Page 48 of A Most Favourable Match

“You and I can have nothing more to say to one another tonight, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said firmly and then turned on her heel, walking out of the room as fast as she could.

Chapter 16

“You are leaving already, Mr Darcy?” Miss Bingley asked, her voice cloyingly sweet. She set her hand on Darcy’s arm, arresting his progress through the ballroom’s main reception room.

Intent only on getting out of this loud, crowded place and putting some distance between himself and the extraordinary encounters of the evening, Darcy recoiled at her touch. In the confusion of his mind, it took a long moment to comprehend who was restraining him and why.

“Yes, I am going,” he answered shortly, pulling back his arm from Miss Bingley and placing both hands behind his back to prevent any further unwanted contact.

“I do not believe you have danced at all,” she protested with a show of sorrow that would have done credit to any Drury Lane actress. “How very unfortunate for the ladies that we shall lose you so soon.”

As Darcy was in no mood for the mental and verbal fencing required to ward off Miss. Bingley’s flirtations, he responded to this with no more than a nod anda muttered word of thanks. He looked over her shoulder towards the doors, only a few feet away. Yes, that was the way back to the cloakrooms, he was almost sure of it. He could bid a polite goodnight and leave.

“Ah, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Louisa Hurst stepped into Darcy’s path at that moment, before he could break away, and as though herding him back towards her younger sister. “I have just received the most interesting news from Mrs Penrose, who has connections in Hertfordshire. We were quite shocked, weren’t we, Caroline?”

Darcy winced. He did not particularly wish to hear gossip from Hertfordshire or anywhere else, and had never met Mrs Penrose. And yet, news from that area might concern the Bennets.

It might concern Elizabeth…

“Oh, very shocked, although we already understood from you, Mr Darcy, that Mr Wickham was not to be trusted,” agreed Miss Bingley, her eyes gleaming as she saw the involuntary interest rise in Darcy’s face despite himself.

“Wickham is never to be trusted,” he confirmed, silently cursing the scoundrel’s name for the second time this evening. “What of him?”

“Well, he was said to be pursuing a certain Miss King of Meryton, who has ten thousand pounds,” Mrs Hurst began.

“An heiress, of course,” Darcy said contemptuously. It could hardly have been otherwise. “What has come of his pursuit, then? Is there a scandal?”

“It was the talk of the neighbourhood for weeks, apparently. I dare say Mrs Bennet and her ilk have thoroughly enjoyed themselves,” tittered Miss Bingley, hiding half her face slyly behind her fan. “Poor Jane!”

“Poor Jane,” echoed Mrs Hurst, looking back over her shoulder as though fearing to find that young woman behind her. “Jane has every virtue, but such a family…”

“Quite impossible people,” Miss Bingley commented, shaking her head. “One wonders how they managed to raise dear Jane. I dare say she is far more suited to her future life as Countess of Grantchester. In her position, I should not return often to Longbourn.”

“Indeed, Sister. I dare say, she will not.”

Each line of the sisters’ exchange irritated him, and soon Darcy could take no more of their ignorant sniping. “What of George Wickham?” he asked again. “Did he make his intentions known to Miss King or her family?”

“Oh, he must have done, for her family took fright and carried her off to Liverpool where she will be quite safe,” Mrs Hurst said, clearly relishing her completion of the story. “They were said to be afraid of an elopement, although that might just be embellishment from the gossips. Mr Wickham must stay in Hertfordshire with his regiment, of course.”

“Good,” Darcy remarked. “Miss King is lucky that she has family and friends ready to defend her from such predations.”

Although he did not tell the Bingley ladies, Darcyknew from experience that George Wickham was quite willing to entice innocent young women into elopement, whether motivated by their fortunes or their bodies. In the latter case, it was also regardless of whether he really meant to marry them or not.

Not many months had passed since Darcy thwarted Wickham’s attempt to lure Georgiana to the altar, though she had been only sixteen at the time. Since their youth, there had also been local girls from the villages around Pemberley who met a more awful fate at Wickham’s hands after being led astray by his false promises of love and marriage.

“You ought to meet Mrs Penrose,” Louisa Hurst then suggested. “She would be most interested to hear what you have to say about Mr Wickham.”

“Regrettably, I cannot. I am leaving now,” Darcy said with as much politeness as he could muster. In truth, he could think of little less appealing than spending a further half hour talking about George Wickham.

“What a shame,” sighed Miss Bingley, batting her lashes energetically. Darcy looked askance at her. Though she must have intended the gesture as an enticement to him, it looked rather more as though she struggled to rid herself of a mite of dust or some other irritant that had fallen into her eyes. “I had hoped we would enjoy more of your company tonight,” Miss Bingley continued. “Charles is in low spirits, and you are such a good influence on him.”

“Your brother is quite capable of pulling himself together when he chooses to,” Darcy replied dryly. No sooner were the words spoken than Darcy had toacknowledge the irony, if only to himself. He had hardly lived up to his own ideals of self-control tonight. “You must excuse me, Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Stepping back and avoiding eye contact, he gave Bingley’s sisters no further opportunity to detain him. Automatically, his mind turned to contrast Miss Bingley’s manner with that of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who only ever met his eye with a direct gaze, who implied little but said exactly what she meant.

Elizabeth Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet…Her name and face ran through Darcy’s mind as he walked to the cloakroom. What was it in her that so fascinated him? Why could he not put her from his mind? Why must she haunt every other waking thought and reflection?

Why did he feel as though her name should instead be Elizabeth Darcy?