“Oh, yes, I told Mr Wickham all about my older sisters.”
“One wonders why, of course, but never mind.”
Mr Wickham laughed lightly, eyes half lidded, and touched Lydia’s shoulder. She would have to talk to her sister, again, about becoming too friendly, too quickly, with new gentleman.
“Why, because I asked who the most beautiful women in the room were tonight so I might ask them to dance,” he said, “and Miss Lydia insisted that no one could compare to the eldest Bennet sisters. I could not agree more.”
Lydia beamed up at him. “Is he not charming, Lizzy? And such a dancer. We have danced twice already, and I fear we will create a scandal if I do not release him to you. Go, dance!”
Elizabeth’s mouth turned up halfway in a smile. There were times Lydia absolutely annoyed her, and other times the younger woman’s effusive energy was contagious. “I have not been asked, sister.”
Mr Wickham took Elizabeth’s hand. “I am remiss. Will you dance?”
She agreed to reserve her first dance with him, and she and Jane excused themselves.
Elizabeth did not quite have to drag her sister through the room, but Jane’s steps were a trifle slower than usual. Elizabeth paused to speak to this person and that, judging by the tension in Jane’s body when her sister had relaxed, then subtly began steering them toward the new party.
Bingley, the two women with his colouring but not his pleasant expression, and the two men with him had dispersed throughout the room, though as a group they remained in the same general area.
Elizabeth glanced around, looking for her stepmother, then began to herd Jane again. Before taking two steps, a man stepped in their path.
“Collins,” Elizabeth said, his name sounding like an imprecation even to her own ears.
“Will you honour me with this dance, dear cousin?”
She opened her mouth to blast him then stopped, smiling tightly. They were of a height, which meant he was of middling stature for a man. The fact that he was now nearly as wide as he was tall was likely the reason he was yet unwed though she also placed the blame at Adelaide’s feet. Elizabeth knew the woman would see Collins hanged before he wed a woman who did not bear the name Bennet. For some time now, she had been trying to steer Mary towards Collins, but Mary was having none of it.
“I would be honoured, sir, but I cannot abandon my sister. Perhaps if we were to find her a suitable partner?”
Elizabeth looked squarely at Bingley. Collins glanced that way, expression blank for a long moment. She waited until the thought occurred to him.
“Oh, yes! I know who would be the most agreeable partner for Jane. Did I mention I recently made the acquaintance of Mr Bingley of Netherfield?”
“You did, indeed, at dinner last night.” Collins would have mentioned the dark one if Bingley’s mysterious guest had been present during the call.
“We spoke for some time, as gentlemen ought.” Collins drew himself up. “A pleasant fellow, and I believe he was most happy to have received my invitation to the assembly. I expect an invitation to dine at Netherfield any day now.” Collins paused. “I understand the niceties of high level society, you know, having once been—”
“Yes, yes, Lady Catherine. Very grand. Will you introduce us, cousin? I am so eager to dance.”
She did not gag; her control of her facial expression was far better than that. Collins led them to Bingley, steps deliberate, his air self-important. Elizabeth often wondered what fantasy the little man wove in his mind on a daily basis to make his life bearable. He certainly could not live in the same reality as the rest of them.
“Lizzy, the look in your eyes,” Jane murmured.
Elizabeth adjusted said look, thinking of pleasant things like freedom, money, and a glowing, healthy Jane wed to a rich man. By the time they were in front of Bingley, she was certain she would have fooled anyone who did not know her.
Bingley turned his head, attention skipping Elizabeth and Jane. Her heart began to sink and then his eyes snapped back, alighting on Jane’s face, the stillness of his pose betraying an instant, utter captivation.
Jane inhaled, and a moment of strumming tension stretched in the air between them.
Chapter Six
“Mr Bingley,” Collins was saying. “A delight to see you here. We are all elevated by your presence. And your most elegant sisters. . . .”
Bingley’s face was confused for a moment and then he blinked, clapping Collins on the shoulder. Collins stumbled, righting himself. “Carson, isn’t it? A fine gathering here, very bright.”
“Ah. . .Collins, sir. Master of Longbourn. May I present my cousins, whom I have the honour of cloaking underneath my dignified protection?”
She. Would. Not. Smother him this evening. Elizabeth and Jane curtsied. “Elizabeth Bennet, sir, and my eldest sister, Jane.”
Taking a small step back and slightly behind Jane, she nudged her sister forward. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” Jane said in her soft voice. “We are so happy Netherfield is let at last. It is a beautiful home.”
Bingley stared, then bowed, taking Jane’s hand and raising it to his lips. “Do you know it, Miss Jane?”
Jane smiled at him. “We played there as children. Have you had an opportunity to tour the countryside? You have some of the loveliest views in the county.”
“I wholeheartedly agree I have the loveliest view in the county,” Bingley said, not looking away from Jane, who then blushed. “Miss Bennet, will you dance with me?”
Elizabeth smiled. A flawless beginning.
She would have to run interference once Adelaide saw what was happening. Mentally girding her loins, Elizabeth turned, about to abandon Collins who even now was tugging at her sleeve and ran smack into the broad chest of the demon prince.
She met glacial eyes, the blue of frozen lakes in hell, framed by the barely restrained riot of inky black hair.
“Dar—Williams,” Bingley exclaimed. “Have you met the Bennet sisters?”
So that was his name. How bland. She had never met a man who was so unsuited to his name. Surely this creature was no mere Williams. What had Bingley been about to call him?
He looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I have met this one, though we have not been formally introduced.”
Elizabeth stiffened. His voice was as she remembered. Deep. Sonorous. A man accustomed to command. She recalled the clipped, irritated tones as he so condescendingly offered to see her home, the courtesy obviously grating on his nerves. As if she would accept escort from a man so reluctant to give it and then angry when he was rebuffed.
Well, she had not wanted his escort home any more than he had wanted to be obliged to offer.
She also recalled the quiet, grave tones of a man content with easy conversation and amused at her refusal of an offer of escort.
“Met? But when. . .ah. Ah.” Bingley cleared his throat. “Yes, indeed. May I present Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, this is my dear friend, ah, Mr Williams of Derbyshire.”
“Derbyshire?” Elizabeth met Williams’ gaze. “That explains rather a lot.”
He stiffened, eyes narrowing slightly. “Pardon, Miss Elizabeth?”
She wanted to gnash her teeth. Disappointment welled, sharp and bitter. Why was he treating her so coolly? Never mind. If he desired to forget their sojourn, so be it.
“I imagine one’s autocratic manners are a result of living in a principality rather than—”
“Rather than an ungoverned collection of poorly organised counties?”
Her smile was tight. “I believe you have made my point.”
“About my manners, Miss Elizabeth, or your own?”
“Lizzy,” Jane said, eyes wide.
Elizabeth remembered her purpose, and reined in the natural surge of hostility, sweetening her expression. She curtsied. “Even so, Mr. . .Williams.”
After a slight pause he nodded and Elizabeth had the feeling that he, too, was
suppressing speech.
Collins began speaking as Bingley led Jane away to dance, and Elizabeth took advantage of her cousin’s pomposity to slip away. Glancing over her shoulder, she almost smiled as she saw the blank expression on Mr Williams face, the stillness of broad shoulders. The stillness of a hunted creature, forced to display some modicum of grace while enduring the blathering of a fool.
Wickham sought her out and claimed the first dance. Elizabeth used it as an excuse to keep an eye on Jane, who glowed under the chandeliers, a smile on her face echoed and eclipsed only by Bingley’s. After the set, Mr Wickham escorted Elizabeth to the table for punch.
He handed her a glass, fingers brushing lightly against hers as she accepted it. The touch was accidental, she was certain, but his look was a little long, the heavy lidded stare a bit bold. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. It would not be the first time a man assumed the elder Miss Bennet would be as flirtatious, if not more so, than her younger sister. Especially the kind of gentleman who assumed that since Elizabeth was unwed at her age, she would be more amenable to improprieties.
“How is it a woman of your beauty is yet unwed?” he asked in a light voice.
She looked up into his hazel eyes, his lashes long and thick. He probably knew exactly how to flutter them to elicit the response he desired in a woman. He was handsome, Elizabeth admitted, but as roguish, she sensed, as Mr Williams was autocratic.
“I am poor,” was her mild reply, “and rather too outspoken for a gentleman’s comfort, I am told. Not two traits that lend themselves to matrimony even if one does possess a pretty face.”
Wickham laughed lightly and lifted his glass. “Exceedingly pretty. But surely a woman who possesses a pleasing face and delightful wit has other options?”
She mentally withdrew from the conversation, expression cooling. “I might beg you to elucidate which options those are, but I do not believe I’m interested.” It would not be the first time a man had propositioned her. Though usually not in the middle of a crush and so baldly.
He shrugged, already looking around the room with an air of boredom. “Well, then.”
Elizabeth began to excuse herself, then paused as he stilled, a subtle flinch rung through his body. She turned her head to follow his line of sight. “That is Mr Williams of Derbyshire.”
Wickham stared at him for another moment, then turned away, putting his back fully towards Williams. “Are you acquainted with him?”
“No, indeed. We only met this evening.”
“How pleasant.”
She wondered exactly what relationship was between the two men that Wickham could speak two words and make clear he meant the exact opposite of their meaning. Elizabeth struggled with a second’s worth of curiosity, but recalled she didn’t like Wickham and had too much to worry about as it was, without sticking her nose into the business of two unpleasant men.
Curtsying, she made her excuses and left Wickham to his devices, making a mental note to warn Lydia to stay away from the man. He was beyond her usual level of flirtatiousness. This man would expect Lydia to make good on the promises of fluttering lashes and teasing smiles. If he was not a rogue, Elizabeth would eat her best bonnet.
Some instinct caused her to turn her head towards Mr Williams as she wove through the crowd. She nearly skipped a step. Blue eyes pinned her, his intense scrutiny a ghostly hand around her neck, arresting her attention. Her will was not weak, though, and she had yet to fall prey to witch or wight.
Banishing him from her thoughts and tearing her gaze away, Elizabeth found Jane, eyes as bright as her cheeks were pink. Strands of hair escaped her careful coif almost as if a man had been running his fingers through the locks. Elizabeth smiled. That wasn’t likely, but from the way Bingley continued to give Jane little sidelong looks, he recognised she looked as if she’d spent several minutes in his arms, and not just on the dance floor.
Perfect. For there was only one path open to an honourable man who desired a woman.
“Jane! Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth stiffened at the sing-song, slightly shrill voice that Adelaide had probably meant to sound sweet.
Their stepmother appeared, eyes glittering and teeth bared in a too wide smile. Adelaide pushed a woman aside and leaned forward to kiss Jane on the cheek.
“My dear! You look so flushed. Why, you have dance two sets with Mr Bingley, shame on you for monopolising him! He is such dear, gentlemanly man for indulging you. Kitty—”
Adelaide reached behind her and dragged the girl forward. Elizabeth had not seen Kitty at her mother’s back.
“Mother,” Kitty began. “I was just going to go look for Lydia.”
“Nonsense. Your sister Jane—so frail, so delicate her health I fear for her—requires a long rest. In fact we should escort her home so she can confine herself to her bed again, where she spends most of the hours of her day. Dance with Mr Bingley since we must deprive him of his partner. For your sister.”
Mr Bingley’s forehead creased. “Forgive me, dearest lady,” he said, pressing Jane’s hand. “I am such a fool, I quite get carried away. You do look pale.”
Elizabeth maintained her smile. But when she met Adelaide’s eyes, her stepmother flinched.
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, gentling her tone, “Mr Bingley might take Jane to get a refreshment? I believe I hear Lydia calling for Kitty.”
“Excellent idea,” Bingley said. “Just the thing. If you care for refreshment, Miss Jane?”
“Certainly,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
Chapter Seven
“Dance, Da—Williams!” Charles urged. “I cannot abide you standing in a corner brooding as you always do.”
“I fear you must. I am in no mood to dance.”
“It is a shame. The room is full of handsome women, even for your tastes.”
“Indeed.”
Elizabeth nearly snorted. It was a rare talent to infuse a single word with so much disdain.
“Come, you are allowing your sour mood to ruin the festivities. Ignore that fellow, I must have you dance.”
“He will not be ignored,” was the chilly reply. “Not when he possesses what belongs to my house.”
Charles sighed. “Well, at least consider that your silence would be less remarked upon were you to dance a time or two. There must be at least one woman here who tempts you.”
“Not a one. You have possession of the most lovely woman in the room.”
“Ha. True, true. Miss Bennet is an angel.”
Elizabeth smiled. Even the smugness in his tone was gentle, wholesome. Not the pride of a man having won over a possession to be used, but the pleasure of a man who had discovered something precious. It reinforced her desire to see Jane wed. If Charles Bingley was as good a man as he appeared to be, it would be a perfect match.
“But what about her sister? The second eldest. She is as lovely, and she has the colouring of your house.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. This was the second mention of Mr Williams’ ‘house’, an emphasis on the word that made her think wherever Williams was from, he was of some import. He dressed well, and his manners were that of a man in high society. Who was he?
“And you have been watching her all evening.”
What? Mr Williams had been watching her? Whatever for?
“I am simply interested in the sort of woman who walks the plains alone at night and refuses aid when she may have been injured. A proud, independent woman, I believe.”
“In other words, just the kind of woman you prefer.” A smirk crossed Bingley’s face. “And her beauty does not play into the cause of your scrutiny either, I suppose. I do not blame you. If not for her sister, she would tempt me as well.”
“She danced with Wickham. I am not at all tempted by a woman capable of aligning herself with such a man. It demonstrates a deplorable lack of judgment—or something more sinister. I cannot quite decide.”
Elizabeth’s smile vanished. She inhaled, struggled a moment with the inferno o
f her temper, and then readjusted her expression. How dare he?
“It was just a dance, Williams.” Bingley’s obvious bafflement eased some of her ire.
“I do not understand how he can constantly fool otherwise level-headed women. I suppose they think him handsome.”
Her natural humour reasserted itself. Mr Williams sounded like nothing more than a sulky, petulant little boy.
“Or perhaps she wished to dance, old son. If you want her to yourself, claim her.”
Another point in Bingley’s favour. Williams remained silent. Elizabeth chose that moment to step from her concealment. There was no help for it. She refused to stay put the rest of the evening until Williams left his bit of claimed territory.
When she moved, his head turned. He must have seen the flicker of her gown or the swish of cloth rustle. Elizabeth smiled at him, hoping her eyes looked as stern as his own. Inclining her head, she turned and moved away. Let him realise she had overheard each unmannerly word. Perhaps in the future he would think twice when talking about a lady in a public forum. He had not even attempted to lower his voice when accusing her of—what exactly had he been accusing her of?
“It was not my intent to cause offense.”
Elizabeth stiffened, then turned to confront him. “I am not offended by any man’s opinion.”
Mr Williams paused as if assessing whether she told the truth. “My comments were ungallant. My ire is not directed at you, but rather your dancing partner.”
“I am uninterested in explanations, Mr Williams. Your opinion is your own, and you are more than entitled to it.”
She curtsied and moved away, but he reached out, grasping her wrist.
“Why him?”
Temper sparked from his effrontery in questioning her actions. “I dance with whom I please.”
“And did it please you to dance with George Wickham?” So silky, that voice.
“Whether I was pleased is none of your concern.”
“No, perhaps not.” A beat of silence while their gazes fought for dominance. “I feel responsible.”
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