He glanced about, as though measuring the privacy that might be found in the press of laughing dancers. Miss Bingley, their hostess, had chosen a new-fashioned country dance, and most of the company was absorbed in untangling its unfamiliar figures. He spoke quietly.
“My brother Geoffrey is to inherit, of course,” William began. “There is no question—he has every right. But as you know, a second son must make his own fortune. And I was never a great scholar. School was misery, and university—not for me.”
“Surely,” replied Elizabeth, “the world offers more than just the study of law or divinity. What do you intend?”
“I am too old for the sea,” he admitted. “But I have decided. I intend to seek a commission in the army. Father will purchase it—he has agreed. But my mother…” He trailed off, embarrassed. “She cannot bear the thought of the war, that I might be wounded—or worse.”
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered with sympathy, yet she wondered how she might answer wisely. She had never trod further than Hertfordshire, save for her visits to Town. She studied William, recognising in him the lingering uncertainty of the boy she’d known.
“What is it you wish me to say?” she asked. “Do you seek my blessing? Only you can know what lies most truly in your heart.”
“But surely you must know,” he protested earnestly, as if she wielded some supernatural certainty.
Elizabeth felt an irritation rise, which she quickly suppressed. “William, my insight does not run to fortune-telling. Perhaps you should visit the gypsies encamped by Oldfellows Lane! They would oblige you for sixpence, I daresay.”
He looked genuinely distressed. “But you always seem to know! Farmer Malleson said you found his cow, when no one else could after a whole day searching—”
She sighed, resignation settling upon her. “Sometimes, William, I am able to guess at a thing—or know what another person may think or do—yet that is not prophecy. I do not see the future. Prophets speak with the voice of God; I am blessed with no such grace.”
The pair were compelled to separate as the dance required, and when they rejoined, Elizabeth continued, “Would you have me soothe your mother with false assurances? Or swear that you will return safe and sound, while the truth may be far harsher—a nameless grave on some foreign field?”
She saw the pain in his expression, and wondered—was she always to be the one so burdened with others’ fears and hopes?
“Am I to join the army with my family in fear and no counsel from you?” he asked, more plaintively this time. “You have this strange gift—why can you not use it to help me?”
Elizabeth felt the impulse to stamp her foot, but spun merrily instead as the dance demanded. “I will tell you only what I know,” she said gently. “I know something of your evening—though perhaps not what you wish. You will speak to a colonel tonight—not Colonel Forster of the militia, but a man of the regulars, recently returned from the Peninsula. Let him be your adviser; he will know a soldier’s life far better than your old childhood playmate.”
When the dance ended, William’s face was drawn with thought. “My apologies, Elizabeth,” he said quietly, releasing her hand. “I should not have pressed you so—you are right. The path I choose must be my own. But I have not seen this colonel you mention.”
As though summoned, Elizabeth observed Mr. Darcy entering the room, accompanied by a tall gentleman in uniform—perhaps thirty, broad-shouldered and sun-browned, his posture unmistakably that of a seasoned officer in His Majesty’s army.
“There, William,” Elizabeth said, nodding in their direction, “there is your colonel. And judging by his demeanour, I suspect he possesses far more good sense than I could ever claim.”
* * *
Chapter 3
Netherfield
“Don’t tell me, Darcy. Let me see if I can find your inamorata and her family.” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed at his cousin’s discomfort. “Ah, I have found Bingley’s angel—indeed, quite a beauty. Most of thetonwould be envious.”
Darcy followed the direction of his gaze. There was Bingley, talking animatedly with Miss Bennet. “Too easy, Richard. You only needed to find Bingley, and you were sure to find Miss Bennet. I agree, she appears everything good; but while her manners are open and engaging as ever, I do not see any particular sign of her interest in Bingley, for she smiles and is equally cheerful with everyone.”
“You are a lost cause. Cannot a lady be pleased with all her company, yet that makes her indifferent to any particular man?” The Colonel’s eyes roamed the room, but he was interrupted in his search by the approach of a nervous young man.
“M-Mr. Darcy, you may remember me from the card party… William Goulding.”
Darcy hesitated; a vague recollection of the youth from the Gouldings’ card party came to mind. “Of course. A pleasant evening.”
“If you will excuse my forwardness, would it be possible to introduce me to Colonel Fitzwilliam? I believe he has very recent experience of the war in the Peninsula.” Goulding bowed, looking expectantly between the gentlemen.
“By Jove, Darcy,” exclaimed Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Have you been gossiping about me? I would have thought my name unknown in these parts, having arrived but two hours ago.”
“No, indeed. Mr. Goulding, how come you to know the Colonel’s name?” Darcy asked rather imperiously.
“Oh, I had not thought… Why, Eliz—Miss Elizabeth Bennet suggested I talk to you, sir,” replied Goulding, addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam directly.
“Never met the lady.” The Colonel glanced at Darcy, whose ears were a delicate shade of pink. He turned back to Goulding. “Perhaps, sir, you could point her out, as I have no recollection of the name.”
