Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Cressida Lane

  “Mister—”

  “Please, Miss Bennet, do not be alarmed.” George Wickham stood in the middle of the room, holding out his hands as though to reassure her.

  Elizabeth’s shock was so great, Hill had left the room before she recovered herself enough to call the servant back. She stood stock still, one hand braced on the knob of the still-open door.

  “Please,” Wickham said again. “I am alone and truly, I mean you no harm.”

  Elizabeth found her voice at last.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I am here to beg your forgiveness,” he said. “The unpleasant business in London a few weeks ago… I am most grievously sorry, sorrier than I can say that you and Georgiana should have been caught up in it.”

  Elizabeth let her hand drop from the door but did not otherwise move. Mr. Wickham seemed to take this as a sign to continue.

  “You met me at a very trying time in my life,” he said. “It was foolish of me to have borrowed money from the likes of those men, but I was desperate. No one else would lend to me and what little savings I had was long gone. Darcy wouldn’t –”

  “Do not speak of Matlock. Do not address him as though you are familiar,” she said. Mr. Wickham started, and Elizabeth understood why. The forbidding coldness of her tone surprised even herself.

  Mr. Wickham nodded. “I rather thought that was the way of things,” he said, whatever that meant. “Miss Bennet, I am here only to personally assure you now that I am at liberty to do so that what happened that night in London was an aberration in my life and that I am terribly sorry you were forced into involvement.”

  Elizabeth did not speak for a long moment.

  She did not feel obliged to speak when he began to fidget nervously. She felt no obligation to him at all; she’d much rather call the magistrate in Meryton. The militia were come back – perhaps they would take him before the magistrate on her behalf.

  But no. Jane was to be married tomorrow and it was best just to see him gone before then. The less mess, the better.

  “Very well,” she said. “I accept your apology and your sundry assurances.”

  The smile he gave her would have rendered him quite handsome had she not known him at all.

  A clattering noise came at the door and Lydia rushed into the room.

  “Lizzy, what’s this nonsense about Wickham being here to see you? Hill’s made a mistake, he’d only be here to see me,” said Lydia. She turned to see the man himself, standing now as though made of stone.

  “Bennet,” he said. “Good God. Of course, Bennet.”

  Elizabeth was not displeased to note that Wickham had lost color in his face; not a ghost of his good humor and charm remained.

  “Wickham!” cried Lydia. She threw herself into his arms with such force Wickham had to put his arms around the girl to steady them both lest they topple to the floor.

  “Lydia, you know this person?”

  “Know him, Lizzy?” said the girl, not taking her eyes off Mr. Wickham. She made no move to extricate herself. She seemed to be trying to occupy the same space as he. “He’s my fiancé.”

  The urge to scream rose so swiftly, Elizabeth covered her mouth with both hands. Mr. Wickham’s countenance suggested he’d experienced a similar reaction.

  “Really, Lyddie,” he began.

  “Oooh, I love it when you call me Lyddie,” said the girl gleefully. She pressed herself somehow even closer.

  “Lydia!” said Elizabeth.

  “Oh, fine,” said Lydia. She took a step back but did not remove her hands from Mr. Wickham’s arm.

  “Tell me the exact nature of your connection to this man,” Elizabeth demanded. “At once, if you please. We are running out of time.”

  Indeed they were. If Lydia’s sudden entrance was any indication, the rest of the women of the house would descend any moment to meet Lydia’s beau.

  “Wickham came to town with the militia a few months ago,” said Lydia. “Isn’t that right, dearest?”

  “With the militia,” said Elizabeth. “You were being courted by an officer.”

  “That’s right!” said Lydia. “You remember. Of course you remember, you’d been stuck at Netherfield with Jane. I expect you two had nothing to talk of but my good fortune. And such good fortune it is, now he has returned from his business in London!”

  “Yes,” replied her sister. “His business in London.” She looked to Mr. Wickham.

  Elizabeth had never before witnessed a man on the verge of succumbing to the vapors.

  “I didn’t know,” he said faintly, his eyes on Elizabeth’s. “I didn’t know she was your sister.”

  “What are you talking of, my love?” asked Lydia, tugging on his arm. “Why are you talking to Lizzy like that?”

  “I think perhaps it is time for you to take your leave, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth with as much force as she could muster. Given Lydia’s behavior, she could divine for herself the exact nature of their relationship. If the silly girl believed herself to be engaged there was no limit to what she might do, given the opportunity. Blind luck had prevented anyone else from witnessing her present behavior, a fact for which Elizabeth was mightily grateful.

  George Wickham seemed to recover his senses all at once. His face flushed. He inhaled loudly. He began to mumble what may have been apologies as he gingerly removed Lydia’s hands from his arm, pressing her back when she protested. He inched toward the door, still mumbling. Elizabeth made no attempt to decipher the sounds, nor did she say anything to prevent his going. She’d wished him gone quickly only a few moments ago; it seemed the sudden arrival and attentions of her youngest sister were the means to afford her that wish.

  After several attempts to extract himself from the youngest Miss Bennet, George Wickham gave up the fight and for the second time since Elizabeth had known him she watched as he fled for the door in sheer panic.

  “Wickham!” cried Lydia.

  “Hush, dear,” said Elizabeth, bestirring herself now that duty called. “Hush, Lydia. It’s best to let him go.”

  “I can’t! Don’t you see?” she cried. “I love him! He’s only just come back for me and I’ve waited for him all this time! Wickham!” Lydia made to give chase.

  This time Elizabeth did not stop her. Let her chase him down. A look around the hall confirmed there was no one to witness Lydia’s shameful behavior, and to Elizabeth’s mind it was the surest way of eliminating that distasteful man from their lives for good.

  “Miss Bennet!” said a sharp, tart voice. “Miss Lydia!”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, bracing herself before she turned. It had been too much to hope that scene had gone unnoticed.

  Mr. Collins stood watching Lydia run out the front door after Mr. Wickham, who was already nearly to the gate. He must have come on foot, Elizabeth noted absently.

  “Mr. Collins,” she said. “How nice to see you again.”

  “Miss Bennet, oughtn’t you go and retrieve your sister? It is most inappropriate for her to be running like that. And who was that man I saw leaving in such unseemly haste? Really, Miss Elizabeth, this is unacceptable.”

  “Please, sir, do sit down.” Elizabeth was in no mood to humor this man. She was in the way of being in no mood to humor any man on earth ever again, but dignity prevailed. “If you’ll excuse me but a moment, I’ll go and fetch papa. I’m sure you have much to discuss.”

  “Never mind that,” he said. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Bennet outside.”

  “Ah,” said Elizabeth. The brief, shining fantasy of escape faded.

  “As you know, I am here to perform my honored duties as a clergyman for the benefit of your sister and Mr. Bingley tomorrow,” said Mr. Collins. His manner was stern, as though he’d somehow managed to starch it before his arrival. Elizabeth wanted to laugh at the thought; it was so very nonsensical, but fitting for what was fast becoming a nonsensical day.

  Another knock sounded at the door.

  “Yes, come in,”
said Elizabeth.

  “Lizzy, your mother—oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you were receiving,” said Charlotte Lucas.

  “Charlotte, please come in. Mr. Collins, may I present Miss Charlotte Lucas of Lucas Lodge in Meryton. This is Mr. Collins, cousin to my father. He’ll be presiding over tomorrow’s ceremony,” said Elizabeth. Her dearest friend Charlotte had a keen sense of fortuitous timing. Elizabeth suspected she’d been outside the door for a while; the idea suited her fine, for she had need of an ally today.

  “Yes, of course!” said Charlotte exuberantly. “Mr. Collins, I have heard so very much about you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lucas,” he said, taken aback by her enthusiasm. It occurred to Elizabeth that Mr. Collins was perhaps unacquainted with the enthusiasm of others.

  “Mr. Collins was just about to inform me of his duties during the ceremony tomorrow,” said Elizabeth.

  “Actually, I came to deliver the sentiments of the estimable Lady Catherine—”

  “Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte, her enthusiasm more determined now. “It has been my fondest wish since childhood to hear a clergyman preparing his work before such an important ceremony. Our dear Jane has such a day tomorrow, but you – surely you must prepare weeks in advance for such an auspicious occasion.”

  “Well, I—that is, yes, Miss Lucas,” said Mr. Collins. He was rarely asked to pontificate on anything, and never about his work.

  “Would you oblige me a few questions? Mrs. Bennet requires Elizabeth,” said Charlotte, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze pointedly. “Mrs. Bennet wishes to speak with you in the library.”

  The specificity in Charlotte’s communication alerted Elizabeth, for her mother never set foot in the library. She must mean Longbourn had yet another visitor.

  Chapter 26

  Darcy stared out the library window as he waited. She’d been home three days. For three days he’d bided his time, wrestling all the while with the compulsion to come here. The equally irrational impulses to demand to see her, to demand that she break her engagement to Henry Charleton rode him hard as well. Three sleepless nights had been enough to convince him that paying a call to honor the occasion of her sister’s wedding to his dearest friend was merely being neighborly. After all, they’d been in the way of friends themselves, once.

  At the sound of the doorknob turning, Darcy steeled himself.

  “Oh,” she said, coming into the room. Her relief was palpable, which Darcy found a welcome reaction, if a bit confusing.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing formally.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said, and she blushed. He loved that bloom of color. He keened to it. “Forgive me, my lord.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “How was your trip south? The weather kept fine, I hope.”

  “Yes, very fine,” she said.

  She did not elaborate, and the pause stretched out between them.

  “You seemed to have been expecting someone else when you came in to the library just now,” he said.

  “Oh!” she came nearer, inviting him to sit with a wave of her hand. “Please, be seated. I ought to have told you straight away. I still can hardly believe it myself.”

  He sat, his curiosity aroused enough that the torment he’d felt at the prospect of seeing her again ebbed. For a moment he could breathe again.

  “Do tell,” he said.

  “Mr. Wickham is in Hertfordshire,” she said. “I have reason to believe he is staying nearby.”

  Darcy rose to his feet again on the instant.

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Please, calm yourself,” she said again. “He was here, but I have good reason to think he shan’t return. Not if he can at all help it.”

  When he complied with her request once more, she told him of Mr. Wickham’s apologetic plea and Lydia’s shocking revelation of their prior connection.

  “I have not yet told my parents,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “They ought to be warned.”

  “They ought to be,” said Darcy. “They, and all the people near you ought to be informed at once. If he is still in the vicinity, the potential for harm is great. I know not precisely how he may have imposed on your sister, but I take it upon myself to find out and to exact restitution from him accordingly.”

  “You needn’t take so much upon yourself,” she began.

  “The fault is mine,” he said. On this he would hear no argument. “Your sister could not have been so imposed upon, nor would you yourself have been harmed had I dealt with Mr. Wickham accordingly when I ought.”

  “I will not have you blame yourself for the misdeeds of others,” said Elizabeth, her exasperation plain.

  “Then we are at an impasse,” he said. “For I cannot oblige you in this.”

  They sat in silence for long minutes. When Elizabeth spoke again, her words sounded forced.

  “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “Miss Bingley was here this morning,” she said, as though that explained her previous comment.

  “Had she some good news to report?” he said. He was ill at ease with Miss Bingley at present.

  Elizabeth looked at him as though he’d said something terribly peculiar.

  “Miss Bingley informed me that your engagement was very soon to be announced,” she said. Her voice was not entirely steady and she did not meet his eyes.

  “You have been misinformed,” he said. “Which brings me to the point of my visit: the letters you received at the time of the ball at Netherfield.”

  “The letters,” said Elizabeth. “After everything else, I’d quite forgotten them.”

  “I nearly forgot them myself,” said Darcy. “Except that on my return, Miss Bingley approached me for the second time. She made it clear that my engagement to you was an offense to her, albeit a forgivable one considering that the idea – that of a fiancée in name only – had been hers from the start. She wished me to consider reapplying that idea in it’s in original form.”

  “You mean that Miss Bingley would become your fiancée,” said Elizabeth.

  “An engagement to her in name only, at her suggestion,” he reminded her. “I declined a second time and Miss Bingley was less gracious in her reply this time. She railed at me, really. She also informed me that she’d done what she could to spare me the disgrace of having involved myself with you and your family.” Elizabeth blushed at this, and this time Darcy took no enjoyment from the sight of it. “Forgive me, I do not wish to cause you pain; I will spare you the details of her reproach. Suffice it to say, she thought that if you were adequately distressed, she would assume your place as the countess-to-be.”

  “So Miss Bingley was the author of them all,” said Elizabeth.

  “She admitted to having sent three messages. You received only three, yes?” Elizabeth nodded. “Then, yes. She is our culprit.”

  Elizabeth stood and paced the room. Darcy let her move in peace, content for the moment to simply share the time in her presence.

  She stopped suddenly.

  “There is something more I must tell you,” said Elizabeth. “It has been weighing on me, most heavily, since we last spoke in Newcastle.”

  Darcy cleared his throat. He did not wish to hear anything about Newcastle, or fiances, or Henry Charleton. But as the only alternative was to take his leave, Darcy prepared to bear it.

  “As you already know, Henry Charleton made me an offer of marriage that night at the assembly,” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “I neglected to tell you at the time that I did not accept him.”

  Darcy met her gaze immediately.

  “We are not engaged,” said Elizabeth, more slowly this time. “I should never have allowed you to think we had been. I am truly sorry for having done so.”

  Hope erupted in his chest, setting his heart to pounding.

  “You are not engaged,” he said.

  “I am not.”

&nb
sp; Darcy moved to stand before her without intending to do so.

  “I gave as much thought to harming Henry Charleton as I once gave to George Wickham,” he said, amused at his own expense.

  “Thought, perhaps,” said Elizabeth. Her eyes glittered with humor. “You would never strike another person, not even one so deserving as George Wickham.”

  “You know me well,” he said. “Elizabeth, I – ”

  “ELIZABETH BENNET!”

  The shriek – for it could be called nothing else – startled them to such a degree that Elizabeth fell back into the chair behind her. She rose instantly.

  “Mama,” she said. “I am so sorry, my lord, but I must go see what she needs. I’ve been gone for ages.”

  “Of course,” said Darcy. “I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.”

  “My lord,” she said, sounding breathless. “Until then.”

  And she was gone.

  “Until then, my love,” he said to an empty room.

  Chapter 27

  “Hill! Hill! Go and fetch Sarah, Miss Lizzy’s dress has a tear. We cannot have her standing up with Jane looking like a street urchin.” Mrs. Bennet was in fine form. Her bearing resembled nothing so much as a general preparing for battle; the house itself better resembled the battle’s aftermath. Elizabeth kept the thought to herself.

  “I see you, Miss Lizzy, biting your tongue to keep from laughing. Laugh all you like,” said Mrs. Bennet. “One day, God willing, you’ll have daughters of your own to mind, and then you’ll see what I suffer for your sakes.”

  “Yes, mamma,” said Elizabeth dutifully. “How can I help?”

  “You can’t, dear,” said Mrs. Bennet absently. “Only, go and fetch Sarah. Lydia’s mussed her hair again somehow.”

  Elizabeth obeyed, meeting the implacable Hill on the stairs, Sarah already in tow; she waved them on. Having executed her mother’s request, Elizabeth made her way to Jane’s room and knocked on the open door.

  “Come in,” said Jane quietly. Elizabeth entered the room, pressing the door shut behind them to dampen the cacophony. Jane was seated at the vanity mirror, her face drawn tight.