Page 99 of Colour My World
Mary, ever precise, interjected. “What occupied you previously?” Elizabeth turned. The distaste on Mary’s face was fleeting but sharp.
“I had been engaged in legal study, but my inclinations are now coloured scarlet.” He inclined his head towards Lydia. “I hope you enjoy dancing with one who wears a redcoat.”
“We are not yet out,” Kitty replied. Lydia laughed. “I adore it, sir.”
“Then I am most fortunate.” The haze shifted into a billow of ash.
Jane cleared her throat. “Do you mean to take up quarters here?”
“I do. I find the arrangement agreeable.” He looked back at Lydia. “And do you favour the militia? Or do you lean towards the navy?”
Lydia giggled. “The navy smells of fish, sir.”
“Ah,” Wickham murmured, “a lady of discernment.”
“Good day, gentlemen,” Jane said, abruptly. She turned to Mary; Kitty took Elizabeth’s arm.
Lydia?Elizabeth turned. Mr Wickham was still staring. Not at Jane. Not at her. At Lydia. His smile held, but his eyes did not.
The daylight dimmed. Her sisters’ voices blurred. Cart wheels and footfalls quieted.
A low, black haze bled from his shoulders. Not shadow, but something else. Cold. Hungry. The air grew heavy.
Tendrils formed. They slid across the cobbles, toward Lydia’s hem.
Elizabeth, pulse racing, stepped between them. The blackness recoiled.
That cannot be. Shadows do not retreat.
Her heart pounded, louder with each beat.
Jane touched her arm. “You are pale as chalk.”
“Lizzy?” Mary’s voice was an oasis. She reached for her.
Hooves struck stone and a horse neighed. She turned from Mary’s arms to see Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley. And between them and her, where Mr Wickham stood, was a darkness that pulsed.
* * *
Darcy took in the scene at once: Miss Mary embracing a pale Elizabeth, Miss Bennet’s hands on her shoulders. Miss Kitty pulled on Miss Lydia’s arm.
And Wickham. Staring at the younger pair.
He spurred his mount forward. Goliath’s shoulder struck Wickham and sent him sprawling. Darcy dismounted before the stallion had halted.
“Miss Elizabeth?” His pulse thundered.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her breath stuttered in short, panicked gasps. One hand covered her eyes; the other gripped Miss Mary’s arm.
Bingley was beside him in moments. “Miss Bennet, how may we assist?”
“We must hurry her home.”
Elizabeth moaned. Darcy stepped forward. “Elizabeth.”
She flinched. He winced—too familiar, too soon.
“Quite the dramatic entrance, old friend.” Darcy turned to see Wickham straighten and brush the dirt from his coat. His smile never reached his eyes. He looked past Darcy. “Elizabeth, you say?”
