All Bets are Off (First Impressions)

18. Eighteen

Eighteen

Elizabeth breezed into Longbourn with a lightness in her step, her bonnet dangling from her fingers and a smug little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. For once, fortune seemed to be tilting in her favor. Darcy had not only intervened with Wickham at the bookshop but had also walked her home afterward—an act that, while cloaked in cool civility, carried more than a hint of possessiveness. If she could maneuver him into a dance or two at the upcoming Netherfield ball, she would surely win Charlotte’s wager.

“Lizzy, is that you?” Jane’s voice called from the sitting room.

Elizabeth made her way in, still smiling. “Indeed it is, and I bring excellent news.”

Jane looked up from her embroidery, her serene expression marred only by a faint crease of worry at her brow. “Oh? Has something happened?”

“Nothing dreadful, I assure you. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Mr. Darcy has finally shown himself capable of gallantry—or something that closely resembles it.” Elizabeth tossed her bonnet onto a nearby chair and sat down beside Jane. “I believe I can coax a dance or two out of him at the ball. Enough to win the wager with Charlotte. I shall lose my wager with Mr. Wickham, but he is already a shilling in my debt anyway, and I care nothing for that.”

Jane’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait… you have competing wagers? And… what is this about Mr. Wickham?”

“Merely hedging my bets. But I daresay it is nearly a foregone conclusion at this point. I shall have the better of Charlotte at last—it was in all Mr. Darcy’s looks this afternoon.”

“You seem rather confident for someone who swore that gentleman was incapable of feeling. Has he suddenly developed some, after all?”

Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively. “Enough, I imagine. Where is Mama?”

Jane began gesturing toward the stairs, her mouth ready with a reply, when the sitting room door opened.

“Ah, my dear cousin!” Collins exclaimed. “I heard you had just returned from town. And was that Mr. Darcy who saw you to the door? An excellent man, very good of him. I was just about to seek you out, for, you see, there was a matter of greatest import I wished to speak of with you.”

Elizabeth’s mood plummeted like a stone. “Mr. Collins,” she said evenly, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

He bowed deeply, his hand pressed to his chest. “I hope, dear cousin, that you will not find my request presumptuous, but as your nearest relation, I feel it my duty to reserve your hand for the opening dance at the Netherfield ball.”

Elizabeth barely stifled a groan. She had half a mind to refuse outright, but Jane’s gently reproving gaze stopped her. Besides, a single dance was no great sacrifice, especially if it meant sparing herself and her family from one of his long-winded speeches about propriety and gratitude.

“Of course, Mr. Collins,” she replied with as much grace as she could muster. “I would be honored.”

Mr. Collins beamed, clearly delighted by what he saw as her enthusiasm. “Wonderful! I knew you would agree, for I have always believed you to be a most sensible young lady. And rest assured, I plan to remain close by your side throughout the evening. A gentleman must always ensure his partner is well attended, after all.”

Elizabeth’s smile froze. “Throughout the evening?”

“Indeed, yes! It is only fitting that we should spend the majority of the evening in each other’s company. Why, the other guests might even begin to speculate on the nature of our... attachment.”

Elizabeth’s pulse quickened, though not from any pleasant emotion. “Mr. Collins, I think you misunderstand—”

“Oh, say no more!” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I understand perfectly, cousin. I, too, feel that there is no need to rush things. These matters must be handled delicately, but I am confident that by the end of the evening, we shall find ourselves much... closer.”

Elizabeth’s stomach turned. Collins was under some ridiculous delusion about securing her favor, and the thought of enduring his particular attentions for an entire evening made her want to flee to her room and barricade the door.

“Mr. Collins,” Jane interrupted, “surely Elizabeth will wish to dance with other partners as well. It would be unfair to monopolize her time.”

Mr. Collins chuckled indulgently. “Oh, of course, of course. I would not dream of depriving her of other dances entirely. But naturally, as her cousin and—dare I say—closest male relation present, I must take precedence.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “How thoughtful of you.”

He beamed again, clearly mistaking her sarcasm for approval. “Until then, dear cousin, I shall count the hours!” With another deep bow, he excused himself, leaving Elizabeth and Jane in stunned silence.

Elizabeth turned to her sister, eyes wide with disbelief. “Did he just...?”

Jane nodded, her expression sympathetic. “He did.”

Elizabeth slumped back against the sofa, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I cannot believe it. The one night I needed to be free of him, and he’s determined to play the gallant suitor.”

Jane reached over and took Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “You’ll think of something, Lizzy. You always do.”

Elizabeth sighed, her earlier optimism now a distant memory. “I certainly hope so, Jane. Otherwise, this wager might be lost before the ball even begins.”

Elizabeth was still seething over Mr. Collins’s audacious presumption when the front door creaked open and closed with a faint thud. Mary stepped into the room, carrying a basket.

“Mary, you’ve been out?” Elizabeth asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.

“Yes, I was visiting Maria Lucas,” Mary replied as she removed her gloves. “She wished to consult me on the suitability of certain verses for a letter she means to write. I found her selections rather lacking.”

Elizabeth gave a half-smile, more amused by the familiar primness of Mary’s tone than the subject itself. “How dutiful of you to offer your assistance.”

Mary ignored the teasing tone and sat straighter, a serious expression forming on her face. “I also happened to speak with someone in town, who offered me a word of caution.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “A word of caution? Concerning what, or whom?”

Mary hesitated, clearly weighing her words. “Concerning you.”

“Me?” Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard. “And what am I to be cautious of?”

“I was told,” Mary said slowly, “that your attention toward a certain gentleman is ill-advised. That it will lead only to disappointment and embarrassment.”

Elizabeth stilled, her mind racing. She had little doubt as to which gentleman Mary referred—there was only one whose attention she actively sought at present. But who had said such a thing to Mary? Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, thinking of potential culprits. Wickham? Perhaps. He would have reason enough to sow discord, given her recent snub.

But then again, Charlotte had always been a clever schemer when it suited her. And when would Mr. Wickham have encountered Mary? He probably barely knew she existed, but Mary had come from Lucas Lodge…

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “And who, pray, delivered this dire prophecy of doom?”

Mary hesitated, casting a wary glance toward the doorway. “I do not think it proper to name names. Suffice it to say, Lizzy, I believe your admiration for Mr. Darcy is misplaced.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Come now, what nonsense is this?”

“I am merely repeating what I was told,” Mary said, her voice steady but solemn. “You are free to ignore it, of course, but I felt it my duty as your sister to warn you. You should not pin your hopes on a man like him.”

Aha . Yes, that sounded very like what Charlotte might have said, merely to stir the pot, and Mary was nothing if not a dutiful messenger. “How thoughtful of you, Mary. I trust the one who warned you of this has some vested interest in my well-being and reputation?”

Mary frowned, clearly missing Elizabeth’s sarcasm. “No, none that I am aware of. But it does not matter who my source is. What matters is that I believe this to be true, and I will go to Papa if I must.”

Elizabeth’s amusement evaporated. “Go to Papa? Mary, you cannot be serious.”

“I am. He may not care about Kitty or Lydia’s flirtations, but I believe he will take a firmer stance if he knows you mean to encourage a man like Mr. Darcy.”

“A man like Mr. Darcy! Tell me, what is so odious about his reputation more than any other gentleman?”

“It is not that,” Mary said hesitantly, toying with nervous fingers over her stomach. “It is only that he is known to be practically engaged. That he gives every appearance of flirting and dallying where he should not, and—”

“Flirting! Mr. Darcy could not even define the word if you put it to him.”

Mary’s jaw went rigid. “He is not acting the part of the gentleman, Lizzy. I know his attentions are insincere.”

Elizabeth stood, pacing the length of the room, trying to rein in her irritation. She knew Mary well enough to recognize that once her sister latched onto something she deemed ‘virtuous,’ she would cling to it with infuriating persistence. Worse, if she truly intended to involve their father, it could complicate Elizabeth’s plans for the ball in ways she could ill afford.

“Very well,” Elizabeth said at last, forcing herself to sound calm. “You’ve delivered your warning. There’s no need to trouble Papa over something as trivial as a few dances at a ball.”

Mary’s expression did not soften. “I hope you will heed it, Lizzy. I would hate to see you humiliated. Your reputation affects us all, as you well know.”

Elizabeth turned back toward her sister, her jaw tightening. “Thank you for your concern, Mary, but I assure you, I am quite capable of managing my own affairs.”

Mary said nothing further, but the look she gave Elizabeth before turning and leaving the room spoke volumes. Elizabeth let out a sigh of frustration as soon as the door closed behind her.

And she began to wonder if she might be in over her head after all.

Darcy placed his wineglass carefully on the table, watching as the ruby liquid stilled. Across the table, Caroline Bingley prattled on about some friends in London and how she still suffered some delusions of returning to Town before the end of the month. But his attention was elsewhere—fixed on his own thoughts, where Elizabeth Bennet’s voice and laughter had begun to linger with an unsettling permanence.

“…and truly, the lace at Madame Fauchet’s is unmatched. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?” Caroline’s voice broke through his reverie, drawing his gaze.

“I beg your pardon?”

Caroline’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, as though she had caught him in some great lapse of manners. “I was merely observing that Madame Fauchet’s lacework is superior. But I see you have weightier matters on your mind.”

Darcy inclined his head slightly, unwilling to engage further. He had long since mastered the art of appearing impassive in the face of Caroline’s attempts to command his attention. Tonight, however, the effort seemed greater.

Beside her, Louisa Hurst reached for her glass, her movements languid. “One can hardly expect Mr. Darcy to occupy his thoughts with mere lace. He is a man of substance, after all.”

“I suppose,” Caroline added with a feigned air of nonchalance, “that he has been rather preoccupied since his little stroll in Meryton this afternoon.”

Darcy’s hand tightened slightly around his fork, but he made no outward sign of displeasure.

“A stroll?” Mr. Hurst asked, glancing up from his plate, his expression one of mild interest.

“Oh, yes,” Caroline continued, her tone light and teasing. “It seems our Mr. Darcy was observed escorting a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet home from town. Quite gallant, would you not say, Louisa?”

Louisa gave a small smile. “Gallant, indeed.”

Bingley, seated beside Darcy, looked up with a bemused expression. “Is that true, Darcy? You escorted Miss Elizabeth home?”

Darcy maintained his composure, though his mind was already calculating the implications of Caroline’s remark. The last thing he needed was for this to become a subject of speculation—or worse, gossip. “It was hardly worth noting,” he replied evenly. “We merely happened to leave the bookshop at the same time, and there was unsavory company about. I did as any gentleman ought.”

“Indeed,” Caroline said, her smile sharpening. “And yet, for a man who prides himself on avoiding unnecessary entanglements, it does seem a curious deviation from your usual practice.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “I see no cause for such exaggeration, Miss Bingley.”

“Oh, but there is no exaggeration,” she said sweetly. “I merely found it amusing. After all, one does not often see you in the company of young ladies—except under strict social obligation, of course.”

“Come now, Caroline,” Bingley said, his tone mildly reproving. “You are making far too much of a simple courtesy.”

Caroline gave a delicate shrug, unbothered by her brother’s intervention. “Perhaps, but one cannot help but wonder… A man who claims to be guarding himself so carefully, escorting a young lady home? What are the poor townspeople to think?”

Darcy set his fork down with deliberate precision, the metallic clink against the plate louder than he intended. He could feel the tension rising in his chest, a mixture of annoyance and something far more dangerous—guilt. Caroline’s words struck closer to the mark than he cared to admit. He had been careless, not in action, but in thought. Allowing himself to enjoy Elizabeth’s company, even fleetingly, was a perilous indulgence.

“The townspeople may think as they please,” Darcy said, his voice cool and measured. “It is of no consequence to me.”

“Oh, naturally,” Caroline replied with a sly smile. “But I do hope you are not finding Meryton more diverting than you expected. One would hate for you to become entangled in a place like this .”

Darcy shot her a sharp glance, but before he could respond, Bingley interjected with a good-natured laugh. “Enough, Caroline. You are determined to tease Darcy tonight.”

Caroline’s eyes glittered with triumph, but she relented, turning her attention back to her plate. Darcy, however, found no relief. The conversation had only deepened the conflict within him—a conflict he could not afford to entertain, yet could not seem to ignore.

Later, after the uncomfortable dinner had mercifully ended, Darcy found himself standing beside the fire in Bingley’s study, a glass of brandy in hand. Bingley joined him, sinking into a chair with his usual affable ease, though his expression remained thoughtful.

“I must say, Darcy, Caroline’s remarks at dinner were rather pointed,” Bingley said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “She seemed most intent on provoking you. What have you done to rile her?”

Darcy exhaled slowly. “She is determined to remind me of the wager. I think she is hoping I will lose.”

Bingley leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. “Forgive me, but why let it trouble you? You’ve done nothing improper. Surely no one would think less of you for escorting Miss Bennet home. It was the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“It is not the action itself, Bingley,” Darcy replied, setting his glass down on the mantel. “It is the attention it invites. Your sister was not wrong about Meryton’s love for gossip. Such talk could lead to expectations—expectations I cannot afford to encourage. I told you this would all end poorly.”

Bingley considered this for a moment, then said, “I think you worry too much. Elizabeth Bennet is hardly the sort to presume anything from a simple act of kindness. In fact, I think her rather an admirable lady.”

Darcy stiffened. “Admiration is one thing. Entanglement is another.”

“And you have reason to fear entanglement here?”

“I fear complication,” Darcy said sharply. “My life, Bingley, is not one that allows for impulsive decisions. My family’s name, my estate, my responsibilities—they demand prudence, not distraction.”

Bingley’s smile faded, replaced by quiet understanding. “And you believe Miss Elizabeth could become such a distraction?”

Darcy ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. “She already is. I find myself thinking of her when I should not. I look for her in every room, and when she is present, I—” He stopped himself, realizing he was revealing far more than he intended.

Bingley studied his friend for a long moment before speaking. “Darcy, I’ve known you a long time. You are not a man given to whims or fancies. If Elizabeth Bennet occupies your thoughts, it is because she has earned her place there.”

Darcy turned away from the fire, pacing the length of the room. “It does not matter. I cannot afford to lose my composure or my objectivity. Caroline’s remarks tonight were a reminder of what is at stake.”

Bingley stood, setting his glass aside. “If you ask me, Caroline is merely trying to get under your skin. You should not let her.”

Darcy stopped pacing, his expression grim. “Perhaps. But it serves as a warning all the same. I cannot afford to give anyone reason to believe there is more between myself and Miss Bennet than civility.”

Bingley leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass lazily. “Civility, is it? Well, if that is your aim, I wish you luck, my friend. From where I stand, it looks as though it might be a more difficult wager than you anticipated.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened as he turned back toward the fire, the golden light flickering across his face. He had no desire to admit how accurate Bingley’s observation was, but the truth gnawed at him, undeniable.

“I entered this wager,” Darcy said at last, his tone clipped, “believing it to be a matter of simple decorum. Show politeness, avoid entanglements, and leave with my reputation intact.”

Bingley sat up straighter, setting his glass aside. “I only meant to suggest that you could demonstrate common civility without risking—”

“Common civility does not exist in our world,” Darcy interrupted. “For men like me, like you, there is only propriety, or scandal. One dance too many, one smile held too long, and suddenly the world imagines attachments where there are none.”

“You are overthinking this,” Bingley said after a pause. “No one is expecting you to propose marriage after escorting Miss Bennet home. You have always held yourself above such nonsense. Why let it trouble you now?”

Darcy turned away, the muscles in his shoulders taut. “Because this time, it is different.” He drew a slow breath, steadying himself. “Elizabeth Bennet is not like the others. She is—”

He stopped himself abruptly, unwilling to finish the thought aloud. It was too dangerous, even in Bingley’s presence, to give voice to what had begun to take root in his mind. Elizabeth Bennet was not merely a passing amusement, nor a trivial test of his will. She was clever, quick-witted, and undeniably captivating. But more than that, she had a way of making him forget, if only for a moment, the weight of expectation he carried. And even more thrillingly, to imagine something… beyond .

“Different how?”

Darcy shook his head. “It does not matter. What matters is that I maintain control. If I do not, I risk far more than losing a wager. I risk dragging both of us into a situation neither of us can escape without damage.”

Bingley’s brow creased in concern. “I still think you are reading too much into other people’s opinions.”

“Because I must . You do not understand, Bingley. Your good nature, your wealth—they shield you. But for me, everything is scrutinized. If I were to marry below my station, society would tolerate it, but only just. But to show interest without intention? To raise a young lady’s hopes, even unintentionally, only to leave her to face the fallout alone? That is not something I can countenance.”

Bingley said nothing for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He swirled the remnants of his brandy, then took a slow sip before setting the glass aside. “I did not mean to make light of your concerns, Darcy. But if I may—perhaps you should worry less about what society expects and more about what you want. You are always thinking of duty, of propriety, of reputation. When was the last time you allowed yourself to want something for yourself?”

Darcy’s grip tightened around the stem of his glass, but he did not respond. He could not. Admitting the answer, even to himself, would mean acknowledging that his desire for Elizabeth Bennet had grown beyond mere attraction. It would mean admitting that she was no longer simply an opponent in a game of wits, but a temptation he longed to indulge.

And that, he could not allow.

Instead, he said quietly, “What I want is irrelevant. It always has been.”