Something was wrong between these two men. Something deeper than mere dislike.
And she suspected Mr. Wickham's version of events might not be the complete truth.
“Perspectives change.” Mr. Darcy said quietly. His gaze flickered to Elizabeth before returning to Mr. Wickham with cold composure.
Mr. Wickham's smile faltered, just for an instant. Then he laughed again and turned his attention to Lydia, who was demanding to know whether the officers would attend the holiday entertainment.
The party moved on, now swelled by three additional members. Elizabeth walked in thoughtful silence, turning the exchange over in her mind.
Miss Bingley, meanwhile, had seized upon the distraction to resume her campaign.
“The arch is just ahead,” she announced, steering the group toward a structure Elizabeth had noticed earlier—a wooden frame draped with greenery and crowned, inevitably, with mistletoe. “Is it not romantic? Charles had it built especially for the occasion.”
“I did no such thing,” Mr. Bingley protested. “That arch has been there for years.”
“Nevertheless, it serves our purposes beautifully.” Miss Bingley positioned herself near the entrance, clearly calculating anglesand trajectories. “We must all pass through. It is the only path forward.”
Elizabeth eyed the arch with deep suspicion.
Mr. Bingley and Jane approached first, arm in arm, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Mrs. Bennet held her breath so loudly it was audible from ten paces away.
They passed beneath the mistletoe.
Mrs. Bennet squealed in anticipation.
Jane blushed crimson. Mr. Bingley looked simultaneously terrified and hopeful.
And then a gust of wind swept through the clearing, shaking the branches overhead and sending a cascade of snow tumbling from the arch directly onto Jane's bonnet.
She stumbled with a startled cry. Mr. Bingley caught her instantly, his arms wrapping around her to steady her, his face a picture of concern.
“Miss Bennet! Are you hurt? That wretched snow—I should have—are you quite well?”
“I am fine,” Jane managed, brushing snow from her shoulders. “Merely startled.”
“You are certain? Your bonnet is quite—here, allow me?—”
He reached up to brush snow from her ribbons, his expression so tender that Elizabeth felt almost guilty for watching.
“There,” Mr. Bingley said softly. “Perfect again.”
Jane's blush deepened. They stood frozen beneath the arch, gazing at each other, apparently having forgotten that anyone else existed.
Mrs. Bennet clutched Elizabeth's arm with bruising force. “Did you see that? He caught her! He held her in his arms! This is a sign—a clear sign—they shall be engaged by Christmas, mark my words!”
“Mama,” Elizabeth murmured. “Perhaps a bit quieter.”
“Quieter? When my daughter is moments from securing her future? I think not!”
Miss Bingley, meanwhile, looked as though she had bitten into something sour. Her carefully orchestrated moment had been ruined by weather, and now her brother was making a spectacle of himself over Jane Bennet while the entire party watched.
“How... touching,” she managed. “Charles, perhaps we should continue. The path awaits.”
Mr. Bingley and Jane moved on reluctantly, their hands somehow finding each other as they walked.
Elizabeth hung back, letting the others pass through the arch ahead of her. She had no intention of providing Miss Bingley with another opportunity.
But Miss Bingley was not so easily thwarted.
