“Darcy started the whole thing himself. Has a new carriage riding on the outcome.” As Lord Saye spoke, he removed a small flask from his jacket and dosed his coffee with it.
Seeing Louisa observing him, he winked and said, “My personal physician has me on a very strict regimen. Purely medicinal.”
“What ails you, sir?” Caroline asked, suddenly all concern.
“Horribili sobrietate,” Lord Saye informed her, causing Hurst to bark out a laugh.
Unlike her sister, Caroline had never studied her Latin and thus had no idea that Lord Saye had just said he suffered from sobriety. She nodded, her face a picture of sympathy, and said what a brave man he was to be in such good humour despite his struggles.
On the other side of the table, Charles still seemed to be weighing the bets.
“My money is on Mr Darcy,” Louisa told him helpfully. “But mostly because I think these Bennet girls are grasping.”
He scowled at her, and Louisa belatedly remembered that the reason they were all here was because he was about tomarrya Bennet sister. “Save for dear Jane, of course.”
“The colonel does seem friendlier with Lizzy,” Charles said slowly. “I do not think I have seen Darcy so much as speak to her.”
“I have put my money on the colonel as well,” Hurst told him. “A safer choice, to be sure. Truth be told, there are only a handful who believe Darcy will get her.”
“Not me,” Caroline said hotly. “It is impossible in every way.”
“Whom do the odds favour?” Charles asked.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Hurst replied.
“Lord Saye, you must have placed your money on your brother?” Charles asked.
They all looked at Lord Saye, who only winked and smiled. “I cannot disclose the nature of my wager.”
“No? Your money is on your cousin then, is it?” Charles pressed him, but the viscount would neither confirm nor deny. It was telling enough that he would not disclose his leanings; Charles gave a little nod. “Change my wager, then. My money is on Darcy.”
The door opened then, and the very gentleman they had been speaking of entered the breakfast room.
“There you are, Darcy,” Lord Saye exclaimed, sitting up. “Been for a walk this morning, eh?”
“At this hour?” Mr Darcy asked. “I am afraid not. I have not slept well.”
What Louisa could not account for was why the viscount seemed disappointed by that.
The tightnessin Darcy’s chest, first experienced while watching his cousin dance with and romance Elizabeth, remained the next evening when he found himself at a large dinner party at the home of Mrs Susan Simpson. Fate’s only concession to him was that he escorted Elizabeth into dinner. Alas, she barely looked at him during the short walk, and murmured a near-inaudible thanks when he helped her sit. Darcy managed to restrain a groan at seeing Fitzwilliam, a cocksure grin on his lips, take the place on the other side of her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “A pleasure! You know, I have been thinking about what you said about…” With that, his cousin was off and running.
It should have been Darcy’s duty to help serve her, and yet his cousin encroached upon even that, talking and laughing with her all the while.
His cousin had a little trick he liked to use with the ladies. He lowered the volume of his voice such that whomever he spoke to was required to lean closer to hear him—preferably displaying the tops of her breasts as she did. Elizabeth had, unfortunately, fallen prey to this little ploy and was nearly in Fitzwilliam’schair. Darcy turned his gaze to an intent study of his plate to avoid having to watch his cousin’s lovemaking.
The meal might have been delectable, or it might have been detestable; Darcy could scarcely taste it. In truth, he doubted he would be able to name one dish served once he left the table, for none of it made any impression upon him. The only thing that did was the sure knowledge, which grew ever more sure, that he was losing. Nay—that he had already lost.
“I begin to think you do not care for your food, sir.” A voice—hervoice—intruded into the fog of despair in which he had encased himself.
“I beg your pardon?” He raised his eyes and looked at her.
Elizabeth was lovely in a rose-coloured gown that set off her complexion beautifully and with a twinkle in her eye that was no doubt a remnant of whatever nonsense Fitzwilliam had spewed at her. Never mind that, he had her attention now and he would soak in it.
She gestured towards his plate, which contained a lemon cheesecake. “You have barely eaten a morsel, and your dessert is untouched.”
“Yes, oh. I, um…I ate a lot earlier.”
