“And what about you, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley inquired. “No doubt you and Georgiana shall be departing for Pemberley ere long.”
Darcy had not, in fact, decided where they would pass Christmastide. Georgiana had hoped they would stay in London since some of her friends were remaining, but in general he preferred Pemberley during the holidays. London could be bleak and dirty. However, it could offer one thing that Pemberley could not: Elizabeth Bennet.
“We will be remaining in London,” Darcy heard himself say.
Miss Bingley’s eyebrows shot upward. “Indeed? It will be lovely to have you here.” But her eyes darted from him to Elizabeth; maybe she suspected the other women’s influence on his decision.
Mrs. Gardiner cleared her throat. “Lizzy, perhaps we should depart. We have other calls to make.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth stood gracefully, a tiny smile playing about her lips. Evidently the strain in the conversation had not bothered her.
Darcy made a point to bid Elizabeth goodbye but could think of nothing more to say to her. She was always so witty, so at ease in company—and he was always so tongue-tied in her presence.
The door closed behind the two women. “Well!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “I shall not feel myself obliged to return Miss Bennet’s call!”
“I rather believe she will not mind,” Bingley said, sinking disconsolately into a chair. Darcy considered this. Bingley’s sisters believed Elizabeth had visited Bingley House to curry favor with them and perhaps secure introductions to the ton. However, Elizabeth’s behavior belied such an aim.
But why had she bothered to visit Bingley’s sisters at all? Her visit had merely served to make Bingley and his sisters feel uncomfortable about their hasty departure from Hertfordshire.
Oh.
Darcy considered the other inhabitants of the drawing room. Mrs. Hurst’s brows were drawn together in an expression of perplexity. Miss Bingley drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair in irritation. Standing at the sideboard, Bingley had poured himself a glass of brandy and now stared into the empty glass.
Elizabeth was angry at the way they had departed from Netherfield and suspected it had been for the purpose of separating Jane Bennet from Bingley. Perhaps Miss Bennet had been more attached to Darcy’s friend than he had supposed. Certainly Bingley was dejected after their separation. The observation made Darcy uneasy; had he done his friend a disservice?
And did Elizabeth suspect Darcy’s role in the relocation to London? The thought made him grow cold. She had not given Darcy any particular regard during the conversation, but surely she had noticed his interest in her.
Still, the thought tha
t Elizabeth Bennet was angry with him persisted at the back of his mind. How would he know for sure? And what could he do about it?
Not that he wanted to, he reminded himself. Elizabeth Bennet is nothing to me.
Chapter Two
Caroline Bingley lingered at the back of the book shop, regarding the clock with some impatience. Twelve minutes past the hour, and he was late. Did he have no sense of punctuality? Not that she expected anything else. Although she professed to love books, in truth she found bookshops dreadfully dull. However, they were a far more convenient location for a hidden rendezvous than a mantua maker’s or a milliner’s shop.
The bell over the door rang as someone entered, and Caroline averted her eyes to shelves of natural history books in which she had no interest. Quick footsteps warned that someone was approaching. “Miss Bingley! What a pleasant surprise,” a low, male voice said.
Caroline turned around with a completely feigned expression of shocked delight on her face. “Mr. Wickham. How lovely to see you,” she said softly, scanning the area to see if they might be overheard. But the shop was sparsely populated, and nobody was within earshot.
He curled a lip at her. “Enough with the act,” he growled. “What do you want with me? And how will you make it worth my while?”
Caroline pursed her lips, determined not to surrender to the temptation to display her real thoughts about the man. “I have need of some assistance and will pay you handsomely for it.”
Mr. Wickham leaned closer; his breath smelled like old onions. “Do tell.”
When Caroline had encountered Wickham on the streets of Meryton in October, he had offered her “inside knowledge” about Mr. Darcy’s habits. She had disdained him then, never expecting to want his help, but today’s business required just his sort of cunning. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is in town, staying with relatives in Cheapside,” Caroline explained. “I have an…interest in ensuring that Mr. Darcy does not become…overly fond of her.”
Mr. Wickham arched an eyebrow. “He has an inclination in that direction? She hardly seems high enough in the instep for him.”
Caroline wished she could forget the expression on Mr. Darcy’s face as he had gazed at Elizabeth Bennet the previous day. “I do not see the appeal,” she sneered. “But he appears to be in danger of falling under her spell.”
Wickham shrugged. “And how is this my concern?”
She glanced down at her gloves, soft and white, without a spot of dirt. “As I recall, in Hertfordshire, Eliza Bennet seemed to have some misguided fondness for you.” Caroline did not bother to hide her expression of disgust, but he did not react. “Have you continued the acquaintance here?”
“I have paid calls at her aunt and uncle’s house,” he allowed.