Eighteen
Lucas Lodge
Elizabeth
Sir William Lucas's birthday ball was everything it usually was.
There was food in excess, music from the finest musicians the county could furnish, and distinguished visitors from every sphere of life in Meryton and the neighbouring villages besides.
The Bennet family was in attendance entire, including Mr. Collins and even the patriarch, for Mr. Bennet considered Sir William a friend beyond the mere obligation of neighbourliness, and had condescended to leave his library for an evening.
Elizabeth stood somewhat apart from the merriment, her eyes upon Jane, who was engaged in conversation with Mr. Bingley some little distance off. Their happiness ought to have afforded her satisfaction. Instead, she found herself watching them without seeing them at all.
For the past three days she had gone to Oakham Mount, hoping to find Mr. Darcy there, and he had not once shown himself.
On the first morning she had supposed him detained at Netherfield.
On the second, she had lingered longer than prudence warranted, persuading herself that he might yet appear if she waited only a little while.
By the third, she had known before reaching the summit that he would not come, though the certainty had not prevented her from going.
She had tried to account for his absence a dozen different ways.
Had seeing Mr. Wickham again in Hertfordshire disturbed him more deeply than he had been willing to admit?
She had explained everything that had transpired between herself and Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Darcy, in fairness, had trusted her with the truth of their history.
Even so, perhaps the renewed reminder of that unhappy connection had proved more unsettling than he had allowed.
Her thoughts wandered next to Mr. Collins.
His proposal, though firmly refused, had left an awkwardness at Longbourn that could not easily be escaped whilst he remained beneath her father's roof.
She remembered, too, the change that had come over Mr. Darcy's countenance when she told him of her cousin's proposal.
At the time she had scarcely understood it.
Now... now she had permitted herself to believe it had been jealousy.
Had he since reflected more calmly and concluded she might yet reconsider Mr. Collins's offer?
The notion was absurd. She had given Mr. Collins no encouragement before his proposal and less afterwards.
Yet once conceived, the thought refused to leave her.
Or perhaps he had simply judged that their morning meetings had ventured further than prudence allowed.
They had acknowledged that their meetings could not remain secret forever, yet neither had spoken as though that morning's meeting would be their last. Had Mr. Bingley's reminder of how improper their meetings might appear, were they discovered, weighed more heavily upon him than it had at the time?
Yet every explanation faltered when she remembered the quiet gravity with which he had spoken of the enemy who had shadowed his life for so long.
The recollection banished every smaller concern.
If that danger had returned, what did her own uncertainty signify beside it?
She pressed her lips together against the thought.
Whatever had happened, she found herself hoping only that he was safe.
A thousand such questions crowded upon her, and she could answer none of them.
When the party from Netherfield arrived, she had permitted herself to hope, foolishly perhaps, that he would be among them. As each gentleman entered, her expectation diminished until, at last, there could be no further mistake.
He was not there.
A single look from him, she had thought, would have settled her mind more than three days of silence had managed. She had not required an explanation before the whole room. She would have asked nothing of him there. It would have been enough merely to know that he was well.
Mr. Bingley offered no explanation for his friend's absence, at least none Elizabeth had heard.
Mrs. Bennet scarcely appeared to notice it, being too occupied by the gentleman who had come.
Indeed, few in the room appeared to miss him at all.
Elizabeth supposed his conduct at the Meryton assembly had left too lasting an impression.
To most present, his absence was probably more welcome than remarkable.
The disappointment settled over her with surprising weight. She lowered her gaze before anyone might observe where it had strayed and fixed her attention upon the company around her.
Lydia and Kitty laughed over some remark from the officers.
Mr. Collins, having already paid his respects to Sir William upon their arrival, had since become happily absorbed in conversation with Charlotte Lucas, nodding so earnestly to whatever she said that Elizabeth suspected he would remain content there for the greater part of the evening.
Everything was precisely as it ought to be.
Only Mr. Darcy's absence disturbed the picture.
"Miss Bennet. You appear very much lost in thought this evening."
Elizabeth turned at the sound of the familiar voice to find Mr. Wickham beside her. For one fleeting instant she felt her whole countenance wish to close against him before habit reasserted itself, and she arranged her features into something approaching civility.
She had not noticed Mr. Wickham's arrival. Indeed, since entering the ballroom nearly half an hour before, she had observed very little beyond Mr. Darcy's absence.
"I confess I was, sir. It is a fault of mine at parties, to wander in my thoughts when I ought to be attending the company."
"A forgivable fault, and one I shall not press you to account for.
" He glanced about the crowded room with evident satisfaction.
"I confess this is the first proper ball I have attended since arriving in Hertfordshire, and I find it everything I had hoped for, and rather more besides.
The music is very fine, and I begin to regret, quite sincerely, that I missed the assembly last month. "
"I am glad you find us accommodating," Elizabeth said, uncertain how she was to continue a conversation she no longer wished to encourage.
"I look forward to standing up with as many ladies as will indulge me.
" His smile was as open and engaging as ever, and Elizabeth marvelled that she had once found it so entirely sincere.
"I have already secured your sister Miss Lydia for the first set.
If you are not otherwise engaged, may I hope for the second? "
For a moment she could only look at him.
How easily he spoke. How readily he smiled. Knowing what she now knew, there was something almost offensive in such effortless charm.
She forced herself to return his civility.
"I do not feel equal to dancing this evening, sir. I find myself somewhat light-headed, and fear too much exertion would do me little good."
"I am sorry to hear it." His concern appeared immediate, though Elizabeth no longer trusted herself to distinguish genuine feeling from practised courtesy where he was concerned. "Perhaps you ought to sit."
"I thank you for your concern, sir, but I prefer to stand."
A brief silence followed. Wickham's attention wandered about the room with easy unconcern, though Elizabeth had the uncomfortable impression that very little escaped his notice.
"I see your eldest sister is engaged with Mr. Bingley," he observed. "Miss Lydia informed me there are five Bennet sisters. I had not before realised your family was so numerous."
"There are five of us, sir."
"And a very handsome family, if I may be permitted to say so."
Elizabeth inclined her head without encouragement.
"I had hoped," he continued after a moment, "to see the subject of our last conversation this evening. I confess I was disappointed."
Something within her tightened.
"Indeed, sir?"
"I understand Mr. Darcy has lately quitted the neighbourhood. If so, I imagine Hertfordshire will prove the pleasanter for his absence."
The words struck with the force of a physical blow.
Quitted the neighbourhood?
For an instant the music faded, the conversations around them dissolved into an indistinct murmur, and she could hear only the echo of those three words.
While she had climbed Oakham Mount each morning believing him merely delayed, he had already left Hertfordshire.
At the thought, her fingers curled so tightly against her palm that the kid leather of her glove bit into her skin. She forced them to relax before Wickham could observe the movement.
"I had heard no such thing, sir."
"No?" His brows rose with convincing surprise. "I scarcely remember where I first heard it. One picks up all manner of intelligence in Meryton. Still, Mr. Darcy's absence this evening seems to lend the report some credit."
"Oh." It was the only word she trusted herself to utter.
His gaze rested upon her a moment longer than politeness required. She could not determine whether he sought merely conversation or something more. Whatever his object, she would not permit him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply the intelligence had affected her.
Before he could continue, Mr. Denny approached with another officer, apologising for the interruption and claiming Wickham to settle some disagreement respecting the next set.
"I shall hope for another opportunity of speaking with you this evening, Miss Bennet."
"You are very obliging, sir."
He bowed and departed with the same easy composure with which he had approached, laughing at something Mr. Denny said before they had crossed half the room.
Elizabeth scarcely noticed him go.
Quitted the neighbourhood?
The words would not release her.
How could Mr. Darcy be gone without a word?
She had not expected a letter. Such a thing would have been impossible.
Nor had she imagined him to call to announce his departure.
Yet she could not reconcile herself to his leaving without once attempting to see her.
One meeting, one farewell, however guarded, would have spared her this bewilderment.
She had not believed him capable of simply disappearing.
The first set was forming, obliging her to step aside as couples took their places upon the floor. The musicians struck the opening bars, conversation swelled once more, and laughter rose from every corner of the room.
The gaiety seemed strangely distant.
Whatever faults Mr. Darcy possessed, she had never known him capable of insincerity.
If he had wished their acquaintance to end, he would not have continued seeking her company day after day.
He would not have entrusted her with matters so deeply personal, nor spoken of a future in which secrecy would no longer be necessary.
Something had happened.
Whether duty had called him away, or whether the unseen danger he had spoken of had again intruded upon his life, she could not know. She knew only that he was gone, and that she had learned of it from the one man whose word she valued least.
Not knowing proved very nearly the cruellest part of the whole affair.
She drew one slow breath and composed her features before turning once more towards the company.
No one must suspect that anything had altered.
There was no one to whom she could speak of her disappointment, no one who could understand why the departure of a gentleman with whom she was scarcely acquainted, in the eyes of the world, should leave her heart so unexpectedly heavy.
And so, throughout the evening, she smiled when spoken to, answered when required, and let the festivities pass around her, while one question remained, stubbornly unanswered.
Why had Mr. Darcy gone?