He sucked in a breath. No reason to think of any of that, he supposed.
No, no reason at all.
He understood why Bingley had sided against him, but he couldn’t help but be wounded. And he was frankly furious at the injustice of it. Did he have no recourse? It was his word against hers, and she would never relent. He could see that now. Caroline Bingley was a conniving woman who would stoop so low as to endanger her own reputation for what she wanted.
He had underestimated her, he realized. He had thought of her as stupid and silly, but she had a wicked intelligence that he had never suspected.
His door burst open.
Darcy looked up from trying to tie his cravat.
It was Bingley. “Now, look, you must marry her.”
Darcy ripped off the cravat and tossed it on his bed. “Bingley, nothing happened.”
“You don’t have to leave,” said Bingley. “In fact, you can’t. If you leave, the talk that will spread will be damaging to you both. You stay, and you announce your engagement to my sister. And we’ll… attempt to forget this ever happened.”
Darcy’s nostrils flared. “You’re being hasty. Give it some time, and we can talk, and I can make you see what’s happened here.”
“I know what’s happened,” said Bingley. He looked down at the carpet. “I have questioned Caroline, and I find her answers sufficient enough to know that there is no covering this up and presenting her to some other man. You have trespassed against her virtue—”
“No, I swear it,” said Darcy. “For God’s sake, man, you know me. I would never do that.” And then he thought of Elizabeth only a few nights before, and the way he had nearly ravaged her.
Bingley squared his shoulders. “Perhaps she encouraged you.” This was hard for him to admit, but he was doing it to be charitable. “It is inexcusable even so, but I do see how it might be possible to lose your head with a woman you find quite enticing.”
“But I don’t find your sister enticing.”
“Then why would you do this to her?” And now Bingley was trembling all over in barely-repressed rage.
Darcy started protest again that he hadn’t, but he stopped his voice. It was pointless. They were going round in circles. He could protest his evidence until the end of the age and it wouldn’t do anything but make him into a repetitive parrot. The truth was, he had no options here. When he’d been trapped in the room with Elizabeth, he’d thought it all through, and he had seen that there was nothing to be done.
He had Georgiana to think about, after all, and he could not do anything to smear the name of Darcy. Besides, from the point of view of connections, it was a good match. It was only that, when he thought of a woman of Caroline’s character as the mother of his children, he felt ill.
Darcy went and picked up the cravat again. “Yes, fine. You’re right, of course. I must marry her. It doesn’t matter what did or didn’t come to pass. The appearance of it is all that matters.” He wrapped the thing around his neck.
Bingley sucked in a shaking breath, but this time the shaking came from relief. “Thank God, you are being somewhat reasonable.”
Darcy tied his cravat. “I’m leaving anyway.”
“What? You can’t leave. The talk—”
“I am going to town to prepare things for my bride,” said Darcy.
“You must marry her at once,” said Bingley. “If she is with child—”
“She is not.” Darcy glared at him. “I told you nothing happened.” He strode past his friend and past everyone in the hallway, who had been listening to every last word.
When he rounded the bend in the hallway, there were all the servants. He had been right about their listening in as well.
He walked out of Netherfield without a backward glance, as if for all the world, he had no cares. But inside, he was a well of despair.
CHAPTER NINE
Elizabeth had scarcely had much time to consider what had occurred at Netherfield. She had been quite occupied. Upon arriving at home, they were immediately visited by Mr. William Collins, upon whom their father’s estate was entailed. For what purpose the man had come, none of them knew, but Elizabeth found him unbearable and was counting the days until he left.
She wasn’t sure what was worst about the man. His obsequiousness when it came to his patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh? His superciliousness about everything, turning each and every conversation into one of his sermons? Or simply the fact that he talked overmuch and never seemed to shut up?
Altogether, he was most disagreeable.
However, when she wasn’t contemplating the odiousness of Mr. Collins, she had a few moments here and there to think of the fact that she had denied the marriage proposal of Mr. Darcy twice. And that Mr. Darcy was a man with ten thousand a year. She would have been mistress of all of his estates. True, Darcy made her blood boil, but he also….
Well, it was hard not to picture the way he had looked that night in his nightshirt—the hair on his chest, on his chin, the muscles of his arms moving beneath his banyan. How close his lips had been to hers.
When she thought of such things, she felt the urge to fan herself, even though it wasn’t the least bit warm. It was November, for heaven’s sake.
“Oh,” said Jane. “Oh, dear.”
Elizabeth looked up. She was at breakfast at the moment, and a letter had arrived from Miss Bingley to Jane, but Elizabeth had been giving it no mind. Now, she sat up straight. Had Miss Bingley changed her mind? Had she decided to share what she knew of Elizabeth and Darcy? Would she have put something so scandalous in a letter?
Elizabeth’s heart began to pound. “What is it, Jane?”
“It is only that that I did not think he seemed to care for her,” said Jane. “He seemed to pay her no mind much of the time. However, perhaps that is simply his way. He must be quite taken up with his own thoughts and think everything else is of little importance.”
“Of whom are you speaking?” said Elizabeth. “What is in the letter?”
“Oh, yes, Jane, do tell us,” spoke up their sister Lydia from across the table. “We are all quite in suspense over here.”
“It is Mr. Darcy,” said Jane. “Miss Bingley writes to say that she is engaged to him.”
Elizabeth felt as if she had been struck across the face. She gasped, falling back into her chair.
“Lizzy?” said Jane, giving her a concerned look.
Elizabeth put her hand to her chest, endeavoring to breathe. She couldn’t speak. She found that she was not in the least pleased with this news. But she had probably orchestrated it herself, had she not? Mr. Darcy had been unaware of Miss Bingley’s designs on him, and she had spelled it out for him. So, naturally, he had proposed. Miss Bingley was the proper sort of woman for Mr. Darcy. She had a fortune and the right connections, and he would want someone such as her. It all was quite tidy and neat, wasn’t it?
And she… well, she had no interest in Darcy at all. She despised him.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Darcy passing his thumb against the stubble on his jaw, and she felt hot and then cold and then hot again. She managed to suppress a whimper that wanted to come out of her throat.
She hated Mr. Darcy.
“Oh, la,” said Lydia. “I think they’re both quite well suited. They both think they’re too good for the rest of us.”
“Now, Lydia, that is not charitable,” said Jane. She was still looking at Elizabeth. “Are you all right, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “Perfectly. Yes, I think it will be a lovely match. She will bore him to death, and Lord knows, he deserves it.”
Lydia found that pronouncement abundantly funny, and Kitty followed her sister’s lead and also dissolved into giggles.
“Indulging in gossip about others is not a virtuous use of time,” Mary said solemnly.
“Oh, how can it be gossip when she wrote us to tell us of her news?” said their mother. “She wanted us to know. What else does the letter say, Jane?”
“Even so,” said Mary. “I think we should keep our minds on what is pure and lovely.”
“Well said,” agreed Mr. Collins, who had been silent up to this point. He opened his mouth to wax philosophical on some subject or other, so Elizabeth interrupted him before he had a chance.
“Yes, what else does she say, Jane?” said Elizabeth.
“Only that Darcy has gone to town to make preparations for their wedding,” said Jane.
“He has left her immediately upon their engagement?” said their mother. “Well, he is uncommonly unthoughtful, is he not? At any rate, I say good riddance to that man. I’ll be glad if we don’t have to see him again. Of course, when Bingley and Jane are married, with him married to Bingley’s sister—”
“Mother, please do not say such things,” said Jane. “I am not pledged to marry anyone.” But she had gone a deep shade of red.
Elizabeth swallowed. If Jane did marry Bingley, was there a chance she would be running into Darcy for the rest of her life? That would be quite disagreeable.
* * *
“Hill has heard it from one of the servants at Netherfield,” Lydia was saying. She and all her sisters (excepting Mary, who had chosen to stay home and play the piano, albeit badly) had walked to Meryton for a bit of diversion. Lydia and Kitty were quite impossible when it came to the officers. It would have all been pleasant, Elizabeth thought, if it weren’t for the inclusion of Mr. Collins, who had taken the opportunity to speak at length on the subject of virtue, quoting several verses to prove whatever points he made. Of course, Elizabeth was fairly certain that he had misquoted one of them, but she hadn’t dared to point it out, as she was sure Collins wouldn’t have borne that well.
So, it was only now, after they had arrived, that Lydia was able to begin giving this news she had procured.
“You oughtn’t pay any attention to the housekeeper’s gossip,” Jane said. She had seemed quiet and lost in thought the entire walk. Elizabeth envied her. It seemed as if Jane had completely blocked out whatever it was that Collins had been prattling on about.
“As if Lydia could stop paying attention to any gossip,” said Elizabeth under her breath. But the truth was that she was interested in news from Netherfield, so she didn’t join Jane in chiding Lydia, but only listened.
“Well, it’s not as if I could help but hear,” said Lydia. “I have ears, don’t I?” She laughed. “Heavens, Jane, would you have me stopping them and humming to myself so as not to be tainted by the talk?”
“As the apostle Paul says—” Mr. Collins began.
“For heaven’s sake, Lydia, what did Hill hear?” Elizabeth interrupted.
Mr. Collins gave Elizabeth an appraising look.
She ought not have interrupted him. She bit down on her bottom lip, inwardly scolding herself.
“Well, it’s all very vague. But something shocking. The engagement between Darcy and Miss Bingley was very sudden, and Mr. Darcy left the house in the middle of the night on horseback. And without a properly tied cravat, at that!” said Lydia. “What do you think it means?”
“I think it means that Mr. Darcy is positively the worst man we know,” said Kitty. “To leave in the middle of the night.”
“And without tying his cravat,” said Lydia. “It’s all dreadful. The worst kind of dreadfulness. Why would he do such a thing?”
“Why would he come to a ball and refuse to dance?” said Kitty. “He is a nonsensical man with no care for anyone but himself.”
Lydia nodded. “Indeed he is.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to make of the news. Was it true? She could not understand it at all. She did not know what to make of Mr. Darcy, anyway. She wondered at the fact that he had renewed his proposal of marriage to her after they were out of danger of discovery. Why had he done such a thing? And all of that business about his physical condition and his actually finding her beautiful? She didn’t know what to make of that either.
Now, apparently, he was marrying Miss Bingley.
No, she couldn’t understand it, no matter how she tried.
It was probably better not to think any more on the matter of Mr. Darcy, especially not of Mr. Darcy’s shoulders or of how much of his skin she’d been able to see when he’d been in a nightshirt.
Her clothes felt tight.
“Oh!” said Lydia in excitement. “There’s Denny.” She thrust her hand into the air and waved it wildly. “Denny!” she called. “Over here!”
Across the street, Elizabeth noticed Mr. Denny, who she had been acquainted with briefly before. Lydia knew all of the officers by name, but Elizabeth hadn’t paid nearly as much attention.
Mr. Denny, who was not alone but with another man, saw Lydia and a grin split his face. He started across the street, bringing his companion with him.
As the man grew closer, Elizabeth could see that Denny’s companion was rather shockingly good looking. She shifted on her feet and looked away from him, and wondered at her reaction to the man’s countenance and form. If he were to be clad only in a nightshirt, would he also have bits of hair on his chest?
It wouldn’t be dark like Darcy’s. This man had golden hair. Golden hair and blue eyes and broad shoulders.
“May I present to the Bennet sisters Mr. Wickham?” said Denny with his perpetual smile.
Mr. Wickham bowed low and smiled at them all. “Charmed, I’m sure.”
“You must keep them straight,” said Denny, smiling at Wickham and proceeding to introduce all of the girls to Wickham, who kissed all their hands and winked at each.
When he took Elizabeth’s hand, his gaze lingered on her, and she felt flushed.
Perhaps a fine looking man like Wickham was all that Elizabeth needed to forget thinking about Mr. Darcy. She winked back at Wickham, and his smile widened appreciatively.
“Lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?” said Wickham, ostensibly to all of them, but he was looking at Elizabeth.
“Well, there’s no rain, and it’s not too cold, so I suppose so,” said Elizabeth.
“If I were to walk amongst such pretty girls every day, I should never want to stop walking,” said Wickham, still holding her gaze.
“Then, sir, your legs would get quite tired,” said Elizabeth.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “I should probably exhaust myself and collapse, and then I should have need of someone to nurse me back to health.” He winked at her again.
Elizabeth flushed again. She touched her chest. “You couldn’t mean to speak of me, certainly? That is rather forward of you, to assume that I would be your nursemaid?”
“I wouldn’t dare to assume such a thing,” he said. “If you were near me, after I had collapsed, I’m certain that I would need nothing more than the sight of your smile to revive me entirely.”
They continued to banter in a light fashion for a few moments more, every other word out of Wickham’s mouth a compliment. The man was too charming by half.
Yes, she thought. Wickham was just the thing to drive away the specter of Mr. Darcy entirely.
The sound of a horse interrupted them, and they looked up to see that Mr. Bingley was approaching. He looked tired, his mouth drawn and his eyes shadowed. Elizabeth did not think that she had ever seen him thus, and she was struck by the sight of him.
Upon seeing their party, he paused. And at the sight of Jane, a change came over his countenance, as if simply regarding her could chase away whatever it was that had ailed him.
“Oh, Lord, Mr. Bingley!” said Lydia cheerily. “How lovely to see you. Are you come to invite us to the ball you have promised?”
Elizabeth cringed. Was her sister blind? It was obvious that there were no thoughts of merriment in Mr. Bingley’s mind, or at least there had not been until he had caught sight of Jane.
Mr. Bingley only smiled at Lydia, however. “I’m afraid that the ball has quite slipped my mind as of late.”
“What with the news of your sister’s engagement, I suppose,” said Lydia. “Our since
rest congratulations, by the by.”
“Yes,” said Bingley, but the shadow passed over his face again. Eagerly, he sought out Jane again. “I was on my way to Longbourn in search of you. But I see you are engaged, and I have other business to take care of. Perhaps I will call soon, though, and I will bring news of this ball I have committed myself to.”
Jane gave him a small smile in return. “I should like that.”
“Is it true that Mr. Darcy left in the middle of the night?” said Lydia.
“Lydia!” said Elizabeth, going to take her sister by the arm. “We’re quite sorry, Mr. Bingley.”
“He did leave with haste,” said Bingley. “But if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.” And he galloped off.
“Oh, you scared him off,” said Kitty with a giggle. “What must it all mean? Something quite irregular, I think.”
“Indeed,” agreed Lydia, who looked positively overjoyed at the prospect.
“This Mr. Darcy he speaks of?” said Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth turned to him. “Yes?”
“Only that I am acquainted with a Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Wickham. “But the one I know is an arrogant sod.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I think we are speaking of the same man.” She hated Mr. Darcy. It was fate that Mr. Wickham felt the same way. A sign from the heavens that she should put aside any more thoughts of the awful man.
* * *
Elizabeth woke with the bedsheets tangled around her neck. She was overly warm, even though the fire was dying down to embers. She pushed aside the covers and stared up into the darkness.
She had been dreaming of Mr. Darcy, of being in that room with him again. Only this time, she had been quite sure he was—in fact—going to kiss her. She found that she wanted that kiss, welcomed it. In the dream, she had shut her eyes and waited for the feeling of his lips on hers.
But when she had opened her eyes, she was here, alone in her own bedchamber, and it had all been a dream.
A pointless, useless dream, because Darcy was going to marry Miss Bingley, and she was never going to know what it was like to kiss him.
The Unraveling of Mr Darcy Page 6
