Darcy's Charade

by Meghan Parrish

  "Didn't you?"

  "Well, they did."

  "Oh, dear."

  "Look, shall we continue this discussion off the dance floor?"

  "If you like. But why?"

  "I'm finding it difficult keeping up with you and the music."

  Elizabeth smiled. "Very well," she agreed. "Come with me."

  She took his hand in her old familiar manner and drew him away from the dancers to a secluded corner of the ballroom, where there was a vacant couch.

  "Will this do?" she questioned.

  "Rather!" Wickham returned.

  "How is everyone in Meryton?" Elizabeth asked as they seated themselves.

  "Very well as far as I know. But your family is worried about you."

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. However delicately he put it, she knew that there was something wrong.

  "Come on, Mr. Wickham. Out with it. What are people saying about me?"

  Wickham studied the parquet flooring. It was so well polished that he could distinguish Elizabeth's reflection in it, and in consequence, the main area of the ballroom had to have chalk designs on it to roughen the wood so that the guests would not slip.

  "There are two rumors current," he told her after a bit. "One says you have run off with a man, and the other says you have just run off."

  "The latter is the truth," Elizabeth informed him, "but I doubt if anyone back home will believe it."

  Wickham laughed. "No, I have good faith, they won't!" he concurred.

  "Has my sister received all my letters?"

  "I believe so."

  "So she is not—concerned for me."

  "Yes and no," Wickham responded, regarding her speculatively. "She wasn't absolutely certain that you have as good a position as you wrote you did."

  "Oh." She paused. "Well, I have."

  "Ahem! Yes!" Wickham hesitated slightly. "I must say," he went on conversationally, "I didn't expect to see you here. I nearly had a fit when I realized who I'd picked for my partner. You're doing better for yourself than—"

  "Mr. Wickham," Elizabeth interrupted. "I want you to promise me something."

  "What?" Wickham queried cautiously.

  "That you will not, under any circumstances, either divulge to people here that I am Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, or to anyone in Hertfordshire exactly where I am staying, or where we met."

  Wickham frowned. "Why not?" he questioned. "Because if my mother learns where I am, she will chase after me and try to make me marry my cousin Mr. Collins."

  "Don't you want that?"

  "No."

  Wickham's brow remained furrowed. He could understand her reluctance in one respect, but, on the other hand, he sensed there was more to it than met the eye.

  "Why the mystery?" he pondered. "I mean, no one gives two hoots about whether you marry Mr. Collins or not, do they? Not in London, surely?"

  "You see—no one here knows where I lived before I came to London and..."

  Wickham stared at her. "Miss Bennet," he demanded, "what on earth is going on?"

  "As I said earlier, it is a long story."

  "Riddles are not my style. I pray you enlighten me."

  "All right. All right. But first, do you swear to me that you will keep this under your hat?"

  "I won't breathe a word of it," he promised with a charming wink.

  "Good."

  Then, as she was about to explain, some other guests came into the area where they were seated and took up chairs nearby.

  Elizabeth and Wickham exchanged glances. Before, there had been no chance of their being overheard, since there was not another couple within twenty feet of them. Now, however, there was every possibility that someone would be able to listen to part of their conversation.

  "Isn't it hot in here?" Elizabeth asked stiltedly.

  "Yes, isn't it?" Wickham agreed.

  "Shall we go outside?"

  "What a good idea, Miss Bennet."

  The two of them rose and left the ballroom. Soon they located a bench on the patio, where, though they were not out of sight of the company, they were at least out of earshot.

  Here Elizabeth explained how Mrs. Bennet had endeavored to push her into marriage with Mr. Collins and why. She told him that she had had no alternative but to leave Longbourn, and she had decided to seek her fortune in London. Thus it was that she had stolen out of the house with no more than a few shillings to her name.

  "... and bought an outside seat on the stage to London," she concluded.

  "You did what!" Wickham cried in horror.

  "Yes. Yes. Yes. I know. It was foolish of me."

  "Very, very foolish!" he admonished.

  "So I discovered," Elizabeth commented dryly, and she described the accident to him.

  "You have my sympathy."

  "Thank you."

  "So you were penniless."

  "And rather shaken," Elizabeth added. "And on my own."

  "But now your fortunes have definitely improved."

  "Yes."

  "What happened?"

  Elizabeth went on to say how she had met Darcy and how he had taken her under his wing. She delineated Caroline's unremitting pursuit of him, making Wickham burst out laughing.

  "Poor fellow!" Wickham declared sarcastically. "He must have been in dire straits!"

  "He was," Elizabeth answered. "That's why he needed my presence so desperately."

  "Yes. I see," Wickham's voice turned serious. "Miss Bennet?"

  "Yes?"

  "Are you sure that is the way it is between him and this Miss Bingley?"

  Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Quite sure. Why?" she countered.

  "I merely wondered."

  "I can prove it to you."

  "Look."

  Wickham turned his head in the direction she indicated. From where they sat, they could see that the dance had ended and Darcy, having not danced a single song, was standing on the edge of the ballroom.

  Making straight for him, cutting a swath through the rest of the couples and wearing the most ingratiating smile on her face, was Caroline.

  It was not difficult to deduce that Darcy had no wish to be with her. As she came up to him, he bowed abruptly and hurried—almost ran—towards the Duchess of Crawford, a married lady whose husband was a friend of his.

  "You see?" Elizabeth cried triumphantly.

  "Hmm," Wickham murmured as he surveyed the scene. "Yes. You are right."

  "So you will keep my secret and not divulge anything to anyone?"

  Wickham's eyes expressed concern. "I shall not say a word," he assured her. "But Miss Bennet, don't imagine for a moment that this won't get back to Hertfordshire...or that you will be able to hide your true identity forever from people in London."

  "But I do imagine it!" Elizabeth returned. "And for more than a moment! No one here must know my true place. And not a word of this must reach anyone at dear old Longbourn!"

  "But why not?"

  "Oh, I can just hear the gossips!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "If they knew that I was staying under the same roof as Mr. Darcy...unchaperoned...what would they make of it?"

  "What!" Wickham gasped. "You are living with Mr. Darcy?"

  "Yes," Elizabeth replied innocently. "Didn't I say?"

  "No. You didn't."

  "Really? I thought I had."

  "You foolish girl!"

  "Why? What's the matter?"

  Wickham raised his eyes to the heavens. "Don't you know his reputation?" he questioned.

  Elizabeth shrugged, rose to her feet and started back into the ballroom.

  Wickham followed her in. "You don't, do you?" he persisted.

  "I have no wish to hear any salacious stories about Mr. Darcy," she informed him loftily, "if that is what you mean."

  Wickham frowned at her. "Miss Bennet," he began, "I really think you ought to hear about—"

  He got no further. At that moment Darcy himself approached and the words died on his lips.

  Darcy bowed pointedly to Elizabe
th, who took the hint and introduced the two men. They acknowledged each other—Darcy with hostility, Wickham with apprehension.

  "Mr. Wickham is a friend of mine," Elizabeth remarked.

  "Indeed?" Mr. Darcy inquired in his most distant tones. "And where do you know Miss Bennet from, sir?"

  Elizabeth held her breath. Would George Wickham betray her?

  "At the moment," Wickham responded to Elizabeth's heartfelt relief, "London."

  Darcy raised an eyebrow. "I see," he commented.

  "Mr. Wickham has only just come out here," Elizabeth stated.

  "It was quite a surprise when we met."

  "Oh, rather!" Wickham agreed.

  Darcy noted that Elizabeth had already smiled at Wickham twice.

  "Have you known Miss Bennet long?" he questioned disapprovingly.

  "Sometime—yes," Wickham replied cautiously.

  Darcy's eyes widened with surprise. He had not expected to learn that.

  "Is that so."

  Darcy turned his penetrating gaze towards the man once more, allowing him to feel his evident displeasure.

  Wickham winced. Being a man of the world, it was not difficult for him to ascertain the cause of the other man's antagonism. He understood that Darcy regarded him as a rival, and since he believed that Darcy was a very jealous man, he felt distinctly uneasy.

  Wickham considered himself no coward. On the other hand, he saw no reason to fight to the death over Darcy's mistaken impression. He was not and never had been in love with Elizabeth—nor she with him. It seemed pointless to quarrel with any man over her.

  He realized that the longer he stayed there, the worse things would become.

  He surmised that the only person who could sort matters out without getting the two men involved in a duel was Elizabeth herself, and he resolved to leave her to do just that.

  "Saw Miss Bennet by chance," he muttered hurriedly. "Thought I'd say hello. Excuse me. Business to attend to. Good night. So nice to have seen you, Miss Bennet."

  Elizabeth gazed after him. "How odd of Mr. Wickham to rush off so suddenly!" she declared.

  Darcy was seething and her remark did nothing to calm him down.

  "How long have you known Wickham? Tell me the truth," he inquired dangerously.

  "Not long," Elizabeth replied incautiously.

  "And you are very close to him."

  Elizabeth laughed merrily at that. "Good heavens, no," she responded. "He is an acquaintance, but we are not very close. In fact, we haven't seen each other for ages."

  Darcy frowned. He did not know whether she was telling him the truth or putting on a clever act. "Would you care to dance with me?" he invited.

  She looked up at him, startled by his change in character. "I thought you didn’t like to dance?"

  "I hate to dance unless I know my partner." He held out his hand to her. "Will you do me the pleasure?"

  "I'd love to," Elizabeth answered.

  Darcy led her out onto the dance floor. As the orchestra started to play a waltz, he took her in his arms.

  Elizabeth jumped at his touch. How tense he was! And yet, at the same time, it produced a sensation which excited her.

  "Does Wickham know you are staying with me?" Darcy interrogated.

  "Yes," Elizabeth replied.

  "How?"

  "I told him."

  Darcy's grip tightened even more, but he said nothing.

  His eyes flickered with barely contained rage, but his sense of timing remained superb. Never a wrong step; never faltering.

  "Why did you tell him?" he demanded.

  "Because I..." Elizabeth began. Abruptly she halted. What was she doing? He had no right to question her like that!

  "Why shouldn't I?" she countered.

  "It is not wise."

  "I had to say something."

  "Why?"

  "He knows we are not related."

  "Indeed he does not!" Darcy huffed.

  Darcy's fury was immediately fanned into a roaring flame. He could not speak, so great was his wrath. But he continued to waltz giving everyone else the impression that all was well.

  For Elizabeth, the dance had become a nightmare. She realized that Darcy was becoming angrier and angrier with each passing second, but it did not occur to her that jealousy was the cause.

  "Anyway," she added, hoping to mollify her partner, "Mr. Wickham promised me he wouldn't tell anyone."

  Her words had the reverse effect.

  "You trust him?" Darcy snarled at her.

  "Yes."

  Darcy stood stock still, so suddenly that Elizabeth nearly fell over his feet. Every eye would have been upon her but luckily, a second later, the dance came to an end.

  "Goodness!" Elizabeth gasped as she regained her balance.

  As she straightened herself, she glanced up at Darcy. His face was as black as a thundercloud. Any moment now, lightning was certain to strike the next poor unfortunate soul who provoked him.

  "I don't know why you are so cross," Elizabeth complained.

  "I am not cross!" Darcy hissed at her.

  "Yes you are," Elizabeth contradicted, "and I am not going to endure it!"

  She tried to move away from him, intending to make her way to the edge of the ballroom floor where she could sit the next one out, but he grasped her hands, preventing her. Though his hold was not tight—she could have broken free from it—her instincts warned her not to resist.

  "May I have this next dance?" he asked softly, yet menacingly, as other couples began to reform for a cotillion.

  Elizabeth understood that it would not be advisable to refuse his request.

  "Of course," she murmured.

  As soon as the music began, they made their way to the center of the floor. This time, Darcy did not speak. He merely partnered her in bitter silence.

  Finally, Elizabeth could stand it no longer.

  "Heaven knows what would have happened if I had not asked Mr. Wickham to keep quiet about—everything," she remarked.

  "What do you mean?" Darcy questioned venomously.

  "Can you imagine what people would say if he tried to explain to them that we were staying in the same house together and that I was chaperoning you?"

  It was meant to amuse him, but it did not succeed.

  Elizabeth's mouth turned down. She had never seen anyone in such a strange mood.

  "When are you going to see Wickham again?" Darcy demanded suddenly.

  Elizabeth stared at him in astonishment.

  "I don't know," she replied hesitantly. "We may meet again soon or not for another many months."

  "You arranged nothing?"

  "No. Nothing."

  All at once Darcy relaxed. His anger seemed to have completely evaporated, much to Elizabeth’s relief.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, seeing Darcy out riding in Hyde Park, Caroline bore down on him. Once more, he made it plain that he was not interested in her. She managed to flirt with him for scarcely five seconds before he excused himself and rode over to where Elizabeth was cantering with a group of equestrians.

  Caroline gazed malevolently at Elizabeth. She reflected on the fact that Mr. Darcy had been seeing Elizabeth a great deal. She didn't believe for one moment that they were related!

  But if they were not cousins, and Elizabeth was staying under the same roof as Mr. Darcy...

  She must be his mistress! Caroline concluded silently.

  She continued to view Elizabeth with envy and hatred. She wasn't a lady. That was quite plain to Caroline.

  No lady would take the outside seat on a stagecoach! The very idea! Caroline was ready to faint at the notion.

  On the other hand, if Elizabeth were not a lady, that meant she did not belong in society. She was an impostor!

  Caroline ground her teeth. How dare that upstart make a play for Mr. Darcy! Didn't she know her place?

  Ever since Elizabeth came onto the scene Darcy avoided her. How did she do it? How has Elizabeth succ
eeded with Mr. Darcy where Caroline could not?

  What was it in Elizabeth that appealed to Darcy?

  Caroline pouted. She had every man in London at her feet—with the exception of the one she wanted.

  Caroline sighed once more. There had to be a way to end this sorry state of affairs. There had to be some method she could use to reinstate herself. And then, suddenly, she had it.

  She could hoodwink Elizabeth. She could discover what it was about her that attracted Mr. Darcy and then use the same wiles on him.

  She would discover how to penetrate Elizabeth's defenses and then her rival would be powerless against her.

  Caroline laughed aloud, and it was not a pleasant sound.

  "You miserable little upstart," she whispered. "You don't know what you are in for, do you?"

  * * * *

  Elizabeth was sitting on a bench in the shade, watching a cricket match between militia officers.

  Darcy walked across the grass towards her.

  Elizabeth smiled welcomingly at him as he sat down beside her. She noticed that although his body faced the opposite way from hers, he had placed himself so that he could gaze into her eyes. She immediately blushed, and lowered her lashes becomingly, and took another stab at the embroidery she had brought with her.

  "What is this going to be?" Darcy questioned.

  "A tablecloth," she informed him. "A very small tablecloth."

  "What is it going to cover?"

  Elizabeth gave a slight shrug. "A very small table?" she suggested.

  Darcy's lips twitched with amusement. "Are you not bored doing that?" he queried.

  "No. Why?"

  "I merely wondered. You seem to have been at it all afternoon."

  "Not really. I only began it half an hour ago."

  "Oh?"

  His tone was immediately suspicious. What had she been up to while he had been concentrating on the game?

  "I tried to read," Elizabeth said, "but I couldn't concentrate."

  "Oh."

  In a split second, the fighting note had disappeared. "What time is it?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Nearly four," he answered.

  "Have you had tea?"

  "Not yet. Have you?"

  "Shall I order some?"

  "Yes, please," Elizabeth replied.

  Meanwhile, Caroline had arrived. As she stepped out onto the lawn, she scanned the white-clad cricketers, still at play, looking for Darcy. When she failed to locate him there, she glanced around the edge of the cricket pitch, where the womenfolk and the children of the players were gathered in colorful little groups.