Page 46 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
“May I hope for this dance, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Indeed, sir.”
Jane was in easy conversation with the Colonel.
His manner was open, his smiles frequent, and if Elizabeth was any judge, his attention undivided.
The Colonel seemed genuinely absorbed in whatever she was saying, and his smiles appeared entirely unforced—indeed, she had rarely seen a gentleman appear so thoroughly pleased with his situation.
“Fitzwilliam seems quite taken with your sister,” said Bingley, striving for lightness but not entirely concealing the tension in his voice.
“Jane has long had that effect on men of discernment,” Elizabeth replied diplomatically.
When the dance concluded, Elizabeth was not surprised to find the Colonel approaching her with a request for the next set. She accepted with pleasure, for she genuinely valued his conversation and found him far more entertaining company than many gentlemen present.
“I trust you found my sister an agreeable partner, Colonel?” she inquired as they took their places, unable to resist the opportunity for gentle investigation.
“More than agreeable,” he replied with a glance toward Jane. “Miss Bennet is a model of grace and good sense. I begin to understand Bingley’s regard.”
Elizabeth’s gaze drifted toward Miss Mary King, who was encircled by a cluster of eager young officers.
“Miss King appears rather well attended this evening,” the Colonel remarked.
“She is lately become an heiress,” Elizabeth replied. “It has made her extremely fashionable.”
“Ah,” he said, watching the scene with mild interest. “That explains the military manoeuvres.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “I believe they hope to carry her by storm.”
“Then I fear they mistake their objective,” he said. “No prudent commander rushes a fortified position.”
“Indeed,” she said lightly. “And Miss King is not without defences.”
There was something refreshing about conversing with a gentleman who neither sought to impress her with his consequence nor appeared intimidated by her ready tongue.
He seemed as much amused by her barbs as engaged by her opinions.
He neither condescended nor deferred but conversed as though with an equal—a rarity, and not a little gratifying.
“Did you hear?” cried Miss Smithwick, fluttering her fan. “Mr. Darcy is not in attendance. I thought surely he would come.”
Lieutenant Wilkins, leaning against the mantel with studied indifference, gave a low laugh. “He is not. Well, that explains much. He no doubt saw nothing to be gained.” His gaze swept the room with languid satisfaction. Far easier to loose his barbs where the man himself could not contradict them.
Sir William Lucas turned toward him, mildly affronted. “My dear sir, I assure you there is everything to be gained in Meryton society.”
“Oh, I meant no slight to the town, I assure you.” Wilkins smiled. “It is only that Mr. Darcy prefers engagements in which he may dictate the terms.”
He let the words settle, then added, lightly, “He and I have known one another many years. Our acquaintance is not, perhaps, so cordial as it once was.”
“Indeed?” Miss Smithwick leant forward. “But you said you were boyhood friends.”
“One may be friends with a boy and yet suffer deeply at the hands of the man. I was once promised a living, an arrangement of my father’s with the late Mr. Darcy. His son saw fit to withhold it.”
A ripple of sympathy moved through the ladies nearby. Wilkins saw it, noted it, fed it.
“Say what you like,” he continued, “but some men are above reproach simply because of their fortune. But fortune does not breed honour. It breeds entitlement.”
“Surely Mr. Darcy had his reasons,” murmured Miss Cartwright.
Wilkins inclined his head. “Oh, he always has reasons. Clever ones. But I have learned this: the world has a way of settling its accounts. What is taken unjustly cannot be kept forever.”
He turned, catching Miss Lydia Bennet’s eye across the room. His smile widened.
“Even the proudest man may find himself called to answer.”
The Assembly was already well underway when Lieutenant Wilkins appeared at Lydia’s side with that easy elegance she had come to anticipate.
“Miss Lydia,” he said, offering his arm without presumption, “have you promised this set?” She had not and said so with more eagerness than dignity.
He led her to the floor with just the right amount of ceremony, and once the music began, his manner turned conspiratorial.
“I fear I must thank you,” he said as they passed and re-passed.
“Had you not brightened the room with that particular shade of ribbon; I might have missed the company of the most diverting lady present.” Lydia’s smile widened.
“Kitty lent it to me once—then saw how well it suited me and never dared ask for it back.” “Then I am twice grateful—to Miss Kitty for her generosity, and to you for wearing it so uncommonly well.” They turned again.
His tone was mild, amused—no grand declarations, nothing that could quite be called forward.
But his eyes lingered where they ought not, their expression calculating beneath the warmth.
Lydia giggled and pressed closer than the dance strictly required. “La! Kitty was quite cross about lending it, but I knew it would look ever so much better on me.”
“Your sister’s loss is decidedly my gain.” The lieutenant guided her through the next figure, noting how easily she preened under attention, how readily she forgot propriety when flattered. “Though I own, Miss Lydia, you would ornament even the plainest costume.”
“Mr. Wilkins!” She swatted his arm with her fan, delighted. “You say such things!”
“I merely observe what others must surely see.” He lowered his voice as though sharing a confidence. “You quite eclipse every other lady present. It’s positively unfair to them.”
Lydia’s eyes sparkled with triumph. Here was a man who properly appreciated her, unlike those tedious gentlemen who paid court to her older sisters. “I suppose I do look rather well to-night.”
“Rather well?” he affected shock. “My dear Miss Lydia, you wound me with such understatement. But perhaps…” he paused artfully, “perhaps you prefer to be admired from afar, like your elder sisters?”
“Oh no!” Lydia protested immediately. “I think all that propriety and distance quite tiresome. Jane and Lizzy are forever going on about decorum. As if one cannot have a bit of fun!”
“My sentiments precisely.” His smile sharpened, though she was too pleased to notice. “Youth should be enjoyed, not constrained by tedious rules. You understand that better than most.”
“Indeed, I do! Though Papa says I am too young for—” She broke off, colouring slightly.
“Too young?” Mr. Wilkins’ expression was all sympathetic understanding. “How trying it must be to have such spirit and be so confined. But surely a lady of your… obvious maturity… might make her own decisions?”
Lydia straightened, delighted to be thought mature. “That’s exactly what I tell them! I am sixteen, quite old enough to know my own mind.”
“Sixteen and already breaking hearts, I would wager.” The music drew to a close, but he retained her hand a moment longer than necessary. “I hope I might claim another dance. Though I fear your other admirers will protest my monopolising you.”
“Oh yes!” Lydia agreed eagerly, already forgetting she had promised the next to someone else. “And there are no other admirers worth considering, I assure you.”
He offered a steadying hand and leant much closer, his voice lowered.
“I had not thought Hertfordshire so rich in charm. But perhaps the season favours surprise.” Lydia laughed, cheeks flushed from exertion and something else.
He said no more, only offered his arm once again and escorted her neatly back to her seat.
“You dance very well,” she said, unable to help herself from trying to retain his attention.
. His smile deepened—just a little. “I am sure I improve with the right partner.” Wilkins retained her hand, drawing her toward the edge of the ballroom.
“It grows rather warm in here, does it not? All these candles and pressed bodies.”
“Dreadfully warm!” Lydia agreed, fanning herself vigorously.
“I noticed the doors to the balcony are open. The air would be refreshing, and…” he leant in, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur, “I have something particular to tell you. Something not for general ears.”
Lydia’s eyes widened with delicious scandal. “What is it?”
“Come,” he began guiding her toward the French doors, his hand at her elbow. “Just a moment’s fresh air, and I’ll tell you everything. Though you must promise to keep it secret—I would not want to damage a reputation unnecessarily.”
“Oh, I promise!” Lydia moved eagerly toward the balcony. “Is it about Mr. Darcy? I knew there was something havey-cavey about him!”
Wilkins’s smile grew predatory as they neared the doors. The balcony was dark, intimate, precisely the sort of place where a young girl might be thoroughly compromised. “Indeed, it concerns Mr. Darcy most particularly. But we must be quite private—”
“Lydia!” Mary’s sharp voice cut through the music. “What are you doing?”
Lydia turned with obvious frustration. “Go away, Mary! Mr. Wilkins was just telling me something particular.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed as she took in Wilkins’s proximity to her sister and the direction they had been heading in.
“I am certain any intelligence can be shared in the ballroom.” She moved between them and the French doors.
“Or perhaps not at all. Lydia, you promised the next dance to Mr. Chambers. He is looking for you.”
“Oh, bother Mr. Chambers! He is such a bore—”
“Nevertheless, you gave your word.” Mary’s gaze fixed on Wilkins with unmistakable suspicion. “And I hardly think the balcony an appropriate place for private conferences, Mr. Wilkins. Surely a gentleman would know better.”