Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “Mr. Darcy, your high opinion of Mr. Collins does him great credit.”
There was danger there, but the fire was not yet kindled so brightly that he did not dare to dance close to the flame.
“Only what is deserved. Mr. Collins clearly has an eye for quality.”
Collins puffed up further, and Darcy had to resist the urge to laugh outright. Elizabeth’s irritation was as excruciatingly obvious as her attempts to mask it, and he found himself enjoying the sight of her composure beginning to fray. Finally, he had found a way under her skin!
“Well, we must not keep you from your errands,” Elizabeth said finally, her tone clipped but polite. “Come, Jane, Mr. Collins.”
“Oh, but Miss Elizabeth,” Collins said, hovering awkwardly near Darcy, “perhaps Mr. Darcy would favor us with further conversation. I am sure he has much wisdom to impart.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Darcy said, bowing slightly. “I would not intrude further on the ladies’ afternoon.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, her smile forced. “How considerate of you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Always, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his voice quiet but deliberate. “Always.”
As they walked away, Darcy allowed himself a small, private smile. He had seen the way her hand tightened around Jane’s arm, the tension in her posture. Whatever game Elizabeth Bennet thought she was playing, she was not the only one who could wield strategy. And with Mr. Collins so eager to hover at her side, Darcy had a ready-made ally—one who, despite himself, might just help Darcy keep his distance.
For now.
The tea at LucasLodge was already in full swing when Elizabeth arrived with her mother and younger sisters, the room alive with chatter and the faint clink of teacups. Papa had claimed he would come, right up to the moment they all mounted the carriage and he found that his “gout” was troubling him. Elizabeth had given him a rather stern look, but the only response she got was a faint chuckle as he closed the door.
Still, the Bennet ladies expected to be well entertained. Charlotte—bless her—had strategically placed her family to intercept their more tiresome guests, leaving Elizabeth free to mingle—or at least attempt to find some amusement among the company.
It was not long before Mr. Wickham appeared, his charming smile bright enough to cut through the din of conversation. He greeted her warmly, sliding seamlessly into her company as though he had been invited specifically for her entertainment.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, inclining his head. “You appear to be the brightest star in the room this evening.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And you, Mr. Wickham, appear to be an excellent flatterer.”
“A man must develop certain skills to survive in such dazzling company. Though I must confess, your wit leaves me at a distinct disadvantage.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Perhaps you are more skilled than you let on.”
“Ah, but my skills pale in comparison to present company,” Wickham said with a laugh. “I daresay I am always at the mercy of a pretty face, no matter how clever I fancy myself.”
“Perhaps we should test that theory,” Elizabeth replied. “What say you to a wager?”
Wickham’s grin widened. “A wager? My kind of game. What shall we wager on?”
Elizabeth glanced across the room where Sir William Lucas had cornered a hapless young officer and was animatedly extolling the virtues of his family’s recent improvements to their garden. “How long do you think Sir William will speak on that subject before the poor man escapes?”
Wickham followed her gaze, his expression turning sly. “An excellent wager. I give him... six minutes.”
Elizabeth smirked. “I give him ten.”
Wickham extended his hand. “Done. And what shall we wager?”
Elizabeth considered for a moment. “A shilling, perhaps? Nothing too extravagant.”
“Agreed,” Wickham said with a flourish. “Though I warn you, I am rarely on the losing end of a wager.”
The two turned their attention to Sir William, who was now gesturing expansively toward an imaginary flower bed.Wickham leaned in closer, his voice low. “He does seem particularly inspired today. I may have underestimated him.”
Elizabeth laughed, and they continued to watch the scene unfold. Sure enough, the officer finally managed to escape precisely nine minutes later. Elizabeth clapped her hands together triumphantly. “Nine minutes! Ten is closer to nine than six. I win.”
Wickham placed a hand over his chest in mock dismay. “Ah, you have bested me, Miss Bennet. I am undone.”
