Page 46 of The Wager
“They have? Who sponsored them?”
“Their aunt.”
“The one from Cheapside? That is impossible.”
“The Hamilton sisters have more than one branch on their family tree. How do you think they are related to me?”
Bingley’s brow furrowed with confusion, clearly not linking the dots placed on the imaginary page before him.
“Their father’s father was married to my great aunt Lady Minerva Fitzwilliam. Their father’s sister is married to the Marquis of Courtland.”
Bingley’s mouth formed into a small ‘o’ as understanding began to dawn.
“She is not only beautiful, but her connections will help Caroline find a suitable husband. Maybe even a peer.”
Darcy metaphorically banged his head on the floor, the wall, and the arm of the chair. How had he never seen the avarice in Bingley? Had he always been so mercenary, so self-absorbed? The resemblance to his sister was unsettling. Although angry with the younger man, Darcy did not think a full confrontation was the correct approach. He determined to tackle the issue with more subtlety.
“What does your sister think of this plan?”
“I have no intentions of telling her until after the fact. Even so, she is dependent on my good humor and will not cause too much fuss.”
“Bingley, I must caution you—”
“Stop mollycoddling me. I know what I am about,” Bingley said. “I could have any woman I want, and Miss Hamilton is the one I chose. There is nothing more to be said on the subject. I care not that, like Caroline, you do not like the Bennets.”
“Come, Darcy,” Hurst called out, interrupting Darcy’s attempt to caution his friend to rein in his arrogant confidence. “I have bested your cousin and now I shall show you how to play proper billiards.”
“I have never once said I do not like the Bennets.” Darcy stood to accept the cue from Ashton while Hurst racked the balls. “That is your sister attempting to put words into my mouth.”
“What is this about?” Ashton queried, looking from one man to the other.
“Ask Bingley,” was all Darcy said and indicated Hurst could take the first shot.
He was extremely disgusted by Bingley’s attitude and knew Ashton would be furious. Tonight, when the rest of the house settled, the cousins would confer in his bedchamber and make plans to protect their loved ones. Unless… Darcy swallowed hard. Unless Jane Hamilton loved Bingley and not his cousin, then there was nothing they could do, except take her aside and gently tell her what Bingley said when in the company of men.
He dreaded the thought of breaking her heart, but much like the discussion had with Georgiana after the Wickham debacle, it had to be done. If Jane Hamilton still chose Bingley over Ashton, she should do so with all pertinent facts at her fingertips. It was the very least he could do for his future sister.
Chapter Thirteen
Afterfivesuccessivedaysof rain, the day of the ball dawned with clear blue skies, not a rain cloud nor an unwelcome visitor from Kent in sight. To Elizabeth’s delight, Mr. Collins had begun to spend the majority of his waking hours with the Lucas family, braving the unrelenting rain by wearing one of Papa’s large oilskin capes to keep dry and warm as he walked the half mile to Lucas Lodge. She would not be surprised if Charlotte emerged from these daily visitations with a betrothal in hand. The marriage would prove beneficial to them both. Charlotte, because she wished to have her own home and family, and Mr. Collins because he needed someone with common sense to guide him in life.
As the evening approached, there was a general sense of excitement and anticipation on the part of the Bennet women, who, along with their lady’s maid, ensured their gowns were pristine and shoe roses firmly affixed. Baths were taken, hairs were braided and interwoven with ribbons, flowers, or pearls, and perfumes were dabbed in discreet locations to present a subtle aura of femininity.
Mr. Bennet shrugged into his elegantly embroidered waistcoat, patted the pocket of his dinner jacket to ensure his favorite pipe tobacco was present, and went downstairs to await his ladies.
He did not have to tarry long, and from the smile that graced his face, Elizabeth knew her Papa was proud of them all. Kitty and Lydia had draped themselves over the balustrade and watched them gather near the door, carefully putting on their capes and outdoor shoes.
“‘Tis not fair.” Lydia lamented for what seemed the hundredth time. “I wish I could come and watch you dance the night away.”
Mamma glanced up and blew her youngest daughter a kiss.
“Your time will come, Lyddie.”
“I still have three years to wait!” she cried out in frustration.
“How old were your sisters when they came out?” Papa asked, showing no sign of impatience at his youngest’s familiar refrain of having to wait her turn. “They did not come out until they were eighteen. You shall not be allowed any favoritism, my dear girl.”
“Patience is a virtue, Lydia,” Mary admonished.
