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After a two-hour visit with her relatives, she had returned to Darcy House and wanted to see her husband. She had alighted from the coach and was at the bottom of the steps before she realized who was emerging from the front door. Wickham was next to her on the bottom step before she could push past him into the house. “My dear Miss Bennet! What a pleasure to see you again!” He made a great show of gallantry and kissed her hand before she could react; however, his smile was set in a leer that belied any gentlemanly manners.
“The pleasure is all yours, Mr. Wickham,” she said icily.
“Now we shall not quarrel, shall we?” He put on an air of wounded innocence that made her want to laugh. “We were always friends.”
Then she did laugh. “A strange idea of friendship you have! Seducing my sister and ruining her reputation. What could possibly induce me to continue harboring friendly sentiments for such a man?”
Wickham smiled insolently. “You are one to speak! Is your reputation then so pristine, Miss Bennet?” The way he said her name was almost an insult, causing her to gasp at his audacity. He leaned closer to her, “I know what you and Darcy are about. You didn’t do so badly for yourself after all, did you?”
The man’s impudence knew no bounds! “You know nothing of what you are talking about! I am a guest of Miss Darcy’s.” She kept her voice low to preserve the privacy of their conversation. “Mr. Darcy is the most moral, upstanding—”
Wickham laughed knowingly at her. “Has he promised marriage, then? He will not follow through, you know. The damned Darcy pride. Your family is not nearly exalted enough for him.”
For a moment Elizabeth wanted to fling the fact of their marriage in Wickham’s face just to see his reaction, but she restrained herself; she did not need to give the man more leverage over Darcy than he already had. “He is, in every way, a better man than you. You are not
fit to lick his boots!” She mounted the stairs hurriedly and went into the house before Wickham could respond. Not at all distraught at the conversation, he sauntered away, beginning to whistle cheerfully as he made his way down the street.
Upstairs in Darcy House, Darcy stepped away from the window. Viewing the encounter between Wickham and Elizabeth had done nothing to quell his sense of disquiet. For much of the conversation Darcy had been unable to see her expression because her bonnet hid her face, but the meeting seemed friendlier than he would have anticipated. At one point, she had tilted her head up and he noticed that Wickham had made her laugh – followed by a whisper in her ear. Wickham also appeared quite pleased with how the meeting had gone.
Stop your preoccupation with Wickham’s insinuations! He told himself. She married you. She loves you. But what if she really had kissed Wickham? And what had he whispered to her? These doubts would not release their hold on him. Before he knew what he was doing, his feet were carrying him away from the study, but he could not escape his thoughts.
Darcy arrived at luncheon strained and unhappy. Elizabeth noticed at once and put her arms around him for a comforting kiss that did serve to soothe some of his anxiety. Although she volunteered that she had seen Wickham as he was leaving, she said nothing about their conversation except that it was unpleasant. Afraid he might hear evasion in her voice, Darcy did not press her for details.
Elizabeth attributed his foul mood to Wickham’s visit, of which Darcy had related little – only that he was attempting to convince the other man to marry Lydia and that Wickham was demanding more money. She had long since resigned herself to the idea that nothing except cash would induce Wickham to the altar. When Darcy explained that Wickham would return in two days to give his response, Elizabeth merely sighed and said, “Poor Lydia.”
Try as he might, Darcy could discern no traces of affection, or even tolerance, for Wickham. By the end of the meal, his mood had improved considerably. After all, why should she bear affection for the man who had ruined her sister? The idea was absurd!
Georgiana returned from shopping just as Darcy and Elizabeth were finishing their luncheon. Darcy said a silent prayer of thanks that she had not been home when Wickham was there. Elizabeth suggested that Georgiana play her new Mozart piece for them in the drawing room. Georgiana had been practicing it diligently, but was still anxious about performing before others. Elizabeth suggested that they would act as her audience so she could rehearse her performance, and Georgiana eagerly complied.
As Darcy and Elizabeth were sitting on a settee, holding hands, the afternoon sun slanted through the windows and music filled the room. Darcy mused that this was the sort of future he had envisioned with Elizabeth, enjoying her company in the privacy of their home. He thought about all the estate work he should be addressing in his study, but it was just too pleasant to bask in their domestic peace. After the agitation occasioned by Wickham’s visit, the reassurance of Elizabeth’s presence was a balm to his soul.
It was shattered by the sound of a woman bellowing in the hallway. “I will show myself in! I know the way.”
Georgiana’s playing faltered to a halt. Darcy closed his eyes briefly in dismay. He recognized the voice: Lady Catherine de Bourgh. First Wickham, then Aunt Catherine. What a difficult day it was turning out to be. All that was necessary was a visit from Caroline Bingley to make his joy complete.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh burst into the room like an avenging angel, her long cape flapping behind her. She halted just inside the doorway, surveying the room and when her eyes rested on Elizabeth, she regarded her like a spider she had found on her pillow. Elizabeth returned her gaze unflinchingly, stoking Darcy’s pride that she remained unbowed.
Lady Catherine strode across the room and settled herself imperiously in a brocaded chair. Darcy’s beleaguered footman followed behind her. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sir.”
“Thank you, Copley.” Darcy replied. “I believe some tea would be in order.” Copley left without another word.
There was a long pause as Darcy waited for his aunt to explain her visit, but she seemed content to sit and glare haughtily. After a moment he sighed. He was fairly certain he knew the answer to his question, but he asked it anyway. “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, Aunt Catherine?”
“Do not pretend ignorance with me,” she barked. “You can be at no loss to understand the purpose of my journey.”
At this sign that it would be a contentious meeting, Georgiana excused herself and fled the room. Darcy wished he could do likewise, as it promised to be an unpleasant scene.
“I am completely at a loss,” he said stonily. She would receive no assistance with this conversation.
“A report of an alarming nature reached me yesterday—”
Darcy wondered who had betrayed him to his aunt. It was almost certainly someone who did not know the whole story. “From whom?”
“That is not pertinent,” she said dismissively. “I instantly resolved on setting off for London to have this rumor contradicted. I was told that you had made an offer of marriage to that woman.” She pointed a bony finger peremptorily at Elizabeth.
“Why should that alarm you?” Darcy wished that he could tell his aunt the real truth and have done with it. Then she would return to Kent in high dudgeon and they would be rid of her; instead, he would have to endure her attempts to dissuade him from committing an act he had already committed.
“Why?” She echoed in amazement, straightening herself in her chair. “Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted? Is such a girl to be your wife?”
