Kitty shrugged. “It will not be occupied, and like I said, it will be quiet. You know where it is, do you not?”
“Yes, but does Charlotte?”
Another shrug. “She must if she suggested it.”
“Then she would also know the room is certain to be locked. Mr. Bingley’s study is in the residence wing.”
This time, a shrug and an eye roll. “I am only repeating to you what she told me.”
Just then, a group of ladies disbanded and Charlotte came into view. Perfect. “There she is. I shall go to her now.”
Kitty’s eyes widened. “But—but then you would never get away!” Indeed, Kitty was right. None other than Mr. Collins formed a part of Charlotte’s group. “I heard him tell Mama that he meant to ask you for another dance.”
Elizabeth shivered. One dance with Mr. Collins was bad enough, but she could not allow him to single her out in his attentions by requesting another.
Still, Elizabeth’s suspicions were not easily appeased. Was this one of Lydia’s tricks? She had been emphatic in stating that she would make Elizabeth pay for attempting to spoil her fun. Kitty would lie for Lydia—but Charlotte? Of all the places to have a private conversation, why choose Mr. Bingley’s study? It was sure to be locked.
Then again, what would it hurt to have a look? If the door was locked, Elizabeth would hurry downstairs well before the dance ended. No harm would be done. If it was open, she would wait for a few minutes. Enjoy the reprieve. Rest her feet. “Very well. I shall go as Charlotte says if you will signal to her that I am waiting. I cannot be away for too long”—she gave Kitty a pointed look—”as you well know.”
“Yes, yes, only hurry or I shall miss my set with Mr. Denny.” Kitty scampered across the room to take her place among her waiting party.
Several couples rushed to take their places in the cotillion, forming clusters of eight.
Elizabeth hesitated. Something was not quite right.
The crowd parted, and she saw Mr. Darcy walking in her direction, his dark eyes unmistakably fixed on her. He looked no happier to seek her out than she did in being sought.
Why was he approaching her? Surely he did not mean to ask her to dance. Elizabeth’s stomach flip flopped. Mr. Darcy’s every word and action was calculated. If he approached her, he had a purpose, and Elizabeth did not presently feel up to the challenge of crossing swords with the gentleman. She needed ammunition. She needed Charlotte’s “useful intelligence.”
Taking advantage of the crowd, Elizabeth made herself small and, spinning around, she weaved toward the stairs through gesturing gentlemen and ladies waving fans. The hall at the top of the landing was dark, so she was doubly surprised when she reached the door of Mr. Bingley’s study and found it open. Still cautious, Elizabeth peeked inside, allowing her vision to adjust to the darkness. “Is anyone here?”
Nothing but quiet. She entered, crossing the floor to pull the curtains aside and allow what little of the moon’s glimmer through as the fogged glass permitted.
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth listened to the dimmed laughter and music drifting up from below. The tension in her shoulders eased. She would stay just a few minutes.
Taking a seat by the fireplace in the darkest corner of the room, Elizabeth settled into the soft cushions of a chair, propping her sore feet on a cushioned footstool. She prayed that Mr. Collins would not keep her friend longer than the twenty-five minutes or so Elizabeth could afford to wait before returning to her vigil. She prayed even harder that Charlotte bore good news.
CHAPTER8
Bingley rarely felt irritation, but Darcy was testing his patience. Had he not acted on Darcy’s every suggestion over the past weeks? He had taken a dusty, neglected estate and transformed it into a sparkling jewel worthy of his neighbors’ glowing praise.
Well, the servants had done that, but had Bingley himself not overseen every detail? Had he not been the one to order the work done, send to London for supplies, and ensure the laborers were paid… once they had done the work properly, an oversight on his part and an inconvenient lesson the sealed windows in the upper floors had taught him. It was not a mistake he would soon make again.
All this, and did Darcy impart even one “well done” or “hear hear”? No. He hovered over Bingley’s shoulder, a scowling chaperone, keeping Bingley from doing the one thing he most wanted to do: dance again with Jane Bennet.
She was an angel. Bingley’s heart fluttered every time her blue eyes met his and her rosebud lips smiled at him. She smiled at everything he said. She made him feel like the most intelligent man in the room. A king’s ransom for another dance! How else was he supposed to discern the depth of her feeling?
What would Darcy do in this situation?Bingley considered.
Darcy would never be in this situation to begin with. He was quick to decide; quick to act. And so must Bingley be. He drew himself to his full height, lifting his chin and widening his stance. Had he not been acting decisively for weeks? Now was not the time to back down. He must act confidently. He wanted to dance with Jane, to prove to Darcy that she was not indifferent, and nothing would change Bingley’s mind about it. How was that for decisive?
But how? Bingley had given Darcy several hints to favor his guests with his company, and yet, when they were not dancing, his friend stood at his side, limiting his conversation. He dared not approach the Bennets, though that was precisely what he must do if he were to settle his heart on Miss Bennet.
If only he were as clever as Miss Elizabeth. She would find a way to lure Darcy away. Few could match his friend’s quick wit, but she had managed splendidly during her short stay at Netherfield. Where others reacted with awe, she poked fun. Where others adjusted their views to suit Darcy’s, she boldly defended hers. She debated with Darcy fearlessly, though in all honesty, Bingley could not tell for certain if she took any particular enjoyment from their debates. Bingley suspected that Darcy did, though he could not countenance why.
That was how it struck him. Who better to distract Darcy than Miss Elizabeth?
Bingley saw her standing under the archway and, heart hammering in his chest, he pointed her out to Darcy. With hardly any coercion at all, his friend set off across the room, and a delighted Bingley floated on the wings of his success to Miss Bennet… just in time to see her take the arm of another gentleman to join the cotillion.
