the carriage the previous evening had been a cold one.
Kitty walked into the breakfast room yawning. “I am so exhausted. I danced all night, I was not allowed to sit out a single set.”
Lydia walked around her and took a seat, reaching for a platter of rolls. “Really? I didn’t notice you during several of my sets, but the officers insisted I dance twice with each of them.”
Kitty inhaled. “Well, I—”
“Please,” Mary said, giving them both contemptuous looks. “I would rather my breakfast not curdle in my stomach.”
Adelaide waited until everyone was seated and eating before turning to Jane. “I noticed you danced several times with Mr Bingley, Jane.”
Jane blushed, though her expression remained serene. “He was very kind.”
“It was a little selfish, dear. How are we to bring your sisters to his attention if you monopolise his time?” Adelaide laughed lightly. “After all, I am certain you realise you could never be his bride. You are far too old, and ill besides. You would die in childbed. I only have your best interest at heart. Dear Jane.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t be silly, stepmother. Jane is in perfect health. I heard Mr Bingley remark on her lovely glow myself last night. He had eyes only for her.” Smiling at Adelaide, her fingers clutched the stem of her fork. She almost mentioned that they expected Bingley to call today but slammed the words back behind her teeth. She would give Adelaide no opportunity to derail the visit.
“I noticed how flushed your cheeks looked, Jane,” stepmother replied in a light tone. “I think I shall forbid you the next three assemblies to ensure you have time to recover your strength.”
“You cannot do that.” Elizabeth’s jaw ached from tension. “Jane is not a child to be forbidden—”
“I will speak to Mr Collins about it. I am certain he will agree her health comes before frivolity.” Stepmother smiled. “Of course, if you choose not to follow the rules of the master of this house you are always free to leave. You are, as you said, not children.”
“You—”
“Thank you for your concern, Stepmother,” Jane interjected. “You are so kind to look after my health.”
One day Elizabeth wanted to learn that trick, the skill with which Jane deftly made ridiculous words sound sincere. Glancing at Adelaide, she saw from the glitter in the woman’s eyes that it drove her insane as well. Jane rebuffed every single attack simply by being sweet, yielding, and so utterly good no one could find fault with her without looking the monster.
“Did you hear anything about the ball Mr Bingley is giving?” Lydia asked, blithely continuing her meal. “No invitations have been sent, but I have it on good authority it is all but set.”
Adelaide looked at her daughter. “A ball? What a fabulous opportunity for you girls. We will have to make the most of it.” Her lips pursed. “There are sure to be some very grand gentlemen. Perhaps we shall see about stretching our budget for new dresses.”
Kitty clapped her hands just like a young girl and she and Lydia launched into a discussion on the latest fashions from London.
“A ball would be very grand, indeed,” Elizabeth said and avoided Adelaide’s gaze so her stepmother would not see the plans even now whirling through her mind.
“Do you believe she will allow me to attend the ball?” Jane asked.
They had retired to the drawing room, Jane to mend dresses and Elizabeth to work on the embroidered handkerchiefs she sold in a shop at town through an intermediary. The pin money they brought was small, but every bit was set aside for the day when Elizabeth could finally escape Longbourn.
She stared down at the handkerchief in her hand. She blinked fiercely as the stitches blurred. Escape Longbourn, her home. Would she ever have a true home again? Looking up, she glanced at Jane. Home was where her sister was, safe and happy. So long as Jane wed a good man, Elizabeth would always have a home even if her visits were temporary.
“She cannot forbid you,” Elizabeth said.
Jane sighed. “You always say that, but the reality of our situation is much different. We must be obedient or be homeless.” Jane rose as the thud of horse hooves warned them and moved to the window. “Lizzy, I think he is here.”
Elizabeth joined her, assessing the quality of horses and carriage and turning away. “Quick, sit in the corner. It will give you some small privacy to speak if you keep your voices low.”
“Stepmother would never allow it.”
“She will have to or look like an interfering biddy. We are grown women, Jane—do not worry so much about Adelaide. Just think about Bingley and your very possible future.”
A future she could almost taste, like the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Elizabeth realised she was chewing on her bottom lip and calmed herself. How Jane managed to maintain her ever-present semblance of serenity, Elizabeth did not know. Perhaps because she, unlike Elizabeth, accepted that whatever came their way in life for good or ill, all they could do was their best.
Elizabeth would fight, claw, deny—but she would always refuse to settle without a battle.
Adelaide’s airy voice and the excited tinkling of the younger women preceded them before the drawing room door opened with a hair more force than normal.
“Jane, my dear!” Stepmother exclaimed, sweeping into the room. “We have a most unexpected, but welcome, caller.”
“It is gentlemen, Jane,” Lydia said, darting into the room and draping herself over the couch, stuffing Jane and Elizabeth’s handicrafts behind a pillow. She was too old to behave like a girl of fifteen—but Elizabeth made a mental note to thank her younger sister for quick thinking. She should have thought to tidy up herself.
Elizabeth stood behind Jane’s right shoulder as Mr Bingley walked in.
Followed by Mr Williams.
She stared. She must have turned from the window before seeing the carriage open, already knowing who was inside.
“Mr Williams,” she said as Jane greeted Bingley and curtsied, saying nothing else as the gentlemen further entered the room.
“We were driving through and thought we might stop and say hello,” Bingley said. “It was such a diverting evening last night.”
“Oh, yes!”
Jane agreed. “My sisters and I were exceedingly entertained. So pleasant to converse with one’s neighbours—and new neighbours as well, of course.” Pink tinged Jane’s cheeks.
“Jane, why don’t you offer Mr Bingley a seat,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll ring for tea. It is just the right hour for it. Will you join us, Mr Bingley? Mr Williams?”
Mr Williams bowed again, silent, while Bingley exclaimed his enthusiastic agreement. Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes, pleased that his attention was all for Jane.
Despite Adelaide’s attempts to divert Mr Bingley’s conversation from Jane, Elizabeth managed to manoeuvre tea so that the couple were sitting in the corner and Adelaide was confined to the couch with Lydia and Kitty.
Mr Williams sat nearby, spine aligned with the back of his chair as if it were a throne.
He took a sip of tea to be polite, she supposed, then set it down on a side table, refusing an offer of a teacake. Elizabeth suppressed her smile. Doubtless he did not want crumbs on his immaculate black attire. She had never seen a gentleman wear so much unrelieved black during the day. Even his cravat was black—it must be a fashion peculiarity of wherever he came from.
“Do you prefer wine, Mr Williams?” She could not help herself but to needle him just a little.
He held her gaze and spoke quietly. “I mostly prefer my tea taken in the woods.”
Elizabeth refused to react to his words. What did he mean, darn the man?
Adelaide glanced between them. “The woods, Mr Williams? How singular.”
Elizabeth watched her stepmother’s attempt to interest him in conversation for several minutes, suppressing a wince at the liberal littering of allusions to Kitty’s unwed status in responses to his short replies.
“Will you be staying with Mr Bingley long, Mr Williams?” Adelaide asked.
“Not long,” was his noncommittal reply. “I have other duties.”
“That is a shame,” she purred, leaning forward. She had managed to finagle, through verbal acrobatics, that he was no tradesman or tradesman’s son. Despite the lack of title, the quality of his clothing and elegance of demeanour meant he had to have an income. “My daughters and I do so love to dance. And now that we are women all alone in the world, we have few pleasures to fill our dreary hours. Especially I, a world weary mother of so many daughters.”
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