by P. O. Dixon
Besides, with Jane and Bingley effectively lost in each other’s eyes, I shall be thoroughly occupied keeping Kitty and Lydia from hovering beneath the mistletoe waiting for a poor unsuspecting officer to happen along.
* * *
Longbourn’s patriarch was in his study enjoying a much needed and long sought reprieve from the gaieties of the evening when the sound of the door opening punctured his solace.
“I supposed I would find you here, sequestered with your books.”
Mr. Bennet peered up from the page of his latest novel. Smiling, he placed his book aside. “That is not to say I do not welcome the occasional diversion, Brother.” Waving his brother-in-law into the room, he said, “Pray, come inside. Have a seat.”
Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sister, as well by nature as education. As a consequence, he was one of Mr. Bennet’s favorite relations.
Mr. Gardiner walked into the room. “There is certainly no lack of diversion just outside this door.”
“Indeed, but if I may speak frankly, I have had more than my fill of that manner of diversion for the season. I daresay my favorite part of the season encompasses the small amount of time needed to light the yule log on Christmas Eve and attend Church on Christmas Day. Everything else is rather much ado about nothing.
“Twelfth Night cannot come soon enough for me—a relief from all the festivities as a consequence of living in a household full of silly women,” Bennet said. “I have lost count of the number of friends and acquaintances I have been forced to endure of late. Present company excluded, of course,” he added, almost apologetically.
Now seated, Mr. Gardiner said, “But, of course. Speaking of a household full of acquaintances, what is your opinion of the two young men from Derbyshire?”
Bennet leaned back in his chair. “I find it interesting that you would ask me about the gentlemen from Derbyshire, specifically when there are several young men from various other parts of England lingering about. And hovering under the mistletoe no less.”
“That is true, but only two of them share a history riddled with contention.”
“True enough, if one were to rely solely on the account of one of the gentlemen—the one who complains to everyone who will listen of his being ill-used.”
“It is indeed difficult to determine what is the truth when one man is so verbose in his complaints, and the other is rather mum on the subject.”
“Yes, Mr. Wickham is quite indiscriminate when discretion ought to be the rule. However, what he lacks in reserve, he more than compensates for with his abundant charms. I do not mind telling you that he is a favorite here at Longbourn, doing all he can to make love to all of us in our turn.”
“I daresay you take no umbrage with his influence on your daughters.”
“I do consider Wickham harmless where my Jane is concerned, as she is so hopelessly in love with the amiable Mr. Bingley. As for my Lizzy, she is far too sensible to fall in love with a man of Wickham’s character. She may enjoy all the flattery and attention he so willingly bestows, but I believe she is half in love with a far more consequential gentleman, even if she does not yet realize it.”
“Say no more for that is a fine testament to Lizzy’s sensibilities, to be sure. But what of your younger daughters? Do you really suppose they are safe?”
“Men of Wickham’s ilk are Mary’s abhorrence and thus warrant none of my concern whatsoever for her.” Mr. Bennet scoffed. “Can you imagine Wickham sitting through one of Fordyce’s sermons?”
Here both men chuckled in spite of themselves.
“As regards Kitty and Lydia,” Mr. Bennet continued, “a man like Wickham would have to be a fool to pay either of them more than a passing glance, and Wickham is no fool. He strikes me as just the sort of fellow who will hold himself out for the highest bidder—nothing less than an heiress with ten thousand pounds will do.”
Chapter 10
Later, Mr. Gardiner and his wife were sitting together when Mr. Darcy walked alongside his friend Mr. Bingley into the room. From the looks of it, the young men were returning from a quick escape outside.
Of the Gardiners’ opinion of the latter, they were entirely of one accord: Bingley was as much in love with Jane as everyone had claimed. Their niece was on the precipice of future felicity in a marriage that she so richly deserved. Of that, they were utterly convinced.
Both of them were of the same mind as regarded Mr. Darcy as well. They could not help but notice that of all the people at the festive gathering, their niece Elizabeth was the chief object of the young man’s fascination.
“Mr. Darcy is a fine gentleman,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
Mr. Gardiner nodded, bolstering his wife’s assertion. “Albeit rather reserved. No doubt a consequence of his circumstances in life. Indeed, he is just as a young gentleman of his station ought to be: perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming,” said her uncle.
“There is something a little stately in him, to be sure,” replied his wife, “but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. Though I have heard more than a few people call him proud since our arrival in Hertfordshire, I have seen nothing of it.”
“Nor I, to be sure.”
“Having spoken with him at length earlier this evening, about the goings on in Lambton, I can say there is something pleasant in the way he speaks that would not give an unfavorable impression of his character.
“It is a shame that Lizzy’s mind has been so thoroughly poisoned against him that she is blind to his true character.”
“Is she indeed?” The gentleman arched his brow. “I certainly hope her fascination with the other gentleman from Derbyshire is not the reason she dislikes Mr. Darcy.”
“I am afraid it is. However, only to a degree. No—I am afraid Lizzy’s initial impression of Mr. Darcy was set almost from the moment the two of them first laid eyes on each other.”
“Oh? I have heard of love at first sight but hate at first sight. That is a novel concept indeed.”
“I am afraid she overheard the gentleman’s remark to his friend, Mr. Bingley, that she was merely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him.”
“Say no more, my dear, for I fear Mr. Darcy’s fate is sealed.”
“Perhaps, his fate need not be as dire as it seems. He is a perfect gentleman if I ever met one. Were I a gambling woman, I would wager he did not mean a single word of his poorly timed speech.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Have you not seen the way he looks at our Lizzy when he thinks no one else is watching. I wager if he had any notion of how his words fashioned our niece’s opinion of him, he would do everything in his power to make amends. That is just the kind of gentleman he is.
“It would be a shame for Lizzy to hold on to her resentment towards a gentleman of such consequence over a mere misunderstanding.” Mrs. Gardiner pursed her lips in contemplation. “If only there were a way to get the two of them in a room—just the two of them with no chance for an interruption. I am certain the ill will on our niece’s part might disappear.”
“What are you suggesting? For if it is what I think it is, what of the possible impropriety?”
“Were it in my power to bring the two of them together, I would exercise every precaution to guard our niece’s reputation. You need not worry about that.”
“It sounds as though you have a particular scheme in mind.”
“Indeed, I do. However, I will need your help in bringing it about.”
“My wife, the matchmaker.” Mr. Gardiner laughed a little at this picture of the woman who owned his heart. “I fear you have been in company with my sister for far too long.”
“Pray, do not suppose me to be as cunning as that. I am not suggesting that Mr. Darcy might marry our niece. I simply mean to give the young people a chance to speak in privacy for a quarter hour or so—nothing more.”
“So long as your scheme does not involve mistletoe, I will do what I can
.”
Chapter 11
The night was cold, and the sky was clear. How the light blanket of snow that had accumulated earlier in the day glistened. And the stars, oh how they stretched out as far and wide as Elizabeth’s eyes ever beheld. Such a dazzling display of heaven’s magnificence alone was a balm to her spirits.
Oh, to stay here and marvel at the night’s sky forever.
Beginning to suffer the consequence of fleeing the manor house with only a shawl draped about her shoulders to fend off the wintery night air, Elizabeth thought about going back inside, but the remembrance of the spectacle that her younger sisters, her mother, and even her aunt Mrs. Phillips were making of themselves caused her to think better of that particular scheme. Her family’s behavior was beyond the pale, recalling her to the evening of the Netherfield ball.
Her two younger sisters had spent most of the evening in shameless pursuit of the officers. Her sister Mary, despite her best intentions, had delivered a less than spectacular exhibition of her musical talents on the pianoforte, rendering herself a laughingstock among their neighbors and even her own father. And her mother had boasted aloud to anyone who would hear that her eldest daughter would soon be married to Mr. Charles Bingley. Even her ridiculous cousin, Mr. William Collins, had been a great source of embarrassment when he had presumed an acquaintance with the proud Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth blew out a resigned breath into the chilly air. Any remembrance of that evening inevitably led to thoughts of the events that unfolded in the days immediately afterward: Mr. Bingley’s leave-taking to London with the tacit promise of a timely return, the rest of the Netherfield party’s subsequent departure, Miss Bingley’s letter of explanation to Jane, and Jane’s ensuing heartbreak.
All of that is behind us now, for Mr. Bingley has returned, and it is as though he never left, for his affection for Jane is as ardent as ever—perhaps even more so. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her shoulders in an attempt to warm herself. Mr. Bingley loves Jane despite my family’s unseemly behavior. I am confident he will make her an offer of marriage soon.
She was not quite ready to surrender her solitude, but sensing she was no longer alone, Elizabeth’s heart sped up a bit. A tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows.
“Mr. Wickham,” she said, curtseying. Under different circumstances – an earlier time, another place – she would have been happy for his intrusion, but not that night when she had spent the better part of it going out of her way to avoid him.
“My dear, Miss Elizabeth,” said the gentleman, bowing. “I saw you escape the room a little while ago, and I thought I might follow your lead. Would you mind it if I joined you?”
“Actually, sir, I was just about to return to the house.”
Indeed, I must return for surely it would not bode well for me to be seen alone with the gentleman by someone.
And by someone, she meant the other gentleman who hailed from Derbyshire. So far as others were concerned, Elizabeth had made no secret of the fact that Mr. Wickham was a favorite of hers, but her preference for the gentleman was not worth risking her good reputation.
“Pray, you will indulge me for a little while for there is something that I have been meaning to discuss with you all evening. Alas, fate has conspired to keep us apart—until now. I shall not impose on your generosity for very long.”
With a bit of reluctance, Elizabeth threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Thus assured of their privacy, she acquiesced. “What is it that you wish to discuss with me?”
“It has to do with the return of my old friend, Darcy, to the environs and at Christmas, no less. I truly supposed he would be spending the season with his noble relations, especially his intended.”
“His intended!” Elizabeth exclaimed with energy and rather inexplicably so, in her view.
“Yes, his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. You do remember that I told you about her when the two of us talked at Mrs. Phillips’s home, do you not? It has long been a favorite wish of his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh that her daughter and Darcy will wed and unite the two great estates of Pemberley and Rosings Park.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, of course, I do recall your telling me.”
“The Darcy that I know would never countenance being surrounded by those whom he deems beneath him in consequence, especially at such a time of year as this, and yet he is here. What do you suppose can be his purposes?”
“I believe he is here in service to his friend Mr. Bingley. Good fellowship is the essence of the season, is it not?”
“Ah, yes. And, no doubt Darcy takes prodigious care of Bingley. Almost to a fault.”
“In such a case as this, I cannot find any fault at all in Mr. Darcy’s behavior, for Mr. Bingley’s return has been a Christmas wish come true for my dearest sister, Jane,” she heard herself say, even as she wondered at the irony of defending Mr. Darcy again and to Wickham of all people—the same person with whom she had happily chastised the former so many times before.
“Bingley’s return has no doubt put an end to any speculation of an alliance between Miss Darcy and him.”
Elizabeth immediately regretted that she had been the one to confide in Wickham the contents of Miss Bingley’s letter, especially the part that asserted: “I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting from the hope we dare entertain of her being hereafter our sister.”
Elizabeth could not be too hard on herself. At the time, however, I felt I had no other choice. If anyone could shed light on the veracity of Miss Bingley’s claim, it was Mr. Wickham who had boasted of an acquaintance with Miss Georgiana Darcy.
“Your family must be equally pleased by Bingley’s return,” Wickham said. “It is apparent that he cares a great deal for Miss Bennet. I foresee another wedding in Meryton in under three months.”
By ‘another’ Elizabeth supposed he was referring to her friend Charlotte’s pending nuptials to Mr. William Collins which was planned to take place soon after the vicar’s return from Kent.
“If indeed you are correct in your supposition, then once again I must confess it would be a blessing for my sister.”
“It will surely make up for Mr. Collins’s defection.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“Forgive me for being indelicate, but surely you do not suppose it is a secret that Mr. Collins’s purpose in coming to Hertfordshire was to choose a bride from among the Bennet daughters, only to choose Miss Lucas instead.”
Elizabeth colored. She said nothing.
“It is also no secret that you were the original object of his affections—that you spurned his offer of marriage.”
“I suppose you must think I am rather imprudent to have spurned the hand of the heir of my father’s estate.”
“On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth. Indeed, I applaud your decision. Your lively spirits would have placed you in grave danger of unhappiness of the acutest kind had you consented to such an arrangement.”
“I must beg your pardon, sir, and ask that we speak on any other topic but this. As you said, it is rather impolitic.”
“Your point is well-taken. Besides, there is a more urgent matter that I wish to discuss with you.”
A gush of cold air afforded Elizabeth a much-desired means of escape. “Perhaps, you and I can discuss it inside. I have been away from the house much longer than I had intended.”
“I promise that what I have to say will not take long, and if I know you so well as I suspect, you will be pleased when you hear it.” Here he cleared his throat. “You see, Miss Elizabeth, I have come to consider Mr. Collins’s loss as my gain.”
“I am afraid I do not understand how that might be.”
“You are much too - dare I say - passionate for such a man, whereas I am just the sort of man who can appreciate you in a manner a woman wants to be appreciated by a member of the opposite persuasion.”
Elizabeth knew enough about the opposite persuasion, as Wickham had put it, to know that at that moment, the gentleman was very much in her power—an increasingly telling observation that made her somewhat uncomfortable, and she felt the danger of being alone with him. That he was a consummate gentleman, she had not the slightest doubt, but he was a man and she a maiden, and they were all alone, and still despite how much she admired the gentleman standing before her, his nearness aroused in her none of the feelings she felt when she found herself standing so close to Mr. Darcy.
Confounded, she took a step back. He stepped forward, erasing the distance she meant to put between them.
He took her by the hand. For a second, Elizabeth relished the warm touch of his ungloved hand against her cold fingers, but just for a second. She tried to pull her hand away. Wickham would not let her.
“Miss Elizabeth, you cannot be a stranger to the depth of my feelings toward you. Certainly no other woman can boast of having captured my unabashed admiration as ardently as you have.”
Heavens! I fear Mr. Wickham intends to propose marriage to me.
Her heart had not been touched by Wickham. But neither had it been touched by Mr. Darcy. This is no time to be thinking of Mr. Darcy, and yet I find it almost impossible to do otherwise. What on Earth is happening to me? Standing so close to one gentleman yet terribly preoccupied with another.
The sound of approaching footsteps and a man clearing his throat drew Elizabeth’s attention. Her heartbeat sped up. Mr. Darcy was headed in her direction. The prospect of Mr. Darcy seeing her with Wickham was the one thing she had hoped to avoid that evening. She jerked her hand free of Wickham’s.
What must he think of finding the two of us alone?
“Miss Bennet, how fortunate that I found you.”
