by Anne Morris
"I have been so pleased with Meryton and the surrounding neighborhood," he began.
"Do you like our little village?" she gave him a tentative smile.
"I do. I came, as I earlier said, to this particular shire for the society."
"I hope your plans have not been hindered by Mr. Darcy's being here. But I have not heard that he or Mr. Bingley have any plans to leave just yet," she said.
"It is not for me to be driven away by him. I came tonight fully knowing he would be here. He must give way to me." He looked at her and then across the room as if seeking the man himself. "We are not on friendly terms, and I was thankful he was not part of the receiving line, frankly, when I arrived." He grinned at her then. "I must claim a sense of ill usage and regret for his being the man that he is." He took a bite of his meal but captured her eyes with his, and Elizabeth could not but help being intrigued.
She was not sure what to say or whether there was any reply, but Mr. Wickham continued in a low tone. "His father, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed and the best friend I ever had. The current Mr. Darcy has…" he looked around at their neighbors for a moment then continued. "He has blackened his father's and his own name by his scandalous behavior to me. I try, Miss Bennet, I try to continually forgive him, but then I consider what a disgrace he is to his father, and I found myself failing." He smiled again, though this time it was a small one, and her heart reached out to him, and she wondered what scandal had Mr. Darcy writ upon this poor man that he should battle with himself over forgiving his compatriot whom he said he had known since infancy.
"Would that we all struggle to hold ourselves up to such standards," she replied.
"I thank you," and he looked away as though he needed to contain his feelings before continuing. He finally cleared his throat, and looked back at her. "I have been a disappointed man and my spirits flag sometimes, forgive me. It is why I seek employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for—the church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for it and should have been in possession of a most valuable living had it not pleased the gentleman we were just speaking of to give it elsewhere."
"Indeed!" cried Elizabeth with surprise.
"The late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his will. He had my future planned for me. He loved me. He meant to provide for me, but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."
"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth, "how can that be? How could his will be disregarded?"
He shook his shoulders and gave her a sad smile, "there was an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law." He put a hand up on the table and stared across the room then. "A man of honor could not have doubted the intention," he turned again to capture her gaze, "but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it, and to assert that I forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short, anything or nothing." That hand was raised and fluttered about in the air before her. "I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve its loss."
"This is shocking," Elizabeth felt she was unable to continue with her meal she was so caught up in Mr. Wickham's tale, but she did not know if he would share any more.
"I am not sure how to portray him," ventured Wickham. "I will not trust myself on that subject. I can hardly be just to him."
"I am sure that your intimacy with him makes you a very able individual in that case," she cried.
"I dare not venture to tackle that vengeful, temperamental man," said he. "I should paint quite a blackened portrait."
"I could well understand. I have never liked Mr. Darcy, but I had not thought him capable of such misconduct. I think he despises his fellow creatures in general but had not thought that he would be so vengeful, so inhumane. I did not realize his disposition was so dreadful," said she.
Wickham smiled, but offered no other words. Parties began to leave the supper hall, and she noticed her family and friends in various groupings about her, and recollected that they were all still gathered together at Netherfield Hall for a dance. She and Mr. Wickham rose and spoke on more general topics, of Meryton and neighbors, until they reached the drawing room and parted.
She stood by herself through the entire first set of dances thinking of nothing but Mr. Wickham. His manners recommended him; he was most deferential to her and all the ladies, polite in his greetings, charming with his bows. Whatever he said, he said well, and whatever he did, was done gracefully.
• • •
Darcy recalled that Bingley had once remarked that Darcy might just go to bed to be able to avoid the crowds of people converging on Netherfield for this party. Bingley had been jesting; it was not as if Darcy could truly avoid making an appearance, but the evening was proving tedious and part of him wished he had some excuse to retire early.
He had dressed with extra care knowing that Elizabeth Bennet was to attend; he had sought her out—not too eagerly, not the first or the second set of dances lest he give her any ideas—and he had looked forward to their conversation. She had been a lively partner in more ways than one. Her intelligence inspired him as so few women's did, and he thought again how, if she only had better connections and a better dowry, he might just consider her. Was he becoming like his friend Bingley, finding a paramour in a new place as a means of amusing himself? It would be quite uncharacteristic for him as he had only found amusements of the mind fascinating. He had never before found such an attraction, a woman whose wit and conversation certainly inspired his mind, but whose lovely face and form often invaded his thoughts in a way he had never experienced.
After his dance with Elizabeth, he sought out Miss Bingley, and they had their obligation dance which also meant that he had her near him and no other foolish young lady during supper, they seemed younger and younger every year. Once Sir William Lucas had put the idea into his head that the Meryton neighbors had come to expect a match between his friend and Jane Bennet, he listened to more of these neighbor's conversations than to Caroline's—she often had the same biting remarks to relate anyways about the attendees, so he could pay her only half a mind. He found that there was an undercurrent of excitement about Bingley and Miss Jane's impending marriage, wanting only the proposal.
Charles had never let it be taken so far, and Darcy wondered just how much in love with this lady he was. Darcy heard with some alarm that his friend had secured the creature for every single one of the dances for the first half of the evening which had greatly offended most of the unmarried ladies, and exceedingly offended all of the matrons, except for Mrs. Bennet who beamed so brightly it was as if she was the sun herself.
Miss Bingley was discussing the dullness of the evening when he cut her off. "I believe I need to speak to Charles." They both looked over at her brother, who had his head bowed together with Jane Bennet a number of seats away from them at the table.
"Must you go speak to him right now?" she asked.
"I have some pressing information to discuss with him," said Darcy who stood, bowed to her, and walked towards his friend and Miss Jane. Charles did not look up at his approach, not even when he stopped before the couple. Darcy was about to speak when his eyes looked even farther on into the room and he saw to his horror, that Wickham had secured Elizabeth Bennet for supper, and was hidden away with her in a corner. Darcy furled his brow as he stared at the man and could only imagine what he was telling the lady.
"Darcy! Marvelous evening is it not!" cried his friend who had looked up at Darcy towering and scowling above him.
Darcy attempted to look less formidable. "Bingley, we should speak in private."
"This is a ball, Darcy! Cannot whatever serious subject you have wait?" asked Bingley whose smile was wide with pleasure and for any number of reasons: his companion, the wine, or the entire evening being such a resounding success.
"I need to insist, old friend," said Darcy, "let us go to the study, that should not have been made available this evening to a
ny of the guests."
A very reluctant Charles Bingley excused himself from the side of Jane Bennet and trailed along beside his friend to the study, all the while complaining about bad-tempered friends who were spoiling their fun. Darcy considered that perhaps Bingley had imbibed too much wine with dinner.
Once assured of privacy, Darcy turned to his friend without ceremony, "have you really danced every dance with Miss Jane Bennet?" Bingley's face fell as he had not expected that to be the topic under consideration.
"I have," and he brought one hand up to his waistcoat to smooth out any wrinkles and to give himself an excuse not to look his friend in the eye, "I do not see why it should be of concern to you."
"Bingley, you are the host to this entire evening, you cannot pay your respects to only one lady. Many young ladies have been seriously offended that you have not asked them to dance yet," explained Darcy. Bingley continued smoothing out his waistcoat, his other hand was involved now, and he was checking to make sure his buttons had not come loose.
"I do not wish to dance with any other lady," said Bingley to his buttons.
"I had that popinjay, Sir William, tell me he expects you to ask that young lady to marry you, that the whole village is practically waiting for you to propose," said Darcy.
Bingley continued to stare down at his waistcoat and did not immediately reply. He moved on to straightening his jacket cuffs before he looked up at his friend, "I take it you do not approve of my choice?"
"You have known her less than a month, Charles, and what of that family?" Darcy shook his head.
"Men have married in far less time," said Bingley.
"You are a sensible man, Charles, for all that Miss Elizabeth and I accused you once of being whimsical. You know that marriage requires you to have sense and to use it, and to make a decent choice. Have you discussed marriage with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, or written to any of your other sisters, or your aunts?"
He could tell by the silence that grew between them that Charles Bingley had not really considered the idea of marriage until Darcy had brought the idea before him just now. Bingley had simply been content to pursue the company of Jane Bennet, to enjoy having her by his side, to talk and to dance with her, but that he had not rightly considered marrying her, for all that he was arguing about it just now. Bingley was only defending himself against Darcy's attacks, so Darcy decided to retreat.
"I have been thinking of going to London. Radbourne wrote that they were going to stay in London for the birth of the child—Lady Veronica does not wish to travel to the family seat, and there are the best physicians available in Town—so my uncle and aunt will be there as well. The shooting is wrapping up; perhaps you might like to go up to Town with me?"
Bingley did not wish to leave; he looked like a recalcitrant child told to put down a toy and wash his face instead. His eyes darted from his friend's face to the empty fireplace grate, to his sleeve, where he fiddled again with the cuff.
"I did have a letter from Smythe about a horse race next week that was not-to-be-missed," said Bingley addressing his cuff.
"We shall see that the house is left cared for," said Darcy, and turned to open the study door, then he turned back, "and you must dance with your guests, guests with family names other than Bennet."
• • •
Elizabeth looked for Jane when the second set of dances began and could not find her sister. She was surprised to see a Miss Watson on the arm of Mr. Bingley pass in front of her on the dance floor as Jane had said he had taken all of the dances in the first half of the evening. Elizabeth had expected that he would take all the others as well; perhaps he had decided, as host, he must dance with some of his other guests.
Raucous laughter had her searching among the dancers, and she spied her youngest sister dancing with Wilfrid Lucas, the youngest and tallest son. Both of their movements were exaggerated in such a way that it suggested they had imbibed a little too much wine with their suppers, and they were speaking over one another in loud tones as they moved and twirled rather hurriedly. Many eyes were following them, some with indulgence, many others with condemnation. She saw Mr. Darcy looking with his stony face at her sister, and she could readily believe he was one of those condemning Lydia for indulging in too much wine. He was likely one who never got loud and made crude remarks if he over-indulged.
A collective gasp came from another set of dancers, and Elizabeth turned to see that her sister Catherine had fallen and was on her knees supporting herself on one hand while her partner, an officer, bent over her, assiting her to rise. The couples in that set waited, and Lieutenant Matthews helped Kitty up, and though Elizabeth could sense her poor sister was on the verge of tears; Kitty was able to restore herself and to continue the dance. She did not know why Kitty had tripped, though Elizabeth could speculate. Catherine had insisted on having a short train on her gown, a new gown purchased at Mrs. Bennet's urging, which had perhaps tripped her up in the movements of the dance. She hoped that Catherine had not overindulged in wine as Lydia had.
Elizabeth could not help but look in Mr. Darcy's direction again and found that his eyes were on this sister, watching her and her partner move, and she felt her cheeks redden then at his condemnation. Mr. Darcy was an infuriating man. She recalled her first impression of him at the Assembly—how she had questioned why he had bothered to come to the dance at all. She wondered again at his and Bingley's friendship, especially in light of the information Mr. Wickham had shared with her.
Elizabeth moved around the edge of the ballroom and approached where the matrons were collected together. She could hear her mother speaking of nothing but her expectation that Jane would be married soon to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject and one which seemed to echo around the ballroom, or perhaps, Elizabeth could simply always hear her mother's voice, pick it out from amongst the others surrounding her. She noticed that Jane was among that crowd, and was surprised then to see the blushing cheeks of her sweet-tempered sister who looked just as embarrassed as Elizabeth felt at their mother's effusive words about the certainty of that upcoming marriage. She went to collect her sister and escorted her away from that difficult-to-hear speech.
"I would have expected you to be dancing," remarked Elizabeth. "Where has your Mr. Bingley gone?"
A confused look passed over Jane's face before she answered. "He is dancing, Lizzy. He is the host, and this is his ball. He must, by necessity, pay attention to his other guests." She was even-toned as she spoke, but for once Elizabeth could hear some discomfort, some small hurt or misunderstanding in this always compassionate and sweet-tempered sister.
"What has happened dearest?" Elizabeth began to steer them towards a more secluded corner of the room.
"Mr. Darcy called Mr. Bingley away at the end of supper to say he needed to speak to him about urgent business. When Mr. Bingley returned, he sat down and finished his supper with me, but then he apologized and said he must, by necessity, dance with other young ladies the rest of the evening. That he was, after all, the host. I believe Mr. Darcy has reminded him of his duties," explained Jane.
"Had Mr. Bingley said he would dance with you dearest?" asked Elizabeth.
Jane did not reply, but her eyes opened wide as if to stave off tears, and gave Elizabeth her answer. Whatever small feeling of enjoyment she had from her little interactions with Mr. Darcy flew away then as she laid her sister's present unhappiness at his feet. There had been a time or two when she enjoyed the banter they engaged in, though she still did not value his company, would not willingly seek him out, and she gave way to resentment about his treatment of her family and of his condemnation of their behavior. He probably resented her two sisters for simply being young; Lydia for having the audacity to try a little too much wine because she was excited to finally be out in society, and for Catherine's vanity at having such a beautiful gown with a fashionable train—like Bingley's sisters wore that very night—and to have tripped over it while dancing.
Elizabeth
was pleased that she had met Mr. Wickham that evening and had heard of his audacious treatment at Mr. Darcy's hands. Not all of the gentry were great and good for all that they, as Lydia had once pointed out, dressed well.
• • •
George Wickham had been uncertain about coming but had been thrilled, so far, with his evening. Darcy was avoiding him, which was what George had anticipated, nor had Darcy, apparently, said anything to anyone of their past associations. Not even the host, Mr. Bingley, seemed to know of their long history as Mr. Charles Bingley and his charming and beautiful sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, had greeted him with the warmth that he always expected from that class. He had already heard tales about the pair, new money, and quite a lot of it; his fellow officers speculated on whether it was worth the pursuit of the reserved Miss Bingley to get their hands on her money. She was unhappy with country life and Meryton society—that had been obvious—but since the militia was not likely to ever be stationed in London; many had speculated it was simply not worth putting up with an unhappy wife to woo a lady with a twenty thousand pound dowry.
While Miss Bingley was beautiful, he had never been interested in redheads—and Wickham thought he could see something hard about her; she would definitely make a game of the whole wooing and courtship process, and he was never one to work for his money. He was currently keeping his eyes on Miss Mary King. Ten thousand pounds was not as much as he had thought he would settle for, and again she was a redheaded lady. Miss King seemed to have caught the eye of his own colonel though, a venture he was not willing to undertake. He had learned the hard way, back in his days in the navy, before old Darcy had died, that you do not cross your superiors in rank.
