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Charlotte’s mouth curved. Mr Collins turned to Elizabeth, uncertain whether he had received a compliment, but Miss Bingley had already addressed Charlotte.

“An invitation will be sent to Lucas Lodge as soon as we return to Netherfield. Now that Miss Bennet has settled the date, we may rescue the household from uncertainty.”

Charlotte thanked her without describing her dancing, her respectability, or Lady Catherine’s probable opinion of either. Elizabeth admired the economy.

Hill offered the refreshments again. Miss Bingley continued holding the same cup of tea, its surface untouched. Mrs Hurst’s cake remained on her saucer. Elizabeth had watched both women through several meals at Netherfield and could not remember seeing either swallow anything. At the time she had attributed this to fashionable restraint. Fashion had since acquired cold hands, absent mirrors, and a silver punch bowl with emotional difficulties.

Mr Collins reached for the plate before Hill could withdraw it. “Allow me to assist.”

He presented it first to Mrs Hurst. She raised one hand to decline at the same moment he moved the plate closer. Their bare fingers touched above the cakes.

Mr Collins recoiled, the plate tilting violently. Two cakes slid into Mrs Hurst’s lap, another fell onto the carpet, and a fourth struck Miss Bingley’s shoe before coming to rest under her chair.

Mrs Hurst became perfectly still.

Mr Collins stared at his own hand. His face had lost its self-important colour, and he rubbed his fingers against his palm as though attempting to restore sensation.

Kitty gasped, Lydia began laughing, and Mrs Bennet called for Hill, who was still there, apologised to the visitors and reprimanded Mr Collins within the same breath.

“My dear sir, what possessed you?”

“I do not know.” Mr Collins continued staring at Mrs Hurst. “I experienced a sudden...”

Mrs Hurst slowly removed the cakes from her gown and returned them to the plate. Her expression revealed nothing, but her gaze had sharpened on him.

“A sudden what?” Charlotte asked.

Mr Collins glanced at her. Charlotte had risen from the sofa and was studying him with concern rather than amusement.

“A chill,” he admitted. His gaze returned to Mrs Hurst’s hand. “Or perhaps a pain. It was nothing. Nothing at all.”

Charlotte stared at the closed windows and the vigorous fire. “Are you certain?”

“Entirely.” He stepped backwards and collided with the edge of Elizabeth’s sofa. “I merely lost my footing.”

“You were standing still, sir,” Lydia observed.

“That can be a hazardous position,” Mr Bennet said. “A man has no momentum with which to escape.”

Miss Bingley placed her untouched cup on the table. “We have imposed on Miss Bennet long enough.”

Mrs Hurst rose, abandoning her tea and the cake which had survived both selection and collision without being eaten, and drawing on her gloves with great care.

Jane thanked them for calling and repeated her gratitude for the ball. Miss Bingley assured her that her brother would be delighted by the date. Mrs Bennet delivered three messages for him, two concerning Jane’s health and one concerning the number of musicians required. Lydia reminded them about the officers.

At the door, Miss Bingley turned to Charlotte. “Please pass my greetings to Sir William.”

Charlotte inclined her head. “Thank you.”

Mrs Hurst passed Mr Collins without touching him. He flattened himself against the back of a chair to ensure that no accident repeated itself.

When the visitors had gone, Mrs Bennet examined the abandoned refreshments with rising offence.

“Neither of them touched a thing. Not one bite. Mrs Hurst took a perfectly good cake and carried it about the room as decoration.”

“They may not have been hungry,” Jane suggested.

“They came at the hour when civilised people are expected to be hungry.”