Perhaps old Darcy was trying to escape some of the other gold-diggers, but Miss Elizabeth was a peculiar choice. Proud Darcy stooping to dance with the daughter of a modest country gentleman? A lovely one, to be sure, but not one inclined to the blind flattery he was used to. His imagination wandered pleasantly, picturing a scene where Darcy was enamoured with a woman he could not afford to have. What a change that would be!
A noisy commotion down the street heralded the arrival in town of the two youngest Bennet sisters, as well as the youngest Lucas girl. That buxom strumpet Lydia Bennet led the charge. When her eyes lit upon him, she bustled up directly. “Oh, Mr Wickham! How we missed you last night! Me and Kitty were determined to dance with you, but as it was, there were plenty of officers, and we danced every dance anyway!” She artlessly fluttered her eyelashes at him, then coyly bestowed the same look on both Denny and Carter.
“Miss Lydia,” he greeted her suavely. He knew he would get an unvarnished recounting of last night’s ball from this source, if he were only patient enough to wade through the twaddle of her gossip.
Lydia Bennet did not disappoint. She began to regale him with the number of partners she and her sisters each had, the names of the officers present, and the disappointed looks of some of the girls who had to sit out. She also mentioned “that dull Mr Darcy” asking her unhappy sister for a set, but only as an aside.
“Oh, and then, this morning! Mr Wickham, you’ll never guess! Tell him, Lydia,” her older sister urged.
Lydia’s eyes brightened more, as if she had just remembered the most interesting morsel of gossip. “It’s too much fun! Only think, Mr Darcy is engaged to my sister!” The girls squealed in glee.
“E-excuse me?” he stammered. “Darcy! Engaged to… Miss Elizabeth, I presume?”
“Oh, yes, but he is so dull. The fun of it was that our cousin, Mr Collins tried to propose to Lizzy first, but Mr Darcy came up and announced his engagement to her instead, and so Mr Collins could not marry her after all. I suppose Mr Darcy wanted to talk to Papa this morning, but Papa fell off his horse, you see, and would not get out of bed.”
“Lydia, he is unconscious!” Kitty at least had the decency to be scandalized at Lydia’s cavalier treatment of their father’s condition.
“Oh, bother, Kitty!” Lydia waved dismissively. “Mama was just in at Mrs Long’s, and they say that Mr Darcy is sure to bore Lizzy to death but that she will be practically the richest woman in England. I do not know that Mr Darcy is so very rich. After all, he brought but one servant with him when he came to Netherfield, so says Aunt Phillips. But Mrs Long says his estate is so very vast and that he even has a house in London near Grosvenor Square. I shall ask her to take me shopping after she is married! Why, only think of the gowns I shall have! Oh, and the balls I shall attend in London, cannot youjustpicture it?”
The wheels were spinning in Wickham’s mind. This turn of events could present a brilliant opportunity. He needed to find out more. Smoothly, he offered his arm to Lydia and asked permission to see her home.
Darcygallopedoutofsight of Longbourn as hastily as four legs could carry him, then settled his mount into a dejected walk. The burst of humiliated energy faded, leaving only morose gloom. She hated him! How could he have missed it?
His mind replayed every event, beginning with her arrival at Netherfield to tend her sister a month ago. She had toyed with him, baited him, flirted even. His eyebrows creased. Or was it flirting? Had she, even then, despised him? Could her capricious humour, bent only on amusing herself and provoking him, be misinterpreted?
Why? What could she find so offensive about his person that she would set out with so violent a dislike? He thought darkly of Wickham. That scoundrel’s lies could have contained anything, twisted and contorted to suit his fancy. He could well imagine what sordid version of events he might have relayed to a willing audience.
Still, Wickham had only been in town a fortnight, and it seemed likely that her disapproval of himself had its foundations before then. He would have hoped that a woman of Miss Elizabeth’s calibre should know better than to believe unflattering gossip about an honourable man without some foundation. Wickham, however, had found a favourably disposed listener in her. That could only occur if she had already believed him to be essentially flawed.
Angrily he dismissed the errant notion. How could she find him lacking? He had shown her every courtesy! He had tried to discourage Miss Bingley’s sarcastic attentions to her. He had shown interest in her sister’s welfare. Confound it, he had even asked her to dance—more than once! The idea that her reluctance to stand up with him traced to profound dislike rather than the coy flirtatiousness he had assumed stung him more than he liked to admit.
His good sense told him he ought to turn tail and run, now while he had a chance. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley need not cater to the whims of a woman who did not want him! Goodness knew there were plenty of others who would only too gladly take her place!
His reputation would not suffer unduly—after all, it was she who had denied the engagement, not he. No one would press a breach of contract suit under such circumstances. In this situation, he thought wryly, there was no one even to speak up for the lady at all, save perhaps the unknown London uncle.
Thinking of her, alone and defenceless, his heart began to ache. Despise him though she might, he loved her still. He had allowed himself to glimpse a future with her in it, and he could not, would not abandon her with her reputation in tatters. Because of him, she would be ruined, and then what would her fate be? Married off to some tradesman? The second wife to a third-rate gentleman with four unruly children? Or worse yet, a poor relation, a ward of that fop Collins, who was such a little-minded man that he would not treat the woman who had refused him graciously.
No. He had embroiled her in the precarious situation in which she now found herself. He would see her to a respectable end of it. A desolate sigh escaped his lips.Elizabeth!
He clenched his eyes shut, then set his mouth into a rigid line. The only thing to be done was to convince her of the truth somehow. One way or another, he had to convey to her the depth of Wickham’s depravity, to let her know that he was not a man to be trusted. For what if she did trust him, turn to him even now? He shuddered to think what else could befall her, vulnerable as she was.
She was an intelligent woman; she would value sensible discussion. He was confident that she could be brought to reason if he were only given a chance to plead his case. Unhappily, he doubted she would be willing to speak with him again anytime soon. He had done quite a thorough job of blasting that bridge. What could be done? She would likely not listen to Bingley as a character witness—would she have, she had ample opportunity to have already done so. Nothing less than full disclosure would do.
He groaned. Could he trust her fiery temperament with Georgiana’s history? He had been willing to trust her with his own future. He had left himself no other choice. He wandered the twisting paths of Hertfordshire until at length he came to a crossroads. With a soul-stirring exhale, he turned his horse reluctantly back toward Netherfield.
Bingleytrotteduptohis front gate and dismounted, passing his reins to a stable boy. He hoped his sisters were otherwise occupied—he did not look forward to satisfying their curiosity about their neighbours at this moment. Caroline especially would be discomposed, to put it lightly. Glancing surreptitiously toward the dining parlour where he had left her, he stepped softly toward his study.
“Brother! You have returned!” He cringed and turned around as his sister’s overly welcoming tones bubbled down the corridor. She had not been in the dining parlour, of course, but the drawing-room. Caroline looked about her in dismay. “Where is Mr Darcy?”
“Darcy had… some business to attend to, I believe. I expect we shall be seeing him shortly.”
Caroline cocked her head in chagrin. “But what business could he possibly have? Really, Charles, I thought we were all set to leave for London. I cannot bear another day in this dreary place! What could possibly have called him out, and why do you not assist him so that we may leave sooner?”
Bingley turned his back, unwilling to disclose the morning’s events just yet. “It was a private matter, Caroline. Please excuse me. I have urgent business myself.” He firmly closed the door of the study, leaving her pouting outside.
He composed his letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly, grimacing at his own barely legible scrawl. Well, it would have to do for now. He sealed the missive and called for his butler to have it sent express to London.
Ten minutes later, when he emerged, he spotted two of the housemaids in close whispers. Their eyes widened when they noticed him, and they scurried off to their duties.So,he thought,it has already begun. The entire house knows.How was it that the servants always managed to spread word even faster than the post?
