Page 22 of Love Among the Shadows
Charlotte smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Mr Wickham before excusing herself, citing the need to attend to the refreshments. Elizabeth, however, suspected that Charlotte’s true motive was to leave them in some privacy, rather than attend to any guests’ glasses.
Once Charlotte had taken her leave, Elizabeth turned back to her companion. “I must admit, I wondered if you would make an appearance this evening. I was somewhat surprised that you missed the last ball at Netherfield—though, I suppose Mr Darcy’s presence may have been a deterrent.”
Mr Wickham's smile deepened. “Indeed, Miss Bennet,” he replied, his voice slightly rueful. “I shall no longer allow Mr Darcy to dictate my actions. I was unwell for the last gathering, but I would not miss this one, especially considering Sir William’s connection to the militia. It seemed a fitting occasion to show our respect.”
Their conversation was interrupted as a ripple of excitement passed through the room. Elizabeth turned instinctively toward the door. Mr Bingley and his party had arrived, causing an immediate stir among the guests. First to appear were Mr Bingley and his two sisters. The brother, with warm pleasantries, greeted everyone around, while the sisters acted like they were forced to be there. Behind them came Mr Hurst, followed by another gentleman whose commanding presence immediately captured Elizabeth’s attention.
This new arrival was tall and broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet authority that drew every eye. His gaze, cool and assured, swept the room as he entered, and the parting of the crowd around him suggested that he was a figure of note. As Mr Darcy followed closely behind, Elizabeth could not suppress a flash of irritation at the way the company instinctively made way for him. The room’s reaction suggested an almost reverent respect for his status, though Elizabeth was well aware thatmany present harboured no great fondness for him. Other simply made way out of fear for theDarcy Curse.
Mr Bingley, his face bright with pleasure, immediately made his way toward Jane, and within moments, the two were engaged in easy conversation, their shared laughter ringing out across the room. Elizabeth gave them a brief smile, before her gaze once again returned to the man who stood beside Mr Darcy.
“Who is that?” she asked, her words quiet and more to herself than to Mr Wickham.
“Ah, that is Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Wickham replied, his tone slightly dismissive. “He is the son of the Earl of Matlock, and Darcy’s cousin. Another proud member of that illustrious family.”
A small, sardonic smile curved Elizabeth’s lip. “It seems pride runs thick in that family. I dare say Mr Collins has had a great deal to say on the matter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Wickham chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ah, you’ve heard of Lady Catherine, have you? They’re all much the same—arrogant, self-important, believing their family is the pinnacle of society. Nothing new there.”
Elizabeth chuckled at this, the thought of Lady Catherine, Mr Darcy and their extended family all cut from the same cloth amused her greatly. Just as she opened her mouth to make another remark, she felt a sudden shift in the air. Instinctively, her eyes snapped back toward the door, where Mr Darcy was. A slight shiver passed over her as his gaze seemed to freeze the moment it landed on her and Wickham. His posture stiffened for a mere instant, and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of something—a fleeting emotion she could not quite decipher—cross his features. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Elizabeth with an inexplicable feeling in her chest.
Before she could ponder it further, Mr Darcy turned abruptly, as though to compose himself, but the strange impression lingered.
Wickham, noticing her distraction, raised an eyebrow with a slight, knowing smile. “So, Darcy has taken note of us, I see,” he remarked, his voice laced with the faintest hint of mockery.
Elizabeth made a valiant attempt to mask her reaction, but her mind was racing. Had Mr Darcy truly been startled by their presence, or was there something deeper, some hidden meaning behind that brief exchange? The question remained, unanswered for the moment.
***
The party went on for a while, the lively music and the hum of conversation filling the air long after the clock had struck the hour of ten. Guests had danced, and now the atmosphere was one of growing warmth, with the ladies in their elegant gowns and the gentlemen in their finest coats and waistcoats, all somewhat more relaxed than they had been at the beginning of the evening. Elizabeth had enjoyed a few dances, including one with Mr Wickham, whose easy manner and engaging conversation made him a pleasant partner. She was not surprised to see that Mr Darcy had danced only with Miss Bingley. Colonel Fitzwilliam, on the other hand, had surprisingly danced with Kitty and Jane.
As the night grew late, the excitement in the room began to subside. A few guests had already taken their leave, while others lingered, enjoying the last moments of the evening’s gaiety. It was then that Mr Darcy, who had been standing at the edge of the room with an inscrutable expression, suddenly began to move toward Mr Wickham, who was engaged in conversation with several gentlemen near the refreshment table.
Elizabeth, who had been speaking with Charlotte, paused mid-discourse, her eyes widening as she watched the usually aloof gentleman make his way briskly toward Mr Wickham. The room, as though attuned to the unspoken tension, seemed to grow still, conversations faltering as guests turned their attention toward the impending confrontation.
Wickham’s eyes flicked up, meeting Darcy’s gaze with a sudden sharpness that sent a ripple of awareness through the gathering. Darcy’s movements were slow, deliberate, and though there was no outward sign of aggression, Elizabeth felt the oppressive weight of his presence as he drew near.
"Mr Wickham," Darcy began, his voice cold, and yet controlled, "I believe we need to have a word."
Elizabeth, her curiosity piqued, felt her heart beat faster. What was this? She knew there was history between them, but she had never imagined it would come to this. Mr Wickham, to Elizabeth’s surprise responded with a slight smile, though there was a hard edge to his eyes.
"Of course, Mr Darcy," he replied smoothly, his tone too polite to be entirely sincere. "What would you like to discuss?"
The room, which had been filled with the quiet murmur of conversation, seemed to grow hushed in anticipation. Bingley, who had been speaking with Jane, turned to look at the two men, his face creasing in concern. Elizabeth, feeling the sudden tension, could see that he was trying to move toward them, no doubt in an effort to diffuse the situation before it escalated further.
"Mr Darcy," Bingley began, his voice light and cheerful, "I am sure this is all some misunderstanding. Let us not spoil the evening."
But Darcy, his expression hardening, barely glanced at him. "You would do well to stay out of this, Bingley," he said,his voice tinged with an authority that made the room fall silent. "This is a matter between Mr Wickham and me."
Wickham’s lips curled into a smile, but it was a smile devoid of warmth or humour. His voice, though still controlled, carried an edge of rising tension. "Would you mind leaving me be, Darcy?" he demanded, his tone sharpening. "You speak of conversation, yet there’s a look in your eyes as if you mean to intimidate me. What? do you imagine you hold dominion over the world now? Am I to avoid you simply because you’ve graced the room with your presence?"
The venom in Wickham’s words was palpable, and Elizabeth could not miss the unmistakable anger that burned in his gaze as he stared fiercely at Darcy. The room seemed to still as Wickham’s disdain-filled glare met Darcy’s, a silent battle of wills flickering between them.
A murmur passed through the room, and a few of the guests stepped back, unsure of what would happen next. Someone, an older gentleman, whispered something about the Darcy curse, urging Wickham to remember the trouble that might follow his words. Wickham laughed bitterly.
"There is no curse," he declared loudly, his voice cutting through the whispers. "It is not a curse. it is Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is the one who causes the harm, and he should not think he can come after me."
Elizabeth’s heart thudded in her chest, her pulse quickening as she looked from one man to the other. She had known there was animosity between them, but never had she imagined it would manifest in such an open confrontation. Darcy, for his part, stood perfectly still, his face impassive, though Elizabeth could see the tightness in his jaw. A tense silence followed Wickham’s declaration, and the room seemed to hold its breath.
