Elizabeth suspected Darcy would be such a man, but she would not invoke his name when Wickham was in such a fine mood.
“And,” he went on, “I hope to be honoured by dancing with all of you in the course of the evening.” They all agreed, and even Elizabeth was flattered at knowing she had a partner for at least one dance.
During their walk, he particularly attended to Lydia. She was on his arm, and he ducked his head low, often speaking right into her ear. Elizabeth and Kitty walked behind, and while she could not hear what they spoke of, she saw Wickham’s smile when his head turned and saw Lydia’s shoulders shake with laughter.
Wickham walked with them to their door, and then made his bow, despite Lydia pressing entreaties that he would come in.
“I am wanted elsewhere, and I am sure all of you have to attend to your dress, although you are perfect in my eyes. But before I leave,may I take this opportunity to solicit your hand, Miss Lydia, for the first two dances?”
Lydia was stunned silent but nodded, giving him a beaming grin.
“It is mere hours until I see you again,” he promised, with a kiss to Lydia’s hand.
Lydia’s composure lasted until the door closed behind them, and she ran up the stairs while shrieking with glee and crying out to tell her mother of her good fortune. Kitty stomped off to her own room, and Elizabeth stayed in the lobby, enjoying a moment of solitude and quiet.
Her sister would feel all the compliment offered to herself, but Elizabeth suspected it would only end in disappointment if Wickham could never afford to marry her.
She knew how the rest of the afternoon would play out. She would advise her mother that Wickham was a charming man to dance with but that he would not marry Lydia. Her mother would deny it, Lydia would call her jealous, and after a great deal of yelling, nothing would change. Lydia had a rage for admiration and was entirely uncontrolled, and would only learn her unimportance when Wickham found a woman with a fortune.
CHAPTER FOUR
The only good thing about public assemblies in Ramsgate was that they were short. The twice-weekly balls began at eight and ended promptly at twelve, even if it was the middle of a dance. Darcy did not mind that they were considered undress balls, but his sister lamented not being able to dress more finely for a four-hour evening where she was only going to sit and talk with her friends.
“Why cannot I dance?” Georgiana asked as they entered. Her tone said that she would have stamped her foot if they were not in public.
“Did you even want to?” he asked, surprised. She was so shy and hated to be introduced to strangers or even be much looked at.
“My father would let me dance, with a friend, if he were alive.”
He looked askance at her querulous attitude. It was out of character for her. “You may dance if your partner did not have to shave before he came out tonight. I see Mr Clifton with his mother. If he asks, you may dance with him.”
Georgiana wrinkled her nose. “He is shorter than I am.”
Darcy was about to admonish her, but he supposed Mr Clifton was so much shorter than his sister that it would make dancing uncomfortable for them both.
“We will have a charming time, Miss Darcy,” said Mrs Younge as she scanned the room. “Let us find your friends.”
Darcy passed his eye over the dancers and was alarmed to see Wickham in the middle of the set with Lydia Bennet. Even at so great a distance, he could see she was proud to be his partner. Wickham smiled and talked as he always did. When he turned Lydia and looked over his shoulder, he noticed Darcy staring. Contempt flooded his features, and Darcy was certain his own gaze held as much loathing.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy.”
He tore his gaze from the dancers to realise that his sister and Mrs Younge had led him to Elizabeth Bennet. Her mother and other sister were a little apart, chatting with a large group of ladies. He supposed Elizabeth had come away to talk with Georgiana so she did not have to bear the attention of everyone in their party.
He greeted her, and she and Georgiana admired each other’s finest day gowns and hair ornaments that they had likely seen a dozen times.
The first dance finished, and Lydia noisily joined the group to greet Georgiana—and Wickham had followed, smiling without a care in the world. In the dim candlelight, he could not be certain if Wickham was covered in a rash or flushed from dancing. It certainly was not from mortification at his past behaviour.
Darcy felt sick to his stomach at the sight of him. After a moment of hesitation, Wickham nodded to him. Darcy was about to ignore him, but he felt the eyes of everyone in their party. To cut Wickham now would satisfy the anger in his chest, but it would lead to questions. He gave the slightest incline of his head.
“Good evening,” Wickham said to Georgiana, who held out her hand. Wickham’s eye travelled over his sister, and he gave her the same ingratiating smile he always gave to women. But, far worse, his fifteen-year-old sister met this admiring look with something he had never seen in her face before.
Attraction.
Wickham was about to take her hand when Darcy reached out and gently pushed down her arm. To her credit, she instantly curtsied instead, and Wickham did nothing other than smirk at him.
He had thought that he could do this, keep his sister in the samecircle as Wickham for her to learn how to dismiss such men and discern how they were wrong for her. Mrs Younge might know everything about young girls and how they had to grow up in the wider world, but he knew Wickham’s vices. If Wickham was back in Ramsgate, he would take Georgiana home after all.
“Perhaps you and Miss Lydia might like to talk to Miss Rexford?” said Mrs Younge to Georgiana when the silence stretched. “She looks lonesome.”
