Chapter Seven The Scoundrel in the Shade #2
“I watched her.” Bingley collected his hat from the bed. “When Collins mentioned Miss de Bourgh, she looked as though you had struck her. After you denied the engagement, the colour returned to her face. She believed you.”
The relief Darcy experienced was disproportionate to a misunderstanding involving a woman he had known for only a few weeks.
The punch bowl jumped down and rolled several inches nearer Bingley.
Fletcher stopped it under one polished shoe. “Your approval has been noted,” he told it.
Bingley laughed and touched his cheeks to examine the salve on his face. The punch bowl was under Fletcher’s shoe, tilted to him with every appearance of having reached a favourable opinion of his character.
Its judgement was clearly deteriorating.
Darcy drew on his second glove. “What concerns me now is what happened after Collins left the drawing room.”
Bingley’s amusement faded. He held his hat but did not put it on.
“Darcy, Miss Bennet was tired, Mrs Bennet was attempting to discover whether Collins’s dizziness threatened his prospects, and every other person in the room was pretending that he had not announced your engagement before learning that it did not exist.”
“And I was attempting to determine whether Miss Elizabeth considered me secretly engaged, dishonourable, or merely absurd,” Darcy said grimly.
Hurst rose from his chair and allowed Fletcher to straighten his collar. “I should think all three were available.”
Darcy directed a stare at him that could freeze the Thames in July.
Hurst huffed. “I did not say she selected them!”
“The silence did not last, though,” Bingley continued. “Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty brought news from Meryton. That is Darcy’s concern, Hurst.”
The bowl rocked under Fletcher’s shoe.
Bingley walked to the hearth, turning his hat slowly between his hands. “They had visited their aunt and met several officers. One of them was Wickham.”
Hurst’s expression lost its indolence. “The scoundrel wasted little time.”
“According to Miss Lydia, he had charmed her aunt, the officers, two shopkeepers, and a woman selling apples.” Bingley glanced at Darcy. “Miss Kitty believed the apple woman required more time.”
“Another hour would have sufficed,” Hurst muttered.
Darcy stationed himself by the window and parted the curtain by an inch. The autumn sun lay pale on the grounds, touching the wet lawns without warmth. Somewhere beyond them, Wickham had begun weaving himself into Meryton society before Darcy could prevent it.
“The young ladies found him handsome, agreeable, witty, and the most charming officer ever to wear a uniform.” Bingley placed his hat on the bedpost.
Darcy released the curtain. It fell back into place, restoring the room to its comfortable gloom. “Bingley, when Miss Lydia asked if you would invite him to the ball, you agreed.”
“I agreed that Colonel Forster and his officers would be welcome.”
“You should not have.”
Fletcher lifted his foot from the bowl and carried the jar to Darcy’s dressing case. Behind him, the vessel stayed obedient for almost three seconds.
Bingley lifted both hands. “What would you have had me do? Miss Lydia asked before the entire room.”
“Refuse.”
“On what grounds?”
“Any grounds.”
Bingley stared at him.
Darcy allowed Fletcher to inspect the fastening of his coat, then turned back to his friend. “You might have developed a sudden objection to uniforms. You might have claimed that the ballroom floor could not withstand military boots. You might have cancelled the ball.”
“Mrs Bennet would have demanded an explanation.” Bingley retrieved his hat and struck it once against his thigh. “Miss Lydia would have demanded six. Worse, the entire county would have learned before dinner that I was not amiable.”
“Your reputation would have recovered.”
“My reputation is founded entirely on amiability. You are asking me to surrender my principal asset.”
Hurst collected his gloves from the table. “Bingley has a point. Without amiability, he has only five thousand a year, an excellent house, and a face women appear to approve of.”
Bingley considered this. “I might survive.”
“You invited Wickham into Netherfield.” Darcy’s voice silenced them both. “You offered him a ballroom containing hundreds of exposed throats.”
The punch bowl struck the side of the table.
Fletcher caught it as it rolled to the door. He lifted it, carried it back, and placed it firmly in the centre of the table.
Darcy continued before Bingley could answer. “Miss Bennet and her sisters will be among those guests. Miss Elizabeth will be among them.”
The bowl launched itself from the table.
Fletcher caught it against his chest, the impact forcing him back one step, but he retained his hold.
Hurst watched the struggle. “It understands the objection.”
“It understands nothing,” Darcy replied.
The bowl twisted, and Fletcher tightened both arms around it. “It understands advantage.”
Bingley moved closer to Darcy. “I did not invite Wickham individually. I invited Colonel Forster and the officers attached to his regiment. Had I excluded one man by name, everyone would have wanted to know why.”
“Then you should have provided a reason.”
“Which one?” Bingley began counting on his fingers. “That Wickham is a disgraced vampire who has developed a habit of converting unwilling strangers? That you created him and now need evidence before you can destroy him? Tell me, Darcy?”
Darcy pressed his lips together. Bingley was correct, which did nothing to improve Darcy’s temper.
Bingley lowered his hand. “Miss Lydia would have questioned me until I surrendered. Mrs Bennet would have repeated the explanation to every household within ten miles. Collins would have written to Lady Catherine before the tea cooled.”
“He might have interrupted his recovery,” Hurst added. “Such exertion could have proved fatal.”
Darcy turned to him. “You are remarkably entertained by a man who nearly announced my marriage.”
“I found his timing admirable. Most men wait until the bridegroom is informed.”
Fletcher returned the bowl to the table and kept one hand on its rim. The vessel trembled but did not attempt another escape.
Hurst’s amusement disappeared as he buttoned his gloves. “Wickham knows we are here. That you are here. He designed the situation well. He attached himself to the youngest Bennet girls because they were certain to speak of him. He knew they would secure his invitation before you could interfere.”
Bingley nodded. “If I withdraw it now, he will make himself the injured party. By tomorrow, Meryton will hear that Darcy persecuted a blameless officer and persuaded me to assist him.”
“He has used that story before,” Darcy said.
“And used it well,” Hurst replied. “Humans prefer an agreeable liar to a disagreeable truth. Wickham has built his life on the principle.”
Darcy walked to the table and regarded the bowl. Its agitation had subsided, although its rim was directed to the door.
Wickham was forbidden from entering Netherfield.
Darcy had issued the command and could reinforce it when he arrived, but a master’s authority was not a bolt on a door.
Wickham could resist. The resistance would cause pain, but he had endured pain before when profit or revenge stood beyond it.
Forcing him from a crowded ballroom might expose enough of their nature to turn a country dance into a public execution.
Nor could Darcy pass final judgement on him without proof of a fresh violation.
Vampire law required a witness, a victim capable of identifying him, or direct evidence.
A ballroom full of vulnerable humans offered Wickham an opportunity, but it might also provide Darcy with the evidence he had pursued for years.
“We shall not cancel the ball,” he decided. “But Wickham will not move through Netherfield unobserved.”
Fletcher released the bowl and wrapped the jar in cloth before placing it inside a leather pouch.
“Fletcher. You will station servants at every entrance to the private corridors,” Darcy continued. “Nobody leaves the ballroom for the cellars, the upper floor, or the grounds without being noticed.”
Fletcher secured the pouch. “I shall choose those capable of following instructions without requesting the reason.”
“Wickham is never to be alone with any guest.”
Bingley settled his hat on his head. “I shall remain near Miss Bennet.”
Darcy had expected no other answer.
Hurst moved to the door. “And what role have you devised for me?”
“You will remain sober enough to recognise an attempted abduction.”
Hurst stopped with one hand on the handle. “That instruction strikes me as unnecessarily personal.”
“You attempted to feed on Kitty Bennet under a tea table.”
“I was retrieving her glove.”
Bingley examined the ceiling with fascination.
Darcy fastened his riding cloak. “You will remain sober.”
Hurst opened the door. “Tyranny often begins with restrictions on drink.”
“It began when you mistook a pet for luncheon.”
Fletcher restrained the bowl before it could roll after Hurst. Darcy and Bingley entered the passage, but the vessel struck Fletcher’s arm, twisted free, and landed on the carpet. It rolled through the doorway with astonishing speed.
Darcy caught it under one boot, but the bowl pushed against him.
“You are not coming.”
It reversed, altered direction, and attempted to pass Bingley.
Fletcher seized it with both hands. “Go, sir. I shall secure the prisoner.”
Darcy followed the others. They descended the stairs while Fletcher’s voice followed from Darcy’s chamber.
“The sky threatens rain. If the salve washes away, take shelter. Do not wait to discover whether the clouds intend to move.”
Hurst glanced back. “He becomes more cheerful every year.”
Outside, three grooms waited with their horses. Behemoth stood apart from the others, black, enormous, and displeased by the existence of company. He flattened his ears when Hurst approached, then lunged towards the neck of Hurst’s gelding.
The groom dragged the unfortunate animal aside.