26 • Taste

As soon as they were gone, James walked to recover his spirits; or in other words, to dwell without interruption. However, as much as his own behaviour vexed himself, William’s matched it and some more.

James scrubbed his hands through his hair, ruining any comb’s work while he ruminated, If he came only to be silent, why did he come at all? He understood that familiar places reaped familiar behaviour, but… He could be amiable and pleasing to aunt and uncle, but only on his own property?

He quickly released this process of thought, as it did not lead to any place of relief and was shrouded in his own vexation. He could not surmise what might affect the man’s inclination toward conversation or demeanour without it landing upon himself as the cause. But if he fears me or hates me, why come hither?

His stride faltered at the sound of his name, like the ringing of a church bell a citizen hears too many times and thus ignores. After a moment, Jane caught up with him, her cheeks ruddy. “Goodness…I was calling you surely for several minutes! When you really vanish, you truly lock yourself in that head of yours, Lizzy.”

“I’m sorry,” he heaved.

“We really need to cut your hair.”

Her tone pulled his attention to her gaze, which was equal parts judgment and…amusement? “What are you so cheery about?”

Jane was content, having snatched her brother’s focus, to continue holding it. “Now that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and his coming shall never embarrass me again. I am glad he will dine here. It will then be publicly seen that on both sides we meet only as common and indifferent acquaintances.”

James made a face. “Indifferent indeed. Well, take care, Jane.”

She coughed an incredulous sound. “Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak as to be in danger, now? I thought things went well?”

“Certainly well, what with mama prattling his ear off, and the poor fool staring at you with only enough brain power to tell our mother ‘yes’ to anything. I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever.”

Jane’s strength faltered, even if he was the only one who might have seen it. “He was not staring. He was perfectly engaged in the conversation…”

She gasped somewhat when she saw the hardness in his eyes, as if she had stumbled against a wall. “Do you even know what the topic was?”

“Of course I do,” she ruffled.

“What was it?”

“It changed some times. You are thinking of trapping me in mindless infatuation.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “You weren’t listening any better than I, or this afternoon would have gone far better. Now mama will ensnare us all in this dinner of hers.”

Which was announced the next afternoon to be the nearest Tuesday. Mrs. Bennet, in the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes which the good humour and common politeness of Bingley, in his half an hour’s visit, had revived. Not even the fact that she would be hosting one higher than any of their stations deterred her.

The eldest children took opposite methods of enduring the wait. James was quite convinced the Bingley sisters would descend upon Netherfield and either deter the dinner, or it would be moved to Netherfield at a later date. Denial and procrastination.

Jane had already mastered her talent for holding a silent and pleasant demeanour while maintaining a steady deliverance of gaiety. Concealment and delusion.

On Tuesday, the party assembled at Longbourn. The two who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality, were in very good time. It was an odd pleasure that William’s title made it more appropriate to bow and curtsy instead of informal handshakes and shoulder touches—James held his hands behind his back during their arrival. His mother, and then sisters, had demanded ornamentation. Lacking jewelry, they were left with floral replacements. James had donned his nicest dinner jacket and clasped his splintered and aching hands behind himself.

He was glad his injuries were not so bad as to warrant bandages when it was time to settle around the table. The only notice that anything might be the matter was in Charles’ dumbfounded floundering at the tiny, pastel violet buds woven into Jane’s hair; as well as William’s immediate scan of all the Bennet women with some plant or other on their person, followed by the flick of his eyes to James.

James had certainly never expected to be running around the fields, earning various cuts and scrapes from jealous nature on this day. He had barely made it down the stairs in time after bathing himself. It was a rare day he was ready after his sisters, but his mother’s red cheeks from hollering for him were merely attributed to her energy for the evening.

James now watched where the pieces fell around the table. In all their former parties or gatherings, the seat beside Jane had belonged to Charles. Neither Mr. or Mrs. Bennet denied it to him now, but upon entering the room, he hesitated. Then he looked around the moment Jane was doing the very same, and she reflexively smiled.

It was quite decided, then. He placed himself beside her.

James could only hide his smile while he was awash in the first bout of relief, and even triumph, that he had experienced since the beginning of all this. Bravo, Charles.

He looked to William, who was likewise observing the situation, but with noble indifference. It did give James a note of unease when Charles also looked towards his friend with half-laughing alarm. You have your sanction to be happy, idiot. Stop asking permission.

Charles’ behaviour toward Jane during dinner showed an admiration for her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded James and certainly their mother that desired sentiments would be secured. The family left them entirely alone, or however alone could be when they ogled every platter Charles passed to her, every head turn and smile.

Meanwhile, James could only wish his sister good tidings while his spirits dwelt lower and lower. William was almost as far from him as the table could divide them. He was on one side of his father, and James felt the fool for sitting beside his mother. He had thought to be the buffer between her and their guests, but now he was as far from any conversation that side of the table was likely to have—which was nil.

Between his father’s lack of speech and his mother’s abundance of senseless chatter, James wished more than once that he could tell William that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of the family.

He was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and uneasy, the period of transition between the dining and drawing room left James feeling so wearisome and dull that he was almost uncivil. Gone was his proficiency in social entanglement; if he could not get a decent word in to William, he wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world in sleep.

Mrs. Bennet was making tea with her daughters around her, and James exhaled a great deal of relief at the likelihood that William would approach—

“Lizzy, serve the tea!” she commanded.

Jane looked back at him with apology while he otherwise looked every bit like this thoughts were, You have three daughters around you! Why me?

The only option left to him was to contribute to the evening passing as smoothly as possible, so he went to the table and handed out cups and saucers—

A large hand met his on the dish, halting James’ breath in his lungs as his gaze jerked upward. William took his tea in silence, leaving James in a wake as steaming as the tea.

He swallowed dumbly, thankfully landing in a seat already beside him, only to have his hot, dreamy daze get punctured by Kitty plopping beside him. It was no matter, as Darcy had since walked away to another part of the room, but the option was certainly closed now. As James followed him with his eyes, Kitty observed and whispered, “You can just stand up with him, you know?”

He looked a dagger her way but he doubted how sharp it was. “I can’t. I’ll vomit.”

That gave her pause. “Oh…yeah.”

James peered at her until she gasped with an epiphany. “You can ask him about his sister—Could you?”

He blinked dumbly. “Uh…”

“Do it! Now!” she hissed, pinching his rear so he flew out of his seat. He realized a second later it was because William had finished his tea and was bringing it back to the table. His gaze perked up when James all but slammed into him, taking his cup for something to hold.

“Um.” Oh hell. “Is your sister at Pemberley still?”

Darcy nodded once. “Yes, she will remain there till Christmas.”

James’ brows twitched in a frown. “Alone?”

He blinked. “No, not alone, but…that is several months away. It is too soon to know our exact plans.”

“Has Pemberley quite emptied since I was there?” Be nosey until you faint. Escape plan.

“A Mrs. Annesley has since gone to be with her. The others have gone on to Scarborough these past weeks.”

James nodded slowly. He was not fainting and could think of nothing more to say. They stood together for what felt like several minutes in silence until James fumbled, “Did you want more…?”

William looked down at his cup and smiled in an apologetic way, as if honesty drove him to admit, “Thank you, no.”

James collapsed once more in his seat, utterly spent. Kitty was doing her best to discretely pester him for whatever information he had gleaned, but then the tea things were removed and the card tables arrived. He stood too late—

“Sit down, Lizzy! This will be our game,” his mother announced as the tea table left and the card table was poised before him. He swallowed thickly, watching his and William’s confinement at different tables take hold.

Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two gentlemen through supper and well afterward, but Mr. Hill had been told well before, and without her knowing, to call the carriage at this time. They had nearly finished one game before the cards fell from hands and the family had to stand to wish their guests farewell.

James met his seat with an audible thud afterward, catching his cheek in his hand while his mother’s banter faded from his ears. “Well girls, what say you to the day? I think everything has passed off uncommonly well, I assure you! The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever…everybody said they never saw…fat a haunch… The soup…”

James imagined going outside to a balmy evening, seeing the last second of the carriage turn around the corner into the trees. Blissfully out of sight and painfully far away. He remembered with a slight smirk how he had stolen his father’s pipe as an adolescent, smoking and choking in the summer evenings while Jane scolded him. He would pull it out now, if nothing else than to see the orange flame of the lamp mounted beside their front door burn into the tobacco and char the pipe as he tilted it to light. He would smell the tobacco and the night as he moved the pipe between his lips…

Perhaps William would grasp his chin, revealing he had not gone in the carriage. His thumb would push the stem aside as he leaned down, taking James’ mouth for himself. The clatter of the pipe would not matter when his fingers cradled James’ head, pulling him like a sheet in the wind, and all of James would follow.

James’ hand on his cheek moved over his mouth, trying and failing to suppress the memory of lips there, switching sides to taste him again.

Taste.

Like wine and vanilla and pepper before he only tasted William. The flavours would leave as James felt the softness of his cheek against his own while William moved down his neck…

“I am quite sure we will see him again tomorrow,” his mother concluded, thoroughly dousing him in cold water.

“Again?” he croaked, his voice breaking as if he were reversing in age. His siblings stared at him.