“Yes, tolerable,” she insisted, though the teasing edge in her voice was less sharp than usual. “Perhaps even acceptable. But I suppose even a good reading cannot save overly sentimental poetry.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, the smirk fully forming now. “Perhaps you have higher standards than I imagined.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her teasing smile returning in full force. “Oh, I do. But perhaps you might meet them one day.”
They continued walking, the playful tension lingering between them like the echo of the poem’s final lines, neither entirely willing to break it.
Eighteen
Elizabeth breezed into Longbournwith a lightness in her step, her bonnet dangling from her fingers and a smug little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. For once, fortune seemed to be tilting in her favor. Darcy had not only intervened with Wickham at the bookshop but had also walked her home afterward—an act that, while cloaked in cool civility, carried more than a hint of possessiveness. If she could maneuver him into a dance or two at the upcoming Netherfield ball, she would surely win Charlotte’s wager.
“Lizzy, is that you?” Jane’s voice called from the sitting room.
Elizabeth made her way in, still smiling. “Indeed it is, and I bring excellent news.”
Jane looked up from her embroidery, her serene expression marred only by a faint crease of worry at her brow. “Oh? Has something happened?”
“Nothing dreadful, I assure you. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Mr. Darcy has finally shown himself capable of gallantry—or something that closely resembles it.” Elizabeth tossed her bonnet onto a nearby chair and sat down besideJane. “I believe I can coax a dance or two out of him at the ball. Enough to win the wager with Charlotte. I shall lose my wager with Mr. Wickham, but he is already a shilling in my debt anyway, and I care nothing for that.”
Jane’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait… you have competing wagers? And… what is this about Mr. Wickham?”
“Merely hedging my bets. But I daresay it is nearly a foregone conclusion at this point. I shall have the better of Charlotte at last—it was in all Mr. Darcy’s looks this afternoon.”
“You seem rather confident for someone who swore that gentleman was incapable of feeling. Has he suddenly developed some, after all?”
Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively. “Enough, I imagine. Where is Mama?”
Jane began gesturing toward the stairs, her mouth ready with a reply, when the sitting room door opened.
“Ah, my dear cousin!” Collins exclaimed. “I heard you had just returned from town. And was that Mr. Darcy who saw you to the door? An excellent man, very good of him. I was just about to seek you out, for, you see, there was a matter of greatest import I wished to speak of with you.”
Elizabeth’s mood plummeted like a stone. “Mr. Collins,” she said evenly, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.
He bowed deeply, his hand pressed to his chest. “I hope, dear cousin, that you will not find my request presumptuous, but as your nearest relation, I feel it my duty to reserve your hand for the opening dance at the Netherfield ball.”
Elizabeth barely stifled a groan. She had half a mind to refuse outright, but Jane’s gently reproving gaze stopped her. Besides, a single dance was no great sacrifice, especially if it meant sparing herself and her family from one of his long-winded speeches about propriety and gratitude.
“Of course, Mr. Collins,” she replied with as much grace as she could muster. “I would be honored.”
Mr. Collins beamed, clearly delighted by what he saw as her enthusiasm. “Wonderful! I knew you would agree, for I have always believed you to be a most sensible young lady. And rest assured, I plan to remain close by your side throughout the evening. A gentleman must always ensure his partner is well attended, after all.”
Elizabeth’s smile froze. “Throughout the evening?”
“Indeed, yes! It is only fitting that we should spend the majority of the evening in each other’s company. Why, the other guests might even begin to speculate on the nature of our... attachment.”
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened, though not from any pleasant emotion. “Mr. Collins, I think you misunderstand—”
“Oh, say no more!” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I understand perfectly, cousin. I, too, feel that there is no need to rush things. These matters must be handled delicately, but I am confident that by the end of the evening, we shall find ourselves much... closer.”
Elizabeth’s stomach turned. Collins was under some ridiculous delusion about securing her favor, and the thought of enduring his particular attentions for an entire evening made her want to flee to her room and barricade the door.
“Mr. Collins,” Jane interrupted, “surely Elizabeth will wish to dance with other partners as well. It would be unfair to monopolize her time.”
Mr. Collins chuckled indulgently. “Oh, of course, of course. I would not dream of depriving her of other dances entirely. But naturally, as her cousin and—dare I say—closest male relation present, I must take precedence.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “How thoughtful of you.”
He beamed again, clearly mistaking her sarcasm for approval. “Until then, dear cousin, I shall count the hours!” With another deep bow, he excused himself, leaving Elizabeth and Jane in stunned silence.
