He walked at Elizabeth’s side, considering the seething woman. If she was a dragon, the spikes on her spine would be standing straight up. She would be a worthy foe if by some strange happenstance he need ever exert himself to truly oppose her. He did not care if Bingley wed Jane Bennet or not, he was no man’s keeper. Darcy had simply wanted to test the mettle of the raven-haired sister who watched over the golden with the tenacity of a Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades.
The woman who would battle to ensure her sister’s happiness, who walked the plains so heedlessly at night certain of her capabilities, was not the kind of woman who would entertain Wickham. Nor would Wickham bestir himself to win her—she would never be easily managed.
A poor woman, with no connections to speak of. . .his father would turn in the grave. But his mother—the former Princess Darcy would urge her son to woo and win so fierce a woman. The Darcy sapphires would sit magnificently in her glossy dark locks, her portrait rival any of the beauties in his family gallery that spanned centuries.
Had he not told Georgiana he was coming to Netherfield to find a potential wife?
Elizabeth glanced up at him from under her lashes, fine eyes glittering. He intercepted the challenge in the look, a gauntlet he wondered if she realised she had just tossed at his feet. Darcy smiled down at Elizabeth Bennet, enjoying when she jerked her hand away, back straightening.
Would he fulfill the promise to his father or to his mother?
Chapter Ten
The conversation with Mr Williams lingered in her mind for the next several days. She might have enjoyed it more were it not for her preoccupation, nay anxiousness, over the course of Jane’s burgeoning courtship.
“What did you discuss?” She demanded of Jane as soon as they returned from the walk that day.
Jane smiled. “This and that. His sisters and his home where he grew up. How much he enjoys the countryside and where to purchase the best bread. We will meet in two days at the lending library.”
“That’s wonderful, Jane. Do you like him?”
“Very much. It is so soon to know anything for certain, of course, but it seems as if he enjoys my company.” Jane blushed, as if saying even that much good about herself was unseemly.
“Just continue to be yourself, dear sister, and we will have a wedding yet.”
“Lizzy. You are incorrigible. Talks of weddings and I only just met the gentleman. You and Adelaide are so much more alike than you know.”
Elizabeth sniffed. “No need to insult me.”
Jane went upstairs to take a nap, a little tired but insisting she was well. Elizabeth left the drawing room and entered her father’s study, unchanged even after all these years. She chose a book and settled into his chair, about to read when Adelaide threw open the door.
Elizabeth stiffened. No doubt a lecture about disturbing the sanctity of the study was about to begin.
Her stepmother surprised her however. “Elizabeth! You must go to town and fetch Lydia!”
Elizabeth set aside her book. “What has she done now?”
Adelaide’s lips thinned. “One of my special friends has seen her cavorting with that red coat, the handsome one from the dance. I do not think he is the sort of man to make an offer. I will not have her ruining herself.”
“Mr Wickham?” Elizabeth rose.
“Even so. You are her elder sister. It is your duty to save her from herself.”
Elizabeth’s brow creased. If Lydia ruined herself, it would cause a complication in her plans. Bingley was from a respectable family—there must be no mark on Jane’s good name that might prevent an engagement. Not only that, Elizabeth certainly did not desire Lydia’s ruin for her own sake. The younger woman did not deserve to be toyed with no matter how thoughtlessly she behaved. She would mature.
Still, Elizabeth could not resist needling her stepmother. “You are her mother. Should it not be you who goes to fetch her?”
Adelaide drew herself up to her full height, mouth opening to deliver a furious retort.
Elizabeth waved her hand. “Never mind. I shall go. Do not blame me for my methods, however.”
Stepmother’s lip curled. “As long as you bring no more disgrace upon our name.”
No more disgrace would be the disgrace of being an elder daughter who was unwed and a drain on financial resources. “Of course not.”
Adelaide turned, sweeping out of the room without acknowledging Elizabeth’s heavy sarcasm.
“You should let her fall afoul of the consequences of her actions,” Mary said from the corner, each word precise. She shut the book in her hands and rose. “In no other way will she learn she can no longer behave as if she is sixteen instead of nearly twenty.”
Elizabeth gave Mary a cool look. This was not the first time her grave, bookish sister had managed to conceal her presence in the study. One day Elizabeth was going to have to get her hands on Mary’s spellbook. “Perhaps, but we do not abandon our own. That is your mother’s way, not mine.” And this was not the time to teach Lydia a lesson.
Elizabeth walked as fast as she dared into town, not wanting to arrive too much out of breath. The windblown look was charming on a younger woman, perhaps, but not on her.
She often fancied there was a drop of magic in her blood; her instincts led her unerringly to where Lydia held court, gathered with a group of other young adults her age outside of the inn where several of the militia were quartered. The group was of mixed sex, an even ratio of male to female. Elizabeth sighed. She did not blame Lydia, precisely. What young, exuberant, pretty woman did not desire the adulation of eligible young men? She just wished the girl would pick some not too poor man willing to have her and get married. But no, Lydia was holding out for dash and adventure. If Elizabeth had not spent her early twenties yearning for true love and respect, she would hold Lydia in the same impatient contempt as did Mary. That would be hypocrisy, though.
As she approached, Elizabeth observed Mr Wickham. Adelaide’s note of sincerity when insisting Wickham would never offer for Lydia spoke to the strength of the gossip she had heard. Mr Williams had also alluded Wickham was not so respectable a character. And then there was Elizabeth’s own impression; she had not liked the man. Handsome, flirting an edge over what would be considered proper.
Elizabeth sighed. “Lydia.”
Wickham turned, broad shoulders stiffening. Heavy-lidded eyes regarded her before he smiled his lazy, indolent smile.
“Why, it is the elder sister,” he said. “Lydia, I fear I must release you to the Amazonian.”
If he thought labelling her a warrior was an insult, he was a fool. Elizabeth spared him a brief, baleful look before ignoring him altogether.
“Lydia, your mother desires you to come home. She has an important matter of business to discuss with you.”
“Business!” Wickham exclaimed. “What business could such a lovely young woman have when it is a sunny afternoon and there is. . .fun to be had.”
“Mischief, rather,” was her icy reply.
Lydia laughed. “There is nothing mother could want that is so pressing, Lizzy, please. I shall return home presently.”
“Certainly. I’ll inform stepmother. May I speak with you a moment regarding another matter?”
Elizabeth waited as Lydia sighed and then shrugged, excusing herself from her friends. Dragging Lydia home by her ear was no longer a viable option and insisting on having her way in front of Lydia’s peers would only make the young woman double down.
Taking her aside, Elizabeth slid her arm in Lydia’s, much as if she were Jane. “You are a grown woman, of course. I long ago gave up telling you what to do.”
“Smart,” Lydia said, looking up at Elizabeth through her lashes. They strolled another half block away from the inn.
“But stepmother is concerned that Wickham has intentions to trifle with you, and at the assembly the other night, I did not like his manners. They were forward, and not in a happy rogue’s way, but altogether somewhat. . .slit
hering, like a snake.”
“And Mary says I am the fanciful one! You simply hide your wild imaginings better.”
Elizabeth stopped, facing Lydia. “You know I am all for a woman’s right to make her own decisions. Has he been untoward? Attempted liberties?”
Lydia’s full mouth pursed.
“I thought so. You must not allow it, sister. He is not the marrying sort, at least not a poor girl.”
Lydia’s auburn brown arched. “Who said anything about marriage, la! I am old enough to know how to flirt with a man without ruining my reputation.”
“Will you come home? It would please your mother and let Wickham know you are not his servant to come along whenever he snaps his fingers. No man values a woman who is too amenable.”
“Hmm. True.” Lydia’s held tilted. “Oh, very well. I was bored anyway. All they talk about is gambling and wine and who has lately been compromised.”
Elizabeth’s jaw locked as she smiled. “Wise decision, dear.”
Darcy’s opinion of Elizabeth inched up several slots as he watched her escort her sister away from Wickham’s side, her disdainful look flaying the false charm from the cad’s face. As soon as she turned her back, Wickham glared, malice peeking out from his gaze.
Any enemy of a Darcy enemy was a friend of Pemberley. Another reason to pursue his growing interest in a woman he normally would not consider a match, socially at least.
The auburn-haired woman was a fool if she found Wickham’s company diverting—but at least she did not protest Elizabeth leading her away. He filed the fact away for later. There were many things to consider when choosing a bride, and the conduct of his bride’s sisters was among the considerations. For certainly they would be invited to Pemberley, be seen by his allies and enemies, and his household judged by their behaviour.
The group of soldiers and admirers dispersed. Darcy pulled his hat down low over his brow, obscuring his face, and pretended to be engrossed in the display of gloves in a shop’s window.
When Wickham finally strode by, Darcy was ready. His hand shot out.
“What—” Wickham exclaimed.
Darcy flicked the brim of his hat upwards and looked at Wickham. “I told you I would find you.”
The soldier yanked his arm out of Darcy’s grasp, taking a step backwards. “Whatever you are here for, I can have you thrown in the gaol for accosting me.”
Darcy laughed. “Whatever I am here for? Your dissembling has not improved. But then, I am not a gullible young girl, so I suppose you are out of practice. Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Wickham hissed at him, then paused, smoothing his hands down his coat. “Never mind. I refuse to entertain you. You are not in Derbyshire, not in Pemberley. Here the law is local and no one will care that you are a prince.”
Darcy’s smile was humourless. “If you believe wealth and title mean nothing even in an independent county, you are a fool. I did not expect you to give it up. Be warned—you have a short time to decide to relinquish the jewel. If you do not, I will bring the full might of my seat upon your head.”
There was a scuffle of boots nearby. Darcy glanced, saw that two of Wickham’s comrades were approaching.
“I dare you to try,” Wickham said loudly, face pale with anger. Glancing at his friends, he turned back to Darcy with a faint smirk. “Here I have allies. I am no longer a Darcy liegeman.”
“Eh, Wickham, is this chap bothering you?”
Chap. Darcy nearly snorted.
“No, Darcy was just leaving,” Wickham said. “He has nothing further to say to me, I believe.”
He stiffened a moment, but neither of the men reacted to the mention of his name. “Remember that I was reasonable and gave you an opportunity to redeem yourself.” Darcy walked away. Now all he had to do was wait for Wickham to lead him straight to the ring.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth glanced up, lifting a hand to shade her eyes against the beaming—for once—sun.
“You will never guess what happened in town,” Lydia said.
Elizabeth set aside her spade and stood, stretching the small of her back a bit. “The militia has left town, and all is now right with the world again.”
“You are the only woman who does not love a man in uniform, I swear, Lizzy.”
“Hmm. Well, what has happened?”
“Mr Williams and Wickham engaged in fisticuffs right in the middle of the town square!”
“What?”
Lydia laughed, delighted. “Meryton has not seen this much excitement since. . .well. . .never? It really is very boring here.”
She stared at her sister, frowning. “I do not believe it. Mr Williams is far too apprised of his own dignity.”
“That is not even the best part.” Lydia leaned forward though the dramatics of doing so was completely unnecessary. “I have it on the best authority—”
“As you always do, apparently.”
“Stop interrupting. I have it on the best authority that Wickham called Mr Williams Darcy.”
Elizabeth started. She knew that name—who did not? Darcy was the familial name of the Princes of Pemberley, rulers over Derbyshire. The Bennets had connections in Lambton, a town not far from Pemberley, and Elizabeth had travelled there once or twice in the last several years. The borders were open due to the treaty centuries ago, and as long as one carried the proper papers in case of need, one was allowed to travel at will.
“Are you certain, Lydia? Wickham called him Darcy?”
“Very certain. You know I am no idea gossip, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth ignored the irony of that statement. There were many explanations, of course. While no one outside of the Darcy family of Pemberley was entitled to use that name due to legal injunction, perhaps Darcy was Mr Williams’ first name. It would be odd, but his mother might have been a fanciful woman at his birth and wanted to name her son for a prince. Or was it possible Mr Williams was related to the family in some way?
“Well, it is interesting, I suppose,” Elizabeth said slowly, “but it does not affect us one way or another.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “I am astonished, Lizzy. Of course it does! If Mr Williams is a prince in disguise–”
“Really, dear. That is a trifle farfetched.”
“Nonsense. If he and Bingley are true friends, and Prince Darcy desires to spend some quiet time with his friend in the countryside without suffering the machinations of all the local mamas and ladies, then what better way than to come incognito?”
“I’ve never heard you use that word before. That is astonishing.”
“Astonishing, indeed.”
Elizabeth turned. Adelaide stood several feet away, bonnet dangling from her fingers, a narrow-eyed look on her face.
“Did you hear, Mama?” Lydia asked. “Mr Williams may really be—”
“Prince Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s expression remained neutral though her spine stiffened. The soft, thoughtful note in her stepmother’s tone bode no good. It was the sound of her abandoning her machinations on Bingley and transferring all hope to Mr Williams instead.
“It’s highly implausible,” Elizabeth said, turning away and kneeling once again in front of her herb bed. “A man of that rank would not stoop to deceit.”
“If you say so, Elizabeth.”
“Is there a crisis happening with the herb bed?” Mary asked, appearing from around the side of the house. She wore sturdy walking boots and a sensible gown, the hem showing signs of a long walk through the woods. “Never mind. I encountered a messenger from Netherfield on the way home. A note for Jane.”
“Give that to me,” Adelaide snapped, holding her hand out.
Mary’s face remained expressionless as she gave the note to her mother.
Elizabeth rose. “If it is addressed to Jane—”
Adelaide tore around the seal, a slight tremble in her fingers. “Why Jane should be getting notes delivered from Netherfield. . . .” she read the contents, mouth thinn
ing. “Inconceivable. An invitation for Jane, and for you Elizabeth. To dine at Netherfield. Why he should single out—I will not have it! Either all my daughters attend or none.”
Adelaide spun around, and Elizabeth rose, lurching after her to snatch the corner of the invitation.
Stepmother whirled. “How dare you!”
“I dare much,” Elizabeth snapped, skimming the note as well. “You have no right. Jane and I will attend. If you have any hope of making matches for the girls, it will come through our acquaintance with Mr Bingley and. . .Mr Williams.”
“And how do I know you will not simply further your own ends to marry well?”
Elizabeth laughed. “When have I ever had a desire to marry well? If at all. If I marry, it will be for love and respect, and I have despaired for years of finding a man who would love a poor woman who speaks her mind. No, my only goal is to see Jane wed.”
“So you admit it! You place your full sister above your half sisters.”
“Not at all. She is the eldest. And as she has already caught Mr Bingley’s eye, it would be foolish to attempt to bait him with one and then replace her for another. As if women are bonnets. ‘Here is our best one, sir, but oh, so sorry! She is no longer available, here is another if you please. Similar to the original, I am certain you shall be satisfied with your acquisition.’”
Adelaide’s cheeks grew redder by the moment.
Elizabeth gave her a cool look. “Mary is all but engaged to Collins, so that leaves only Lydia and Kitty. If Jane weds Bingley, and you promise not to interfere, I give you my word I will devote the same energy to securing them husbands as I did Jane. And we shall have much better society to choose from when Mr Bingley makes introductions.”
“If they are going to dine at Netherfield,” Lydia said, “then it is certain Mr Bingley’s sisters will be there. I am certain if Jane wed their brother, they could be prevailed upon, Mama.”
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