As she observed them cross the room, Elizabeth noticed other people watching also. Lydia, for one, viewed them with an expression she more commonly reserved for one of her sisters who had bought a bonnet or slippers she wished were hers, and Miss King, who looked positively crestfallen when Mr Wickham walked past her, chatting convivially with Miss de Bourgh.
Denny arrived to claim Jane for the first dance, and once she was gone, Charlotte said quietly, “I, too, am glad you are not upset about Mr Wickham. I have heard that he has taken an interest in Miss King. I believe she has recently inherited ten-thousand pounds.”
“Yes, I heard the same figure mentioned. I imagine there are few people who would not be interested at the mention of such a sum. A person must have something on which to live, and I certainly have nothing of the kind to offer a husband.”
After a pause and a shrewd look, Charlotte replied, “I am glad you are coming to see things in the same way I do.”
Elizabeth winced at the half-admonishing remark. Perhaps she had been less clear-sighted in Mr Wickham’s case than in her friend’s. Nevertheless, Miss King’s new wealth did not seem to be enthralling him overmuch at present.
“Her fortune seems to have lost its allure.”
“I am not surprised. Miss King’s ten-thousand pounds is nothing to Miss de Bourgh’s fifty-thousand. Not to mention that she is the heiress to Rosings Park.”
Elizabeth knew not how to respond. She did not wish to think of him as mercenary, but if even her most sensible, least romantic friend was alarmed by the vagaries of Mr Wickham’s attentions, she must concede there were grounds for misgivings.
The uncertainty made Elizabeth grateful for Mr Douglas’s friendly face and easy manners when he arrived to greet her. She accepted his hand with pleasure and threw herself into the dance with zeal. It was a lively set, and she enjoyed herself prodigiously—until it was interrupted by a commotion farther down the line. The dancers all stumbled to a halt atop each other, the musicians screeched to the end of their refrains, and Mrs Jenkinson came rushing forth, wailing in dismay.
“Miss de Bourgh! Oh heavens, Miss de Bourgh!”
Elizabeth could see nothing through the throngs of onlookers until the crowd parted, and Mr Wickham strode through, bearing Miss de Bourgh in his arms. Mr Collins came scurrying after them, loudly lamenting the disastrous turn of events. Sir William and Lady Lucas hastened along behind them with expressions of grave concern. Charlotte seized Elizabeth’s arm and dragged her along in their wake.
“What has happened?” Elizabeth enquired urgently.
“Miss de Bourgh fainted.”
“Oh good Lord!”
Mr Wickham carried Miss de Bourgh out of the main ballroom and laid her on a chaise longue in an antechamber, which Sir William cleared with a few choice phrases and some startlingly energetic arm waving. Mrs Jenkinson shoved a bottle of smelling salts under Miss de Bourgh’s nose and cried out in relief when she coughed and spluttered to life.
“Get that vile stuff away from me,” cried the patient, flapping at the bottle.
“I begged you not to do it!” Mrs Jenkinson wailed. “Would that you had listened! What will your mother say?”
“My mother will not say a word because my mother will never hear of this. Is that understood?”
Mrs Jenkinson nodded. Miss de Bourgh looked sternly at Mr Collins and Charlotte until they gave similar assurances.
“But are you quite well?” Mr Collins asked. “You did not hurt yourself when you fell? Your mother will wish to know the cause if you have been injured.”
“I did not fall, for Mr Wickham caught me,” she replied, smiling in that gentleman’s direction. “And until that point, I was having an exceedingly pleasant time. I am only sorry we could not finish the set.”
Mr Wickham gave an affected shake of his head. “You must not concern yourself, madam. There aresomepeople too high in the instep to enjoy a bit of excitement at a ball, butIthought you swooned as delightfully as you danced.”
“Oh, I quite agree. Rarely have I seen such exquisite dancing,” said Mr Collins.
Elizabeth wondered if they had all been watching the same person, for while she would grant that Miss de Bourgh’s skill was commendable for one who rarely had the opportunity to practice, delightful and exquisite it was not.
“You must not allow me to keep you from the dance, sir,” Miss de Bourgh said to Mr Wickham. Her smile seemed fixed in place, and there was a slight tremor to her voice. Charlotte heard it too, it seemed, for she swiftly ushered her father and Mr Wickham from the room. Mr Collins could not be persuaded to leave, and Miss de Bourgh either did not care or had not the energy to object.
“What a miserable display!” she exclaimed, collapsing back onto the sofa with her eyes closed.
“I assure you Mr Wickham will not think any less of you for it,” said Lady Lucas. “He is a most amiable gentleman.”
“I do not care what the son of my late uncle’s steward thinks. What I care about is being able to host balls for my husband, which I can hardly do if I have not the strength in my legs to walk from here to the door. What sort of wife cannot even dance one dance?”
“I do not think Mr Darcy will mind,” Elizabeth said. “He abhors dancing.”
It was evident that Miss de Bourgh had not known Elizabeth was still in the room, for she twisted around and stared at her in dismay.
