Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

"I had imagined that you might at least speak to the lady, Darcy," Fitzwilliam said to him. "Saye, should we lay a bet on how long it might take for our cousin to part his lips?"

"I might have spoken more, were you not insistent on occupying the space next to her at every turn," Darcy retorted.

"I would not have you make it so easy for me to win this thing," Fitzwilliam said. "Try to exert yourself just a little, hm?"

Darcy removed his pocket watch from his waistcoat and noted it was not yet noon. "How many more times might I expect to hear these taunts about my silence? This marks thrice in under twelve hours."

"Leave off, Richard," Saye spoke up from his position lolling on the chaise longue. "I am feeling vexed by you and can only imagine that Darcy finds you equally tiresome."

"Speaking of tiresome people, I have it on good authority that all of the regiment will soon be removing to Brighton, but as of now, some men remain…including our friend." Fitzwilliam gave Darcy a significant look.

"I heard some of the young ladies speaking of him at the party," Darcy replied grimly. "Still just as popular as ever."

"I do not doubt it. Nor do I doubt that he will be in attendance at the assembly tonight, giving the ladies one last time to admire him in his regimentals." Fitzwilliam took a drink of coffee. "I do not intend to let it dissuade me, but I should understand—as would Miss Elizabeth Bennet—why you perhaps might not wish to be in his company."

"Not on your life." Darcy scowled at Fitzwilliam. "I shall be there, depend upon it."

"No need to skewer me with your glare." Fitzwilliam held up a hand. "Only a kindly offer. I know how you loathe the man."

"And you do not?"

"'Course I do, but I tolerate him better."

"I can tolerate him well enough," Darcy replied shortly. "I should nearly guarantee that he will remove himself once he sees the pair of us enter."

It was to Darcy's good fortune that he laid no bet on that prediction. Evidently George Wickham considered the inducement of so many pretty young ladies—who fawned over him as if he were leaving for the continent, not the pleasures of training by the seaside—far more powerful than the appearance of two men who wished to flog him.

Wickham, naturally, would not dare approach either Darcy or his cousin. Instead, he made a great show of being unperturbed by them. He was careful not to dance when the colonel did—that might have brought with it some unwelcome and unavoidable intercourse between them—but rather spent his time in a corner making love to whosoever found her way into his web.

Elizabeth, alas, did not appear to be immune to the blackguard's charms. She did not approach him but neither did she avoid him. She stood back, watching him as he talked and laughed on one edge of the ballroom.

Perhaps she is awaiting the moment that she might get him alone. No need to worry about Fitzwilliam, then, for it seems her mind is still on Wickham. Why does she persist in looking at him?

Darcy supposed she must not wish to compete with the other young simpletons who danced attendance upon George Wickham. A flush of disbelieving irritation heated his back and made his neck itch as he watched her surreptitiously watching Wickham.

She does love him. Knowing the truth of his character has not dimmed her admiration .

He had not truly believed it, not even when he wrote it in his letter, but if she could be thus entranced, despite all she now knew of the wretch, then it must be love. Nausea rose within his gut, and he had to look away.

When he returned his eyes to her, Elizabeth had moved position, slowly walking round a column. Darcy did likewise, keeping her within his sights. Deuce! She had moved to have an improved view of Wickham, and judging from the way she pressed her lips together and knitted her brow, she was not best pleased. Was she jealous?

At least it is not Fitzwilliam.

Darcy cast a look over towards where his cousin stood, also amid a gaggle of silly young things, enjoying himself immensely. At least if he lost Elizabeth to Fitzwilliam, he would know her life would be enjoyable. But no, she would surrender herself to the misery of marriage to a libertine. He shook his head, his vexation stoking itself into fury at her stupidity.

Wickham asked some young lady to dance and led her away; suddenly Elizabeth turned and was walking directly towards him. Before Darcy could stop himself, he stepped in front of her, arresting her progress.

"Mr Darcy!" She curtseyed but he, rudely, did not bow, choosing instead to loom over her.

"Did you even read my letter?"

"What?" She drew away from him, eyes wide. "R-read your letter?"

"The letter I gave you in the grove at Rosings." He stepped closer. "Wherein I laid everything out before you, everything about him ."

She edged away from him, seeming alarmed. "Mr Wickham?"

"Yes, George Wickham!"

"Of course I read it," she said, sounding affronted.

"Then how is it that he still manages to capture your fascination? I thought you cleverer than to imagine a handsome face could prevail over ugliness of character. Did you think I was lying? My cousin is directly over there"—he stabbed his finger in Fitzwilliam's general direction—"should you want to consult him, as I said you could in my letter. He will confirm every particular."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Elizabeth took a deep breath. Her tone was even when she said, "I do not require verification, Mr Darcy. I believed every syllable of your letter from the first reading."

"Oh? You cannot deny your interest. You have scarcely been able to take your eyes from him."

He had angered her now; her eyes flashed when she looked up at him. "Yes, I am interested—interested in making sure my sister does not fall prey to him."

"Your sister?"

"Lydia." Elizabeth gestured towards one of Wickham's remaining coterie. " She takes an eager interest in him, and I am determined to keep her from harm. It was her I was watching. Not him." She flicked a cool glance towards Darcy.

Fury seeped away alarmingly quickly, to be replaced by abashed stupidity. "Oh."

They stood together in strained silence while the rest of the party laughed and cavorted about them. The musicians played some Scottish reel that had everyone else dancing about merrily. Darcy thought his spirits could not have been a greater contrast to it.

"I read your letter, sir," she said at length. "And certainly did not disbelieve you. I could not imagine you telling me such…about your own…in any case, I had no doubts as to the truth of it. Yet I did not think it my right to share it with any of my acquaintance, not even my own father, though I cannot help but think that if Mr Wickham's true character was known, he would not be received. But for now, he is, and I must resort to vigilance to keep my sisters from a dire fate, particularly as I fear my sister may be permitted to spend the summer in Brighton with the regiment."

Darcy nodded numbly. "Forgive me for suggesting that you?—"

"Were in love with that loathsome cur?" Another coolly resentful glance was directed his way. "Just so we are both in full understanding of the matter, I was not ever in love with Mr Wickham. Not before I knew his true character, and certainly not now. My education was disinterested, it is true, but I do still flatter myself that I am not an idiot. Excuse me, please."

She turned on her heel and very nearly collided with Fitzwilliam, who had approached them unnoticed. Needless to say, he was not backwards to any scene or situation that resulted in Elizabeth Bennet nearly landing in his embrace. "Ho, Miss Elizabeth! Steady on!"

"Forgive me, Colonel," she said, sounding subdued. Fitzwilliam glanced over her head at Darcy in query, but Darcy only looked away.

Recovering nicely into bonhomie and bluster, Fitzwilliam exclaimed, "I began to think you were hiding from me!"

"Hiding from you?" She tilted her head up at him. "I am in plain sight, sir, and standing next to your own relation. If my intention was to hide, I should have done a poor job of it."

"It must have been my eagerness for our dance that confused me," said Fitzwilliam with a chuckle. Then, to Darcy's dismay, he extended his arm to her. "Shall we?"

Darcy gave his cousin a tight, disappointed smile as Elizabeth took it. Then, with no more than a nod and another ‘excuse me', they were gone to join the dancers.

Almost beyond his own volition, Darcy followed them at a distance, his jaw tight as he observed the easy conversation between them. He had not done well with his little fit of rage. Now here was Fitzwilliam, who had begun without disadvantage, plying her with every charm he had. The dance began and still they chatted amiably as they circled one another, laughing and talking as they went. His chest tightened. Was it all hopeless? It certainly felt that way.