“How very public-spirited of you.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head, accepting this as praise.
A pause followed.
“And,” Mr. Bennet added mildly, “have you also secured my wife?”
Mr. Collins blinked. “Mrs. Bennet, sir?”
“She is, after all, your hostess,” Mr. Bennet continued gravely. “I should be distressed to think her overlooked.”
Mr. Collins coloured faintly. “I had not presumed…”
“Presumption is often the soul of gallantry,” Mr. Bennet said. “Pray do not let propriety stand in the way.”
Mr. Collins hesitated, visibly calculating the risks of so conspicuous a display.
Mr. Bennet regarded him with serene interest. “If I may offer advice,” he concluded, “no lady should be neglected where gratitude is due.”
This seemed to settle the matter. Mr. Collins bowed and retreated in search of Mrs. Bennet, whose astonishment at being solicited for a dance was equalled only by her determination to accept.
Bennet allowed himself a small, private satisfaction – and gathered it at no cost to himself. He cast a glance toward the dancers and shuddered slightly.
Mr. Bennet had scarcely resumed his station when a movement near the musicians caught his attention.
A flash of scarlet. A familiar ease of manner. Mr. Wickham advancing with the confidence of a man who had never yet been denied an entrance.
Lydia, stationed inconveniently near the centre of the room, had already turned toward him with unmistakable animation.
Mr. Bennet straightened. He reflected – not for the first time – that ignorance had been easier.
Mr. Wickham was within a pace of Lydia when Mr. Bennet interposed himself with courteous precision. “Mr. Wickham,” he said pleasantly, as though the encounter were accidental. “What a fortunate meeting.”
Wickham bowed, all polish and warmth. “Mr. Bennet. I hope I find your family in excellent spirits this evening.”
“They are in the highest,” Mr. Bennet replied. “So much so, in fact, that I am compelled to guard them from exhaustion.”
Lydia laughed, not yet understanding.
“I was just about to ask Miss Lydia for the next set,” Wickham said lightly.
“Were you?” Mr. Bennet’s brows lifted with mild interest. “I fear you are too late.”
“Too late, sir?”
“My daughters,” he continued with genial composure, “are very fully engaged for the evening.”
Lydia turned sharply. “Papa, I am not…”
“You are,” Mr. Bennet said calmly, without looking at her. “Mary has secured you for the following set.”
Mary, who had secured nothing of the kind, looked startled but did not contradict him.
“And I have promised Kitty to her uncle,” he went on smoothly. “A family arrangement.”
Wickham hesitated – only a fraction.
“I should be honoured to wait, sir.”
