Darcy’s response was immediate and adamant. “No.”
I bit back a smile. “Come now, Mr. Darcy. What was it?”
He clenched his jaw and avoided my gaze, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t catch, then refused to speak any further on the subject. Whatever Ewan had said, it was clearly embarrassing, and there was no prying it out of him. I made a mental note to ask Ewan directly if I ever had the chance.
Still, I wasn’t ready to let the conversation end on such a mysterious note, so I tried another angle. “Very well. We’ll leave that for now. But regarding the ball, Ewan clearly has a hand in it. Are there... any unusual requests? Anything he expects us to do?”
Darcy blinked, clearly reluctant to ask the question, but after a moment’s hesitation, he tilted his head slightly, listening for Ewan’s response. He sighed. “He’s being difficult.”
“It sounds as if that is rather the norm, sir. Well, at least we will have dancing. Perhaps you’ll redeem yourself on the dance floor, Mr. Darcy.”
His head snapped toward me, cheeks flushing again. “There were reasons for... my previous lack of coordination,” he said, his gaze darting pointedly toward the empty space where Ewan was likely still sitting.
I chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure. But if you do find yourself indisposed, I’ll have to look elsewhere for a dance partner. Perhaps my cousin Mr. Collins? Or... Mr. Bingley, of course.” I paused, letting my voice drop teasingly. “Or perhaps... Mr. Wickham?”
As soon as the name left my lips, Darcy stiffened. The way his eyes flicked immediately to the far wall, glaring at it as though he might burn a hole through the plaster, told me everything I needed to know.
Iknewthere was something between them. Something more than Darcy had let on before.
I crossed my arms, waiting him out. “Mr. Darcy?”
His gaze snapped back to mine, but the look on his face was different now—graver, more like the first night I met him.
“What happened between you and Mr. Wickham?”
For a long moment, Darcy said nothing, his jaw tight. I could see the internal struggle playing out in his mind. Finally, he let out a long breath, as though resigning himself to the truth. “You already know enough to ruin me in all good society,” he muttered. “What’s one more thing?”
I stayed silent, sensing that this was not a moment to press. Darcy seemed to gather himself, then spoke in a tone that was quieter than I’d ever heard from him.
“Wickham was my father’s steward’s son. He was given every advantage—every opportunity. My father was... too generous.” Darcy’s eyes darkened. “Wickham squandered his inheritance, then returned again and again, demanding more. Eventually, it came to this: he tried to elope with my sister last summer. She was fifteen.”
A chill ran through me. I could only imagine the scandal—how it might have destroyed his sister, his family. “That’s... horrible,” I managed.
Darcy nodded. “Yes. And the worst part is... she trusted him. He played the part of the charming suitor, the knight in shining armor.” He broke off, his gaze hardening as he glanced again at the empty space where Ewan presumably lingered.
Whatever Ewan said next, I couldn’t hear it, but I saw Darcy’s reaction clearly. His eyes narrowed at the invisible specter, and he said through gritted teeth, “Not another word, Ewan.”
I frowned. “What is it?”
Darcy shook his head. “It’s nothing. I wish for you to keep this in strict confidence, Miss Bennet. It could destroy my sister.”
I nodded immediately. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I give you my word.”
His posture relaxed slightly, though I could still see the tension in his shoulders. He glanced around the room, clearly frustrated, and muttered, “That is why I did not try to return to London when this all started, much as I wanted to. He would have just followed me. I’ll keep him entertained at Netherfield forever if I must, so long as my sister is safe.”
Before I could respond to Darcy’s heartfelt confession, I saw him tense again, his eyes narrowing as though he was listening to something only he could hear. His expression darkened for a moment, and then, through gritted teeth, he muttered, “That will not be necessary.”
I tilted my head, amused. “I take it Ewan has something to say about all this?”
Darcy shot me a look—half irritated, half resigned. “He’s offering... assistance.”
“Assistance?” I repeated, a smirk already forming. “And what exactly would that entail?”
Darcy cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Apparently, Ewan would be happy to... throttle Mr. Wickham. Or any other redcoat, for that matter.”
The image of an unseen Scotsman going after Wickham, with Darcy caught in the middle trying to maintain his composure, was too much. I let out a laugh that echoed through the quiet room.
Darcy gave me a pained look, but I could see the corners of his mouth twitching, as if he couldn’t help but be slightly amused himself. “It is not as funny as you think.”
