“Did you expect otherwise?”
Bingley chuckled. “Indeed, I did. You proved me wrong, my friend. Though, itwasonly one encounter. If I may test your composure further—”
“I would prefer you did not.”
“Too late,” Bingley interrupted. “I’ve been giving thought to the mill.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “But the matter is settled. You are to sell it.”
“We have ‘settled’ no such thing. I’ve decided to make the investment—expansion, repairs, perhaps even some new machinery. What do you think?”
“I think you are wasting your resources,” Darcy said flatly. “You would be better off selling it.”
Bingley chuckled. “Ah, there it is—the Darcy certainty. Tell me, is it not possible that I might succeed where others have not?”
“It is possible. But it is also unlikely.”
“Unlikely, perhaps,” Bingley said, his grin unshaken. “But I do enjoy a challenge. Much like you enjoy remaining polite in difficult company.”
“I have no difficulties—”
“Excellent!” Bingley clapped his hands together. “Then I daresay another fortnight at most ought to satisfy the terms. Oh! Perhaps we shall conclude after the ball. Long enough for due reflection, I think, but not so long that either of us would find the waiting odious. What say you, Darcy?”
Darcy’s teeth were nearly ground to powder, but he forced a trembling sort of grimace in place of a smile. “Very well, but not one day longer.”
Fifteen
“Five shillings says theNetherfield Ball is held within the week,” Lydia declared. She jingled her small purse triumphantly as Kitty nodded in fervent agreement.
“You are too optimistic,” Mary replied without looking up from her book. “Such matters take time and planning if they are to be done with decorum. We’ve not even seen the invitations. Two weeks, at the very least.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been inspecting a length of ribbon for her bonnet, snapped her head up. “Nonsense, Mary! Why, Mr. Bingley has been hinting at it for a fortnight or more. Did you not hear him speak of bringing the neighborhood together when he visited last?”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, who was carefully folding a piece of embroidery in her lap. “I seem to recall he said no such thing,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Though I would not discourage Mama from placing her own wager. I am sure it would liven up the odds.”
Mrs. Bennet turned a sharp look on her second eldest. “Do not tease, Lizzy. I have every confidence that the ball will beannounced soon—and when it is, you must be ready to dance. And do be sure to save a set for Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “I was not aware we were taking reservations.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Lydia interrupted with a loud laugh. “You will not need to save a dance for Mr. Collins. He is so slow, I am sure you could finish two sets before he even finds the floor.”
“That is enough, Lydia,” Jane said gently, though her lips twitched with amusement.
Lydia jangled her coin purse again. “I only said what you all were thinking. Will you place a wager, Lizzy? Surely you have an opinion on the timing of this grand affair. Perhaps you would like to bet on the number of dances Mr. Collins will attempt with you.”
Elizabeth sighed. “If I were to bet, Lydia, I would wager that Mr. Collins will find a way to be intolerably verbose, regardless of the number of dances or the date of the ball.”
Mr. Bennet, seated in the corner with a copy ofDon Quixote, chuckled. “A safe wager, indeed. Perhaps he will find himself a Dulcinea at the ball, as well.”
“Stuff and nonsense! He will dance with Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “Or Mary would do very well, I suppose. I’ll not countenance any foreign tarts coming in and stealing his notice.”
Foreign…?Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and her gaze drifted to her father, who only chuckled and turned his page without explaining who Dulcinea was. Not that it mattered—her mother had already shifted topics again.
“Of course, it will all depend on Mr. Bingley’s timing,” she said. “An honor to Jane, to be sure, for did he not wait until she was recovered to even speak of it? Mark my words, my dear, this ball will be your moment. He cannot wait forever to declare himself.”
Jane’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Mama, please. It is not certain there will even be a ball.”
“Not certain?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Oh, you are too modest, Jane! Why, everyone knows Mr. Bingley has been thinking of it. And once he proposes, think how grand it will be to be the mistress of Netherfield! So close to your family, too. I declare, Jane, there will be nothing like it. I always said you could not be so beautiful for nothing!”
