“Indeed not. Your eyes give you away.”
Elizabeth chuckled. Behind Wickham, the set was drawing to a close. Darcy was still dancing—Elizabeth could see him turning Miss Latimer with the awkward grace of a man trying very hard not to look irritated. It would take another minute or two before he could return to her, and Wickham seemed fully prepared to make use of every second.
“You are not usually so late to a party,” she said lightly.
He smiled. “A tragic miscalculation of timing. I blame the military.”
“I had thought the military prized punctuality.”
“We do. Except when we do not. I was called away this morning—nothing dramatic, I promise—but there are alwaysforms to sign, uniforms to correct, horses to inspect. And then, of course, I had to dress.”
“Clearly. I suspected your boots alone took twenty minutes.”
“Seventeen,” he said solemnly. “The buckle was uncooperative.”
She laughed. “And yet, despite all obstacles, you arrived just in time to be disappointed.”
“I had hoped,” Wickham said with a glance toward the dancers, “that the supper set might still be free.”
“Tragically not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So I was outpaced?”
“You werelate,” she corrected. “And someone else was… less so.”
“May I know the lucky gentleman?”
Elizabeth hesitated half a beat too long. “You may not.”
Wickham’s smile twitched—still smooth, but flickering just slightly at the edges.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall nurse my wounds in silence.”
“You may nurse them however you like,” she replied sweetly. “Someone will come to collect me any moment now.”
He looked at her then—really looked at her—with the speculative, almost amused expression of a man attempting to solve a riddle he had only just realized was worth the effort.
“Someone,” he said, “or Mr. Darcy?”
Before she could respond, the music ended. Darcy was already escorting Miss Latimer to the edge of the floor. A crisp bow, and he turned… straight for her.
Elizabeth kept her tone dry as she looked back at Wickham. “You are full of questions tonight.”
“I like to be informed.”
“Then allow me to inform you that Miss Latimer now requires a new partner.”
And just then, Mr. Darcy arrived at her side—silent, immaculate, his gaze not straying an inch in Wickham’s direction.
Elizabeth did not announce anything. She simply stood, smoothed her skirt, and offered Wickham a parting smile.
“I did warn you,” she said, and turned.
Darcy offered his arm without a word. She took it.
Together, they stepped into the open space now cleared for the supper set, leaving Wickham behind—still smiling, but no longer quite so easily.
He had not meantto ask her.
