Page 82 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

She could not focus on the sermon at St. Helen’s because she had to remember everything from the ball. What had Mr. Darcy’s goal been in speaking to her? He had not gone after Mr. Wickham to harass him but had stayed to protect her. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she was forced to accept that Mr. Darcy still had goodness in him. And he had used it on her behalf.

She walked in the rain with the Gardiners to return home after the church service and then begged to be excused for the afternoon. She once again let the tears fall while she clutched her mother’s portrait. And she fell into an unrefreshing sleep.

The next morning, Elizabeth and her trusty companions went to the Foundling Hospital. She had talked to Matthew and Dinah on Friday, and they were obviously overjoyed by her decision to cease seeing Mr. Wickham. She still observed them exchanging wary glances, however, and knew her downcast mood was concerning them.

The sun had come out the previous afternoon while Elizabeth slept, drying most of the puddles. Elizabeth hoped the lighter skies would give her the strength she needed today. After this, she could retreat into herself once again.

She thought of the painting she had completed Saturday afternoon. It sat in the attic unseen by anyone else. A dark, rainy nondescript London street. She thought now she would make a series of similar paintings. She recalled telling Mr. Darcy once that she wished to someday visit the seaside so she could paint a scene of the majestic ocean. Although she had not yet seen the enormous mass of water for herself, she had often of late felt she could understand its crushing power. Perhaps it was time to paint it before it pulled her under.

Elizabeth felt she was drifting between the Foundling Hospital and her attic and the meal table with little thought for where she was or what she was doing. Her aunt and uncle let her grieve, likely thinking she was heartbroken over Mr. Wickham even though she told them she did not love him and never wanted to see him again. By the end of that second week, he had still not returned. She hoped he would call when she was at the hospital, but painting in the attic also gave her a way to avoid him.

She knew everything Mr. Darcy had said at the ball and through Mr. Bingley had been true. Mr. Wickham had lied about Mr. Darcy. Had she lied to herself about him, as well?

He had insulted her twice. The first time, he had clearly been sorry, and it had been easy for her to forgive him. The second time, she had not seen that he was sorry, but apparently, he had been. He had gone to Pemberley for a year believing she had forgiven him and they were still friends. Then she had been the one to be cruel to him when he had asked her to dance last year. She had been so cruel that he had not dared ask her to dance at Mrs. Humphrey’s ball. He had not sounded as though he was trying to avoid her wrath. It had seemed more like he did not wish to impose on her. It was as if he wanted her to be comfortable. He knew he had difficult information to deliver, and he had tried to set her at ease.

Had Mr. Darcy really only ever made two mistakes in his dealings with her? She had made more than two, she was sure. She remembered expressing her anger toward him several times.

But Mr. Darcy had ignored her and been proud and haughty and too arrogant to talk to her. He had stopped smiling in her vicinity and rarely spoke to anyone, at least that she had seen. Was it her presence that put him in such a taciturn mood? Perhaps he had always been that way in larger groups, but she had not seen him in such company until after he had ended their friendship. Or had she ended it? She was so confused. Going over all these memories was making her head hurt.

She looked at the sketch book on the table in front of her. Elizabeth was by one of the windows in the attic, but when had she begun to draw? She had come up here to paint another dark, watery scene, but she had drawn sketch after sketch of Mr. Darcy in all his moods. Most were dour, some were distant. His glaring eyes tried to bore into her soul. In every image, he looked like a gentleman. She had never seen him mistreating other women, sitting too closely to them as Mr. Bingley had with Miss Grantley or holding their hands inappropriately as Mr. Wickham had with her.

She was sure she was not mistaken in his hauteur, but was it possible he had cause? When she had left him at Mrs. Humphrey’s ball to ask her aunt to take her home, she had walked through a crowd of people whispering about Mr. Darcy. She had not paid attention to what they had said. She expected they were surprised to see him there. At other parties they had both attended, people always tried to gain his notice. She had scoffed at his self-importance, but had he ever sought the attention, or had it come to him despite his efforts to push people away?

She did not know. All she had really determined after all these days, and she was not even sure of this, was that she wished she had not lost his friendship.

Finally, almost two weeks after Mrs. Humphrey’s ball, Mr. Wickham called for her. She had been painting in the attic and remained blissfully unaware of the visit until it was over, as she had hoped. Later, she was told he had at first acted as he always had. When he was informed that she was not available but that Mr. Gardiner would attend on him presently, he had begun to act as though he may depart. Then he glanced through the doorway and saw Matthew, who was standing between the drawing room and the stairs to the attic, wishing both to protect his mistress and to be aware of how great a danger Mr. Wickham might cause.

Seeing Matthew changed Mr. Wickham’s demeanor.

“She is here. I know she is. She never goes anywhere without that man. He is her shadow. I must speak with her. She is expecting me. I did not mean to be away so long, but surely, she will forgive me. Please. Only tell her I am here. I know she will wish to see me.”

Uncle Gardiner, having been summoned the moment Mr. Wickham arrived, entered the drawing room then.

“Mr. Wickham, I presume? I am Mr. Gardiner. Will you please join me in my study?”

“But I need to see Miss Bennet, sir. Please. She is awaiting my visit.”

“I have something for you in my study. Perhaps you will join me there, and then we can discuss Elizabeth.”

As soon as they had closed the study door, Mr. Wickham had professed his love and his desire to marry her until Uncle Gardiner pulled out the diamond hair comb and returned it to him. He then ensured Mr. Wickham understood he was never to speak to Elizabeth again. He made it clear Elizabeth had no wish to see him. Mr. Wickham grew angry and blamed Mr. Darcy for spreading lies about him. When Uncle Gardiner had explained all the evidence he had seen, Mr. Wickham grew even more angry but also knew he was defeated. He took his precious hair comb and departed without another word of his undying devotion for her.

A few days later, on the last Thursday in January, Elizabeth was at the Foundling Hospital as usual. She usually worked exclusively with the children, but Mrs. Legg had needed help in the office that morning. Elizabeth came across an application that had been approved only the day before and not yet recorded.

She looked at the names on the form and startled.

“What is it? You look as though you recognize a name. The work we do here is confidential, but is it the mother or the father you know?”

“The father.”

Mrs. Legg took the page from her. “You know George Wickham? I hope you know him too little to ever see him or well enough to know to stay far from him.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“He did not importune you, did he? You are not obligated to tell me, but we are here to help.”

“No, he…I learned in time who he was.”

“That is a relief. We have received at least a dozen applications for his children over the years, although we have not been able to accept more than a few. He and other men like him should be locked up and horsewhipped.”