Jane and Wickham went out onto the dance floor.
Elizabeth felt it like a stone in her stomach. Wickham had already danced with Jane. Now, Elizabeth was not the only one he had danced with twice.
It meant nothing, of course, not truly, and Jane was a sweetness personified, and Elizabeth could begrudge her nothing. Still, she wished that it had all gone differently, and she could not convince herself to cease.
* * *
The day after a ball, it was absolutely necessary that there be a meeting between the Miss Bennets and the Miss Lucases, so that the girls could examine every detail of the events of the former evening, reliving them all, dissecting them, and determining what each thing meant.
There were five Miss Bennets. Elizabeth was the second daughter. Her older sister Jane was the eldest. They had three younger sisters—Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.
There were two Miss Lucases. Charlotte, the eldest, was a close friend of Elizabeth’s. She had a younger sister named Maria.
The seven girls gathered at Longbourn the morning after the Meryton assembly, along with their mothers, and they spoke at length.
“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. “You were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”
“Yes, but he seemed to like his second better,” said Charlotte, giving a knowing look to Jane, who blushed.
“Oh! You mean Jane, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bennet, practically bursting with delight, “because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her.”
“Ah, but Mr. Wickham also danced with her twice,” said Lydia.
“Mr. Wickham danced with a remarkable number of ladies twice,” said Mary dourly.
“Not me,” pouted Lydia.
“I think men who look like Mr. Wickham should likely be steered clear of,” said Mary. “That way lies temptation.”
“Oh, Mary, don’t be ridiculous,” said Lydia, laughing. “What temptation? Are we not meant to be finding husbands?” She turned to her mother. “Is that not what we are commanded to do in the bible?”
“To be sure,” said Mrs. Bennet, nodding sagely. “I believe there is something in the letter from Paul to the Corinthians about it, stating marriage is the holiest of pursuits.”
Elizabeth was not at all certain that was what that passage in Corinthians actually said, but she supposed that her mother might be forgiven for interpreting it thus.
“There, you see?” said Lydia to Mary, lifting her chin in triumph. “Balls and listening to sermons are really quite the same in the eyes of the Lord.”
“Oh, that is preposterous,” said Mary. “Why, you should get on your knees and offer yourself in supplication and prayer for saying—”
“Oh, let us go back to talking about the ball, please,” Lydia groaned, rolling her eyes. She turned to Jane. “Which do you like better, Jane? Wickham or Bingley?” She giggled.
Jane tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, blushing again. “Oh, what a silly question, Lydia. As if I might have a choice between them.”
“You were quite the prettiest girl at the entire assembly, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, nodding at her daughter.
“I have to say I agree,” said Lady Lucas, smiling at Jane. “Everyone knows you are the beauty of Hertfordshire.”
Even Jane’s ears were pink. “Please stop saying such things. I think Charlotte is very pretty as well, and Mr. Bingley did dance with her first.”
“Oh, I don’t think Mr. Bingley is interested in me,” said Charlotte.
“You are the daughter of a knight,” said her mother. “Mr. Bingley may indeed respect your pedigree, my dear.”
“But who do you like better, Jane?” said Lydia.
“Yes who do you like better?” said Kitty. “I think Mr. Wickham is quite handsome. Much more handsome than Mr. Bingley.”
“Oh, more handsome by half,” agreed Lydia, and the two burst into girlish giggles.
“There is more to a man than his looks,” said Mary.
“Mr. Wickham is a very kind man,” spoke up Elizabeth.
“Ah, yes,” said Charlotte, turning to her friend. “Wickham danced with you twice as well.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, who had been somewhat shattered when Mr. Wickham returned to dance a second dance with not only Jane, but two other ladies as well. She knew it did not mean that Mr. Wickham did not have affections for her. He had promised her the whole world, the sky, and the sun. That was not something a man simply said for no reason.
“Well, what do you think?” said Lydia. “Lizzy, who should Jane marry? Bingley or Wickham?”
“Lydia!” Jane glared at her sister. “I am not likely to marry either of them.”
“Oh, I think you should string them both along,” sighed Lydia. “I can’t imagine how romantic it would be to have two suitors at once!”
“That is frightful,” said Mary, shaking her head. “A wretched thing for a woman to do.”
“I shall string no one along,” said Jane. “Please, do let’s stop talking of me and talk of someone else. I cannot bear having everyone’s eyes on me.”
“Take pity on poor, fragile Jane,” said Lydia, laughing. “La, if only I were as pretty as Jane, I should have so much more fun than she does. I don’t understand God sometimes. Why would he bestow a face like Jane’s on a girl with her temperament? It’s a waste, I say. A wretched waste.”
* * *
In the coming weeks, Elizabeth saw no more of Mr. Wickham, even though the ladies of Netherfield called on the ladies of the Longbourn, and the visit was returned.
Even when the Bennets visited Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, however, neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Wickham were anywhere to be found, which Elizabeth found to be quite a disappointment.
She was not sure what she had hoped for, but Mr. Wickham had said that he wished to see her again, so she was anxious for something to pass between them.
Finally, she was gratified to learn that Mr. Wickham would be a guest at a dinner at Sir William Lucas’s. Of course, however, she could not approach him, but while she was having a conversation with Colonel Forster, who was also a guest that evening, Mr. Wickham approached Elizabeth, the colonel, and Charlotte, who was also nearby.
He simply stood there, gazing at her and smiling with those dimples.
Elizabeth became flustered and lost any thread of what she had been saying. She trailed off, and then Colonel Forster used this opportunity to politely take his leave.
Elizabeth cleared her throat and said, rather loudly, “Charlotte, what do you suppose Mr. Wickham means by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?”
Charlotte looked at Mr. Wickham, waiting for him to respond.
However, he did not, only smiling wider.
“That,” said Charlotte, “is a question only Mr. Wickham can answer.”
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth. “Well, then, Mr. Wickham, tell me. Did you think that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”
“Oh, with great energy,” said Mr. Wickham, who seemed delighted by this exchange. “I have never seen the like, I must say. Were I Colonel Forster, I should throw you ten balls at least. Why I would throw you ten balls a day if it would make you smile the way you are smiling now. The beauty of your smile rivals the beauty of the sunrise.”
“I see that in the ensuing time since we have spoken, you have lost none of your eloquence, sir. You are quite fond of waxing rhapsodic when it comes to my beauty.”
“I beg to differ. You are such a beauty that my words to describe it are but paltry, meager things. I could never hope to approach truly capturing your radiance.”
“My radiance! Do you hear him, Charlotte?” But Elizabeth was pleased. Hearing him speak thus made her soul soar. She had never been singled out for such attention from a man, especially not one as attractive as Mr. Wickham.
Mr. Wickham bowed slightly to Charlotte.
“Miss Lucas. You are looking lovely tonight as well.”
“Your Mr. Wickham has quite the complimentary tongue in his head,” said Charlotte.
“My Mr. Wickham?” said Elizabeth. “He does not belong to me.”
“Oh, on the contrary, I am your servant,” said Mr. Wickham.
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “Elizabeth, I am going to open the instrument soon. You know what follows.”
“Oh, no, Charlotte, no one wants to hear me sing,” said Elizabeth.
“I can’t imagine anything would be as sweet a sound as your voice,” said Wickham.
“You have obviously not heard me sing,” said Elizabeth.
“But I must admit, I would crave it selfishly,” said Wickham. “Would you consider using your melodious voice in conversation with me instead?”
“I would indeed,” said Elizabeth. “Ask someone else to sing, Charlotte.”
“Oh, very well,” said Charlotte, giving Elizabeth a smile as she went off and left her alone with Mr. Wickham.
“It has been too long since I have been in your presence, Miss Bennet,” said Wickham. “The birds have not chirped as cheerily. The flowers have not blossomed as brightly. In short, the world has been duller without you in it.”
“I have been in the world, Mr. Wickham,” she said. “It is not as though I cease to exist when I am not in your presence.”
“No, but perhaps I wish I did. What use is it being alive when Miss Bennet is not near?”
“You must stop saying such things!” Elizabeth was blushing again, worse than Jane blushed, which was truly saying something. “I cannot abide it. You are far too complimentary. It must stop.”
“I could not stop.”
“You must. Let us stop talking of me and talk of you.”
“Me? What could you possibly find interesting about me?”
“Oh, everything. You fascinate me. Indeed, I think of little else.”
He smiled in genuine pleasure. “Truly? You flatter me, Miss Bennet.”
“How came you to Netherfield with Mr. Bingley?”
“Bingley and I are good friends from school,” said Wickham. “We had a friend in common, a Mr. Darcy, but alas, Darcy has no interest in his old friends anymore. He has fallen into disgrace, in fact.”
“Darcy?” repeated Elizabeth. “I’m afraid I do not know the name. I am sorry for the state of your friend, however.”
“Yes, it is a tragedy. And it has been particularly hard on me, for I owe everything to the Darcy family. The elder Mr. Darcy and I have always been close, and it is his dearest wish to see his son redeemed, but the younger Darcy will not hear of it.”
“How awful,” said Elizabeth. “Why, what is the draw of such wickedness that it separates a son from his father?”
“I know not,” said Wickham. “But I fear what will happen when Darcy’s father dies and he takes over his lands and fortune. A man such as Darcy will surely fritter and gamble away it all. Why, he has already lost an estate of his late mother’s. He put the lands up in a card game, such is the little esteem he gave the place where his mother passed on. It was this act that caused a rift between Darcy and his family. None of them will even speak to him, and his father has cut him off entirely. Sends him no money at all.”
“None? His only son? His heir?”
“He cannot trust Darcy with it,” said Wickham. “The man is quite a disaster. Last I heard he had taken money to serve in some man’s stead in the militia, where he was scamming every officer from here to Brighton out of their pocketbooks.”
“How dreadful,” said Elizabeth. “But surely he is not part of the regiment stationed here, at Meryton?”
“I believe so,” said Wickham. “But I have put it out that he is not to cross my path, because I cannot be responsible for what I might do if I see him. Bingley is quite frustrated with him as well. The last time Bingley saw him, I understand that Darcy did nothing but try to beg money from him. Can you imagine? He has no shame.”
“Gambling is quite horrible,” said Elizabeth. “I mean, it can be. Personally, I do find a game of cards now and again diverting—”
“Oh, to be sure,” said Wickham. “It’s not a matter of the games themselves, it’s a matter of the extent one takes it to. A man who is in charge of his faculties, who knows what he’s about, he is in no danger, but a man like Darcy, with a weak constitution, why he must steer clear of any game of chance if he wants to truly reform. He has no head for it.”
“No, I suppose he does not,” said Elizabeth. “But you said that you owed everything to the family. What did you mean by that?”
“Yes, it’s true. I have quite humble beginnings. I was the son of the steward of Pemberley—that is the Darcy family home. I became rather a favorite of the elder Mr. Darcy, and he took it upon himself, quite out of the goodness of his heart, to have me educated. He had some idea that perhaps I could make a living as clergy. In fact, he had a post in mind for me. But I was never meant for the church, and I knew that if I had a bit of starting capital, I could grow something else for myself, and with Mr. Darcy’s help, I have done so.”
“He gave you land, then?”
“Well, let us simply say that while the younger Mr. Darcy has no head for cards, I am rather skilled at turning a small amount of money into a much larger amount. Or indeed, into a small estate.” He spread his hands. “But I grow weary of speaking of myself. Let us again return to the subject of your beauty, shall we not?”
“Oh, please don’t, Mr. Wickham,” she said. “If you keep at this, you’ll turn my head, and we all know that vanity is a sin. You would not lead me down the wide way to destruction, would you?”
“Perish the thought, Miss Bennet.” He looked up. “It seems that some of the others are dancing.”
Elizabeth looked and saw that he was right. There was a gathering of officers and ladies, including several of her sisters, who were dancing at the end of the room. Her sister Mary was playing the piano.
“Well, if I don’t move quickly, Bingley will snatch your sister out from under my nose. Do excuse me, if you please.”
“Well, of course,” said Elizabeth, after a pause, because she was stunned. Wickham was not going to ask her to dance? Why not? What was the purpose of his praise of her if he preferred dancing with someone else to her?
She watched in consternation as Wickham approached Jane and the two began to dance.
Everyone who saw Jane agreed she was a great beauty. There was no one with eyes who thought that Elizabeth was prettier than Jane.
Typically, Elizabeth did not mind, though. She accepted it all a long time ago. It had always been thus.
This was different, however.
Mr. Wickham was the man she was sure she was destined for. She felt the tug—the avalanche of sensation—toward him.
Jane already had Bingley. She did not need Wickham as well.
Elizabeth glowered at the two of them dancing, and she wished she did not have such ugly thoughts. Jane did not deserve it. Jane was the best sister a girl could hope for. Elizabeth must find some way to be happy for her. But how could she when she felt this way?
CHAPTER TWO
Within the week, Jane received an invitation to dine at Netherfield, and Mrs. Bennet was overjoyed at the summons. Immediately, she set to scheming, and she set it up so that Jane would ride out alone in the rain.
Mrs. Bennet’s cunning was rewarded when Jane fell ill and was obliged to stay overnight at Netherfield.
Elizabeth had been in a frenzy over all of it. On the one hand, she was terribly jealous that Jane had been invited to Netherfield and that she had not. On the other hand, she was remarkably guilty about her jealousy and endeavored to stamp in out with great prejudice.
It was not seemly, and it was not part of the way that she and Jane had ever related to each other in their lives together. She was quite close to her older sister, and she celebrated each of Jane’s happy moments as if they were her own—indeed, better than if t
hey were her own, because Jane deserved happiness so much more than Elizabeth did.
Truly, if the situation were reversed, it was incomprehensible to think that Jane would be jealous. Jane did not possess a jealous bone in her entire being.
No, Elizabeth was mortified with her state and chastised herself for it at every opportunity.
However, when she begged to go to Netherfield to look in on Jane, she could not be sure what her true motivation for the action was. Did she only wish to see Mr. Wickham herself, to take advantage of the fact that her sister was sick to claim his attentions? Or was she going to tend to Jane in penance for her transgressive spirit?
She couldn’t be sure, but she tried to insist to herself that is was the latter, because she refused to be the sort of sister who would do the former. Especially to Jane, who didn’t deserve any evil in the world.
Oh, why did Jane have to be so good?
If Jane were simply the slightest bit wicked, Elizabeth would not have to feel so guilty.
Nevertheless, she was steadfast in her resolution to see Jane and to nurse her back to health, so she walked to Netherfield and was received in the breakfast parlor by everyone in the household except Jane, who was confined to bed.
Mr. Wickham greeted her with his characteristic grandiose flattery, commenting that she was a vision with her cheeks reddened by the wind. In fact, his voice dropped to a deep register that seemed to settle into Elizabeth’s core, making her feel that same avalanche of sensation she had felt before when seeing Mr. Wickham.
But she would have none of it and ignored it. Instead, she insisted on being shown to see her sister.
She was conveyed there immediately, accompanied only by Mr. Bingley. The others in the party declared to be desirous of a walk in the gardens and left the house.
Mr. Bingley was all sincere concern for Jane, telling Elizabeth of all that had been done for her, and how he felt personally responsible for her predicament.
“Indeed, I must say I feel wretched that she is ill, but I cannot help but be glad of her continued presence here,” he admitted sheepishly. “I suppose that is a positively awful thing to feel, but I find I cannot help it.”
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