Elizabeth gasped as comprehension dawned on her. Wickham lowered his voice in a disturbing manner and said in a throaty whisper, “Does his… society satisfy you, Miss Elizabeth? Because I, for one, would be most obliged to step in and instruct you myself whenever you may feel the urge for far more superior companionship. I assure you, I have never been known to disappoint a beautiful woman.” He took a step closer while his gaze roamed over her form. A smirk began to tug at the corners of Wickham’s mouth, and the same insolent sneer he had worn for Darcy appeared for her.
Elizabeth was appalled and sickened by the vulgarity of this man, and before she could stop herself or recall where she was, she raised her hand to slap him hard across his face. To her further horror, Wickham caught her hand roughly in his and forced it, instead, to his lips as he let out a soft, derisive laugh.
“Of course, I knew you and I would soon come to an understanding of sorts.”
Elizabeth struggled to pull her hand from his grasp, but he gripped it tightly—almost painfully—his gaze boring into her in a most offensive manner before he finally released her, but not before muttering in her ear, “He is a very lucky man, Miss Elizabeth. Please be sure to give him my best compliments when you are next with him. And if you should ever change your mind…”
In alarm and disgust, Elizabeth broke away and fled from Wickham. If there had been any doubt in her mind about the credibility of Darcy’s information regarding Wickham’s character, the offensiveness of his address and his repulsive behavior had just removed it completely. She saw Jane in avid conversation with Charlotte Lucas on the other side of the room. Bingley, she was certain, had very likely been attending them, though at this moment he was moving quickly and deliberately in her direction with a frowning countenance. Elizabeth found herself extremely grateful that, for once, Jane had not succeeded in monopolizing his attention. When he reached her, Bingley drew her quietly aside into an unoccupied corner and addressed her with great concern. “Miss Elizabeth, are you well? Forgive me, but I could not fail to notice your distress as you were speaking with Mr. Wickham. Did he impose himself upon you in any way? Did he insult you?”
Elizabeth struggled to regain her composure. After a minute, she was able to find her voice and said shakily and with revulsion, “I believe, Mr. Bingley, were you to reveal to me at this very moment prior knowledge of Mr. Wickham’s intent to come here with the express purpose of insulting me in a most vulgar and offensive manner, I would not be at all surprised to hear it.”
Grimly, Bingley then asked her to relate to him the entirety of her conversation with that gentleman, but Elizabeth, feeling far too mortified to think upon all that had been said, let alone repeat it to Bingley, adamantly refused. Wickham’s disgusting manner and offensive implications of an intimacy between her and Darcy made her agitation extreme.
Offering Elizabeth his arm, Bingley scanned the room. Wickham had been observing them before sauntering over to Mrs. Phillips to take his leave. Once he was out of the house, Elizabeth visibly relaxed. Bingley was most solicitous as he steered her to Jane’s side before politely excusing himself to speak privately with Colonel Forster.
Chapter 3
When Bingley arrived home that evening, Darcy was engrossed in a book in Netherfield’s library. “How was your evening, Bingley?” he asked absently as he turned a page. “I hope Mrs. Phillips’s society was to your liking.”
“An excellent question, Darcy,” he responded heatedly as he threw himself into a chair by the fire, “but perhaps you might do better to inquire after the pleasure of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s evening, of which I can most heartily assure you there was none.”
Darcy closed his book immediately. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet? To what do you refer, Bingley?”
“I refer, Darcy, to the disturbing and insulting behavior I witnessed toward her this evening at the hands of your so-called friend George Wickham!” Darcy’s blood ran cold. Had he heard Bingley correctly? His Elizabeth accosted by Wickham? Bingley’s expression told him all. Darcy leapt to his feet as his anger took a firm hold over his senses. “What in God’s name did he do to her? Damn it, Bingley! You must tell me you protected her! Please tell me she is unharmed!”
Darcy was incensed and, in his rashness, took several threatening steps toward Bingley, a maneuver that caused his friend to jump from his seat and retreat several paces. Raising both hands to Darcy’s chest, he replied in earnest, “Yes, she is safe! She is safe, Darcy! Calm yourself, man! She was only in conversation with him and not long, though I must tell you it was most distressing to watch. I believe he must have said such things to her that would never bear repeating in polite company, for she refused even to tell Jane—er, I mean Miss Bennet—what they were. At one point, she actually attempted to strike the libertine.”
Darcy looked at Bingley with incredulity. “Elizabeth struck Wickham?” His unguarded use of her Christian name was lost on his friend.
“No,” Bingley stammered. “He caught her hand before she could make contact, and that scoundrel kissed it, not at all inclined to release her, I might add. It was then when I went to her.”
Darcy raked his hands through his hair, utterly sickened by the prospect of Wickham touching any part of Elizabeth’s person. He began pacing the length of the room, praying for some modicum of control to return. “And what of her father? What of her uncle? Colonel Forster and the other officers? Did no one else do anything in her defense? Surely, you could not have been the only person to go to her aid? I find it impossible to accept an entire house full of people, including members of her own family, could be blind to such a scene!”
Bingley shook his head. “I could hardly believe it myself, but I was absolutely the only person aware of the nature of the exchange between them. Mr. Bennet was not present, her mother and sisters were engaged, and not even that half-wit of a clergyman, who has all but glued himself to her for the last five days, had any knowledge of the insult. I did happen to speak to Colonel Forster, though. He was most disturbed when I informed him of the incident and has promised most faithfully to personally look into the matter. I plan on riding to Longbourn tomorrow to speak to Mr. Bennet. I feel he should be made aware of the events that have transpired.” He hesitated a moment. “I have been thinking, Darcy, perhaps it would be best if you were to accompany me, given your past dealings with Wickham and your insight into his character. I believe Miss Elizabeth’s father has a right to know of what he is truly capable.”
Darcy strode to the window and leaned his forearm against the casement, staring out into the night. Several minutes passed in silence before he finally spoke, his voice ragged with feeling. “I should have been there with her. This never should have been allowed to happen. She would not have left my sight for a moment.”
Bingley shook his head. “Darcy, it was only by chance I caught the exchange between Miss Elizabeth and Wickham. I fail to see how you could have prevented what you may not have noticed yourself.”
It was simply too much. All the frustration he felt from his endless struggle against his overpowering feelings for Elizabeth caused Darcy to explode. “I would have been aware of it, Bingley! I, who am most excruciatingly conscious of her every movement when I am in her company! I see every smile she bestows, every expression of tenderness, every breath that fills her lungs—none of which is ever for me!” He swallowed hard and tried desperately to compose himself.
Bingley’s mouth dropped open. After a moment, he closed it and said, “I must confess I am at a loss. I had no idea you had tender feelings for Miss Elizabeth. Pray, how long have you felt this way?”
Striving to collect himself, Darcy muttered, “Forgive me. It has been so for many weeks now. I am only surprised you failed to notice it, because it was most easily discerned the other day in very little time by George Wickham.” He let his forehead rest against the glass, allowing its coolness to soothe him.
“Does Miss Elizabeth know?”
Darcy sighed. “That I am in lov
e with her? No, and I would be most grateful if it were to remain that way.”
“But surely you mean to tell her?”
“No, Bingley, I assure you I do not.”
“But why, Darcy? Why would you endeavor to keep such extraordinary feelings hidden from her? What could ever be gained by it? Do you not think Miss Elizabeth would welcome your addresses?”
“No,” he said evenly, “she would not. She does not return my regard, and I would be lying to myself if I believed differently. Even if, by some stroke of exquisite good fortune, Miss Elizabeth were to love me, it would in no way change our circumstances. I cannot make a fortuneless country beauty the mistress of Pemberley, no matter how desperately I may desire it. Duty to my family—to my position in society—strictly forbids such a union between us.”
“Duty to your position?” Bingley cried. “Duty to your position be hanged! What about your duty to yourself, Darcy? Would it not bring you incredible joy and comfort to make Miss Elizabeth your wife and to see your children running through the halls of Pemberley? Would you not truly be content to grow old with her by your side? Do you honestly expect me to believe your family and your friends—all those who most desire to see you happy in life—would wish instead for you to spend your days alone and in misery, or worse, married to another in a loveless union, simply because the one woman you happened to fall in love with does not move in the same social circles as they do? I cannot accept it. Elizabeth Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman, and she is in every way a lady. You are equals; no one can deny that.”
Darcy turned away from the window and faced him. “But what of her mother, Bingley? What of her younger sisters, her aunts and uncles? Certainly you must recognize their behavior and low connections must materially lessen the chances of one’s marital felicity. Anyone who chooses to align themselves with such a family would be shunned in London society. Her family would never even be acknowledged, never mind accepted. I would not wish that upon Miss Elizabeth. I would not wish it upon anyone whom I hold dear.”
“And this should be of significant consequence? The insipid opinions of the London ton, whose favor and disfavor, approval and censure, are so easily bought and sold like tradeable goods? No one who conducts themselves in such a manner could ever esteem a man of your impeccable character and intellect in the first place, Darcy! And, surely, your family would not be so insensible and unfeeling as to follow their example. Would you have me act in such an irrational manner? Would you have me make myself unhappy—expect me to give up my Miss Bennet—for no better reason other than Caroline’s and Louisa’s selfish disdain for the connection?”
Darcy did not respond.
“Do you not approve of my relationship with Miss Bennet, Darcy?”
Darcy winced. He had not wanted it to come to this, especially tonight. “I am sorry, Bingley, but I cannot. You clearly do not understand the consequences and the disgrace you will suffer should you continue in your endeavor to align yourself with such a family. It would be your ruin. I cannot speak any plainer than this.”
Bingley was angry; Darcy had never seen him more so. “You are correct, Darcy, I do not understand anything of the sort! I do, however, comprehend the wretchedness Miss Bennet and I would suffer were I to allow myself to be so disgracefully persuaded from following the counsel of my own heart on such a matter! No, Darcy. That is a consequence I am most unwilling to suffer for any person, be they relation or friend, and most especially for any damned, misguided notion of duty!” He turned then and stormed from the room, leaving Darcy alone with much to consider.
Chapter 4
Elizabeth had been disturbed by Wickham’s behavior toward her the previous evening, more particularly so because they had not been alone together, but in public, among her family and friends. What she found even more distressing was his vulgar allusion to a clandestine arrangement between Darcy and herself. She was completely baffled as to where Wickham could have gotten such a notion. Thoughts of it plagued her for hours before she finally succumbed to fatigue and was able to sleep.
Her slumber was fitful at best, filled with disturbing dreams where Darcy sat staring intently at her, much in the same manner he had when she had stayed at Netherfield to nurse Jane. But rather than the usual haughtiness and criticism, his dark eyes held a burning desire that penetrated every fiber of her being and left her body aching in anticipation of she knew not what. The sensation remained with her long after she awoke.
When Elizabeth arrived downstairs for breakfast, she was disconcerted to learn Bingley and Darcy were locked in conference with her father in his library. She could only imagine one reason for it—the events of the night before. She sat heavily, suddenly feeling not at all hungry. She had hoped Bingley would have kept the mortification of such an encounter between her, Bingley, and Jane. She had not wanted him to worry her father unduly, and she certainly had not wanted him to bring Darcy into the fold. She was now thoroughly relieved she had not yielded to Bingley’s demands that she tell him all Wickham had said to her. How would she ever be able to face Darcy today if he had been made aware of it, as well? The recollection of Wickham’s disrespectful behavior, coupled with the distracting tingles from her dreams, brought a deep flush of mortification to her face.
Halfway through breakfast, the gentlemen joined them. Her father’s expression was grave, as was Darcy’s. As they sipped their coffee, both men silently appraised Elizabeth—Mr. Bennet with a father’s concern, Darcy with something much more unnerving. His eyes had been troubled, almost fierce when he had first entered the room, yet there was an immediate softening and a warmth that occurred the moment he settled his gaze upon Elizabeth. The intensity of that gaze aroused sudden stirrings within her and made Elizabeth feel far more vulnerable than she ever had at the mercy of Mr. Wickham. She could not recall seeing that fire in his looks before, yet there was something notably familiar about the way his eyes seemed to penetrate her. Could it always have been there, and she had simply failed to recognize it for what it was? She found the idea most distressing.
As the morning was particularly fine, Mrs. Bennet encouraged the young people to walk out together. Though Mary had proclaimed she would much rather stay at home, as there was a particular passage in a book she wished to meditate upon and would not be swayed, the rest set out directly. The two youngest girls were bent on going into Meryton but, given the likelihood of meeting Wickham there, Jane and Elizabeth were not eager to sanction such a scheme.
“But why can we not go, Lizzy?” demanded Kitty. “We promised Mrs. Forster most faithfully to call on her this morning.”
“Yes, Lizzy, you and Jane cannot tell us we are not to go!” Lydia crowed. “You would not have us disappoint the wife of the colonel of the regiment, would you? Mama would be quite angry with you, for Harriet and I have become such particular friends. Besides, we were hoping to look at some new fabric and ribbon for Mr. Bingley’s ball. It is to be held in three weeks, you know, and we cannot possibly wear the same tired old gowns in front of all the officers. Lord, how would we ever get husbands?”
“Lydia, please!” Jane hissed, blushing.
Darcy rolled his eyes.
“Well, I daresay we shall go without you, then,” Lydia insisted. “Just because you do not wish to go, it shall not keep us from going by ourselves. What fun we shall have!” This declaration was seconded immediately by Kitty.
“Miss Lydia,” said Bingley, “I see no reason why we should not continue on to Meryton together.” He fixed Darcy with a significant look before he turned to Mr. Collins. “Gentleman, what say you to this? Would it not give you great pleasure to accompany these lovely ladies into Meryton on such a fine day? It would be unpardonable for us to allow them to continue on without our solicitous escort.”
Here, Mr. Collins proceeded to simper and smirk about the delicate constitution of elegant females, while Darcy, who looked as though he would rather ride his horse backward to London while blindfolded, managed to mutter that he
could think of nothing else he would rather do than shop for ribbons in Meryton.
Hence, they continued on—Kitty and Lydia running ahead, followed more sedately by Jane and Bingley, Darcy and Elizabeth, and Mr. Collins, who, with a nauseating show of condescension, proclaimed himself to be at the particular disposal of his fair cousin Elizabeth.
There were enough officers swaggering about the streets of Meryton in their regimentals to sufficiently distract Kitty and Lydia from their purpose, and Bingley did an admirable job of corralling the younger Miss Bennets away from mischief and off toward the milliner’s shoppe. Inside, the ladies separated from the gentlemen to admire ribbons and bonnets, and to talk of gowns and gloves. Before long, Bingley moved to take his place at Jane’s side as she stood holding two spools of silk ribbon in apparent indecision.
Left only with Mr. Collins for company, Darcy quietly slipped outside to wait for the ladies. To endure that insipid man’s addresses while watching him fawn over Elizabeth in such a fashion was insupportable. The morning was, in every way, a punishment to him. He could not believe he had voluntarily placed himself at the disposal of Lydia Bennet. What in God’s name is becoming of me? he demanded of himself in irritation.
It was then that he glimpsed Elizabeth through the shoppe window, and his breath caught in his throat. She was a vision of loveliness as she ran her fingers along a length of velvet ribbon the color of sunlight. She was so graceful and unassuming in her movements that he became completely entranced. He longed to discover how it would feel to have those fingers caress him with such exquisite tenderness. Unconsciously, Darcy raised one hand so it rested against the glass as his eyes continued to drink in her beauty. At that moment, he wanted desperately to open his heart to her, to take her in his arms—and to his bed—and never let her go.
A cold, mocking voice invaded his wistful thoughts. “Shopping, Darcy?”
Truth about Mr. Darcy Page 3
