“I think I will sit,” Jane said.
Let her sit. Elizabeth would find Bingley and drag him to her sister and make them talk. The man’s infraction had not been so severe to warrant Jane’s stubbornness—or the loss of an advantageous marriage. Time and her father’s death had taught Elizabeth the value of a certain level of pragmatism. They could not subsist on their stepmother and Collins’ goodwill forever.
Elizabeth weaved through clusters of people. Her aunt’s rooms were well appointed but not suited to so large a party with the addition of the regiment.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She turned and curtsied. “Mr Williams.”
“I have not seen you since your visit to Netherfield.” His eyes held a message different from the tone of his cool words.
“No. Mr Bingley called twice, but my sister was not well enough to receive him, nor to return the call.” How could she not recall the touch of his lips on hers, so gentle, a restraint so finely honed it spoke to strength honed over years?
“I hope she has recovered.”
“She is still recovering, alas, but I believe she will be herself soon.” And she, Elizabeth Bennet, must remain fully in charge of herself as well. Must not allow her feelings to produce imaginings of things that could never be. No matter how deep a blue his eyes.
“I am gratified to hear it. Bingley has been distressed by her illness.”
“No more distressed than I.”
His head tilted, voice lowering to a murmur, as if so soft a tone could truly cloak the steel of determination beneath. “Perhaps when he calls again, I will accompany him.”
Her social smile froze. What did he want from her? Did he toy with her for amusement or for some other reason?
“Is that wise, Mr Williams?” She glanced away, lips feeling suddenly dry, then forced herself to meet his gaze again. “Is it possible?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “What is possible is often easier than what is wise. Is it unwise?” He shrugged, eyes glinting. “For once, I do not care. If there is any time I may be forgiven for a lapse in wisdom, this is it. If you will allow it.”
A passing couple glanced at them, huffed, and walked around. They stood in the flow of traffic, forcing others to break around them like waves around a rock.
“I am certain my stepmother would welcome you, sir.”
“And you, Miss Elizabeth? Would you welcome me?”
She could give into trepidation and uncertainty now and end this. . .whatever this was. Or she could stop pretending what was between them did not exist and allow it to come to fruition, for good or ill.
“You are always welcome at Longbourn, Mr Williams. I believe our mutual problem will be present tonight.”
His expression shifted. He held out his arm, and she took it, and they began to tour the room, voices pitched low. “Do nothing until I give the signal.”
“Yes, I understand.” At the signal, she would engage Wickham’s attention and Darcy would slip away unnoticed. “I will give you as much time as I possibly can.”
“He must not leave the gathering, and if he does, you must give warning without being seen.”
“I am capable of holding a man’s attention for an hour or two, Mr Williams.” No matter how distasteful she found the man. She was counting on Wickham finding the novelty of her regard diverting enough to engage him for the needed length of time.
“Yes. I am well aware.”
The meaning in those words sent a thrill through her skin where their arms touched. She stiffened to avoid a shiver of reaction. He affected her far too much.
“I see him,” Darcy said suddenly.
Elizabeth followed his line of sight. “You should leave me now, so I may approach.”
Darcy did not let her go, however, staring towards Wickham with flinty focus. The man glanced around the room, teeth flashing at something his companion said, and his gaze caught, tripped, on Darcy. Wickham inclined his head, glanced at Elizabeth. Darcy drew her closer, posture shifting slightly, as if to protect her from Wickham’s gaze.
“Well, he has seen us,” she said.
“I will stay at your side until he has had a chance to look his fill. If he believes I have an interest in you, he will attempt to gain your attention.”
She sniffed. “Children’s games.”
“No, Miss Elizabeth. He is no child, and neither am I. Be wary, and do not leave the company with him if he should attempt to persuade you to go for a walk.”
“I can take care of myself.”
His arm flexed under her hand. “I respect your capabilities. But you are a woman, and he is capable of considerable ill in the name of vexing me.”
“Either you trust me or you do not.”
“Only a woman would think the matter of trust so simple a one. I can trust in your intelligence and resourcefulness, but also not trust in your prudence.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you calling me reckless?”
They passed Mr Collins, who tried to catch Darcy’s eye. The dismissive glance Darcy gave her cousin was so chilling Collins drew away without interrupting them. She had not given Collins so much credit for discretion.
“You seek to protect your sisters,” Darcy said. “It can make one more bold, more willing to take risks than one otherwise might.”
“You are calling me reckless. Tell me—did your people approve of their prince travelling alone to an unaffiliated territory in order to chase down a personal enemy and steal back a priceless family treasure?”
“That is different.”
“Because you are a man, of course.”
“If a scoundrel attempts to lay hands on me, I will run him through with my sword. What will you do? Kindly ask him to desist?”
Her mouth opened, closed again. There were two choices. She could storm off in high dudgeon at the insult or choose to accept his edge as a man ill expressing his worry over the welfare of a lady.
Storming off in high dudgeon appealed on so many levels. But there were her sisters to think of. This matter with Jane and Bingley to resolve. She sighed.
He looked down at her. “So heavy a sound.”
“I feel as if the weight of all the actions of every member of my family now, and in the future, will crush me.”
“Ah.”
“Why me?” She had not meant to ask that question, but despite the thrill of the chase beginning to heat her blood, reluctance chased her heels. She was tired of worrying about Jane, fussing over her younger sisters. Tired of yearning for freedom, for wealth, for a companion. Just tired.
“Because you are strong enough to bear it. It is the curse of strength.” He paused. “And the privilege. Your help will come, Miss Elizabeth. It might already be in front of your face, if you but look.”
Right now she was looking at George Wickham, who stood over a card table in a small crowd of young adults, his posture relaxed as he leaned over a gentlewoman’s shoulder. She met his eyes and, just to bait the hook, turned towards Darcy, almost clinging to his arm, lifting her chin in a haughty manner.
“He will dangle on your hook,” Darcy murmured. “But he has fangs.” The faintest of breaths hissed through his teeth, though his mouth remained firm. “I should not use you thus.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot back out now. The deal is cast, the oath bound.”
“I am not backing out. So be it. The consequences on my head if ought goes awry.”
His shouldering of responsibility both charmed and aggravated her. The implication that she was a helpless miss in need of protection vexed, but his character in desiring to avoid placing her in harm’s way warmed. Elizabeth could not keep telling herself she was misreading his signals. She was no fool and not one to hide under pretentious false modesty. Prince Darcy desired to know her better, perhaps even court her—she was simply less optimistic than he seemed to be that anything might come of it. Surely when his sister, his courtiers, found out they would object.
Elizabeth
drew away. “The crowd has increased. No one is watching you, this is the time to slip away. Wait until I sit with Wickham at cards, and then go.”
A single tense moment of silence, and then Darcy inclined his head and then left her, disappearing into the crowd.
Such a talent for disappearing, and there was every chance that when this was all over he would be gone and she would not see him again.
Chapter Nineteen
“You have been stalking me, Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said in her ear.
A presence at her back had warned her a moment before he spoke. Elizabeth turned. “Hardly,” she said, keeping her voice cool but not chilly.
She had considered and discarded aping Lydia’s flirtatious manner, but that would only make him suspicious. No, the best course of action was to let him believe she was keeping an eye on his behaviour with her sisters and somehow convince him to think her disapproval was due to jealousy. What man did not love the idea of a woman jealous over him?
“I am simply monitoring my sisters to ensure they do not disgrace themselves with their behaviour tonight. You encourage them, sir.”
“I thought you too preoccupied with Mr Williams to pay any mind to the younger Miss Bennets.”
Ah! Perhaps this would be easier than she had thought. Was Darcy paying attention? Glancing around as if she was only observing the room at large, she found him standing near the entrance between the dining room and the drawing room. Watching. She turned back to Wickham.
“Fortunately, I am not preoccupied.” Elizabeth paused. Time for the first volley. “You pay an inordinate amount of attention to them while neglecting other gentlewomen in the room.”
A thin golden brow inched upwards, then collapsed. “And who am I ignoring, Miss Elizabeth?”
She turned away, presenting him with a shoulder, and looked at Lydia and Kitty. Kitty shrieked, throwing down a card. “They really are silly young women. I would think a soldier far too serious to entertain them.”
“Beggars cannot be choosers, Miss Elizabeth.” His voice deepened. “When serious gentlewomen disdain me their company, what am I to do? I am only a man.”
He was only a slug. The sacrifices she must make for her family. She shifted her body towards him and touched his arm briefly.
“I suppose you enjoy Lydia’s company. Her nature is fiery, like your own.” She shrugged. “I always preferred a more reserved kind of companion, but lately I believe I am changing my mind.”
“The prerogative of women, of course. What has caused this change?”
He was not stupid, no matter how she might like to think him so. “Experience, I suppose. I am finding that the effort of cultivating certain personalities not worth the meager reward.”
“Such personalities enjoy nothing more than the flattery of cultivation. It is a waste of your time, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps. There are few alternatives for amusement at my age.”
“You are not old yet.” He smiled at her, eyes glittering under heavy lids.
Elizabeth scanned the room again. Darcy was gone. “You may be correct, Mr Wickham. I suppose we should join my sisters at their game. It seems so diverting.”
“Let them enjoy themselves. Let you and I get to know each other a little more.”
He cursed himself as a fool.
Darcy observed as Elizabeth captured Wickham’s attention. She was not a flirt or a woman to use her beauty to seduce a man, but like any woman with wit and charm, she knew how to utilise her qualities when she desired to do so.
It only made it clearer that in all their interactions, Elizabeth Bennet had certainly not tried to seduce Darcy’s interest.
Why not? Was he not handsome enough? Did his wealth and status not impress her? Of course not. The qualities he liked in her were the very qualities that now vexed him. It had never occurred to him that he would have to do anything more than subtly indicate his interest to gain her cooperation in a circumspect courtship. Wickham would never have waited on a woman, he would have taken up the hunt.
By his ancestors, was he comparing himself to Wickham and finding Wickham the better man? Proof Elizabeth Bennet was driving him closer to the edge of insanity.
“The look on your face,” Bingley said, joining him in his corner.
Darcy glanced at his friend. “The look on yours. How goes the reconciliation?”
Bingley sighed. “It goes. She is at least speaking to me again.”
“’Ware the pride of a beautiful woman.”
“The pride, the scorn, all of it. Good Gad, you would think I’d been caught in a brothel.”
“You made eyes at her sister. That is even worse.”
Bingley eyed him sideways. “What is going on between you and Miss Elizabeth? Do not think I haven’t noticed. You practically hover over her whenever you are in her company.”
“We share a mutual dislike of Wickham.”
“Ah. That would do it. What a clever strategy on her part.”
Darcy stiffened. “What are you suggesting?”
Bingley snorted. “I am making a joke. That woman is no more a husband hunter than I am. Still. A clever strategy.”
“Don’t you have the elder sister to woo?”
“Fine, fine, I will leave you in peace. I am off to make eyes at Jane while you brood over her sister. Just a bit of advice, old son. Brooding won’t win the girl. You will need to smile on occasion.”
Darcy glared at him, and Bingley scampered off, laughing, his morose mien brightening for a moment.
It had been perhaps fifteen minutes since Elizabeth had drawn Wickham aside. Now or never. He hesitated, however. Where was she? He hoped she was not foolish enough to entertain Wickham alone. The impropriety of it would not bother her, as focused as she was on attaining her goal of keeping Wickham away from her sisters long enough for Jane and Bingley to wed, thus scandal-proofing her elder sister.
About to slip out of the party and head toward Wickham’s inn, he paused. He would check on her, ensure she had the cad well enough in hand.
A search of several minutes turned up no Elizabeth and no Wickham. Damn it, where could they have gone? Outside, ostensibly for air? His jaw locked. He had instructed that woman to stay in the house where it was safe. They would have words.
He exited the chatter and golden lights for the early evening and heard the startled exclamation of a feminine voice. His head whipped towards the sound. A handful of carriages were lined up along the street. Darcy strode towards the voices.
“An invitation to take some air is not an opportunity for impropriety!” Elizabeth exclaimed, coming from behind a carriage.
Wickham followed her and stopped at the sight of Darcy.
“Mr Williams,” Elizabeth said, voice flat. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Do you require assistance?”
Wickham crossed his arms. “Yes, Miss Elizabeth, do you require assistance?”
Wickham could not see her expression, but Darcy could. If she had a candlestick in her hand, she might have hit the man upside his head.
“Not at all,” she said. “Good evening, Mr Williams.”
A slight emphasis on the words, her eyes narrowing on him. Darcy ignored her, meeting Wickham’s sardonic gaze.
“You will not ruin another decent woman. I will not allow it.” What was he doing? He should have bowed and been on his way. She was not harmed, just discommoded, and they each had a role in executing their plan. But the thought of Wickham attempting to steal a kiss incited fury and sent a skittering of distaste along his skin, derailing his common sense.
Elizabeth’s laughter was as scornful tinkle. “Ruin! How dramatic, Mr Williams. We were merely having a discussion. I do hope you are enjoying my aunt’s gathering.”
“Run along. . .Williams,” Wickham said. “She does not want you yapping at her feet.”
Darcy stared at him. He would not be baited, but how he yearned to connect his fist with that smug jaw. Defending Elizabeth’s honour woul
d give him the perfect cover.
Her dark eyes warned him. About to turn away and salvage what remained of their plan, Darcy froze when Wickham stepped forward, taking Elizabeth’s hand and lifting it to his lips.
“Once he is gone, Miss Elizabeth, I would so much like to continue our conversation regarding the difference between cold personalities and those personalities that burn hot.” Wickham’s tone deepened to a raspy, insinuating rumble.
Darcy strode forward, knocking Wickham’s hand away from hers. “Go inside, Elizabeth.”
It was a mistake. Wickham’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh ho! So we are on a first name basis. Intriguing. But she does not want you, lap dog. Go yap somewhere else.”
“Yes, Mr Williams, please do excuse us.”
If he had any uncertainty about what she wanted him to do, her tone vanquished it. He did not care. “I will escort you back into your aunt’s home.” And he would find another method to distract Wickham long enough to search his room. He would not force Elizabeth to endure such odious company. Darcy was a prince, not a user of innocents.
“Very well,” she said through her teeth. “It is clear you are prepared to cause a scene.”
He smiled at her. “Exactly.”
“Why did you intervene?” Elizabeth hissed at him as they returned to the party. “He will be watching you all night now. You all but waved a red cape in front of his nose.”
His steely expression did not change. “There will be other opportunities.”
“Fool.”
Darcy’s gaze flared, anger at her muttered imprecation obvious. Well, let him be angry. She was angry as well. Not just with his impulsive behaviour or with that cad Wickham, but with the entire affair. Her sisters. Everyone.
“This will be done tonight,” she said. “It is the perfect chance, and I am not wasting all that effort to flirt with Wickham.” Her nose wrinkled.
Darcy caught her arm. “Do nothing, Elizabeth. You will wait on me. This can be salvaged.”
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