The colonel’s gaze flicked to her across the room. “Good woman.”
“She warned me. She knows the whole story now—Ramsgate, everything. And she was the one to tell me Wickham’s joined the militia and is stationed in Meryton.”
Richard muttered a curse under his breath. “Georgiana?”
“Safe. At Longbourn.”
“But he knows she is there?”
Darcy nodded. “Which is why I must keep my wits about me. If he is here, then he cannot bethere.”
Richard gave a short nod. “We shall keep watch tonight, you and I.”
That should have calmed him, but it did not. The sight of Wickham among so many unwitting guests, bowing and smiling, laughing with girls like Kitty Bennet and Miss Lucas—it sickened him. He wanted nothing more than to sit in a corner and fix the man with a stare so cold it would wither him on the spot.
But he had obligations.Blast it all.
He had promised dances.
Jane Bennet first, for her gentle sweetness deserved the honor. Then Miss Kitty—he had accepted at Mrs. Bennet’s request and could hardly rescind now. And of course, he would need to ask his hostess—Miss Bingley—at least once. If he did not, she would never let him hear the end of it.
As the supper dance approached, he crossed the room to where Miss Bingley held court near the card tables, wearing a new dress of burnished gold silk and a smile that did not reach her eyes. When he approached, her entire countenance brightened.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said with affected delight, rising to meet him. “I was wondering if you had forgotten me entirely this evening.”
“I could never forget my hostess,” he said, inclining his head. “Might I request the—”
Her breath caught, and her eyes gleamed. “The supper set?”
“—the second set after supper.”
The disappointment that flashed across her face was immediate and undisguised. “Oh,” she said stiffly. “Yes. Of course.”
He made the request with the utmost courtesy and retreated quickly, stifling a sigh. That was done, at least. One more duty fulfilled.
Now—Elizabeth.
He turned, scanning the room with a building anticipation. The supper set was nearly upon them. He had not seen her since returning her to her parents after they had danced the first set, but that had been over an hour ago. He expected to find her standing near Jane—perhaps resting her feet or sipping lemonade—but there was no sign of her.
He searched the periphery of the ballroom. No Elizabeth.
A furrow drew between his brows. He crossed to the musicians’ side of the room for a better vantage. Still no glimpse of a cream gown or the familiar sweep of her curls. His heart quickened.
He found Mr. Bennet instead, seated in a corner beside Jane and a pair of matrons. “Forgive the interruption,” he said quietly. “Have you seen Miss Elizabeth?”
Mr. Bennet raised his brows. “She was here just after her last dance. I believed she went to find Jane.”
But at that moment, the eldest Bennet daughter appeared at her father’s side on Bingley’s arm. “Did you say my name, Papa?”
“Have you seen Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy asked urgently.
Jane shook her head, and Darcy’s stomach sank. He turned around, searching the crowd for his cousin. “Richard.” He caught Fitzwilliam’s eye and motioned him over. “She is not here.”
Richard blinked. “Who?”
“Elizabeth.”
They exchanged a look, and Darcy’s pulse began to thrum faster. “Could she have stepped out? A breath of air, perhaps?” Richard suggested, his own eyes sweeping the crowd.
