Page 36

The dance separated them as they advanced and retreated, it being some minutes before they could converse easily again, but Elizabeth noticed some of the tension in Mr. Darcy’s bearing had melted away.

“I am glad you were not taken in by him,” he said next.

“I confess I do not truly know what to think. He did not share much, but that you were raised nearly as brothers and that he believes you have done him some injury. I wished to know what more he would say, but our conversation was interrupted by Mr. Collins. I confess I gave some credit to Mr. Wickham’s side at first, but further reflection made me realise how peculiar his admission was.”

“Mr. Wickham will never miss an opportunity to disparage my character,” said Mr. Darcy. “Was it only I that he spoke of?”

“Your father as well,” she replied.

They turned away from each other in the dance, Elizabeth to Mr. Long and Mr. Darcy to Kitty. They moved through the figures before coming once again together. This time, when their hands met, Darcy’s fingers lingered on Elizabeth’s a second longer than the dance required.

Darcy swallowed once before speaking. “My father. He loved Mr. Wickham. It is the greatest of pains to me that he repaid him with such ingratitude.”

Elizabeth looked up at the normally reserved gentleman, finding herself moved by the pain writ across his countenance. “Mr. Wickham painted himself as the injured party, as though you had slighted him, but now would not even meet with him.”

“I will not meet with him, that is true,” said Mr. Darcy. “And for good reason, for he has done so many injuries to myself and my family that I never wish to see his face again. Do not trust him, Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Wickham is a man of the worst sort.”

“I shall take your word for it, sir,” she murmured. “But should we not tell others of his character? He has made himself agreeable to many.”

Darcy’s gaze rose to look over her shoulder. She turned her head also, spotting Miss Lucas and Miss Webb speaking with a few officers. “I cannot. He knows too much of my family, Miss Elizabeth. He would be only too happy to cause me distress.”

Elizabeth tried then to reason with Mr. Darcy, but he refused to be moved. “Then, sir, I shall have to act to protect my neighbours,” she responded. “I am sorry if it shall have consequences, but if he is such a snake as you portray him, I cannot allow him to prey on my friends.”

“You must not,” Mr. Darcy replied, his tone that of a man who was used to being obeyed. “You do not know the depths of his malice, Elizabeth. He will drag you into the mire along with me.”

The use of her given name, dropping the formal title entirely in his distress, hung in the air between them. “You presume too much upon our acquaintance, Mr. Darcy,” she retorted, her voice sharp with indignation. “I shall act in the way that I believe is best. I am not your charge, that you may order me about. You might not concern yourself with the wellbeing of others, but I care for my neighbours and shall protect them.”

It was well that the dance was then ended, for else Elizabeth leaving the set would have been commented upon more than it was already. She left him standing there as the other gentlemen escorted their partners to their seats, offering to fetch refreshments and conversing pleasantly. Darcy watched her disappear into the mass of people, wondering what in heaven’s name he was going to do.

Chapter 19

Elizabeth almost regretted that Lydia was not still out, for Mrs. Ellington had remained at Longbourn with the youngest Bennet. She would have given a great deal for her cousin’s advice just then.

“Lizzy, are you well?” asked Jane, who had, against her own desires, left Mr. Bingley’s side and followed her clearly distressed sister.

“I am not ill, sister, if that is what you mean,” Elizabeth answered, linking her arm through Jane’s and guiding her out of the ballroom and into the corridor. Thankful for her familiarity with Netherfield’s rooms, Elizabeth soon found a small sitting room she had many times passed by but never entered.

The room was modest in size, yet finely furnished, with a lit fire, a basket of supplies, and a table of refreshments marking it as clearly set aside for guests seeking a reprieve from the ballroom. Jane went to the table nearby and immediately filled a glass with water and gave it to her sister after urging her to sit.

“I am well, Jane.” While Elizabeth’s words were steady, she did drink from the glass her sister offered before relating what had just occurred and had been said. Jane was silent a moment after the conclusion of Elizabeth’s account, turning the matter over in her mind.

“Neither man has offered any evidence,” she said finally. “It might all be a misunderstanding.”

“I cannot believe it,” said Elizabeth. “You did not hear Mr. Darcy. For a man such as he to be so unnerved, I cannot imagine the situation as anything but dire.”

“So unnerved that he forgot himself enough to call you by your given name,” said Jane in a teasing whisper.

Elizabeth groaned. She ought to have kept that detail to herself, for she knew Jane would now tease her relentlessly, just as she had done regarding Mr. Bingley. Yet the admission had escaped, for his use of her name was nearly as unsettling as the rest of his disclosure.

“That is not what we must worry about now,” she said, brushing the comment aside with a dismissiveness she did not feel. “What shall we do about Mr. Wickham?”

“We cannot convict a man without evidence, and if Mr. Darcy will not provide us with proof for fear of Wickham’s retribution, we must find out for ourselves,” Jane responded with uncharacteristic determination.

“You astonish me, dear Jane. I had expected you to argue that there was no fault on either side, and that we ought not to involve ourselves.” Elizabeth immediately regretted her words, for hurt flashed over Jane’s face for an instant before she regained her typical calm demeanour.

“I have, of late, come to realise that I cannot expect everyone to act as I would, nor can I even depend on everyone to act for the good.”

“Dear Jane! What can you mean?”