Collins nodded eagerly, undeterred by Darcy’s cool tone. “Of course, of course! Practicality is, after all, the cornerstone of any sensible engagement. But a dash of sentiment never goes amiss, eh?”
Darcy fixed Collins with a steady gaze, his patience wearing thin. “I am sure the lady will appreciate my efforts. Perhaps she will even elaborate her approval when I see her in person.”
“Indeed, sir!” Collins said, beaming. “And might I add, what a fine idea it would be for you to visit in some haste! A gentleman’s presence always carries more weight than mere words on paper.”
Darcy gave a slight nod. “I am considering it.”
Collins nearly bounced on his heels in excitement. “Splendid! I must say, Lady Catherine would no doubt applaud your decisiveness. She has often remarked upon your excellent judgment in such matters.”
“Quite,” Darcy said briskly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”
“Of course, of course!” Collins said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. “A pleasure, sir, as always. Do give my regards to Lady Catherine when next you see her. If I am not mistaken, you may precede me. It may be that our individual hopes might even be answered within the same week!”
Darcy merely inclined his head and walked into the office. As he rode back toward Netherfield some minutes later, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. Collins’s absurd insinuations about Anne de Bourgh were of little consequence, but Elizabeth’s role in spreading word of his ill-fated poem lingered uncomfortably in his mind.
If she thought to unsettle him, she was succeeding all too well. But two could play at that game.
Elizabeth sidestepped a puddleas she and Jane made their way through the bustling streets of Meryton. Lydia flitted ahead, stopping at intervals to peer into shop windows or flirt with passing officers. The air was filled with the hum of chatter, louder and more excitable than usual.
“It seems all of Meryton has turned out today,” Jane remarked, glancing at the growing clusters of townsfolk gathered in animated conversation.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said dryly, “and I suspect it has less to do with fine weather and more to do with fine gossip.”
As they passed the baker’s shop, the unmistakable voice of Mrs. Long reached Elizabeth’s ears. “Oh yes, yes! Mr. Darcy will be leaving before the ball, mark my words. Mr. Collins said it was on the best authority.”
Elizabeth stopped mid-step. “Mr. Collins? On the best authority? That hardly bodes well.”
Jane hesitated, her expression uncertain. “Do you think it could be true?”
“I think,” Elizabeth said with a grimace, “that if Mr. Collins were the sole authority on the rain holding off, one would do well to carry a parasol even in a drought.”
Before Jane could respond, Mrs. Philips emerged from a nearby haberdashery, clutching a parcel of fabric in one hand and a feathered hat in the other. She leaned toward Mrs. Long, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of fresh gossip. “An engagement, you say? To Lady Catherine’s daughter?”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Long whispered. “Mr. Collins claims it is practically settled.”
Lydia, who had been inspecting bonnets with Kitty, spun around and dashed toward the knot of gossipers. “An engagement for Mr. Darcy? How positively dull! I thought he was far too proud to marry anyone at all.”
“Lydia!” Jane whispered, scandalized.
“Oh, do not be such a bore, Jane,” Lydia said with a wave of her hand. “This is far more interesting than lace trimmings. Besides, if he does leave, that means we can place bets on when he goes. I daresay he stays through the ball—I should wager two shillings on it!”
Elizabeth groaned quietly. Before she could drag her sister away, a familiar voice sounded from behind.
“Do you see what I mean?” Charlotte Lucas fell into step beside Elizabeth, her eyes alight with amusement. “The entire town is in an uproar.”
“And all over something ridiculous,” Elizabeth muttered. “Does anyone truly believe that Mr. Darcy intends to marry Miss de Bourgh?”
Charlotte tilted her head. “You know as well as I do that belief in Meryton requires far less evidence than it ought.”
Elizabeth sighed. “You sound like you find this amusing.”
“I do,” Charlotte said, her voice calm but pointed. “But you should not. If Mr. Darcy leaves before the ball, I believe you forfeit your wager.”
Elizabeth stopped walking. “Surely you cannot mean that. This is idle speculation at best.”
Charlotte gave her a knowing look. “Idle speculation or not, if he is gone before the ball, it matters little. He will have left, and you will have lost.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but found no suitable retort. Charlotte pressed on, her tone softening. “Lizzy, I know you never truly cared for gaining his affections—no matter how little you like the idea of losing the wager—but do not pretend his departure would mean nothing to you. You dislike the idea more than you are willing to admit.”
