“Oh, surely you can spare one dance?” she said, her tone light and courteous, though she remained firmly in his way. “It would be such a disappointment if you did not. Everyone speaks of your grace on the dance floor.”
“Your words are kind, Miss Morton, but I—” No, no, dancing was not on the table for him tonight. Even that little side-step he affected to manoeuvre out of her way was enough to tighten the cords of his neck and send a flash of dizziness through him.
“‘Kind’ does not describe my praise of your talents, Mr Darcy, but rather your willingness to grace us all with your gifts. I did so admire the way you led the set last time.”
Darcy took a small step back. “Miss Morton, I truly appreciate your generous words, but my evening is quite spoken for.”
Her eyes showed a flicker of frustration, quickly masked by her practised smile. “Very well, Mr Darcy. Perhaps another time, then. I shall look forward to it.”
“Good evening, Miss Morton,” he said, with a final nod, turning away before she could prolong the conversation further.
Finally reaching Fitzwilliam, Darcy shot his cuffs and glared at his cousin, who merely smiled back with that insouciant grin of his. “Richard,” he growled.
“Darcy,” Richard laughed, extending to him a full glass of champagne. “You look like you are in need of rescue.”
“Rescue indeed,” Darcy muttered, glancing around at the sea of hopeful debutantes. “No help from you, I see.”
Richard sipped innocently from his own glass. “What, and disappoint Mother? You know she invited each one of those ladies with you in mind. I had to let them each have their go at you, you know, or she would cut me out of her will.”
Darcy scowled but felt somewhat less querulous now. Whether it was the champagne or simply the absence of ladies chasing him, he could not say. “She must have been eager to seize her chance before we go to Pemberley.”
“About that.” Richard twirled the stem of his glass between thumb and forefinger. “I am sorry to have to inform you that I shall not be at liberty to accompany you after all.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. Not Richard, too! “What do you mean?”
“My leave has been rescinded, and I have been ordered to Chatham with my regiment. Some nonsense about munitions and supply—oh, I really cannot recall all that was said, but I shall surely winter there. I am sorry, Darcy.”
Darcy’s heart sank. He had been counting on Richard’s support, especially given his own precarious health. The news hit him like a blow, but he forced himself to remain composed. “So, Pemberley will have to wait. It seems I am stuck in London. There goes my excuse for missing the musicale next week.”
Fitzwilliam nodded sympathetically. “It is a shame, but such are the demands of duty. How are you faring with all of this?” He gestured subtly to the room, where Lady Matlock was pointing at him as she spoke animatedly with another young lady and her mother.
Darcy’s head began to pulse again. “Lady Matlock’s influence is strong,” he said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “She means well, but her efforts are relentless. And Georgiana... I worry about her constantly.”
“Mother’s intentions are good,” Fitzwilliam agreed, “but perhaps a lighter touch would be more beneficial for Georgiana. She needs time to mature, not pressure to perform.”
“I could not agree more,” Darcy replied, his gaze distant as the pain intensified. “We must ensure she is not pressed too much socially. It could do more harm than good.”
Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can have a word with Mother together. Explain that while we appreciate her support, Georgiana’s well-being must come first.”
“Yes, that would be wise,” Darcy agreed, though he could feel the pounding in his temples growing stronger.
Fitzwilliam glanced across the room and chuckled softly. “It seems you have quite an audience,” he said, nodding towards two young ladies who were staring at Darcy and whispering to each other behind their fans.
Darcy followed his cousin’s gaze and sighed. “Perhaps I should look for an opportunity to leave London after all.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed with concern as he studied Darcy’s face. “You do not look well, cousin. Is something the matter?”
Darcy forced a smile, though the effort made his head throb even more. “I am perfectly well, Richard. Just a bit tired, that is all.”
“Are you sure? You look pale.”
Darcy swallowed the rising nausea and nodded. “Yes, quite sure. Let us speak more of this later. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I need some fresh air.”
He moved away before Richard could press further, heading for the balcony. The cool evening air provided some relief, but the fear and disappointment lingered. Without Richard, the prospect of facing his uncertain future alone loomed even larger. He clenched the railing, forcing himself to breathe steadily.
The Meryton market wasbustling today, with vendors loudly advertising their goods and townsfolk haggling over prices. Children darted between stalls, laughing and playing, while mothers scolded them half-heartedly. Elizabeth nodded to Mrs Jenkins, who was examining a bolt of cloth, and waved at Mr Harrison, the butcher, who was deep in conversation with a customer about the best cuts of meat.
Try as she might, she could hardly recall the purpose of her errand to town today. Everywhere she looked, she found herself searching for the face of Longbourn’s new neighbour, Mr Wickham. His charm and attentiveness captivated her. His smile was easy, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything she said. There was a warmth about him that drew people in, making her think of him more often than she liked to admit.
