by Jann Rowland
“I do not know why it would not be suitable. It is a highly sought after living.”
“I am sure it is,” replied Wickham. A little flattery would not go amiss. “The church is handsome, and while I have never seen the parsonage, I am certain it must be well-appointed and comfortable. There is nothing in the living which is objectionable. It is only that I do not think the life of a parson would suit me.”
Wickham was well aware that many gentlemen would become affronted at this point. But he also knew he had Mr. Darcy so much in his power that he would not. As per his expectations, Mr. Darcy nodded slowly.
“It takes a wise man to understand himself as well as you do, George,” said Mr. Darcy. “I commend you for understanding yourself to this extent.”
George demurred, saying: “It is only the truth, Mr. Darcy. I would no more wish to be unhappy in life than I would to inflict my ill-suited person on those of the parish as their spiritual leader.”
“Yes, I can see that,” replied Mr. Darcy, seemingly deep in thought. “Then perhaps my promise to your father might be accomplished in another manner.”
“Grateful though I am, it is not necessary, Mr. Darcy. Your patronage has given me so much. To accept anything more, when you have treated me like a son all my life, would almost seem like I was grasping.”
Wickham paused, eying the other man with satisfaction. Mr. Darcy was still in the midst of some deep thought, though he studied Wickham as his mind worked. Certain his subtle suggestion had not gone unheard, Wickham waited, eager to meet his fate.
“It is no trouble, George, nothing more than fulfilling my promise to your father. Since the church is not an option, the remaining options are the law, the army, or perhaps medicine, should you feel inclined to such a future. Which do you think you would prefer?”
Even now, four years after the event, George Wickham could feel the rage build within him at the memory of Mr. Darcy’s unwillingness to bestow upon him his due. Oh, he had never come out and said he wished for an estate, but he had hinted at it as openly as he dared. And yet Mr. Darcy had insisted upon his choosing one of the professions for his future. The disappointment had been almost overwhelming.
The army held no attractions—why would anyone wish to be put in a position where he might have someone shooting at him? Medicine was also an unpalatable option, for Wickham had no desire to listen to others bleat about their ailments. Wickham had no more notion that the law would suit him—anything other than being a gentleman of leisure would most definitely not suit him!—but he had finally settled on that. Years of study, though attended to in a cursory fashion, had been followed by Mr. Darcy’s efforts to locate him a suitable situation. This had led him to Mortimer and Sons. But George knew he could not sit here, copying contracts forever. Even becoming a full partner had no interest for him. He was meant to be a gentleman. He would accept nothing less.
The problem was he had no idea of how to go about it. Though he had fooled himself into thinking he was worthy of being considered a second son, he now knew that Mr. Darcy would never treat him as such in a way that mattered. Then how could he make his fortune? Marriage was one option, though as a lowly clerk in a law office, there was little likelihood that a woman of means would pay him any attention.
There was always Georgiana Darcy. She was a mousey little thing though handsome enough. Or at least he thought she would be when she attained adulthood. But there was the problem of her brother and her cousin.
Wickham shuddered at the thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom he knew had never liked him. Even marriage to Georgiana might not save him from the man’s wrath, though it was possible he might desist should Mr. Darcy accept Wickham as a son. But even then, how far would Georgiana’s thirty-thousand pounds take him? Not nearly far enough, George thought, given his habits.
Now Pemberley itself—that was a prize worth obtaining. With such a property, Wickham would never be required to concern himself with his funds again. But the son stood in the way. And George was not foolish enough to believe he could supplant the bastard in his father’s eyes.
Perhaps if Darcy had been removed from consideration . . .
Wickham did not know what was to be done. But he had always been a resourceful man. He would not stop until he discovered it. It was his destiny after all.
The days following their initial meeting at church found Elizabeth in the company of Mr. Darcy far more often than she wished. It was Mr. Bingley’s fault, though the man was so genial and friendly that it was difficult to blame him for anything. It seemed his intention was to see Mr. Darcy accepted in every home in the neighborhood, and as such, they were much in evidence during those days.
Elizabeth had never been a woman prone to reticence. She had long been known to be one of the liveliest girls in the neighborhood, and her estimation of her courage was not out of proportion with reality, in her mind. Elizabeth was happy to learn her opinion seemed correct, for she did not find herself to be overly shy in his company. That did not mean she was foolish, however, as she was careful to stay near Jane or some other of her acquaintance when in his company. Perhaps her sense of her own courage was filled with fallacy. But Elizabeth did not concern herself with such matters.
One particular case in point happened a little more than a week after first meeting Mr. Darcy at church. Longbourn was situated at such a distance from Meryton—no more than a mile—as to render a walk there exceedingly agreeable, especially when there was nothing to do at home. When the weather was fair, the Bennet sisters could often be found walking thither, sometimes with an errand for their cook or, on other occasions, determined to visit their Aunt Phillips, who lived in the town. They would often look through the various shops Meryton boasted as well, though the number of times they browsed through their favorite merchants far exceeded the changes such places experienced.
On the day in question, the three sisters had met a few acquaintances and had stopped to talk for a few minutes. They had been in this attitude for only a moment or two when Mr. Bingley rode up, accompanied by Mr. Darcy.
“Miss Bennet!” called he, dismounting his horse and leading the animal closer, an act which Mr. Darcy mirrored. “And the other Miss Bennets, Miss Lucas, and Miss Long, of course.”
“There is no need to dissemble, Mr. Bingley,” teased Elizabeth. “We are all well aware that you only care to see my elder sister.”
While Mr. Bingley was quick to blush, Jane looked skyward and then directed a glare at her sister. Elizabeth, however, only grinned, completely unrepentant. It was nothing less than the truth, after all. Then Mr. Bingley proved Elizabeth’s statement by addressing Jane, and soon the two were deep in conversation. Mary and Elizabeth exchanged a grin at the sight.
“It seems to me, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, stepping closer to the two ladies, “that you approve of my friend’s interest in your sister.”
“Who would disapprove?” asked Elizabeth, her wariness for this man forgotten in her desire to challenge him.
“Certainly not I,” said Mr. Darcy. The sentiment was offered with promptness with which Elizabeth could find no fault. “It seems to me my friend and your sister are quite well suited. I speak more of the general sense I have received from your family that you all approve of him.”
“Indeed, we do, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Bingley has been our neighbor since before my sisters and I can remember and has admired her for nearly as long.”
“Then my friend is fortunate. To find a woman he wishes to be his wife is often a difficult thing to do. To accomplish it with so little effort allows him to concentrate more fully on her and will, I suspect, increase his happiness.”
Elizabeth was curious in spite of herself. “It seems to me, Mr. Darcy, you speak from experience. Are you, perhaps, in want of a wife and uncertain of where to search for her?”
“To hear my mother speak of it, I should be searching for a wife. As to where to search, most of those in my
circle would suggest London, amongst the elite.”
“But?” prompted Elizabeth when he did not speak further.
Mr. Darcy hesitated, seeming to realize he had been too open in his comments. Not that there was anything improper about such subjects—but Elizabeth had not thought a man who was of a higher level of society and must be acquainted with fortune hunters and their efforts to find wealthy husbands would speak so with a young woman with whom he was only barely acquainted.
“Let us simply say, Miss Elizabeth, that though I have been in society for several years now, I have never met anyone who intrigued me enough to consider her a possible partner. There are many ladies among the first circles who are eligible. But I have never been certain I would find a wife there.”
“In that case, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, unable to stop a laugh, “I suggest you try looking in more unlikely places. Meryton, for example, boasts many such ladies who would happily relieve you of your bachelor status. Some may even suit you!”
Then, to show the gentleman that she did not consider herself one of them, she wrapped her arm around Mary’s—Mary had been watching them with some amusement—and curtseyed to Mr. Darcy, before informing Jane they would return to Longbourn. Jane immediately agreed and said her farewell to Mr. Bingley, before joining her sisters. Since Elizabeth did not look back, she could not tell, but she had the distinct impression that Mr. Darcy’s eyes remained on her person until she was out of his sight.
On another occasion, which occurred only a few days after the first, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy came to Longbourn to call on the Bennet family. Their father was absent that day, having ridden to Meryton to consult with his brother Phillips, leaving the three women to entertain the gentlemen. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to say that Jane amply entertained Mr. Bingley, who had no attention to spare for anyone else in the room, while Mr. Darcy sat with Elizabeth and Mary.
“I must own,” observed Mr. Darcy after they had sat for a few moments, “I wonder that my friend has not already made an offer to your sister.”
Elizabeth and Mary giggled together. “To own the truth,” replied Mary, “we have wondered the same thing.”
“It is likely nothing more than Mr. Bingley’s desire to ensure he is ready to be a husband,” said Elizabeth. “He is yet a young man—only four and twenty. There is no rush.”
“There is not,” agreed Mr. Darcy. “But then again, I have long known Bingley to be an impulsive sort of fellow. This does not seem to be in character for him.”
“When he does propose,” said Elizabeth, “I have no doubt he will do so on the impulse of the moment.”
“Very likely,” agreed Mary. “At present, I suspect he is enjoying the courtship aspect of his relationship with Jane.”
“I must own, however, that I am surprised, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth directed an arch look at the gentleman which he returned with a soft smile.
“How so, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Why, I had not thought you would be particularly interested in your friend’s matrimonial prospects. And yet, we have spoken of it twice in as many days.”
Mr. Darcy appeared more than a little silly at the observation, but he quickly recovered. “Bingley is such a good friend, I do find myself interested in his concerns. And before you suggest anything else, Miss Elizabeth, the matter of whom he marries and how or when he comes to his decision is not my business. As he is a good friend, I would wish to see him happy. That is the extent of my interest.”
“Then you need have no fear, Mr. Darcy. Had I any doubt that Jane would make him happy—and he, her—I should argue against her accepting any overtures he might make.”
“Excellent!” said Mr. Darcy. “Then we may leave the subject alone. I have heard you are both great readers, but as yet, I have not seen any evidence of it. Perhaps we could turn our discussion to books?”
Mary laughed. “Though I cannot speak for myself, there is no better way to ensure Lizzy’s good opinion than to offer to discuss books with her.”
“I am not a great reader, Mary,” said Elizabeth, shooting her sister a glare.
“Perhaps I may be the judge of that, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy. “I have recently had occasion to read a selection of Donne’s poetry. Might I ask if you have read it, and if so, would you be willing to share your opinions?”
As it happened, Elizabeth and Mary had both read Donne, as her father possessed various works by the author. The three spent the rest of the visit comparing their opinions, and from thence moving onto other subjects. Mary, while she was as well read as Elizabeth, seemed content to allow Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to carry the bulk of the conversation. And Elizabeth found herself responding to the gentleman’s overtures, for he was both intelligent and insightful. Though she could not have imagined doing so before Mr. Darcy had come to the neighborhood, the half hour conversation was interesting and allowed Elizabeth to forget what had previously happened between them.
When the visiting time had elapsed, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy rose, thanked the Bennet sisters for a delightful visit, and went away. Before he left, Mr. Darcy was quick to bow over Elizabeth and Mary’s hands, thanking them for an enjoyable time.
“It is rare to find young ladies with such insights,” said he. “I hope to have this opportunity to speak with you repeated in the future.”
The gentlemen then departed, leaving the three sisters together. Jane, it appeared, was lost in her own thoughts, focused on Mr. Bingley. As for Elizabeth, she was thinking on the other gentleman, wondering at his behavior. Thus far in his visit, he had not made her uncomfortable in the slightest. The memory of their previous interaction hovered around the back of her mind like an insect buzzing above her head, but it did not usually bother her. On the contrary, she felt like she might be coming to feel something like esteem for the gentleman.
“Well, Lizzy,” said Mary, pulling Elizabeth from her thoughts, “it seems Mr. Darcy approves of you.”
“We both spoke to him, Mary.”
“That may be true. But his focus was reserved for you. Had I been absent, I doubt Mr. Darcy would have noticed or cared.”
“Do not tease me, Mary,” admonished Elizabeth.
“I do not,” replied Mary. Then she fixed Elizabeth with a teasing smile. “Or perhaps I do a little. I know nothing of his admiration, should such a thing exist. But I can say without any doubt that Mr. Darcy does not look on you with disfavor. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Mary then rose and left the room, leaving her elder sisters to their thoughts. While Elizabeth found her own to be a jumble, she realized one thing stood out to her: Mr. Darcy was affecting her like she had not thought he would. And Elizabeth was not certain she wished it.
Chapter IX
Darcy’s increasing interest in Miss Elizabeth Bennet was unmistakable, least of all to Darcy himself. When he had come to Hertfordshire, he had not been certain what to expect. The thought that she would be angry with him because of his behavior on his last visit was not unreasonable. Darcy had half expected her to confront him with it, perhaps with her father and brother in attendance, when he first arrived.
But she had said nothing of it, and while he thought he might have detected a hint of reticence in her manner toward him, it was by no means explicit. To the untrained eye, she treated him the same as she did any of her other acquaintances. Even to those who knew her, Darcy suspected her behavior with him would not be obvious.
When he pondered the subject, Darcy could not quite put his finger on exactly what attracted him to her. It may be because of her obvious intelligence or perhaps her playful attitude, which he had seen directed at himself more than once. Or it may have been because she paid no specific deference other than respect for an acquaintance. Then again, Miss Bingley had given him no such overt deference the last time he had visited, nor did Miss Elizabeth’s sisters, and yet he did not find himself madly in love with any of them. The obvious loveliness of her countenance a
lso attracted him, far more than did her elder sister, whom Darcy had heard described as the local beauty. Further thought informed Darcy that perhaps it was all of these considerations combined in one irresistible woman.
Whatever the case, Darcy found himself wishing to be in her company whenever he was out of it. Like a man addicted to opioids, he could not help but wish to drink it in, heedless of what it might do to him. And then Mrs. Bingley announced she had invited the Bennets to dinner that evening. Darcy spent much of the day in anticipation—had he been any more open, Bingley, who was indulging in dreams of his own Bennet sister, might have noticed it.
The Bennets were shown into the sitting-room where the three remaining Bingleys in Darcy’s company were awaiting them. Greetings were shared, consisting of those of intimate acquaintances who often met one another. But there was one among the company to whom Darcy had never been introduced formally, whom he found himself interested to meet.
Darcy was a little surprised to see a fifth in their company—the reverend from the church service the previous Sunday, who was introduced as Mr. Collins, a cousin of the family. When the introductions were complete, offered by Mr. Bingley, who had been the elder Bennet’s friend since his arrival in the neighborhood, Darcy found himself in company with Mr. Bennet, along with the two Bingley men and Mr. Collins, while the Bennet ladies congregated with Mrs. Bingley on the far side of the room. Darcy was interested to note that while most of the men participated equally in the conversation, Mr. Collins’s attention was more often than not fixed upon the ladies.
“I believe I can write to my son with news of your actual existence, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet. The elder man peered at Darcy from above his teacup, and Darcy suspected he was the object of great amusement. “As my Thomas mentioned before he departed, we have only had Bingley’s assurance of his friendship with you, though the tales he told were quite plentiful. I had begun to wonder if you were nothing more than the product of his imagination.”
