Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth

by P. O. Dixon

  Wickham stood in hopes of garnering the ladies’ attention. He gave his waistcoat a firm tug. “That is because you’re not married to her.”

  “So, one of the ladies is Mrs. George Wickham. Which one is the lucky woman?”

  “Mrs. Wickham is the one in red.”

  “And the other woman? What is her name?”

  “That, my friend, is my sister—Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

  Had Wickham been looking at the other man, he would have noticed the stranger’s sudden discomfort; however, the former’s attention was fixed on Lydia and Elizabeth, who had not yet seen him. “I am happy to introduce you—” Wickham began. Turning to look at his companion’s face to see how the suggestion met with his approval, Wickham was surprised to find the gentleman was nowhere to be found. A quick glance at the glasses and the half-empty bottle on the table confirmed that he had not imagined the encounter. With that, he merely shrugged and set off in the ladies’ direction.

  Lydia raced to meet him as soon as she saw him. “Oh, my dear Wickham, you cannot possibly know how much I missed having you at my side all of last evening. The Darcys are ever so tedious!”

  There was only one thing on Wickham’s mind. “Did you have any success in garnering my acceptance at Pemberley?”

  “I’m afraid I did not, but look! I did even better. I persuaded Lizzy to come with me to town, for you know I am in dire need of a new frock to wear to her fancy dinner party. Now you may plead your own case. Come with me,” she said. She grabbed his arm and started coaxing him along.

  Elizabeth knew exactly what her sister Lydia was about. Cognizant of her husband’s directive that Georgiana was not to spend a single second in Wickham’s company, Elizabeth hastened to where the other ladies in her party were standing. Directing her speech to Mary, she said, “Please escort Georgiana and Kitty to the shop across the street and wait for me there. I shall be along shortly.”

  Mary’s face reflected her joy at being useful to her sister. “Come along you two,” she directed.

  Kitty, having observed the Wickhams heading their way, protested. “Oh, must we leave? I should like very much to greet my brother. It has been ages since we last had the pleasure of his company at Longbourn.”

  “Do as I say at once,” Elizabeth exclaimed with energy. She did not know if Georgiana suffered a similar opinion as Kitty, and she did not care. Mr. Darcy would be livid were she to ignore his wishes and allow Georgiana to remain in proximity while she exchanged forced pleasantries with her brother.

  Some moments later, Elizabeth and Wickham stood opposite each other. This was their first meeting since the newly wedded Wickhams had traveled to Newcastle, although her purse was far lighter than it otherwise would have been if the Wickhams gave a care to moderation. It vexed her exceedingly that her sister’s husband was the manner of man who would accept such charity in the first place. After greeting Wickham with measured civility, only one thing was uppermost in Elizabeth’s mind. She meant to have it out with him for attempting to draw Georgiana into his scheme by way of Lydia. What she intended to discuss was not for Lydia’s ears, else the whole world would learn of it. That he had not confided in his wife puzzled Elizabeth exceedingly, but of this she was certain for Lydia and secrets were always soon separated. She’d managed to keep the secret of Darcy being at the wedding for little to no time at all, Elizabeth recalled.

  “Pray, Lydia, will you allow me a moment alone with your husband?”

  “La! Why should I do that? I know how much you always liked him. How do I know I can trust you?”

  Wickham took his wife’s hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Pray do this for me, my darling wife.”

  She giggled. “Oh! You know I can never deny you anything.”

  Soon Lydia was gone, and it was just Elizabeth and Wickham standing in the middle of the floor. He swept a superfluous bow. “So, we meet again, dear Sister, albeit under circumstances that hardly befit the intimate nature of our acquaintance.” Though Wickham strongly suspected that Elizabeth must now be acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to her, in spite of everything, he was not entirely without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed upon to make his fortune.

  Elizabeth shuddered inside at the thought of her once having believed this man was honorable. How gratified she was that, in spite of her initial preference for Wickham, her heart had never been truly touched by him. Fate had not been nearly so kind to her sister. Even now, Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt for not telling all her family about Wickham’s true character once she discovered from Darcy what he was really like. All of them might have been spared such a disgusting connection.

  “Sir, you and I are brother and sister owing to your marriage to my sister, and so it must be. However, I beg you not to insinuate there is the slightest bit of intimacy between us.”

  “What a shame it is to hear you speak this way. Do you deny that you and I were at one time very close—that we shared confidences the nature of which only the most intimate of acquaintances are wont to do? You may choose to forget, but I never shall. As a result, I have reserved a special place in my heart that is yours and yours alone,” he said, laying his hand on his chest for effect.

  Elizabeth frowned disapprovingly. “Pray remember yourself, sir.”

  “Is there another reason other than your desire to enjoy a few private moments with me that compelled you to ask your sister to leave us alone?”

  “Indeed there is. I mean to tell you that both my husband and I are aware that you have set Lydia on a quest to create as much havoc at Pemberley as possible. I am here to tell you that it will not work and thus your efforts would be better spent elsewhere.”

  “I only mean to benefit from what is mine. Pemberley is my home. It is where I spent every day of my youth. How dare Darcy continue this foolish vendetta by banishing me from the only home I ever knew?”

  “My husband has every right to insist you stay away from Pemberley, and you very well know it.”

  “Ah, but one word from you and he will most certainly change his mind,” Wickham said.

  “I have no wish to change his mind!”

  “Perhaps you have been seduced by all the wealth and trappings of the man whom you once despised, and hence you have lost your once strong, independent will. Is that it? Has the officious, overbearing Fitzwilliam Darcy sapped you of your lively spirits? Or perhaps it is simply a matter of his not being in your power—perhaps he is not nearly so enthralled with his lovely wife as he supposed he would be. Knowing him as I do, no doubt he is disgusted to have so many Bennets swarming around his beloved Pemberley all at once.” He leaned closer. “No doubt he married you thinking that, once he got you away from Hertfordshire, you would sever all ties with your former life.”

  “How my husband does or does not feel is none of your concern, sir. I demand you refrain from putting reprehensible ideas in my sister’s head, else I shall know how to act.” With that, Elizabeth turned to walk away.

  Wickham stepped in front of her. Elizabeth’s heartbeat sped up in pace. Her courage rising in the face of his attempt to intimidate her, she said, “Stand aside, sir.” She walked to the part of the room where Lydia was standing in wait. “Unless you plan to remain here with your dear husband, Lydia, I suggest you bid him adieu this very moment and come along with me.”

  Lydia’s resulting protests were wasted on Elizabeth, who kept walking. Surmising as much, Lydia relinquished all her anger toward her sister and fell in step behind her, for there was, after all, the matter of the new frock she so very much wanted. Her dear husband’s cause could wait.

  Chapter 5

  Just when the Darcys believed things could not get any worse, they were the recipients of more uninvited guests. One of them was far more disagreeable now than when either of the Darcys had last seen her. This uninvited guest was none other than Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  No sooner had she settled in the parlor t
han she commenced being silently outraged. Indeed, it was just as she had foretold. The shades of Pemberley had been thoroughly polluted. Her nephew Darcy wore the face of someone who was absolutely miserable and he had no one to blame but himself. Himself and his raging hormones, she silently pondered, for how else might one explain his decision to eschew his duties and responsibilities as well as society’s expectation and commit to such an unequal alliance? Now he was the brother to the son of his late father’s steward.

  A tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features that might once have been handsome, Lady Catherine was confident that Darcy’s late father would be appalled, despite his own misguided affinity for that wild George Wickham. She was certain her beloved sister, the late Lady Anne Darcy, would be equally appalled. For one thing, Lady Anne never did like George Wickham as a result of his meanness toward her only son, but more important than that was the fact that Lady Anne meant for her only son to marry her niece and namesake, Miss Anne de Bourgh—Lady Catherine’s daughter.

  In Mrs. Wickham, her ladyship saw little less than she always liked to suppose Darcy’s wife to be: young and impertinent with a wont to use her feminine arts and allurements to accomplish her means. Why should one be deemed any more decent than the other? They were sisters, after all, Lady Catherine considered.

  As if incapable of doing anything that did not render her the center of attention, young Lydia told everyone who would listen of her life in Newcastle as a married woman. How dreary it was compared to Brighton, she lamented. Why even Meryton bustled with excitement by comparison, she opined. Turning to her eldest sister, she said, “I understand the militia is once again settled outside of town.”

  Before Jane could respond, Kitty cried, “Indeed. I dare say many of the officers are every bit as handsome as your Wickham.”

  Elizabeth threw a cursory glance first at Georgiana and then Miss Caroline Bingley at the mention of her brother’s name. The grimace that graced the face of the latter might have bothered Elizabeth exceedingly were this a few years ago. Now it was all she could do not to don the same expression at the mention of that man’s name. Georgiana’s face, on the other hand, was completely unreadable.

  “La!” Lydia exclaimed. “I dare say you are insane to utter such a silly thing, Kitty, for there is not another man on Earth who is as handsome as my Wickham. I do declare he is the best man in the world.”

  Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to look at her husband. Will he storm out the room again in the wake of Lydia’s silliness?

  Darcy, it seemed, was doing a fine imitation of a man engrossed in his book. As if oblivious of Lydia’s speech, he simply turned the page.

  Miss Bingley must have observed his lack of concern as well. This appalling behavior of Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughter came as no surprise to Miss Caroline Bingley. A fine young woman with an air of decided fashion, she had seen it all before. She threw a reflective glance over the whole of her acquaintance with the Bennets, starting with those early days at Netherfield Park. At that time, Mr. Darcy knew what he was about. He abhorred the Bennets as much as she did as a consequence of their low country manners, their lack of fortune, and their want of connections.

  She plainly recalled his dismal view of the Bennet daughters’ marital prospects.

  “If they had uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside it would not make them one jot less agreeable,” her brother Charles had opined.

  “But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,” Darcy had replied—a sentiment to which everyone save Charles gave hearty assent, and they went on to indulge their mirth for some time at the expense of Miss Jane Bennet’s vulgar relations.

  Her mind then flew to the time when they first knew Eliza and how amazed they were to find that she was a reputed beauty. She particularly recollected Mr. Darcy saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, “She a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit,” in reference to the woman he now called his dear wife.

  How is it that, despite Mr. Darcy’s former low opinion of Eliza Bennet, she now finds herself the mistress of all this when everyone knows it should have been me?

  Caroline knew better than to do anything to garner Darcy’s disapprobation now that he was married to Eliza Bennet, and the occasions of their being together had become few and far between. However, she did miss their verbal repartee and the manner in which they often flirted with each other before he completely surrendered his better judgement to a pair of fine eyes.

  Before Eliza Bennet came along, I was certain that Mr. Darcy enjoyed our teasing banter exceedingly well—far more than he had enjoyed such intercourse with any other woman of his acquaintance. Even if he did sometimes like to pretend he was unaffected, I knew better.

  Wanting to recapture even a hint of their former intimate camaraderie, she said, “No doubt it is a great comfort to all the single young ladies in want of husbands knowing the militia is back in town.”

  Rather than eliciting a reaction from Mr. Darcy, it was Mrs. Bennet whose sentiments were perturbed. She pursed her lips. “You must be comforted as well, Miss Bingley, for you are not getting any younger, are you? If you do not seize upon a husband soon, you may well miss your chance.”

  Poor Miss Bingley, Elizabeth considered, recalling how little the younger woman cared for her mama. How little satisfaction she must now suffer in having forced my mother to say that which gave no one any pain but Miss Bingley herself.

  How relieved Miss Bingley must have felt when the two youngest Bennet daughters resumed their debate on whether there was another man whose beauty compared to Mr. Wickham’s. Why, even Mrs. Bennet insisted upon having her share of the conversation. “I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well. Indeed, so I do still at my heart,” she waxed poetically. “I dare say he was every bit as handsome as Wickham.”

  In the meantime, Lady Catherine took it all in. What a perfect unfolding of events this was, for as much as her ladyship liked to pretend she was shocked by the appalling behavior of Darcy’s mother-in-law and his new sisters, in truth she was quite delighted. There was no other explanation for her bringing Mr. William Collins, her vicar, with her to Pemberley during a time when its new mistress was expected to shine. She meant to embarrass the new Mrs. Darcy by putting her ridiculous cousin on display for all of Derbyshire society to see.

  What a stroke of luck for her that this need not be a solo act. No, among Elizabeth’s mother, her younger sisters, and her cousin there would be entertainment enough to last the entire stay. Mr. Bennet Lady Catherine excused from all this. It was not that she held such a high opinion of the gentleman who had allowed his youngest daughter to run off with a man twice her age and live in sin, and who then attempted to patch up the affair at great expense to himself and his brother, so far as her ladyship knew. It was because she had only seen him for the briefest of time before he scampered off to the seclusion of Pemberley’s library.

  A proud woman, Lady Catherine did not easily countenance ridiculousness. Her haughty air did not dissuade Mrs. Bennet. A woman of little understanding, the latter said, “What a fine thing it is that you came all this way to take part in the festivities here at Pemberley, your ladyship.”

  Her ladyship reared back her head as if taking umbrage that Mrs. Bennet had spoken to her in such terms of familiarity—almost as though she felt herself Lady Catherine’s equal. It did not sit well with her at all that she was forced to associate with people so heavily connected in trade. It was one thing to take part in an occasional business venture from time to time, especially when there was money to be made with so little effort on one’s part. However, the idea of manual labor for the sake of maintaining one’s existence on this earth was, to Lady Catherine’s way of thinking, abhorrent. Either one was distinguished by rank and privilege, or one was not. To Lady Catherine, there was no in between.

  Those Bingleys with whom her nephew chose to associate posed quite the con
undrum for her ladyship. They were far enough away from those physical aspects of being in trade; however, as their wealth was earned in trade, they were not quite acceptable as proper members of the privileged class to warrant her ladyship’s approbation. Such musings caused Lady Catherine to forget she had been spoken to. She heard the other woman clear her throat. This was sufficient to interrupt her musings but not enough to warrant any sort of response.

  Mrs. Bennet tried again. “Pray you will forgive me for not begging you to take some refreshment after your walk with my Lizzy when you visited Longbourn. You went away before I had the chance.”

  “I assure you that would have been quite unnecessary, madam. My being there did not lend itself to such hospitality, for it was hardly a social call.”

  “Why, I am sorry to hear that, for I told all my neighbors that I had the honor of receiving you. Well, I suppose you will surely call on me when you are next in Hertfordshire.”

  “That, I assure you, is most unlikely.”

  “Do you mean to say you have no intention of delivering word from Mr. and Mrs. Collins the next time you find yourself in the area?”

  “I most certainly will not take such a burden upon myself. Mr. Collins—your cousin— is my servant. I am not his! And I am not in the business of delivering messages.”

  Mrs. Bennet’s face took on a puzzled expression. She looked at her second eldest daughter and back at her ladyship. “Oh, but Lizzy and I were sure that was the purpose in your calling on us at Longbourn.” She gazed at her daughter. “Were we not, Lizzy?”

  The last thing Elizabeth cared to think about was that fateful day. Lady Catherine’s intentions in descending upon Longbourn had been abominable. She meant to guarantee that a union between her favorite nephew and Elizabeth would never happen. This brought to Elizabeth’s busy mind the question of her ladyship even being at Pemberley.