Wickham smiled enticingly at Elizabeth and held out his hand. “Might I have the honour, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth smiled in return, though she noticed Wickham’s smile lacked the beguiling dimples of another man she knew. “Certainly, Mr. Wickham.”
She held her breath. This was just the sort of test for which she hoped. It was an informal gathering, and although she was wearing fingerless mitts due to the season, no one was wearing full gloves. When he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, she felt no secret thrill, and yet it appeared he was doing his best to provoke such sensations. As the dance went on, she could have sworn his hands lingered longer than necessary at every joining and turn, and she felt a decided irritation at his presumption.
She could hardly comprehend it. He was handsome and charming; she ought to enjoy his instant preferment, but all the time she wished she were dancing with Darcy. He seemed to have noticed her decreasing good temper and broke their silence.
“Come now, Miss Elizabeth. We must have some conversation.”
“This is a very agreeable dance, although I am less inclined to like reels than my sister.” She found herself remembering when Miss Bingley played a reel one night at Netherfield, and Darcy had asked her to dance. At the time, she had thought he only desired to mock her taste, but now she hoped, she wished, that he had actually desired to dance with her.
Mr. Wickham answered with the usual meaningless civility. Then, glancing around the room and seeing Jane standing alone, he added, “We are a merry group of couples, but I see your eldest sister is unpaired. I am surprised Mr. Bingley is not here this evening; he seemed very much taken with her yesterday.”
Elizabeth beamed as she thought of her sister’s happiness. “Mr. Bingley did call upon us earlier, but he chose to stay home this evening to greet his friend returning from Town.”
Wickham nodded. “A Mr. Darcy, if I recall correctly.”
“Yes.”
“Might he be Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire?”
Elizabeth’s surprise was great, for it seemed Wickham already knew Darcy, confirming at least one suspicion she held since yesterday. “Indeed.”
“How long has Mr. Darcy been in the country?”
“About a month.”
“And are you very much acquainted with the man?”
Elizabeth turned her face in an attempt to not look too aware. “Who can claim to be much acquainted after a few weeks?”
Elizabeth was acutely conscious that until only a few days ago, she firmly believed she could sketch a person’s character after a much shorter time. She had been firm in believing Darcy proud and disagreeable from observing his behaviour at the assembly alone and refused to acknowledge seeing anything that would counter it—until their night in the library.
“You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that man than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.”
Elizabeth instinctively knew she had no desire to learn more of Darcy through this man. “Mr. Wickham, I assure you that you can have nothing to say about that gentleman that will be of any interest to me.”
He seemed to understand she was reprimanding him. “Forgive me, madam. It was only brought to mind as we were speaking of couples, and I wondered what might take him to Town just now and thought, perhaps, it was his marriage to his cousin, Miss de Bourgh.”
The words were ill-timed on his part, for the dance required they part just then, and he missed the satisfaction of seeing Elizabeth pale. She was able to affect composure by the time she returned to him.
“Indeed? I have heard nothing of it.”
“He is a man who values his privacy.”
“Then we had much better quit speaking of him.”
“I suppose you are correct. Tell me. Are there any other impending announcements in the area?”
Believing he meant Jane and Bingley, she smiled a little. “Perhaps, but we had better wait for such things to become generally known.”
“I wish you very happy with your cousin, then. I believe I heard him say Lady Catherine de Bourgh is his patroness. She is a great lady, capable of doing much for him in the church. And you must know that she is the sister to the late Lady Anne Darcy. She is Mr. Darcy’s aunt, and her daughter is his presumed betrothed. Miss de Bourgh will inherit vast wealth. Together, they will unite two great estates.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “You are mistaken, Mr. Wickham. Mr. Collins is quite unattached.”
The song ended before they could say another word, and his attention was immediately seized by Lydia. Elizabeth was not sorry for it. She disliked his overly-familiar attention and the insufferable presumption he made that she was destined for her cousin. She felt no growing regard for the man at all. She had a strong intuition that Wickham was not so good-natured as he appeared, but she vowed not to make hasty judgments of people any longer, deciding to cautiously further the acquaintance. At least she had managed to realise her feelings for Darcy must be deeper than merely flattered vanity.
*****
In London, Darcy sat in his library. His senses told him to ease his nerves and allow his mind rest by seeking comfort in his well-stocked wine cellars. He did not think he would indulge ever again. All of his self-control was gone, it seemed. He had never been one for drunkenness or licentious behaviour. If nothing else, he disliked moments of feeling as though he had no control over his life.
He had arrived around noon yesterday and quickly sent a note to meet with his solicitor and another to his godfather, the archbishop. Although the Church of England did not require confessions for sins, Darcy felt full acknowledgment necessary as he pressed for a special licence, and without the written permission of Elizabeth’s father. Indeed, after receiving Elizabeth’s agreement on Sunday, he asked to meet with Bingley and explained the matter to him. Darcy rehearsed the facts over and over again, expecting at some point to feel some relief from the confession. Of course, nothing could change the truth: he had not even known himself.
The archbishop had been more than surprised to hear the reason for his need for a special licence, even as he agreed Darcy was doing the honourable thing. His solicitor was clearly surprised to hear his plans to wed a woman of such little fortune and no standing in London. Knowing that only a few days before he felt similarly about the issue mingled with a desire to defend Elizabeth from any judgment on her character. Still, a part of him felt unabashed pride in making arrangements for her to become his wife. And at the same time, another part of him was too happy to be making this step. The realization filled him with more self-hatred, turning his stomach sour.
He had been grateful to keep his presence in Town a secret, seeing only the two men. Even his sister was unaware and remained with their aunt and uncle. He could scarcely imagine what to say to his aristocratic relatives who had long held high hopes for his marriage, but the last thing he needed was to be delayed by their meddling and attempts to talk him out of the marriage. He presumed to know what his uncle would suggest: pay Elizabeth and the Bennets off and care for any child. It was what many so-called honourable men did, but it was not a route Darcy had never been prepared to take. Beyond all other feelings he felt for Elizabeth, he could only be thankful that he lost his mind with her and not someone truly undeserving of the Darcy name.
The fire embers had burned low before he managed to sleep, still in the library. In the morning, he would return to Hertfordshire and begin his new life. There was no sense in contemplating how things might have been and wondering about their acceptance in society or by his family. He knew his obligations, and they were to his duty and those closest to him first. Nothing and no one would make him shirk his intentions now.
Chapter Four
“How was your trip, Darcy?” Bingley asked once he and his friend were alone in the Netherfield study. He offered to pour Darcy a glass of brandy but was refused.
“A
s you see, quite brief. I was able to draw up the settlement papers with my solicitor. I doubt Mr. Bennet will desire to make many changes. The special licence required some carefully-placed words and making the most of my family’s connections to the archbishop, but I was able to meet with him faster than most and have the licence in hand, even without Mr. Bennet’s written permission.”
“It sounds as if everything went according to your plans.”
It truly had. He did have some misgivings about obtaining the special licence through less than correct means, but there was no time to waste. One reason for a hasty marriage was in case a child was the product of his actions; the other was a very real need to attend to some matters at Pemberley. He had scarcely been there since the early summer, and there were affairs that needed his personal attention.
Misgivings aside, his stay in London went well. He was an adept at feeling guilt and would, naturally, not forgive himself easily, if ever.
Turning his thoughts, he addressed Bingley. “Have you called on Longbourn?” Bingley turned his face a little. “I have.”
Darcy was intrigued by his reaction and levelled his friend a look.
“I have asked Jane Bennet to marry me and sought her father’s blessing.”
“What?” Darcy cried in confusion.
He would have counselled his friend against it. He never saw Bingley’s attention remain on any woman for more than two months. What did Bingley even know of Jane? Their conversations were all polite discourse on trivia, such as games of whist and the superb dish served by Lady Lucas, replete with smiles in abundance. But it was too late. A gentleman did not break an engagement.
“Darcy, you heard Mr. Black’s sermon. I know you would say I am guilty of those sinful thoughts about many ladies, and you would be correct, but I do it so much more with Jane, and it is different. I truly believe I love her. If I walk away because she is not wealthy enough or because of her family, as Caroline and Louisa encourage me to do, would not I be making a mockery of marriage? My honour has no other choice.”
Darcy was surprised to hear words that matched his convictions so closely. In another moment, he decided he was not surprised at such honesty; Bingley was his friend and confidant for a reason, after all.
“I was honest with Mr. Bennet. I explained my convictions and how the sermon affected me. I asked for a short engagement; I…the temptation is great, and I could not bear to dishonour her. He only laughed at me.”
Darcy could easily believe it of the man. He hoped he would not need to be forceful with Mr. Bennet to be allowed to marry Elizabeth quickly. Darcy wondered where the ridiculousness of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet ended.
*****
The next day, Darcy’s palms were sweating as he rode in his carriage to Longbourn with Hurst. Bingley and his sisters had called on the neighbourhood to issue invitations to the ball they were hosting the following week. Darcy chose not to join them. He planned to confess his actions to Mr. Bennet. He could not spend all day with strangers in the neighbourhood, then hope to survive Mr. Bennet, and if he were not thrown out directly, be civil for the rest of the afternoon with the Bennet family as they hosted the Netherfield party for dinner.
He genuinely thought he might be ill. He had not confessed to another of wrongdoing in a very long time. In fact, as a child, the majority of the offences for which he was punished were in truth the petty boyhood misdemeanours of George Wickham. Even as a child, Wickham was proficient at charming his elders and placing blame on Darcy. Obviously, none of the infractions were near the sin of seducing a gentleman’s daughter was. He clenched his fists as he thought of the man who attempted to ruin his sister, the sister he had raised for the last five years. If I ever see him again…
Darcy was startled from his thoughts by their arrival at Longbourn. Much sooner than he would have liked, he was speaking to the housekeeper and requesting a private audience with Mr. Bennet. He was invited to wait in the drawing room for a moment, and he was certain he felt akin to those facing the gallows.
When he and Hurst were announced, Darcy noted the presence of several of the militia officers in addition to his own party. He dared not meet any eye in the room, for he doubted his wickedness could be concealed for very long after he told the truth to Mr. Bennet. He knew the Bennets would look on him with disgust. He had not spoken to, or even seen, Elizabeth since her acceptance of his proposal outside of Netherfield.
He was just determining to at least look at her when he heard a familiar voice that made his heart stop. He turned to see Wickham, the man who had been a scourge in his life for twenty years, sitting beside his Elizabeth—much too closely—and trying to whisper in her ear! His blood boiled, but he was instantly calmed by a desire to protect her even more than possess her. Time slowed as he saw Wickham look at him with a haughty and smug expression.
Elizabeth turned her head, too. She seemed shocked to see him, as she evidently had not heard him be announced. She smiled slightly at him before an anxious and possibly displeased expression crossed her face.
Darcy blinked rapidly as the amused voice of Mr. Bennet broke through the haze in his brain.
“Mr. Darcy, are you unwell? You have not moved or answered me these many times I have called your name.”
Darcy faced him with a hint of instability in his voice. “Forgive me; I am quite well.”
Mr. Bennet paused and seemed to expect more by way of an answer; when he received none, he invited Darcy into his library.
Darcy stared at the port poured before him, and although his nerves would have enjoyed the fortifying effect, he knew he would not drink it.
The two men sat in silence before Mr. Bennet ventured, “Mr. Darcy, you requested this meeting.”
With sweat forming on his brow, Darcy nodded. He could not remain seated and chose to pace around the room, to the obvious satisfaction of his companion. Out with it man! Every minute I spend in here is a minute more she is subjected to Wickham. He was determined.
“First, may I speak with you on a matter involving one of your guests?” Bennet nodded his assent.
With a voice full of vehemence, he said, “Mr. Wickham, the man nestled so nicely next to your second daughter, is an utter libertine. Wickham has the appearance of a fine fellow, but he leaves a trail of seduced ladies—or worse—everywhere he goes.”
Mr. Bennet looked at him with an eyebrow arched in scepticism.
Realising words that could be little more than gossip were not enough, Darcy hastily but quietly explained, “One near victim was my sister. She was but fifteen at the time. She is the last of my family, and I am her guardian. I was deceived by her companion, who was in collusion with him, and Wickham nearly convinced Georgiana to elope with him. She is to inherit thirty thousand pounds, which he sought to fund his dissolute inclinations. An heiress is the only sort of lady he would ever consider marrying, but I have known him to seduce or force himself on several maidens by implying marriage, then abandoning them with no means of enticing him into matrimony. Although I believe he targeted my sister out of a desire for revenge on private matters, I would charge you to protect your daughters by all means possible.”
Mr. Bennet looked amused, and Darcy repressed his frustration that his companion did not take him seriously.
“I thank you for your timely information, young man, but I take it that is not why you came to see me today.”
Darcy tried not to feel affronted at Mr. Bennet’s demeanour. Hopefully, the man would understand Darcy’s concerns over Wickham’s attentions to a Bennet lady once the engagement was explained.
“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy spoke with authority, and the older gentleman straightened to attention. “Four days ago, I asked for your daughter Elizabeth’s hand in marriage, and she accepted. I have already been to Town to begin the process of the settlement.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small packet of papers.
Mr. Bennet sat in stunned silence as Darcy placed the papers on his desk. “I can leave these
for you to peruse; I suggest you do not tarry over them. You will see that she will be amply provided for as befits her new station. I will not withhold what is due the Mistress of Pemberley; despite her lack of fortune, she will want for nothing.”
Mr. Bennet seemed to grow irritated, but Darcy ploughed forward. “I also met with the archbishop—he is a friend of the family—and have procured a special licence…”
“What is the meaning of all this, Mr. Darcy? I cannot believe Elizabeth consented to marry you, and you importune me with this overbearing display. A special licence without my consent! And next you will demand to marry her in a week’s time and steal away with her?”
Darcy looked Mr. Bennet in the eye. “It is necessary and prudent, sir.” Darcy doubted he could say more and hoped Mr. Bennet would understand his meaning.
The two men locked eyes for a moment as a variety of emotions flashed across Bennet’s eyes, particularly disbelief and anger. He slumped back in his chair.
“No, it cannot be.”
“I assure you, I am the last man who wants to admit this, but I am guilty of…”
“Of?”
Darcy let out a short breath. “Come, Mr. Bennet. You are a man, and her father. Do you really want me to explain fully?”
“I must speak with Elizabeth.”
Darcy was growing annoyed with Mr. Bennet. He was taking an honourable action while a practiced rake sat in the drawing room free of reproach. “If you mean to try and change her mind, I should inform you she agreed to this betrothal with no coercion from me. But by all means, call her in.”
“Alone!” Mr. Bennet snapped.
“As you wish, sir. Allow me to explain. Miss Elizabeth is the only woman of whom I have even had such thoughts, and I am perfectly happy to submit to my duty and marry her. Indeed, I should have felt an obligation to her for many weeks now. You may be assured I will treat her with all due honour and respect as my wife.”
Before either man could say anything further, a gentleman’s voice cried out in alarm, followed by the wails of several ladies from the drawing room. Fearing the worst, Darcy nearly ran to the adjacent room. Mr. Bennet was hard on his heels.
Seven Days With Mr Darcy Page 32
