There would be time. The ball was yet to come.
∞∞∞
Darcy descended the stairs just after breakfast, the sealed envelope in his hand a weight far heavier than paper should be. He found a footman near the entrance hall and handed it to him without ceremony.
“This is to be delivered to Mr. Bennet of Longbourn. Immediately. No delay.”
The servant bowed and took the missive, and Darcy watched until he had disappeared through the front doors. The rain had slackened to a fine drizzle—thank heaven for that. If the roads had remained impassable, the ball might have been postponed. And if that happened… he was not sure his nerves could endure it.
He could not call at Longbourn, not today. The household would be bustling with preparations, and such an intrusion would be inexcusable. He would have to wait.
If she reads the letter… if she understands… if there is still hope.
He turned from the door, running a hand through his hair.
“Oh, there you are, Mr. Darcy,” came a familiar, saccharine voice.
He turned slowly to see Miss Bingley approaching from the drawing room, dressed in pale apricot with a spray of feathers in her coiffure. Her smile was warm, but her eyes sharp with calculation.
“I confess I have scarcely seen you the past few days,” she said, gliding toward him. “I feared you had taken ill, but Charles insists you have merely been… occupied.”
“I have been attending to family matters,” Darcy replied coolly.
“Ah yes—your cousin.” She sighed. “It is good he could arrive in time for the ball, though as the son of an earl, I can scarce believe that he would condescend to such a rustic event as a country assembly.” She tilted her head, her smile now just shy of mocking. “But of course, your family is known for its sense of duty.”
Darcy inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “Richard is a man of honor. He goes where he is needed.”
Miss Bingley laughed lightly, brushing her gloved hand along the back of a nearby chair. “How fortunate that he was needed at Netherfield, then. And how fortunate that you are here. Idare say Hertfordshire has never known such refinement before. Well, as I always say, it is the responsibility of the higher stations to set an example for those beneath them.
Darcy offered no reply. He had learned by now that responding to Miss Bingley’s barbs only encouraged her.
She stepped closer, adjusting a fold in her glove with meticulous precision. “Of course,” she continued, her voice sweetening, “the first set of the evening carries a certain… significance. It sets the tone, you know. The guests will be watching.”
Darcy said nothing.
Miss Bingley’s lashes fluttered. “Naturally, everyone shall be eager to see you dance. And who better to lead the way than someone of suitable rank and—compatibility?”
She glanced up at him meaningfully.
He turned to face her fully, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I regret to disappoint you, Miss Bingley, but my first dance is already spoken for.”
Her lashes fluttered. “Spoken for?” she echoed. “Oh, do not tease me, Mr. Darcy. You cannot mean—”
“I do.” His voice left no room for misinterpretation. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet has accepted the honor.”
The smile on Miss Bingley’s face froze. For one heartbeat. Two.
“I see,” she said at last, her voice cool and sharp as a winter breeze. “Of course. A… local favorite.”
He bowed slightly. “If you will excuse me, Miss Bingley. I have several tasks I must accomplish before dressing for the ball.”
She inclined her head with an elegant curtsy, but her eyes followed him like knives as he turned and strode toward the stairs.
As he climbed the stairs to the guest wing, he exhaled and passed a hand over his face. The confrontation had not lasted long, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He had no interest in humiliating Miss Bingley—only in setting boundaries. Clear ones.
Elizabeth will be there tonight, he reminded himself as he entered his room. I will see her. I will know.
Back in his chamber, the fire was still low, the coals faintly hissing. He moved towards his bed, eager to close his eyes for a few moments—and froze.
