Wickham only laughed. “Indeed it does. But I suppose we all must learn that lesson in our own way, must we not?”
Darcy stared at him, at the careless slant of his posture, at the lazy curl of smoke wafting from the stub of his cigar, at the way he had built his entire fortune upon the ruin of another man’s legacy.
He had wasted enough time. Without another word, Darcy turned sharply on his heel, walking away before he did something regrettable.
Behind him, Wickham chuckled. “No parting words? No high-handed lectures?” He raised his glass in mock salute. “Pity. You used to be much more entertaining, Darcy.”
Darcy did not look back.
Let him drink himself into oblivion. Let him squander what he had stolen. Pemberley would fall into ruin under his care. That much was inevitable.
But Darcy would see it restored.
And Wickham—
Wickham would not be the one to stop him.
May 23, 1812
Thelatespringairwas warm, humming with the lazy drone of bees and the occasional rustle of a light breeze through the trees. On the swing beneath the old oak, Kitty and Lydia giggled breathlessly over some whispered absurdity, while further down the lawn, Elizabeth sat beside Jane on a blanket, their bonnets abandoned beside them in the grass.
Elizabeth had been teasing her for the better part of a quarter-hour now, and at last—at last—she had wrung from Jane a proper laugh.
A real one. Not the polite, reserved chuckle she was so practiced at offering in company, but a full, unguarded laugh.
Elizabeth grinned. “You see? That is much better.”
Jane pressed a hand over her mouth, as though to recapture the sound and shove it back into its proper confines. “I do not—” Another breathless chuckle escaped. “I do not know what you expect me to do, Elizabeth. I simply cannot be as obvious as Lydia and Kitty.”
“Nor should you be,” Elizabeth assured her. “But you are not doomed to stand at the edge of the room like a marble statue, waiting for Mr. Bingley to come to his senses, either.”
Jane huffed a small, reluctant smile.
Elizabeth tapped a finger against her chin. “You must be subtle. Gentle. Unassuming. Thankfully, you have had a lifetime of practice at that.”
“Elizabeth!” Jane scolded, though she was smiling.
“You might let your eyes linger on his for a moment longer than necessary. Or tilt your head just so when he speaks. Perhaps even laugh at his jokes—”
“I do laugh at his jokes.”
“Yes, but you must laugh as if you think him the wittiest man in England.”
Jane gave her a dubious look. “He will think me a simpleton. He does not even pretend to be any such thing.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Yes, well. You must at least make himbelieveyou believe it.”
Another small laugh from Jane, and Elizabeth felt oddly triumphant.
From the swing beneath the old oak, Lydia and Kitty’s giggles rang out. “Oh, but I would have died of laughter had you heard Mr. Tyndale talking about Mrs. Purvis’s drawing room rugs!” Lydia was exclaiming. “He said it as if he actually believed it.”
Kitty, breathless with mirth, clung to the ropes of the swing. “And did you see the way he tripped over his own feet? I nearly fell into a fit!”
Elizabeth shook her head, returning her attention to Jane. “There, you have an example of the sort of… shall I say ‘empty words’ that you may freely avoid. You must do precisely none of that.”
Jane pressed her lips together, stifling another laugh.
Elizabeth tilted her head, studying her. “But you are afraid of Miss Bingley, are you not?”
