by Jann Rowland
A sudden grimness coming over him, Darcy, glared at Wickham. “You should remember Miss Bingley is of age and does not need her brother’s permission. Should Wickham request his blessing, I cannot imagine Bingley would be reluctant to give it, if it is something his sister wants.”
Inclining his head in understanding, Fitzwilliam said: “I still think she is in no danger. It does appear, however, that Wickham is attempting to woo a woman in the traditional manner.”
“That may be,” agreed Darcy. “But Miss Bingley is set upon entering the upper levels of society, and that is something Wickham, with all the charm in the world, cannot give her.”
With a nod, Fitzwilliam dropped the subject. At that moment, Lady Catherine entered the room, along with Anne, drawing the attention of the officers in attendance. As she had not been introduced to them, none did more than look with curiosity. But there was one among them who had known her before, and he started at the sight of her. Lady Catherine, it appeared, was no less surprised to see Wickham in Miss Bingley’s sitting-room.
“George Wickham!” the lady’s voice rang out over the room. “What are you doing here?”
“I am an officer in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regiment, your ladyship,” said Wickham, gesturing at his scarlet coat. “It has been some years since I have seen your ladyship. How do you do?”
Eyes narrowed, displeasure shining in her eyes, Lady Catherine snapped: “I do well, though that is no surprise since I always do well. My wellbeing or lack thereof is not at issue, not when I remember some of your antics and how you have abused my nephew’s family since his father’s passing. What have you to say for yourself?”
The flicking of Wickham’s eyes to his fellow officers, who were watching with interest, informed Darcy of his discomfort. Wickham was not bereft of wits, however, for he recovered soon and attempted to put her ladyship off.
“I have reformed, Lady Catherine. Now, I am a respectable officer in the militia, under the command of one of your ladyship’s nephews. The vices of the past no longer hold sway over me.”
It seemed it was the correct thing to say, for his fellows—not having known him before he came to the neighborhood—had nothing to hold against him. Conversation began again as an indistinct murmur, and Lady Catherine, though she pursed her lips, did not make any further comment. The way her eyes impaled him, however, informed Darcy she did not trust him, matching her nephews’ feelings exactly.
“I hope you have Mr. Wickham suitable reined in, Fitzwilliam,” said her ladyship. “That young man is a rotten apple.”
“Have no fear, Lady Catherine,” said Fitzwilliam with a grin. “George knows he may not step out of line lest the full weight of my authority fall upon his head.”
“Very well. See that you remain vigilant.”
Then Lady Catherine sought a nearby chair and sat, though she continued to watch Wickham. The lady did not request any introductions to any of the other officers, who did not seem to feel the lack of her civility.
What happened next was beyond Darcy’s understanding, though he was watching Wickham the whole time. The man never took his attention from Miss Bingley the Darcy could see, continuing to ply her with the same flattery which had always marked his wooing. In the next moment, however, he was speaking with Anne, though Anne had been conversing with Georgiana and the first exchange of words had been a few innocuous comments.
“It has been some time, Miss de Bourgh.”
“Yes, it has, Mr. Wickham. I believe it may be ten years since I last saw you.”
Wickham thought about it for a moment and returned a slow nod. “The year before I went to Cambridge when you visited Pemberley.”
“You never accompanied the family to Rosings.”
There was no response for Wickham to make to that observation, for though he had been at Snowlock, the Fitzwilliam estate on occasion, Darcy’s father had never tried to take him to Rosings, knowing Lady Catherine would not have endured it. Thus, Wickham changed the subject.
“I hope all has been well.”
“There is nothing for which I can complain,” replied Anne. “I hope you can say the same.”
Wickham’s almost imperceptible darting look at Georgiana nearly prompted Darcy to throw him from the house. Anne, he suspected, did not notice it, nor did anyone else in the room, except perhaps Fitzwilliam. For Wickham’s part, he assured Anne that he had excellent prospects at present before he turned to other matters.
With a hint of Wickham’s flattery making an appearance, they continued to speak, the subject of their conversation ranging from the past to the local neighborhood to Wickham’s current situation in the militia. As they spoke, Darcy noted that more and more of Wickham’s attention seemed fixed on Anne, rather than the woman he had been trying to charm these past weeks. Miss Bingley regarded him with a dispassionate stare, equally likely, in Darcy’s opinion, to rail her offense as to sigh with relief.
Then Wickham paused, started a little, and seemed to recognize he had not been speaking with Miss Bingley for some time. The floodgates of his praise were once again opened on her, and Anne, taking his sudden defection with bemusement, returned to speaking with Georgiana.
Darcy was not the only one to witness the exchange, for his cousin leaned over and spoke in a soft tone. “If Miss Bingley has a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, Anne has Rosings itself. There is no question about which Wickham would find more appealing.”
“Enough to allow him to live without restraint for a few years, or a lifetime of ready funds?” asked Darcy with a snort. “You have the right of it, Cousin.”
“Then it would be best to monitor our lieutenant. This temptation might be more than he can withstand.”
Darcy nodded, watching Wickham as he spoke with Miss Bingley. To a casual observer, his full attention was on her. Had Darcy not witnessed the darting looks at Anne, Lady Catherine, and even occasionally at Fitzwilliam and himself, he might have thought so himself.
“I do not suppose we may convince Lady Catherine it is for the best that they return to Rosings?”
There was no hope in Fitzwilliam’s tone, so Darcy did not need to dash what did not exist. “Aunt Catherine considers herself fixed here, as much for the chance that I will notice Anne with her being before me as her stated desire to come to know Miss Elizabeth better.”
A sour grunt was Fitzwilliam’s response. Darcy felt no need to answer, choosing to stand in silence and watch Wickham. The danger that always lurked in the background whenever Wickham was present reared it’s dark and menacing head again, and Darcy resolved he would take care to watch him closely. He had become too complacent.
Elizabeth had always been secure in the knowledge of her mother’s love. She had also long known her mother to be a woman of less than remarkable intelligence, but with a sensible, pragmatic outlook on life, a woman who was an excellent hostess and mistress of her husband’s estate. Jane’s engagement, however, taught Elizabeth that there was another side of her mother.
This creature, who, a voice brimming with excitement, spoke of lace and flowers, of weddings breakfast foods and guest lists with the fervor of a girl attending her first ball, was beyond Elizabeth’s previous understanding of her mother. It seemed that Mrs. Bennet was intent upon celebrating the marriage of her daughter with the finest fete Meryton had ever seen. The energy with which she talked and planned and schemed was breathtaking in its breadth; Elizabeth soon became fatigued just watching. And they still had not even set a wedding date!
That Jane, rather than Elizabeth herself, was the center of her mother’s planning was a blessing. Then again, with Mr. Darcy paying court to her in an ever more ardent fashion, Elizabeth knew she would be the center of her mother’s attention before long. The mere notion of her mother turning her attention on Elizabeth in such a manner filled Elizabeth with the urge to shudder. At that point, Gretna would become a preferred option.
Mr. Darcy had an interesting bit of advice for Elizabeth. “Perhaps it is bes
t to allow your mother her excitement. Your sister is, after all, the first of her daughters to marry. That must be a matter of great pride and anticipation.”
With a sense of bemusement, Elizabeth regarded the gentleman. “How do you know what my mother is thinking?”
“I do not, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, catching the humor in her voice. “It seems best to me to attempt to think about it from her perspective; when one does that, it becomes obvious.”
“You are a wonderful man, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “Yes, I understood this, but your words have made it more real to me.”
Subsequent to that conversation, Elizabeth found she could bear her mother’s excitement better, though she still allowed Jane to take the brunt of her attention. If her conscience whispered to her, Elizabeth quieted it, reflecting it would be her turn soon enough.
Those days in company, Elizabeth spent most of her time in Mr. Darcy’s presence, the gentleman’s regard no longer hidden to any but the most obtuse observer. As they already knew each other well, Elizabeth felt they were forging the final bonds of understanding, knowing it would not be much longer before the gentleman proposed. What Elizabeth had not expected was the gentleman’s distraction, which would often manifest itself when they were in the regiment's company. It took no greatness of mind to know what had caught his attention.
“Is there aught amiss with Mr. Wickham?” asked Elizabeth, one night at a party at one of the houses of the neighborhood. “It was my understanding that his behavior has been better since he came under your cousin’s command.”
A sense of disquiet fell over her as she regarded Mr. Darcy, and the man said: “No, you are correct there, Miss Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam informs me Wickham has accumulated no debts, has trifled with no ladies, and has given him no reason for reprimand.”
“And yet you watch him as if he were an asp coiled to strike.”
The slight upturn of Mr. Darcy’s lips presaged a hint of a lightening mood. “I know Wickham too well to trust him after a month of good behavior. While he has given me no reason to complain, I dislike his proximity to Georgiana, and I have noted his recent attention on Anne.”
“Yes, he does seem to speak to her more than any lady other than Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth, her eyes finding Mr. Wickham. At that moment, he was speaking with Miss de Bourgh, though the woman walked away soon after. Elizabeth’s eyes found Mr. Darcy again, and she said: “But Georgiana? As far as I can determine, he has not said two words to her all evening.”
For a moment, Mr. Darcy regarded her, his manner absent, pensive. “That is one part of the tale of my family’s troubles with Mr. Wickham that I have not shared with you.”
Mr. Darcy glanced about, his eyes searching, perhaps attempting to determine if anyone was close enough to overhear. When he had assured himself of their privacy, his eyes once again sought Elizabeth’s.
“I apologize for leaving this out before, Miss Elizabeth—it is a tale of the most sensitive nature.”
“If so,” hastened Elizabeth to say, “you need not feel compelled to share it with me. I understand and believe your warning of Mr. Wickham—there is nothing more I need to know.”
“I thank you for your faith, Miss Elizabeth, but Georgiana herself has suggested I relate this to you. By hearing of it, you will understand my disquiet.”
The tale which followed disgusted Elizabeth, for Mr. Darcy spoke of betrayal of the worst kind, of a young man favored above any proper expectation, who attempted to steal that which did not belong to him to the detriment of a young woman of whom Elizabeth thought highly. The feelings of the gentleman by her side, Elizabeth understood at once, as did she comprehend part of the reason he was as reticent as he was. For Georgiana, she felt nothing but compassion, for Mr. Wickham nothing but contempt. When Mr. Darcy’s words trailed off, she put her hand on his arm and give him a look which she thought expressed all the feelings she could not in front of the rest of the company.
“You have suffered, Mr. Darcy, and your dear sister has had her share in it. Your wariness for that despicable man is justified.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I shall keep watch with you, Mr. Darcy—we shall not allow him to hurt your cousin too. Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to speak to your sister.”
With a bow, Mr. Darcy released her from his company; Elizabeth thought he might kiss her if he had the chance. As Elizabeth was crossing the room, intent upon joining Georgiana, she happened to pass near Mr. Wickham and catch his eyes. Though she had not intended to, the thought of what this man had tried to do rose in her mind, and she fixed him with a fierce scowl, such as shocked him. For the rest of the evening, Elizabeth felt his eyes on her. But she ignored him. Mr. Wickham was not worth the mud on her shoes.
Observant as she was, Anne de Bourgh noted the sudden coldness Miss Elizabeth displayed toward Mr. Wickham; or the greater coldness, for she had never looked on him with favor. Had Anne been at liberty to consider her friend’s behavior, she might have wondered what had provoked it.
As it was, however, Anne had little time to spare for such considerations. Though Mr. Wickham considered himself a charmer, Anne found the man so practiced as to be false. He betrayed an amusing conceit which diverted Anne for some time; soon, however, that grew tiresome too, and other concerns asserted themselves. Chief among these was her mother’s growing dissatisfaction.
“I cannot understand what he sees in her,” said Lady Catherine later the same night. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is nothing special, and yet he treats her as if she were the first among women.”
“Oh?” asked Anne, eager to provoke her mother to say more. “Why do you say that?”
Lady Catherine could not reply so she waved her hand, an ineffectual attempt to disapprove of what she was seeing, though she suspected her mother could not state with any coherence of what she disapproved. Anne, sensing the time was at hand, was not about to allow her to escape with so weak a demurral.
“Whether or not Miss Elizabeth is exceptional,” said Anne, pulling her mother’s eyes to her, “I cannot say. To Darcy, however, she is the most important woman in the world—anyone can see that. Or she will be as soon as he throws caution to the wind and proposes.”
Lady Catherine scowled and muttered: “My task would have been far easier had you shown even a hint of interest in him.”
“No one could accuse you of being mistaken,” replied Anne. “If I had done so, I would have been lying to myself and you, Mother, and that I did not wish to do.”
“I cannot imagine what you feel is lacking,” said her mother, her tone exasperated. “Is your cousin not an exemplary man? Is he not well-favored? Can you not see that Pemberley is a jewel which, when united with Rosings, would make your situation the envy of many? What shall you do now for a husband?”
“Let me answer your questions in order, Mother,” said Anne. “No, there is nothing wrong with Darcy or his situation. To the right woman—a woman who is standing with his sister at this very moment—Darcy would be an irresistible temptation. As for Pemberley and Rosings, Darcy has no interest in joining the estates, and I have no more interest than he.
“Now, Mother,” continued Anne, fixing her mother with such a look that she had no choice but to respond, “shall we discuss this further? I think there is something more to this than the desire to join Pemberley and Rosings.”
“My sister and I dreamed of uniting our children,” said Lady Catherine.
“Perhaps you did, Mother,” said Anne, “but you and I both know my aunt must have meant it in idle speculation, for she did nothing to formalize your agreement.”
Lady Catherine glared, but she said nothing, proving Anne’s supposition. Having put that to the side, Anne continued, saying: “I know you are not covetous, Mother, so it cannot be a desire for Pemberley. That leaves me as the motivation for your insistence.”
“You understand better than I might have expected,” said Lady Catherine after a m
oment’s pause. “I told Darcy that very thing only a few days ago. Now that he is to make an imprudent marriage and remove the protection you have enjoyed all these years, we shall be inundated with every rake and fortune hunter within a month.”
“Oh, Mother!” exclaimed Anne. “Am I not capable of fending off fortune hunters? Do you suspect me of wishing to run off with Mr. Wickham whenever he flashes his white teeth in a charming smile? Do you take me for a witless girl?”
At least Lady Catherine had the grace to appear ashamed, though her words did not reflect it. “Are you capable?” demanded she. “Do you possess the strength to fend off men who are much greater danger than the likes of Mr. Wickham?”
“I am not robust, Mother,” said Anne. “This I know. But I am not witless. I have more than a little fluff in my head. Should all the rakes in London appear on our doorstep, I shall not fall prey to them. And I should think Darcy and Fitzwilliam, not to mention the earl and the viscount, would have something to say should they think a man was importuning me against my wishes.”
“That may be, but I am still your mother,” insisted Lady Catherine. “It is my duty to concern myself for my only daughter.”
“Perhaps it is. The die has been cast; there is nothing you can do to change it. After a time, you will see that I am competent. I shall not walk for miles every day like Elizabeth does—but I am not so weak as you think.
“There was no passion between us, Mother,” said Anne, catching her mother’s hand and holding it, allowing her emotion to run free. “Even though you married my father for reasons other than genuine affection, I know you were fond of him.”
“Your father and I got on very well,” said Lady Catherine; Anne knew this was as close as she would approach to owning to loving her husband.
“And I wish for the same. Darcy and I are too much alike. I require a man more like Anthony for a husband.”
“Do not suggest such a thing!” said Lady Catherine, though a smile arched her lips ever so slightly. “Anthony is far too unserious for his own good.”
