Elizabeth reached for the jam to hand it down the table. “Then you had best pace yourself, Lydia, or you will be carried home before the first reel begins.”
Lydia laughed. “I never tire. You know that.”
Kitty frowned. “I danced almost as many as she did, you know, but no one says a thing about it. Should not I be tired, too?”
Elizabeth passed the jam toward her… and her sleeve dragged across her wrist.
A sudden sting lanced up her arm.
She caught her breath and drew her hand back sooner than she meant to, the jam pot tilting in her grip.
Jane caught it at once. “Lizzy?”
Elizabeth forced a smile and shifted the pot into her other hand. “My sleeve snagged. I suppose I shall have to mend it.”
She dropped the offending wrist under the table, hiding it from Jane’s gentle scrutiny. Beneath the cloth, the skin throbbed once, warm and insistent. The urge to push back her sleeve and inspect the mark rose sharply—but Kitty was already asking her for the butter, and Mama was bustling behind her chair.
Elizabeth lifted the butter dish with her free hand, nodding at Kitty’s chatter as though nothing at all had occurred.
“Mrs Long says Mr Bingley will surely call today.”
“Of course he will!” Mama gushed. “I shouldn’t wonder if he is nearly at the door already.”
“Oh, there is a very fine thing,” Papa grunted. “The gentlemen come to the country for a bit of sport, but instead of taking advantage of a fine morning in the fields, they come to inhabit my drawing room.”
“Mr Bingley told me himself that he planned to go shooting this morning,” Jane supplied.
“Oh, never mind whether Mr Bingley is shooting or riding or whatever,” Kitty protested. “I was talking about Mrs Long. You know she never hands out compliments she doesnot have to, but evenshethinks Jane made the finest impression of the whole room. There, what do you all say to that?”
Mama caught up the teapot and nearly overfilled her cup. “Naturally she did, my love! And if Mr Bingley has the sense I hope he possesses, we shall hear the front bell before noon.”
Jane caught Elizabeth’s eye with a gentle smirk and a soft chuckle, then lowered her eyes, smiling into her tea.
Mary glanced up again. “There is such a thing as excess of spirits, Kitty.”
Lydia tossed her hair. “Only in sermons.”
Elizabeth tried again for the jam, more carefully this time. The movement tugged faintly at the scratch—nothing serious, but enough to keep her thoughts too focused on her wrist. It was absurd to mind a scratch at all. Absurd to feel it now. It should have healed days ago.
“Lizzy, you must wear your muslin today—the one with the embroidered hem. Mr Darcy will come with Mr Bingley when he calls, you may depend upon it. Surely, he regrets his conduct and will wish to make amends. Men of fortune are always eager to redeem their manners when beauty is concerned.”
Elizabeth made the mistake of swallowing tea at that moment. She coughed, the cup rattling in its saucer. “Mama, I—”
Kitty giggled. “There, Mama, you made her choke! I told you she despises the man.”
Lydia kicked her under the table as Elizabeth sputtered to clear her airways.
Mama patted her back with unnecessary vigour. “There now! Compose yourself. Nothing is more unbecoming than appearing flustered. I am sure Mr Darcy will find you quite agreeable. You must try to keep him talking, for Jane’s sake. Who knows that they will not overstay the quarter hour? Oh, I shall have Hill make some fresh cake. And plums! Who has better plums than Longbourn, I ask? Come, Lizzy, compose yourself, or Mr Darcy will think you terribly odd, indeed.”
Elizabeth’s spine went rigid.Talkwith Mr Darcy? For an entire call?
No.
The word struck through her so sharply she did not realise she had thought it—only that her pulse surged and something in her demanded refusal.
At that instant, the spoon beside her cup gave a quick, clear tap against the saucer. A single sound, light but crisp—loud enough to cut through Lydia’s bragging and Kitty’s chatter.
Mary looked up at once. “What was that?”
