by Jann Rowland
Hurst indicated his willingness at once, but Darcy and Bingley both refused. It worked well with Darcy’s purpose that his cousin should absent himself anyway. When they were gone, Darcy turned his attention to his friend.
“I apologize for my aunt’s behavior, my friend. But I thank you for enduring her as a houseguest. I have done it enough times myself to know how demanding she can be.”
A wave of the hand was Bingley’s response. “There is no help for it, even if I wished to throw her from the house.”
“I cannot imagine that desire is far distant.”
Bingley laughed. “There are times, my friend. There are times, indeed.”
“I am curious, however,” said Darcy. He was not certain how to approach the subject of Miss Jane Bennet and had determined that a forthright approach would be for the best.
“Yes?” replied a distracted Bingley.
“Your intentions concerning Miss Bennet.”
Bingley frowned and turned his full attention to Darcy. “Is this the part where you warn me away from her as she is unsuitable?”
“Not at all,” replied Darcy. “I know of no harm of the woman. She does not, I expect, possess much dowry, and there are certain elements of her family which are . . . trying. But if those factors are of no concern to you, then I shall not speak against them.”
“All our families are perfectly well behaved, of course,” was Bingley’s dry reply. “My sisters, for example, or your aunt.”
Darcy could not help but grin. “You are the second to point that fact out to me today, and you are no less correct than Miss Elizabeth was.”
“Miss Elizabeth?” It almost seemed to Darcy like Bingley’s ears perked up like a dog. “Why would you have any reason to discuss such a matter with her?”
“Because she has borne the brunt of Lady Catherine’s displeasure,” replied Darcy. He paused, toying with the idea of informing Bingley of her thoughts regarding her sister. Bingley watched him, apparently willing to allow Darcy to work through his thoughts, and it was this more thoughtful Bingley which led him to be explicit.
“In fact, Miss Elizabeth is convinced that her sister esteems you highly, Bingley.”
A slow smile spread over his friend’s countenance. “Miss Bennet loves me?”
“I said nothing of that,” replied Darcy. “I am afraid you will need to discover the depth of Miss Bennet’s feelings for you on your own, my friend. But I have spoken with Miss Elizabeth several times since her coming, and I am convinced she is honest and without artifice. She insists that her sister will accept nothing from you if she does not feel for you what she ought for a man who pays his addresses. The matter of Miss Bennet’s preference is nothing more than her own opinion concerning her sister’s feelings.”
“But as her sister, she must know Miss Bennet better than either of us.”
“That is the truth,” replied Darcy. “Have you given thought to making her an offer?”
“There are times I have thought of little else.”
Darcy sighed. “I do not wish to direct you, Bingley. Many would say it is foolish for you to offer for such a girl, who is penniless and whose family has been buried in Hertfordshire since the flood.”
“My only thought is that I wish to be happy.”
“Then your path seems clear. Only take care that your feelings for her are what they should be and confirm for yourself the state of hers without reference to her sister, your sister, or anyone else.”
“As always, your advice is excellent, Darcy,” said Bingley. He stood and clasped Darcy’s hand, saying: “I do not know what I would do without your friendship. I thank you for it without reservation.”
Then Bingley was gone, leaving a thoughtful Darcy behind. It was obvious that Bingley had made the decision to pursue Miss Bennet, and while Darcy might wonder at the wisdom of it, he could not say his friend’s decision was incorrect. Then the memory of a pretty woman, with dark brown hair shining in the light, her beautiful eyes flashing with pleasure floated in Darcy’s memory. Perhaps Bingley was more correct to follow his heart than Darcy had ever thought.
“Well, well, well,” a detested voice interrupted Darcy’s reverie. “If it is not Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley and proud man with connections to the nobility. I never thought I would see the sight of you slumming in the country, Darcy. You have always been much too stuck up for such activities.”
“Wickham,” growled Darcy. “How utterly unpleasant to see you. You have somehow managed to mask the stench of your dissolute ways; else I would have detected your miasma long before you entered the room.”
Far from being offended, Wickham only bared his teeth in a grin. “Charming to the last, Darcy. You have always had a way with words.”
“As have you, Wickham. If only the truth would pass your lips on occasion.”
“I must give you credit, Darcy,” said Wickham, changing the subject. “When you choose to notice a woman, you choose the brightest one present. Then again, I could have predicted which one would catch your fancy in advance—we always have had similar taste in women. She is a beauty and possesses a fiery temper to match. It would be a privilege to attempt to tame that wild spirit of hers.”
“I would suggest you be silent, Wickham,” snarled Darcy. “She is a gentlewoman. I will not have you dishonor her.”
“But you may wish to temper your admiration.” Wickham sneered, sauntering about Bingley’s study as if it was his own. “Lady Catherine has already seen it. If she knew her nephew, betrothed of her insipid daughter, was falling in love with the fair Miss Elizabeth, how do you think she would act?”
With a violence of motion, Darcy stepped forward and caught Wickham by the lapels. “You truly are a stupid specimen, Wickham. Bingley allowed you to stay, but do you not know that one word from me will result in your residence the nearest snowbank?”
“Perhaps I should simply tell Miss Elizabeth what kind of a man you are,” said Wickham, ignoring Darcy’s threat.
“I believe she already knows,” replied Darcy, amused by Wickham’s threats. “But more importantly, she knows what manner of man you are. By all means, Wickham—attempt to ply your trade with her. I will enjoy how she puts you in your place.”
Wickham wrenched his coat from Darcy’s grasp and stepped away. “You are not so clever as you think.”
“And you have ever overestimated your abilities,” rejoined Darcy. “Do not test me, Wickham. You will not like the result. Now get out.”
Though slowly, meaning to show Darcy that he was not intimidated, Wickham sauntered from the room. Darcy did not fear anything Wickham could do concerning Lady Catherine. But he would bear watching. If he had seen Darcy’s budding admiration for Miss Elizabeth, he would not be above ruining one of her sisters for nothing more than spite.
Chapter IX
Turnabout, it seemed, was nothing more than fair play. Elizabeth had not intended to overhear anything. Her purpose was to avoid Lady Catherine, as she knew the lady would take the opportunity of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s absence to start berating her again. And as she had no desire to stay in her room, she had taken to walking the halls of Netherfield, mostly lost in thought.
That was when she heard raised voices emerging from one of the rooms she was passing. As a well-bred woman of her time, she knew it was not proper to eavesdrop on the conversation of others, and when the voices sounded angry, she had thought to step past the room and continue on her way simply. But then she heard the deadly cold words and thought she could taste the feeling behind them.
“And you have ever overestimated your abilities. Do not test me, Wickham. You will not like the result. Now get out.”
The words chilled her, like a bucket of cold water being emptied over her head. But of more immediate concern, assuming Mr. Wickham did not stay to taunt whoever else was in the room, he would come across her. Hurrying to avoid being caught, she spied a door across the hall and let
herself into a small room, pushing it to the doorjamb, but leaving a sliver open. Within moments, Mr. Wickham left the room. When he had attained the hallway, he stopped and peered back at the door, muttering imprecations under his breath. Then he turned and stomped away, still shaking his head in fury.
With a sigh of relief, Elizabeth waited until he had proceeded down the hall, and then left her sanctuary. She paused for a moment in indecision. The man in that room was likely in no mood to speak with another. But she knew his likely identity, knew that there was something terribly wrong with Mr. Wickham. And while she had no desire to know him any more than she already did, she felt a need to understand of what his sins consisted to better protect herself and her sisters. Thus, she firmed her shoulders and pushed the door open, entering the room.
From the resemblance it bore to her father’s bookroom, Elizabeth thought this was likely Mr. Bingley’s study, though it certainly did not contain the bookshelves, nor the books themselves, that her father kept. But it was large, airy, and commanded a fine view of the drive in front of the house, and down on the fields of Netherfield which provided its wealth. And there, in front of the window, looking down on the snow-choked fields, was a tall man, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, startling him such that he whirled around. When he caught sight of her, he relaxed. She could see Mr. Darcy attempt a smile but noted that it was a miserable failure.
“Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy with a bow.
Ensuring the door was left open for propriety’s sake, Elizabeth stepped forward into the room. “You have my apologies, sir, but as I was walking past this room, I could not help but hear raised voices.”
Mr. Darcy’s countenance darkened, and he approached her, the concern alive in his eyes. “Did Wickham accost you?”
“No,” replied Elizabeth. “I had the presence of mind to hide until he passed.”
A nod, seeming in relieved distraction, was Mr. Darcy’s response. “That is well. You should take care that you are not alone with him, Miss Bennet. No young lady should ever allow herself to be alone with him.”
“That is just it, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, some of her frustration seeping into her voice. “I have no knowledge of what he is capable. I appreciate you warning me of him and have taken steps to warn my sisters and avoid him myself. But I would wish to know exactly of what you accuse him.”
Mr. Darcy paused, Elizabeth’s request causing his countenance to become unreadable. “Is it not enough to simply know he is not to be trusted?”
“Perhaps it is, Mr. Darcy. If you will not inform me, then I suppose I must be content. But I would rather know it all, or as much as you can share with me. Your words inform me that he is a seducer of women, but I wonder if his depravities are more extensive than that.”
“If you are asking if Wickham will attempt to . . . take your virtue by force, in that, at least, I believe I may acquit him, though there is precious little else he will not do.” Mr. Darcy sighed, and his head drooped in defeat. “There was a time, Miss Bennet, when I considered Wickham to be among my closest friends. That was many years ago when we were still boys before he began to show signs of the character he possesses now.”
When Mr. Darcy fell silent, Elizabeth, knowing it would be best not to press him, remained quiet herself. He seemed to appreciate this, for when he spoke, he did so with a smile, albeit one which did not quite reach his eyes.
“Mr. Wickham has always been in possession of fine manners which inspire belief. Thus, he can make his way through the world, amassing debts from those who should know better, and gaining the favor of those who would not associate with him if they knew his true character. Of course, he cannot hide it forever. Without fail, his excesses are exposed, and he is forced to flee. This has been the pattern in more than one location of which I have direct knowledge.
“As for his particular sins, those involve gaming, purchasing goods on credit without the hope—or intention—of paying for them, seductions, debaucheries, and cavorting with those of unsavory reputations. He fits among their number, I suppose, though usually not until those who gave him their trust have learned of his true nature. To his gaming, he pays particular attention, though he should eschew it, for he has never had much skill. Any of his other vices, however, will be a suitable substitute when the gaming tables are out of reach.”
“Those are serious accusations, indeed,” said Elizabeth, frowning. “We should, perhaps, take some thought of warning the shopkeepers in Meryton. He could cause much damage there if he is left to his devices.”
“I thank you for believing my account, Miss Bennet. Fitzwilliam and I have taken some thought to that. If there is anything in my account which you find difficult to believe, or of which you would like proof, I can call on the testimony of more than one witness, and among that number is Fitzwilliam, who has been acquainted with Wickham since our childhoods. I also have receipts of his debts, which I purchased myself, should you wish to see them.”
“I believe your word, coupled with Mr. Wickham’s general behavior, is sufficient.” Elizabeth frowned. “But I do wonder, with all this man has done and the heartache he has caused you, why he is not even now in prison. Given what you have suggested of his debts alone, I doubt he would ever emerge from it if he were imprisoned.”
Mr. Darcy sighed and shook his head. “That, I suppose, is what, in part, has stayed my hand, though the fact that my father esteemed him is also a part of my thinking. Fitzwilliam believes as you do, Miss Bennet. But I have not told you all. For you see, Mr. Wickham also attempted to seduce my sister last summer with the intention of obtaining her dowry, which is quite substantial.”
“Your forbearance is positively astonishing, Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Elizabeth, gaping at him. “I doubt many of your station would forgive such an offense.”
“I have not forgiven him,” said Mr. Darcy. “My reaction to his presence at the ball is evidence of that. But there exists some possibility that Georgiana might be affected should Mr. Wickham choose to tell tales.”
“The vengeful mutterings of a man in prison are not likely to be believed, Mr. Darcy, even if they were to make their way to society from such a place.”
It seemed Mr. Darcy understood Elizabeth’s chiding tone, for he nodded in obvious distraction. “It has also been several months since the event.”
“Exactly. If he were to go to prison now, anything he says would be construed as the words of a bitter man trying to obtain revenge by any means.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, though slowly. “I believe you are correct, Miss Bennet. I had not thought of it that way.”
He turned his full attention back to her and favored her with a slow smile. Elizabeth felt butterflies take flight in her stomach at the sight—his countenance was made all the more handsome when he unleashed a devastating smile which was nothing less than genuine and delivered in pure happiness.
“You are a sagacious young lady, Miss Bennet. Perhaps Mr. Wickham will pay for his misdeeds much sooner than he ever thought.”
They shared a suspiciously evil grin together, one fraught with a resolve to do whatever it took to see justice done. Then Elizabeth remembered what he said about his sister, and she began to feel a little mournful.
“How is your sister, Mr. Darcy? I cannot think that such an episode has not affected her.”
“She is improving,” said Mr. Darcy. “She has an affectionate heart, one which was persuaded to believe herself in love with Mr. Wickham due to her memories of him as a child. Furthermore, her companion, whom I had selected and hired, was discovered to be a confederate of Wickham’s, with a prior acquaintance.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, stepping forward and laying a hand on his arm. “It is clear you blame yourself for this. I cannot say what the circumstances were or how you came to hire this woman. But I will say that you cannot divine the purposes of others unless you can read their thought
s.”
“Perhaps it is as you say, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy, his voice so quiet that she was forced to strain to hear his words. “But I recall my sister’s tearstained face, and I must acknowledge my failures.”
Moved by compassion, Elizabeth squeezed the arm she still held with her hand, and then pulled away. Something inside her was moved by the pure emotions Mr. Darcy was showing, which disproved any thought of his being incapable of them. But it would not do to be too familiar with him should someone come upon them in such an attitude.
“You must learn a little of my philosophy, Mr. Darcy.” He regarded her with an expression of curiosity, which prompted her to wink at him. “Think of the past only as it gives you pleasure. While the lessons of the past are important for our continued growth, do not dwell on them. It is necessary to live in the now.”
“That is remarkably wise of you, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, with no hint of patronizing. “It is not something at which I have excelled, but I shall do my utmost to follow your excellent advice.”
Elizabeth sent him an encouraging smile and then excused herself. Mr. Darcy had given her much to think about, and if she was not mistaken, he had much to consider himself. Furthermore, Elizabeth knew it would be best if she warned her sisters with this new information Mr. Darcy had shared. She would not, of course, speak of Miss Darcy, though the heiress’s situation was so different from that of the Bennet sisters that it did not matter. But she suspected that a lack of fortune would not protect them from a man such as Mr. Wickham.
When the company gathered for dinner that evening, the atmosphere was equally oppressive as the one previous. While there were several of the company for whom Elizabeth had little respect and no liking, she was forced to acknowledge Lady Catherine created most of the tension.
At dinner, first, she was heard to complain about virtually everything, from the beginning of the meal through to the end. “This soup is far too cold, Miss Bingley,” said she soon after the soup was served to the company. “Send it back to the kitchen so that it may be warmed to the proper temperature.”
