“Oh, no bother. I only thought you had such discriminating taste; you would have some opinions, but I suppose nearly every cook has their way, so I may as well let Nicholls do as she pleases. I shall have my hands full enough restraining Mrs Bennet, shall I not?” he laughed. “By the by, as you will not be here to open the ball with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, shall I offer to take your place with the lady?”
Darcy blinked. “What?”
Wickham stared at him as if Darcy had just kicked his hunting dogs. “Why… Miss Elizabeth! She is expecting you to dance the first with her, and I daresay, I believe you asked for the supper set as well.”
Darcy’s mouth was open, but only a vague gasp escaped. When did he ask Elizabeth Bennet to dance? Andtwicein one evening? That was not his usual form, particularly not so far in advance of the ball!
Then again… he had to confess that the notionhad, indeed, occurred to him, and probably more than once. Elizabeth Bennet would be the one lady in all the room who would not be a punishment for him to stand up with. But when had he acted upon that sentiment?
Wickham turned back to his cards as Bingley rejoined him at the table. “I am sorry you shall miss the pleasure of dancing with the lady, Darcy. Egad, it looks as if you regret the loss more than I had realised. Well, no matter. I hope she will not be too disappointed if I offer to take your place. I confess I was a bit jealous when you engaged her first.”
“I…” Darcy shook his head. “I didnotask Miss Elizabeth to dance at the ball,” he stated bluntly. He was sure of that. He wouldrememberthat!
Wickham glanced over his shoulder, a peculiar look on his face. “Darcy, are you quite well this evening? You seem a bit off. Perhaps a bit of port will set you right.”
Curse it, his cravat was choking him. Darcy gulped against the knot and felt a damp streak trickling down his throat. Blast, if that was more numbness from the side of hismouth, he would never recover from the mortification! He performed a quick swipe but found only nervous perspiration. “I…” He sucked in a breath to steady the quaking in his chest. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must return to my room to write some letters.”
He stood, his legs unsteady beneath him. Wickham’s voice followed him as he left the room, but the words were a blur. Each step was a battle against the pain and muddy confusion in his head, and a growing sense of dread dragged at him like an anchor. What was happening to him?Why could he not remember?
Reaching his room, he closed the door and leaned against it, trying to steady his racing thoughts. The headache roared, and he felt the world slipping away. He moved to his desk, the letter from Dr Westing still lying there. The words from the letter came back to him, chilling in their clarity:“Your time may be limited.”
With trembling hands, Darcy sat and tried to compose himself. The faces of his friends, their voices insisting on memories he could not grasp, haunted him. He dipped his pen in ink, but the letters on the page blurred together. He set the pen down, his mind too fogged to write.
He needed rest, but more than that, he needed answers.
“Mama, with all theflooding and hardship round the area, are you sure a ball just now is in good taste?”
Mrs Bennet paused as she descended from the carriage to laugh at her daughter’s preposterous suggestion. “Why, Lizzy, do you not know that times of hardship are when peoplemostneed a diversion?”
Elizabeth gripped the edge of her skirt to step down as the footman offered his hand. “Yes, but Mama, a ball is a rather extravagant expense. Ought we not be encouraging Mr Wickham to spend the money on repairing his own tenant farms and waterways? And what about us? You propose new gowns for Jane and… Mama!”
But Mrs Bennet was already prancing toward the steps of Netherfield, her bonnet ribbons fluttering behind her. “You shall see, Lizzy! Now, come along. The gentlemen are waiting!”
Elizabeth lodged her feet firmly in the gravel of the drive, her mouth screwed into a frustrated scowl. “Jane, she is going to make a spectacle of us all.”
Jane, the last out of the carriage, inclined her head to thank the footman for his assistance and drew beside Elizabeth. “At least she permitted us to come today. We might be able to…” She cleared her throat.
“Restrain her? Good luck with that. You know she only permitted us to come today because there were three single gentlemen inside. No, I say the miracle was in you persuading her that Lydia and Kitty would do better to spend their time working over their gowns rather than coming with us. Howdidyou manage that?”
Jane’s mouth dimpled on one side in a shy chuckle. “Oh, I might have let a little ‘spilt’ candle wax spoil Lydia’s lace.”
Elizabeth let out an astonished laugh. “Jane Bennet! Why, I am impressed. That sounds very like something I would have done!”
“Where do you think I got the idea? Come, Lizzy, it will not be that horrid. The gentlemen are all generous, and it was Mr Wickham’s idea to let Mama help.”
“No, it washeridea. He was just too polite to refuse her.” Elizabeth sighed and let Jane loop her arm to drag her into the house.
Jane was right in the reception they found inside. Mr Wickham and Mr Bingley were entirely welcoming and generous. Elizabeth sat beside Jane on the sofa, a cup of tea cooling in her hand as her eyes skated across the room. Where was Mr Darcy today? Perhaps he was occupied above stairs. Just as well—he would probably not view her mother so amiably.
She dragged her gaze back to the gentleman sitting opposite her mother and tried to keep her attention there, but the trouble was, details of things like dances and lavish suppers were so far removed from the top of her concerns that she could hardly believe they were even being discussed.
“… And the seventh shall be the supper set, of course,” Mama was saying as she showed Mr Wickham a list. “I thought perhaps Sellenger’s Round for that one. My Lydia dances that one particularly well. Have you spoken to your cook about the roast partridge? I think a roast venison would be much finer.”
“Ah, but it would overpower the roast lamb, would it not?” Mr Wickham asked. “No, I think we shall keep the partridge, but Mrs Bennet, I have a daring suggestion about the dance order.”
Mrs Bennet squinted at her list. “Why, there is nothing the matter with the order. I understand this is how it is done in London.”
“Precisely my point, Mrs Bennet. We are a somewhat more relaxed gathering here, are we not? Now, I see that you have no waltzes planned. Shall we remedy that?”
