“Concerns,” Bingley said, shaking his head. “All this fuss over a harmless evening. The neighborhood will enjoy it, and I will enjoy seeing them do so. Must everything be weighed so heavily?”
Darcy rose, walking to the desk. “You do not see the weight because you are not its bearer. Speculation can lead to expectations.”
Bingley arched a brow. “You speak of Miss Bennet.”
Darcy’s silence was answer enough.
Bingley leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I do not wish to hurt her, Darcy. Surely you see that.”
“I do,” Darcy said. “And that is why you must tread carefully.”
“Carefully,” Bingley repeated with a small laugh. “Carefully is not the word the neighborhood would use to describe me, I think. They wager on everything I do.”
“They wager on everything everyone does.”
Bingley smiled faintly. “Even you, I imagine.”
Darcy said nothing, his gaze fixed on the guest list. One name in particular stood out—Elizabeth Bennet. Of course, she would attend. And this ball was to be his final test of civility—endure an evening of her smiles, her enchantments, or die trying.
“One week,” Bingley said, picking up his pen again. “The invitations will go out tomorrow. Prepare yourself, Darcy. It will be a splendid evening.”
Elizabeth adjusted her bonnetand shifted the weight of her basket, filled to the brim with her mother’s endless listof “essentials.” She caught sight of Charlotte Lucas near the apothecary and waved. “Charlotte!”
Charlotte waited for a carriage to pass before crossing the street. “Good afternoon, Lizzy. On an errand from your mother, I see?”
Elizabeth hefted the basket a little. “Yes, well, Lydia was ‘supposed’ to be helping me, but she has gone off Heaven knows where. I am sure she is questioning everyone she finds about the rumors of a ball at Netherfield.”
“Ah, well, to that I say the answer depends entirely on who you believe. Mrs. Long insists invitations will be issued tomorrow, but Mr. Goulding swears it will not be for another fortnight.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I think it is all rather absurd.”
Charlotte glanced toward the street, shielding her eyes from the sun as a figure approached from the direction of the inn. “Is that… Mr. Wickham?”
Elizabeth’s gaze followed hers. The man’s easy gait and familiar features confirmed it before he came within earshot. She folded her arms loosely, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Indeed, it is. My favorite toy.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Oh? Do tell, Lizzy.”
But Elizabeth crossed one arm over her chest and offered only a smug grin. “I shall not give up my secrets that easily, you know. I still have a wager to win.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “I think you may be cheating, Lizzy.”
“Perhaps.”
By the time Wickham reached them, he was already smiling. “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Lucas. I could not have hoped for a more agreeable encounter this afternoon. I was looking for a bit of amusement, and I am sure I can count on both of you to see me right. Tell me, what has you both smiling today?”
Charlotte chuckled. “Any number of things, Mr. Wickham, but I imagine wagers over a prospective ball would be the most promising sort of entertainment.”
“Ah, yes! At Netherfield, correct? Even among the officers, speculation abounds. I daresay half of Meryton has already made it a sport.”
Elizabeth’s brow arched. “And what is your stake in it, Mr. Wickham?”
“I’ve refrained thus far,” he replied, flashing a grin. “Though if wagering were the custom of every gentleman, I suppose I might be tempted.”
“Better to refrain,” Elizabeth said. “You may find yourself out of pocket by the end of the month, if this town’s enthusiasm is anything to judge by.”
Wickham laughed. “A fair warning, Miss Bennet. But perhaps I will place a wager after all—on something more certain than the date of a ball.”
Charlotte’s eyes flicked between the two of them before she took a step back. “I must beg your pardon, but I have an errand to finish. Do excuse me.”
