Love Will Grow_A Pride and Prejudice Story

by P. O. Dixon

  “I suppose my cousin is disappointed that Mr. Wickham and you are acquaintances,” said Anne, “especially in light of his own admiration. I think Fitzwilliam likes you very much.”

  “How can you say such a thing when we only met last evening?”

  “No, I am referring to Mr. Darcy, not the colonel.”

  Elizabeth bestowed a bemused smirk. “I am afraid you do not know your cousin as well as you think if you suppose he admires me. He has never looked at me once except to find fault. And judging by the amount of time he spends staring at me, he has a long way to go before he is finished cataloguing my deficiencies.”

  Anne raised her eyebrows. “I cannot help thinking you do not like my cousin.”

  “I am sorry, but you are correct. However, my dislike is not without good reason.”

  “Are your sentiments a consequence of his careless remark when you first met at the assembly? I am sure he intended you no harm.”

  “You heard about that? Did Miss Darcy mention her brother’s unflattering words?”

  “No, it is not the sort of thing an older brother would tell a younger sister, to be sure.”

  “Then, I suppose my dear friend Charlotte told you.” Elizabeth shook her head playfully from side to side. “My dearest Charlotte is a strange creature by way of a friend, with a peculiar wont of delighting in my vexations. In truth, my sentiments towards your cousin are founded upon far more consequential matters. I am privy to severe charges against his character.”

  “From Mr. Wickham, no doubt. I can think of no one else who would besmirch my cousin’s good name.” Anne stopped short of reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. “Some time has passed since I last had the misfortune of being in company with Mr. Wickham. I fear he has turned out very wild. Were I you, I would not believe a word he says. In fact, I advise you to keep your distance from the gentleman.”

  “You sound like Miss Caroline Bingley. She waged a similar warning against Mr. Wickham for no other reason than his being the son of a steward.”

  “I have yet to meet Miss Bingley. By all accounts from Georgiana, I should be thankful. However, my grievances against the gentleman are founded upon stronger misfortunes than the circumstances of his birth. After all, he was raised with my cousin. They enjoyed the same privileges. Only one of them is the best man in the world, and the other is the scourge of the earth.”

  No doubt who was who in Anne’s mind. Elizabeth could not vouch for Anne’s assertions. “What are your charges against the gentleman?” Elizabeth had not meant to be blunt.

  “Elizabeth, though you and I are barely acquainted, I fear you need to learn the truth about this man whom you hold in such high esteem. I tell you this not only for your own benefit, but for the protection of your younger sisters as well. Mr. Wickham is no gentleman. He preys upon the young and unsuspecting for his own despicable purposes.”

  “I fear you are mistaken. Mr. Wickham is charming and quite amiable. Young ladies cannot help being drawn to him. My younger sisters are quite fond of him. He has done nothing to cause our family misgivings.” Whereas none of us can abide your conceited cousin!

  “That may be the case. Perhaps your family is not rich enough to tempt him.”

  “Anne, if I am to remain here, you and I must refrain from further discussion of Mr. Wickham’s character.”

  “I am sorry, Elizabeth. At the risk of alienating you, I beg you to listen to me. You need to know the truth.” Anne moved from her chair to the seat directly beside Elizabeth. “What I am about to confess is a closely held family secret. Fitzwilliam is unaware that I know. You must keep what I am about to confide to yourself. Tell no one.”

  Elizabeth relaxed her shoulders. She said nothing. She simply nodded. She would safeguard Anne’s secret, even if she did not believe a word of it.

  “When Georgiana was just fifteen, Mr. Wickham attempted to persuade her to elope.”

  Pulling away slightly, Elizabeth fought to remain silent.

  Anne continued. “He followed her to Ramsgate where he professed his ardent desire to make her his wife. All this he did behind Fitzwilliam’s back. Imagine Georgiana’s excitement. What young woman does not dream of marrying a dashing gentleman who follows her to distant lands, pledging violent love and unyielding devotion?

  “My young cousin was quite enraptured, and she would have gone through with Mr. Wickham’s scheme if not for Fitzwilliam’s timely arrival. Georgiana could not wait to share her joy with her brother, for Mr. Wickham had advised her against writing to tell him the news before the happy occasion.

  “From what Georgiana has told me, Fitzwilliam and Mr. Wickham engaged in a violent argument immediately thereafter. Though she was not in the room, she surmised there had been some sort of struggle judging by Mr. Wickham’s appearance when he threw the library door open, stormed right past her as though she was invisible, and slammed the front door closed when he left the house.

  “Fitzwilliam later told Georgiana that Wickham never loved her. He merely wanted to get his hands on her fortune of thirty thousand pounds. She was devastated, confused, and ashamed.”

  Elizabeth, by now, was decidedly disconcerted. Idly twisting her linen napkin in her hand, she kept quiet.

  “I take it by your silence that you either disbelieve my story, or you are appalled.”

  “I know not what to believe. I shall not accuse you of spreading falsehoods about your own cousin, but the behaviour you describe goes against all I believe of Mr. Wickham’s character. In my opinion, he is every bit a gentleman.”

  Anne walked to her desk and retrieved a letter from a bundle she had tucked away in the side drawer. “Here is the proof of my assertions.” She walked back to her seat. “It is a letter from Georgiana, which she wrote telling me about the entire sordid ordeal.”

  Anne handed the letter to Elizabeth. The rich parchment, the embossed scarlet seal—she had seen something similar whilst at Netherfield. “Go ahead, read it,” Anne said.

  Elizabeth handed the letter back to Anne. “No, it is a personal matter—between family. I can no longer doubt the veracity of your claim.”

  Anne carried the letter back to her desk and returned it to its proper place. Turmoil racked Elizabeth’s mind.

  “Remember, Elizabeth, I have spoken to no one else about Georgiana’s nightmare. Whilst I would like nothing more than to speak with Fitzwilliam, to tell him I am aware of what occurred, if for nothing more than to offer him some measure of comfort, I am uncertain where or even how to begin. He blames himself, you see.”

  Elizabeth’s mind was busy arguing, weighing, and digesting all Anne had related. By her account, Mr. Wickham was nothing more than an opportunist—one who would prey on the innocence of a fifteen year old for such nefarious purposes as getting his hands on her fortune.

  Miss King, a young woman from Hertfordshire who had recently inherited ten thousand pounds came to mind. Mr. Wickham made no secret of his sudden preference for her. Is she his latest victim?

  A soft voice intruded upon Elizabeth’s silent interrogation and unhappy revelation. “Oh! Elizabeth, what should I do?”

  She returned her attention to Anne. “Pardon me?”

  “Have you listened to a word I have said? What should I do as regards Fitzwilliam?”

  Elizabeth longed to escape. She needed time to ponder those things that must surely cause her even greater confusion. She needed to be alone.

  “Anne, please accept my apologies. I fear a headache is coming on. I must beg an early end to our visit.”

  Anne placed her cup aside. “Of course, shall I call for a carriage for your return to the Parsonage?”

  “Thank you. You are most kind, but I think a walk might yield far greater benefits. I remind you that walking is a favourite pastime—it works wonders in remedying most of my ailments.”

  “I should like it very much if we can visit with each other again.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “When?”

 
All Elizabeth wanted to do was leave. “I shall call on you tomorrow.”

  No sooner had Elizabeth hastened down the grand staircase and made her way outside, where she finally caught her breath, did she espy Mr. Darcy headed in her direction. She wanted to run away. She looked both left and right deciding on which route to take, but before she could strike a different path, he was upon her.

  She curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.”

  Embarrassed, she hardly knew how to look at him. She could not even apologise for her harsh, misguided sentiments towards him, for Anne had told her in strict confidence. Anxiety, silent lamentations, and stings of self-reproach stirred her. Through her struggles, Elizabeth feigned a smile.

  *

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy had been pacing back and forth for some time in the hope of seeing her. One unrelenting, long, arduous ordeal is how he described the torment of the past months. He did everything in his power to relegate the memory of her beautiful, dark eyes, her light and pleasing figure, and her bewitching airs to the farthest recesses of his mind.

  It would not do—thus the purpose of his trip to Kent. He had decided to forego the annual visit with his aunt and cousin altogether. Not that he wanted to avoid them—family meant everything to him. He rather enjoyed his obligatory visits. Nevertheless, he did not enjoy witnessing his aunt’s disappointed hopes each time he said good-bye with no promises of a future between him and his cousin Anne. He thanked God that Anne harboured no such ridiculous notions.

  Then, he learned by way of a letter from Lady Catherine that she would be there—the beguiling young lady who haunted his dreams. Here was his chance to put things into proper perspective—to match the reality of the person who she actually was to the phantom of perfection his moon-stricken mind had concocted during the months since he had left Hertfordshire determined never to return.

  Fate dealt him the hapless hand of having to sit next to her at the dinner table the previous evening, mere inches away, forced to breathe her intoxicating scent of lavender and drift back to their days spent together at Netherfield. He had fought not to reach out and touch her hand, and through it all, lamented his decision to come to Kent, for the instant he beheld her amazing eyes in Lady Catherine’s parlour, his fate was sealed.

  Now here I stand, in grave danger of falling as much in love with her as ever! Darcy bowed. “Miss Elizabeth,” said he, “may I see you back to the Parsonage?”

  Chapter 3

  Elizabeth’s clouded mind rivalled the overcast skies above. Walking along beside Mr. Darcy was the last thing in the world she needed—the last thing she wanted. She had all but snubbed him in refusing his proffered arm. Why did he not take the hint? She meant to return to the Parsonage straightaway, not amble along in a leisurely stroll as though everything she thought she knew about him as well as about Mr. Wickham and about herself had not been turned upside-down.

  The two spoke nary a word for what seemed an eternity. Why had Mr. Darcy offered to walk with her back to the Parsonage at all if he meant to be silent and grave? Elizabeth was in no mood for companionship. She would have much preferred to return to her friend’s home unescorted. Then she might ponder those things that must surely cause her a great deal of worry and vexation. At least she would be gratifying her need for self-disapprobation alone with no fear of giving unintended offence for her silence and inattention.

  Hadn’t she offended the gentleman enough already? And not just behind his back, but to his face!

  He had railed against her so many months ago—his expression dour and his voice firm. “You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns!” Elizabeth cringed at the thought of her outrageous behaviour when Mr. Darcy and she had danced at the Netherfield ball.

  Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help taking an interest in him had been my fervent reply. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a second or two. Mortified, she grimaced. He must think I am a complete simpleton. At least she had never accused him of being the means of Mr. Wickham’s so-called misfortune, as she most certainly had been tempted to do at the time. She had not made a complete fool of herself. Now privy to the truth, she need never travel down that road.

  Casting slanting glances to the gentleman by her side, she soon found some resemblance of Lady Catherine in his countenance and deportment. Elizabeth studied his profile—his manner of walk. He was a handsome man with long legs, broad shoulders, and a strong, chiselled face that spoke of his aristocratic lineage.

  Had he gratified her vanity during their first meeting as splendidly as Mr. Wickham had, rather than wounded her pride with his detestable conduct, would she have liked him just as much as she had fancied Mr. Wickham? Perhaps he was not entirely at fault. Perhaps, if she had not been paying him nearly so much attention that evening at the Meryton assembly, she would not have been listening in on what he meant as a private conversation between two gentlemen. If she had not overheard his ill-spoken words, which by Anne’s account he likely did not mean, would she have been so opposed to him and so opened to Mr. Wickham’s falsehoods?

  Whilst she had spoken at length about Mr. Wickham’s treachery, Anne had said nothing regarding the living Mr. Wickham had told Elizabeth about. The living’s denial had been the principal basis for his account of Mr. Darcy’s part in his dire predicament. Elizabeth quickly reasoned it had all been a succession of lies. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. How shallow she had been. Now struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct, she wanted to kick herself. Why had she failed to recognise his disingenuousness before? Did she even know herself? And if she had been so mistaken about Mr. Wickham’s true character, could she possibly have been mistaken about Mr. Darcy’s? Anne declares he is the best man in the world!

  Mr. Darcy rested his eyes upon Elizabeth. Too late to avoid the embarrassment of being caught staring, she said, “I thank you for your consideration in accompanying me thus far. I think I should like to continue the rest of the way alone.”

  “Nonsense, Miss Elizabeth! I insist upon walking with you the entire way.” Once again he fell silent.

  Moments later, the silence was too much for Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy, if you insist upon walking with me, then you must trouble yourself to say something.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, for my reticence.” He hesitated for a moment. “Did you enjoy your visit with my cousin?”

  Ah! Small talk—much better. “Indeed, sir.”

  “Did Anne say or do anything to leave you ill at ease?”

  Not so innocuous after all! Am I so obvious? “We enjoyed a pleasant visit, sir.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and kept up the steady pace. “I ask because I cannot help thinking you were a bit troubled when I first saw you running down the stairs.”

  “Oh! Is that why you were so adamant to accompany me, sir? Perhaps for fear I might have found something your cousin said unsettling? Did you fear that, in my disconcerted state, I might lose my way amongst the many fine lanes of Rosings Park, thus wander for days before finally finding my way back to the Parsonage?”

  He studied her in the same befuddled way he had done when they were together at Netherfield. “No, not exactly. I had been walking about the grounds for some time in the hope of meeting you. I wanted to see you. I wanted to apologise.”

  Elizabeth interrupted him. “You wanted to apologise to me? I fear I should be apologising to you, Mr. Darcy.” Indeed, for misjudging you, for thinking you were the worst kind of gentleman, for disliking you.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I wanted to apologise for my behaviour when we were in Meryton.”

  “Oh!”

  “Indeed. Upon hearing your account of my conduct to Colonel Fitzwilliam, I realised what an unfavourable impression I made on you. More than anything, I value your good opinion.”

  “In that ca
se, I accept your apology, sir.”

  “Why do you feel the need to apologise to me? You said nothing I did not deserve.”

  Only if you consider that I once declared you a lesser man than Mr. Wickham. “I would apologise for the manner in which I recounted our time together in Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy. I know how much you dislike being teased.”

  “Your manner was exactly as I have come to expect of you, Miss Elizabeth. Your liveliness and your wit are amongst the things I admire most about you. Anything less and I would have been disappointed.”

  Once again—an account of his admiration. Only this time, she heard it straight from him!

  “You admire me, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Indeed. In fact, I wrote to my sister Georgiana telling her about you already. She looks forward to making your acquaintance.”

  Although Elizabeth was not opposed to meeting Miss Darcy, especially after learning of her harrowing ordeal with Mr. Wickham, she could think of no occasion for such an introduction—not if Mr. Darcy intended her for his friend Mr. Bingley as Caroline Bingley had suggested.

  “Your sister is very kind, I am sure.”

  “Indeed, though she has suffered more than she ought to have for a girl of her tender years. I confess, it is but one of the reasons I look forward to you two making each other’s acquaintance.”

  That again! Perhaps he does not intend his sister for Mr. Bingley. Perhaps he knows the gentleman’s heart belongs to my sister Jane. Then a meeting between Miss Darcy and me is entirely in the cards, what with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley being such loyal friends.

  “Mr. Darcy, if you suppose a mutual acquaintance between your sister and me will be advantageous, then I shall contemplate our meeting each other with satisfaction. What is more, I can hardly wait.” Jane will be delighted!

  Mr. Darcy smiled. How handsome his dimples rendered him. Were it not for his excessive pride, Elizabeth might well understand why other ladies found him attractive. Darcy and she stood mere steps from the Parsonage gate when the skies opened, and rain began to fall. After looking at each other and agreeing they had better head inside the house as soon as possible, they made tracks to the door.