“I am afraid that is impossible,” Darcy replied, raising an eyebrow in challenge.Yes, Wickham. Try another trick and I shall finish what I left unfinished in Ramsgate.
Wickham’s face flooded with anger. He raised a hand, as though he might attempt to shove Darcy out of the way.
Before Wickham could commit an act of public madness, a blur of pale silk swept past Darcy’s elbow.
“Miss Jenkins!” The bright, musical voice of Elizabeth Bennet sliced through the tension.
Darcy did not move his feet, but he turned his head. Miss Elizabeth had appeared from the throng, linking her arm firmly through the arm of the startled heiress. Miss Elizabeth was smiling, a smile Darcy had come to recognise. It was the one she wore when she was about to be brilliantly disarming.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Miss Jenkins blinked, slightly overwhelmed. “I... I was waiting for Lady Clement to procure the refreshments.”
“Lady Clement is about to beat the man pouring the wine with her cane,” Miss Elizabeth informed Miss Jenkins steering her away from the danger. “I have been searching for you everywhere! You must come and settle a dispute. Mrs Forster insists that the tragic heroine’s gown in the first act was trimmed in Brussels lace, but I am absolutely certain it was common muslin. Your eye for fashion is renowned. We need your immediate arbitration. Come, I shall guide you to her.”
Miss Jenkins, flattered by the appeal to her fashionable expertise, allowed herself to be drawn away without a single glance over her shoulder. “Well, I did notice the drape of the skirt was rather stiff for Brussels lace...”
Miss Elizabeth did not look back at Darcy and Wickham. She kept a steady pace away from them, vanishing as swiftly as she had arrived.
The wealthy prize was gone.
Darcy turned his attention back to the man before him. Wickham was staring at the space where Miss Jenkins had stood mere seconds prior, looking as though he had just witnessed a small fortune dissolve into the thin, perfume-laden air.
“It appears,” Darcy said, his tone dripping with lethal satisfaction, “that Miss Jenkins’s expertise is required elsewhere. A pity. I am certain whatever you intended to ask her was of the utmost importance. Lace, was it?”
Wickham raised his eyes to meet Darcy’s. The hatred coming from the man was almost physical, a palpable wave of venom that crashed uselessly against Darcy’s rigid composure. Wickham understood that he had been played, and that the sudden appearance of Miss Elizabeth was not a coincidence.
“You think you have won, Darcy,” Wickham snarled, his voice trembling with rage. “You think you can dictate my movements.”
“I can dictate your movements right here, right now, Wickham.” Darcy did not yield a single inch. “And I strongly suggest you abandon this place. The interval is nearly concluded, and I believe Ensigns Burton and Miller are searching for you. They seem eager to discuss your financial health.”
The mention of the ensigns shattered the last remnants of Wickham’s bravado, panic flaring in his eyes. He cast a glance over his shoulder, seeking an escape route that did not involve crossing paths with his creditors. Without another word, he spun on his heel and shoved his way into the crowd, retreating to the darkened staircase that led to the upper galleries.
Darcy allowed a slow breath to escape his lungs. He relaxed the tension in his shoulders, stepping away from the weeping willow pillar. The blockade had succeeded flawlessly.
A surge in the crowd, caused by the first bell ringing to announce the second act, pushed a group of laughing patrons directly into Darcy’s path. He was forced backward, retreating from the main thoroughfare to avoid being trampled by the sudden rush for the auditorium doors.
It took a while to escape them, and he found himself pressed into the shadowed recess of an alcove near an unoccupied private box. The curtains provided a welcome barrier against the pandemonium, and he decided to wait there until most of the crowd returned to their seats before he found the wayto his own box.
He leaned against the cool plaster wall, closing his eyes for a brief moment to collect his thoughts. The heat was oppressive, but the satisfaction of thwarting Wickham’s scheme was a cooling balm to his spirit.
“That was remarkably effective.”
The voice was soft, breathless, and located mere inches from his chest. Darcy’s eyes snapped open.
Miss Elizabeth was standing in the shadows, her back pressed against the opposite side of the wall. The crush of the returning audience had trapped them together in the dimly lit alcove, hidden from the world by the velvet curtains. She was looking up at him, her eyes wide, a flush of pink staining her cheeks.
“I escorted Miss Jenkins to Lady Clement, after her lively conversation with Mrs Forster, and I found myself in need of a reprieve. I believe you had the same thought, Mr Darcy?” she whispered.
Darcy attempted to execute a gallant bow in response to the question. It was a disastrous decision. The alcove was too narrow for such niceties. His shoulders connected with the curtain next to him, sending a shower of decades-old dust raining down on his coat.
He froze, his spine like a fishing rod, fervently praying he was not about to sneeze in the face of the woman he loved.
“I confess, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy murmured, his voice sounding too deep in the confined space, “I have spent years perfecting the art of standing still at crowded assemblies, as you very well know. Clearly, I have failed.”
She pressed her gloved fingers against her lips, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. The darkness obscuredthe sharpest details of her features, but the dim light caught the dancing spark of amusement in her eyes.
“You may have failed here, but you succeeded when it mattered. It was a masterpiece of immovable stubbornness,” she whispered back. “I was watching. I honestly believed Wickham was going to attempt to climb the pillar to escape you.”
“He was certainly agitated.” Darcy smiled, feeling a little smug. “However, my stubbornness would have been useless without your timely intervention. The debate regarding Brussels lace was an inspired stroke of genius. How did you know Miss Jenkins harboured such strong opinions on costumes?”
