“Yes,” Lydia said with a giggle. “I shall remember that promise.”
Mr. Wickham favoured Lydia with a smile and bowed to the rest of them before taking his leave. Lydia and Kitty lost no time in abusing Mr. Darcy.
“Can you believe that anyone could treat Mr. Wickham in such a fashion?” Kitty asked angrily.
“It is most certainly a sad tale,” Mary agreed. “But one which we have only heard one side. I would be curious to know what Mr. Darcy would say to these accusations.”
“What possible excuse could he have?” Lydia retorted. “And you know what everyone was saying about him at the assembly. I have quite made up my mind—a most loathsome man.” She knocked loudly on the front door and waited for Aunt Phillips’ servant to admit them.
Elizabeth noticed none of this. Her mind was still trying to make sense of Mr. Wickham’s tale. She frowned to herself, trying to match the picture Mr. Wickham painted with the man that had come to her and Jane’s rescue. Would so arrogant a man truly risk bodily harm to come to the aid of strangers? She was so stuck in her own mind that she did not realise Jane was speaking with her until Jane laid a hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry, Jane. What did you say?” Elizabeth asked, shaking her head.
“I asked if you would like to walk for a bit longer,” Jane said. Elizabeth glanced around and realised that she and Jane were alone outside the house. The other girls had already gone inside. “I sense that there is much going on in your mind, and that you might need a few moments before you’re ready for Aunt Phillips.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth readily admitted, and she and Jane began to walk once more. They walked for several minutes in silence before Elizabeth began to speak. “You don’t think it is true, do you?”
Jane pursed her lips and thought before answering. Elizabeth watched her face closely, trying to figure out what she was thinking before she could speak.
“I think that something grave passed between Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy,” Jane finally said. “I am, however, not convinced that Mr. Wickham has told the entire story.”
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief—Jane had confirmed her own suspicions.
“I thought as much,” Elizabeth agreed. “But why tell the tale? He must know that we would ask Mr. Darcy about it.”
“I do not think that possibility occurred to him,” Jane said. “Mr. Wickham is a very amiable man, and I would be surprised if he is often questioned about his stories.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. Jane was unnaturally astute about people, but she rarely spoke in such frank terms.
“I am surprised that you would offer such an assessment,” Elizabeth said slowly. “You usually see the very best in people.”
“Oh, Lizzy. Do not misunderstand me,” Jane said, sounding a bit distressed. “I do not intend to be unkind. I think Mr. Wickham is a charming man. I simply believe we do not have the full story yet.”
Elizabeth nodded, realising it wasn’t that Jane thought ill of Wickham, it was simply that she could not think ill of anyone—including Mr. Darcy. Which meant there must be more to the story.
“But the question remains, why would Wickham tell us such things?” Elizabeth asked, beginning to feel frustrated. Even though she did not fully believe him, she felt her confidence in Mr. Darcy fading and she could not understand why.
“I do not know,” Jane said, shaking her head. “But I think it important that we remember that Mr. Darcy saved us at great risk to himself. And he is a great friend of Mr. Bingley. I cannot imagine Mr. Bingley befriending so terrible a person.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said slowly, remembering Caroline’s behaviour the night before. Though, she could not blame Mr. Bingley for his sister—one did not choose their sisters, after all. “I shall do my best to forget the tale, but I fear this will not be the last we hear of it.”
“Probably not,” Jane agreed. “But let us remember to judge based on our own experiences.”
“A wise course,” Elizabeth said, smiling at her sister. Jane was right, but the question of Mr. Wickham’s motivation still floated through Elizabeth’s mind and she knew it would be quite difficult to banish.
Chapter 14
Darcy
Darcy watched with disgust as the red-coated man bowed to the group of women and left them. He had seen Wickham walking with the Bennets as he rode through Meryton. At the sight of them, his curiosity had overruled his good sense. He had been following them, at a distance, for the past five minutes. It seemed that Wickham held the group spellbound with some story—a sad one if he were to judge by the looks on their faces.
He was not sure why he followed: He had no right to interfere. But the mere sight of Wickham was enough to darken his face in rage. And he had no desire to see anyone caught up in one of Wickham’s webs. No one emerged unscathed from dealings with the man.
Darcy booted his horse to follow Wickham up a side street. He did not realise he intended to confront the man until he was already calling out.
“Wickham!”
The man turned and his face soured upon seeing Darcy.
“Well, well,” he said acidly. “If it isn’t Mr. Darcy of Pemberley—I had wondered if you would find the courage to face me.” Darcy brushed aside the accusation of cowardice, such insults meant nothing from a man such as Wickham.
“What business do you have with the Bennets?” Darcy asked harshly. His mount could feel her rider’s unease and she danced nervously in front of the officer. Darcy did his best to control her; as much as he might have wished to see Wickham trampled beneath hooves, it was not the way to go about things.
“The Bennets?” Wickham said, feigning surprise. He glanced behind his shoulder to the spot he had left them. “What do you care of five impoverished girls?”
“I care about any innocent girl who might be lured into one of your traps,” Darcy spat back. “Could I separate you from every woman in existence, I would.”
“My, my,” Wickham laughed in a mocking tone. “Aren’t you the protector of the innocent?” Darcy grit his teeth, redoubling his efforts to keep his horse steady. “Of course, I have heard that your protection extends beyond saving people from me. Highwaymen? I never would have believed you had the courage to face down such toughs.”
“How did you hear of that?” Darcy asked, again ignoring Wickham’s attack.
“Are you really so obtuse as to not comprehend how quickly a good story travels in a place like this?” Wickham replied, leaning back against the wall. “I had only been at the assembly for a few scant minutes before I was regaled with the heroics of the dashing Mr. Darcy.”
“Then you understand why I take an interest in the well-being of the Bennets,” Darcy growled. Wickham’s insolence was nearly unbearable, but he continued to hold down his anger, determined to not give in to Wickham’s barbs.
“Yes,” Wickham said in an acrid tone. “I can certainly understand your… interest.” He gave Darcy a knowing look.
“How dare you assume such things!” Darcy barked, his anger flaring. “It is one thing to insult me, but to insult the Bennets…”
“Oh, calm down,” Wickham said, waving a hand. “I would not dare to presume to do such a thing.” Darcy bit back a bitter laugh. “No, I am merely acknowledging how understandable it is to be drawn to the Bennets—the eldest especially. I’m not sure I have met a fairer creature than Jane Bennet.”
“Yes,” Darcy said stiffly. “She is quite beautiful.” Wickham stared at him for several long moments and Darcy was uncertain what caught his attention. He again attempted to clear his face of the fury that filled him.
“But it is not Jane who has caught your attention, is it?” Wickham finally said slowly. “No, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is far more likely to catch your fancy, is she not?” Darcy flushed deeply and wished he had hidden his reaction better. For it did not take but a second for a triumphant look to cross Wickham’s face.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth… It is a good thing she has you for a
protector, is it not? It would be awful for something to happen to her, wouldn’t it?”
“Stay away from Elizabeth,” Darcy growled. “I shall be damned if I stand by and watch you ruin another innocent…”
“Ruin?” Wickham asked with a mock laugh. “Are you saying that I have ruined someone? My, that would be quite the news, wouldn’t it?” Darcy bit his tongue and kicked himself. He was dangerously close to dragging his beloved sister into a quarrel that was not hers.
“You know what I mean,” Darcy said, attempting to temper his tone.
“I’m afraid I do not,” Wickham replied loftily and Darcy’s anger again flared. It was too much to watch Wickham wriggle out of such simple acknowledgements of fact. “But I already have an invitation to visit the Bennets again, and who is to say what will happen? Elizabeth seems desperate for some good company, and we both know that I am nothing if not good company.”
“Too bad you cannot keep your company for any length of time,” Darcy retorted. “I fear you underestimate Elizabeth’s intuition.”
“Perhaps,” Wickham said, adjusting his gloves. “But I think you are underestimating just how charming I can be to a young woman. We’ll just have to see what happens.”
“I warn you, again…” Darcy said through gritted teeth.
“Your warning is noted,” Wickham said dismissively. “Now, you must excuse me. You have kept one of His Majesty’s officers from important business long enough.” He began to walk away and Darcy let him go. However, just before he turned the corner at the end of the street, Wickham turned to face Darcy once more.
“Good to see you, Darcy,” he said with a mocking bow. “And please, convey my good wishes to your sister.”
Darcy’s hands gripped the reins so hard and so suddenly that his horse reared back on her hind legs. Rage coursed through him and flashed before his eyes. He felt a momentary urge to race his horse after the man, to catch him and cut him down. But the attention required to keep his seat gave time for his reason to overcome his anger. By the time he had calmed his horse, his anger had gone from murderous to simply shaking with rage.
Wickham was a villain and a fool, but there was nothing Darcy could do about the man. He knew that Wickham’s charm and wit served him well in these sorts of social settings. And he was well aware of the impact his nature had upon people. Any war of words would be easily won by Wickham—the truth mattered very little in such things.
Darcy heeled his horse into a walk in the opposite direction Wickham had gone. His mind was still quite occupied by the short encounter. He felt strangely obligated to protect the Bennets from Wickham—any girl from him. But Wickham’s threats against Jane and Elizabeth were particularly worrisome. Perhaps the experience with the highwaymen had left a deeper connection than Darcy had originally expected.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth
Tea had done nothing to ease Elizabeth’s mind. As she might have expected, Lydia and Kitty had shared Wickham’s sad tale with their aunt as soon as they walked through the door. By the time Jane and Elizabeth joined them, the room had decidedly settled upon Mr. Darcy’s guilt and was speaking of Mr. Wickham in hallowed tones. Both Jane and Elizabeth kept their opinions to themselves, and if anyone noticed, no one had said a word.
Elizabeth was grateful to be nearing Longbourn. Kitty, Lydia, and even Mary were proving to be trying company after so many hours. Elizabeth nearly screamed with frustration when Lydia had insisted on stopping for ribbons on the way home. Longbourn offered very few spaces for respite, but she had long experience in seeking out those quiet places to sort through her thoughts. She longed for the chance to take refuge, even for just a few moments.
However, refuge was not to be had. As soon as they began to walk up the drive, Elizabeth saw Mrs. Bennet hurrying toward them.
“Mama,” Lydia called. “Mama, look at these lovely ribbons I got! I’m going to redo one of my bonnets. Won’t it be lovely?” Lydia held up her purchase for Mrs. Bennet to examine, but their mother pushed them away without a second glance.
“Lovely, Lydia, dear,” she said, clearly distracted. “Girls, I am so grateful you are back.” She wrung her hands and glanced nervously over her shoulder.
“Mama, is everything well?” Jane asked, sounding concerned.
“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Bennet said breathlessly. “Everything is quite well. We have a guest.”
“A guest?” Elizabeth asked with surprise. Could it be Mr. Bingley to visit Jane once more? She glanced at Jane and could tell she had the same thought.
“Yes,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It is the cousin.” She said the words dramatically. Elizabeth was confused for a moment before understanding settled upon her.
“The one who is to inherit?” She asked, surprised. They had heard about the cousin for years, but she had not expected to meet him so unexpectedly.
“Yes,” Mrs. Bennet said, looking quite put out. “Mr. Collins. Here to count the silverware and add up the accounts, to find out exactly what he is to inherit when my poor Mr. Bennet is no longer with us.”
“I am sure he has other reasons to visit,” Jane said reassuringly, laying a hand on Mrs. Bennet’s arm. They all turned and continued walking to the house.
“He shall turn us out before Mr. Bennet is cold!” Mrs. Bennet said macabrely. “Us poor, defenceless women. Cheated by the law.”
“You mustn’t speak like this, Mama,” Jane continued in soothing tones. Elizabeth quite agreed. She did not like to hear her mother talk about her father’s death in such a forthright manner.
“And why should I not?” Mrs. Bennet shot back, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Why should I pretend to open my home to the circling vulture?”
“Papa is hardly on his deathbed,” Elizabeth pointed out dryly. Her father enjoyed fine health and Elizabeth was certain he had many years left. “Do not be so eager to put him in his grave.”
“Yes, yes, you’re quite right,” Mrs. Bennet said, her voice taking on a shaking tone. “We might as well see what he wants.” An idea seemed to hit her, and she gave Elizabeth a calculating look. “Perhaps he has come looking for a wife…” She tapped her lips with her finger while Elizabeth gave her a horrified look. This was not what she had meant when she encouraged Mrs. Bennet to withhold judgement.
A short, round man with thinning hair was standing by the front door, nervously tapping his foot, apparently waiting for Mrs. Bennet to return. He was dressed in the severe black suit and white colour of a clergyman, and he wore a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. All five of the Bennet sisters drew up short, surprised to meet the cousin out-of-doors.
“Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet bustled forward. “I told you it was unnecessary for you to wait here. Only a few minutes more and we might have greeted one another out of the chill air.”
The strange man gave a jerky bow.
“Mrs. Bennet,” he said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “I simply had to admire the landscape of the estate. It is quite lovely for so small a park. Nothing compared to my patroness’ estate at Rosings, to be sure, but quite nice for so humble a place.”
Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open in surprise, but quickly recovered herself. The man certainly had high standards, it seemed, and easily found fault.
“Yes, well,” Mrs. Bennet said, uncertain how to respond. A lengthy pause drifted over the group before Mrs. Bennet began to introduce her daughters. “Mr. Collins, may I present my daughters? Miss Jane, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, though we call her Kitty, and Miss Lydia Bennet.” Each of the girls dropped into a polite curtsy when Mrs. Bennet named them.
“Dear cousins,” Mr. Collins said, bowing ridiculously low. Lydia and Kitty glanced at each other and were turning red with the effort of not laughing. “What an honour to make your acquaintance. I hope our time together creates a feeling of familial felicity.” He straightened up and looked directly at Jane. “Who knows? Perhaps my visit will create more than familial felicity.
”
Jane’s eyes grew wide and she looked nervously at Elizabeth. Elizabeth, for her part, was having as much trouble not laughing as Lydia and Kitty.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Mary said suddenly. Elizabeth looked at Mary in surprise—she rarely spoke in such situations. “Your concern for strong family connections is no doubt a reflection of your commitment to God and the church.”
“Indeed, it is, Miss Mary,” Mr. Collins said pompously. “I am but recently ordained, but my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has made it quite clear that she expects me to soon take a wife. A clergyman’s duty.” He licked his lips nervously. “And I quite agree. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” Elizabeth echoed, in a teasing tone. Jane elbowed her sharply, but she could not help it—they man was an utter fool! Mr. Collins, for his part, did not seem to notice Elizabeth’s jest at his expense. Mrs. Bennet, however, noticed.
“Let us go inside and prepare for dinner,” she said quickly, giving Elizabeth a glare.
“And to which of my fair cousins shall I direct my compliments for the cookery?” Mr. Collins asked.
“We are quite able to keep a cook, Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet said, sounding flustered.
Mr. Collins nodded, blushing deeply. “Ah, apologies for my mistake, I am glad to hear the estate is doing so well,” he stammered in reply. Mrs. Bennet gave a tight smile and turned her attention to the girls.
“I shall call you when dinner is ready. It should not be more than a few minutes,” she said, nodding to the girls.
Elizabeth gave a sigh of relief to escape to her room to freshen up, even if was only for a short time. Mr. Collins’ appearance had one positive impact: she was much less occupied with thoughts of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham.
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Rescued by Mr Darcy Page 9
