Page 17

E lizabeth counted the chimes from the clock in the entrance hall as it marked the hour.

Midnight.

She breathed a sigh of relief. They would be going home soon. In fact, several neighbours had already started on their way to their houses.

There was only one set of dances left, and they would begin soon.

“Are you engaged for this set?”

Elizabeth turned from her observation of the night sky through the window at the far end of Netherfield’s ballroom, to find Mr. Wickham looking hopefully expectant of a favorable reply.

Until now, she had successfully managed to avoid him.

It had taken some effort to do, but alas, her distraction in counting down the hour and the weariness of her feet and body had been her undoing.

“I am not, but I had hoped to watch the last rounds of cards be played.”

And dancing with him was not an activity which held any hope of swaying her from doing as she wished.

“A beautiful lady such as yourself should not sit out a dance. Do you often find yourself without a partner? For I simply cannot imagine that being true.” He stepped closer to her, as if he were a familiar acquaintance rather than what he was – a person of only new and short association.

Elizabeth wanted to take a step away from him, but she refrained from showing her dislike of the man by holding her ground. “On occasion, we all find ourselves without partners.”

“Will you be mine for the final set of the night?”

“I would prefer not to be.” She smiled as she said it so that it would not sound as harsh as it could. “Do not think that my last set has not been claimed because I was hoping for someone to ask me. I assure you that I grow weary of dancing.”

“Are you certain that you will not be prevailed upon to change your mind?” One eyebrow arched over what she assumed he thought was a teasing and charming expression. And perhaps it was, if one did not know Mr. Wickham’s true character.

“I am afraid that I am most resolved on this matter,” she replied.

His eyes swept her from head to toe and back.

“Such a pity. I had hoped to discover what sort of lady finally snared Old Dour and Dutiful Darcy.” He extended his arm to her.

“Will you at least allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the card room? It is a small consolation for the disappointment of not being allowed the privilege of dancing with you.”

With a silent sigh, Elizabeth rested her hand lightly on his arm.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “How did you do it? How did you snare my old friend? I assure you that there will be many a lady who will want to know your secret so that they can be as successful as you have been.”

Old friend, indeed! Former friend was more like it, and that, coupled with the insinuation that she had somehow schemed her way into Mr. Darcy’s heart, set her teeth on edge.

However, for the sake of not causing a scene in the final moments of an otherwise enjoyable evening, she swallowed her annoyance and answered as lightly as she could.

“I believe you must ask Mr. Darcy, for I am certain I cannot tell you what was in his mind or how his heart became engaged.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you used no allurements?” His tone was one of utter disbelief. “There was no scheming to sit near him? No fluttering of lashes? No ducking your head demurely and peeking up at him?”

The comment and image it conjured drew a completely natural laugh from Elizabeth. Her, trying to behave like Lydia to capture Mr. Darcy’s attention? It was ridiculous, and anyone who knew her knew that such behaviour was as far from her character as being serious and a lover of books was to Lydia.

“Oh, dear, no!” she cried. “I am not a flirt, Mr. Wickham, and it never even entered my mind to capture Mr. Darcy. Indeed, I was surprised by his petition to call on me.”

“Is that so?”

“Upon my word, it is.”

“Huh.” He sounded absolutely befuddled. “Well…” He seemed almost lost for words. “Then, I suppose that is where the others have gone wrong. They have appeared eager to gain Old Dour and Dutiful’s attention. Perhaps they should have ignored him?”

“Again, Mr. Wickham, I do not know the answer to that. You will have to ask Mr. Darcy, and I would appreciate it very much if you would refrain from your familiar and rather unbecoming name for him while you are talking to me.”

“My apologies. I meant no disrespect,” he assured her.

“Did you not?” She highly doubted that.

“We are, as you have likely noticed, not the closest of friends,” he said, “but that is a recent thing due in part to his father favouring me enough to include me in his will.”

“So I have heard.” They had reached the card room three exchanges ago, and though she no longer held his arm, she had not stepped away from him since it seemed their conversation was not at an end.

“Has he told you all?” The pleasantness of Mr. Wickham’s tone faltered.

Elizabeth smiled and allowed her lashes to flutter. “I would need to know what you meant by all in order to answer that question, would I not?”

His countenance fell from lively to irritated. “And that is not something," he said, "which I can share with you, so your tactics to extort secrets from me will not work.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I am not attempting to extort secrets. I am being logical and, in truth, refraining from trying to discover things I do not know. You see, Mr. Wickham, if I say that Mr. Darcy has told me all, meaning all that you know of the relationship between you and his family, but then, you divulge some bit of a story that I have not heard and am not supposed to know, what will be the result of that? I may, in turn, ask about the veracity of your comments, and how will Mr. Darcy or his cousin respond? Would that put me in a precarious position? Or you? Perhaps both.”

His lips tipped into a crooked and somewhat calculating smile.

“Ah. I see what it is that snared Old... Darcy,” he corrected when her left eyebrow arched.

“The man has always been a fool for a pretty lady with a clever mind. Not that you find many of those. Most ladies hide their intellect so as to not be labelled a bluestocking.”

“I am not most ladies, Mr. Wickham. I have never been, and I most certainly never shall be. Indeed, for me, the title of bluestocking has always been something for which to strive, not something to shun. It is a fact that has driven my mother to distraction and pleased my father quite well. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to see how my sisters are getting on with their game.” She dipped a curtsey and moved to leave him. However, his hand stayed her.

“Am I to gather then that you trust him?” The question was posed in such a serious fashion that it caught Elizabeth off guard and caused her to blink.

“Do you mean Mr. Darcy?” she asked to clarify about whom Mr. Wickham was speaking.

He gave one nod.

“Then, yes, I do,” she answered.

Mr. Wickham held her gaze. “We all have our secrets. It would do you well to remember that.” And with those final words, he took his leave of her.

A prickle of something disconcerting raced up her arm from where his hand had held it, and she gave it a little shake to get rid of the feeling.

Mr. Darcy was honourable. He was not hiding secrets from her as Mr. Wickham implied.

It was a ploy on Mr. Wickham's part, was it not? Something merely said to cast doubt and place a wedge between her and Mr. Darcy? She blew out a breath. That is all it was. A desperate and unhappy man’s way to cause harm to the one he considered his oppressor.

“Are you... well?” Mary asked cautiously when Elizabeth approached the table where Mary, Kitty, Lydia, and Georgiana were playing Lottery Tickets. A sizeable stack of sweetmeat biscuits stood beside Mary’s left hand.

“Have you won all these?” Elizabeth plucked a biscuit off the top of Mary’s pile. Her sister gasped and covered her pile with her hand that was not holding her cards.

“I have, and I will thank you not to eat my winnings.” She shook her head and huffed as if completely displeased.

“However, since you have had to spend time with,” she leaned forward and whispered, “the cad,” then she sat back up, “I suppose I can part with one piece of gold to calm your nerves.” She chuckled.

Elizabeth looked around the group at the table. Each of them looked excessively amused. “The cad?” Elizabeth whispered.

“Mr. W,” Lydia hissed in answer. “It is the name we have given him. A code, if you will.” She looked excessively pleased with herself. “So… are you well?” Her gaze flicked from Elizabeth to Mary and back. “Not that I know exactly why it was asked, but you have not answered.”

Elizabeth nodded and sat down. “I am tired from dancing, but otherwise I believe I am well.”

“That is good, is it not, Mary?” Lydia asked.

“Quite.”

“But…” Lydia prompted.

Mary sighed. “But nothing.”

“Why did you ask her if she was well? One does not just ask randomly about the state of another’s wellbeing. There must have been something to provoke it.” Lydia glared at Mary.

“Have you been arguing all night? Or have you saved these sorts of exchanges for when I am present?” Elizabeth asked.

“They have argued a few times, but not as much as you might expect,” Kitty answered.

“Is arguing something that happens frequently?” Georgiana asked.

“For me and Mary? Yes,” Lydia answered. “But not without reason. We happen to view the world differently, and we each believe our way of viewing it to be the best.”

That was an excessively accurate way of summarizing the conflict that lay between Lydia and Mary, but it surprised Elizabeth that it had been Lydia who had stated it.

“Now,” Lydia continued, “will you please tell me why you asked Elizabeth if she was well?”

“I would like to know the answer to that myself,” Elizabeth admitted.

“Did you not see her expression when the cad said whatever and took his leave of her?” Mary asked incredulously.

“I was not watching her talk to him,” Lydia admitted. “I saw them enter.” She smiled at someone behind Elizabeth before continuing. “But he is not a gentleman with whom I care to flirt or dance, so I returned to the game.”

A hand rested on Elizabeth’s shoulder, alerting her to Mr. Darcy’s presence a moment before he spoke. “Are you well?”

“That seems to be the question of the hour,” Georgiana answered.

“I saw you with Wickham and –” he stopped short of finishing his thought and looked at his sister. “Was someone else concerned about Miss Elizabeth?” Apparently, his sister’s reply had finally registered. “Should I find Richard?”

“No! I am well, truly.” Elizabeth drew a breath. “What Mary saw in my expression as Mr. Wickham and I parted ways was nothing more than an attempt to reason out what his words meant.”

“ That will most certainly need some explanation, but wait a moment before you begin.” Mr. Darcy stepped away from their table long enough to procure a chair. Then, he sat down next to her. “What did he say?”

“He asked me if I trusted you, and I, of course, said yes. But then, he presented me with what seemed to be a cryptic message by saying that everyone has secrets and I would do well to remember that.” Elizabeth lifted a shoulder and let it fall.

“It was the gravity of his expression and tone which startled me, I think.”

“A bit of well-played artifice,” Mary muttered.

“Oh, indeed!” Elizabeth agreed. “And I will scold myself thoroughly later for even giving it a moment’s pause.”

Mary shook her head. “I think the pause was warranted.”

“You do?” Darcy asked.

“I do.” Mary discarded the cards which were in her hand and picked up a biscuit.

“If there is no reason to distrust Mr. Darcy – and we all agree that there is not – then, my guess is that he is signalling hoped-for trouble – not that I expect he realizes he is doing so. He seems a trifle impulsive to me. Calculatingly so, but still impulsive. As if his ideas are planned but not fully.” She bit into her biscuit.

“That is just my take on him from a bit of observation, so it might be hastily done and far from true.”

“It is a worthy observation,” Darcy said. “And astutely made.”

“I would not say it was astute, for I was aided by stories I have heard about him,” Mary refuted. “It was not terribly difficult to deduce from there.”

“If that is how you wish to think about it.” There was a hint of amusement in Mr. Darcy’s tone. “I will not push you to accept praise that you do not wish to acknowledge. I understand the feeling. As does my sister.”

“I most certainly do understand,” Georgiana agreed.

“I would not deflect praise,” Lydia inserted. “Which just proves once again how different Mary and I are.”

Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth a questioning look.

“That is part of why she and Mary argue,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Ah,” was his only reply. “Will you walk with me before you have to leave?”

Oh, how she wanted to, but... “I told Mr. Wickham that I was too tired to dance and would not like to be thought of as a liar.”

“I will not ask you to dance,” he said as he stood.

“Please?” He held out his hand. The look in his eyes was not demanding at all, and yet, from it, she knew that he would be sorely disappointed if she were to refuse him.

Therefore, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her to her feet.

“We will find a quiet corner in the drawing room,” he whispered as she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “You may rest there, and no one will be able to question your integrity.”

“My feet will be forever grateful, sir.”

“Just your feet?” His tone was teasing.

She shook her head in reply. “The rest of me will be equally as thankful. However, my feet will sigh with delight the most.”

And with a shared laugh, they went in search of that quiet corner in the drawing room.