Egad, how he envied him.
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline drawled, a little too close. “You do not wish to add your voice to the planning?”
He did not turn. “I find myself with little to add.”
She gave a breathy laugh. “You are always so modest.”
She moved nearer. He felt her presence rather than saw it—silk and perfume and careful calculation.
“I do hope you intend to dance at your friend’s ball,” she murmured. “It would be such a disappointment otherwise.”
Darcy resisted the urge to step away. “I have made no plans.”
“Then make one now.” Her voice dipped lower. “With me.”
He turned then. Slowly. He kept his expression neutral, but had no qualms against letting a bit of steel into his voice. “I do not anticipate being in much demand.”
“Oh, do not be coy. A man with your… credentials is always in demand.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Then I shall leave the floor to those more deserving of it.”
She stared at him for a beat too long before retreating. Louisa called her over to inspect some lace samples, and Caroline left with a swish of skirts and a stiffness to her shoulders that pleased him more than it should have.
He exhaled again. Tried to ground himself.
The rational part of him whispered:It was one moment. One meeting. She is not in danger. You are overreacting.
But the rest of him—older, wearier, and not at all reasonable—knew better.
Wickham did not appear. He infiltrated. He charmed. He watched. He waited.
And when people least expected it, he took.
He had sworn—sworn—never again.
And now Elizabeth. So sharp. So brave. So utterly unconcerned.
He clenched his jaw.
It would be nothing, he told himself. Wickham would not dare try anything again. Not with Darcy nearby. Not with half of Meryton watching. Not when—
But he knew better. Wickham did not care—in fact, he would flaunt his ability to gain the lady’s favor before Darcy’s nose. There was no mistaking that look of suspicion from earlier. Wickham had already sensed some history, some interest on his part—even if itwasmerely circumstantial.
And Elizabeth—Elizabeth, who could best him in argument and outpace him in observation—had no idea what kind of creature she was smiling at.
He had to do something. He could not warn her. But perhaps… he could shield her.
Make her lose interest. Point her elsewhere. Find someone suitable, someone dull and kind and safe, and nudge her gently in that direction.
All without ever appearing to interfere.
Darcy’s hands relaxed slightly on the sill. A plan was still a plan, even if it was desperate.
And better to act now—before Wickham’s influence deepened, before Elizabeth’s pride tangled too tightly with his lies.
He straightened just as Bingley called to him from across the room. “Darcy! You must help settle it. Louisa claims theorchestra ought to face the windows, but Caroline insists they should face the hearth.”
Darcy turned, his expression cool, composed. “What is the argument for the windows?”
