“And why me, sir? What makes you think she will welcome my company? She has shown little interest in pursuing a friendship with me, I assure you.”
“What you consider ‘little interest,’ Mr. Darcy, has been the most notice she has taken of anyone or anything in longer than I can remember.” Mr. Bennet now stood before the desk and looked down at the young man.
“Three important events happened to Elizabeth five years ago, all within a sennight. Of course, the most significant was the accident, but the other two events had such an impact on my daughter that at the time they overshadowed even her injuries.”
Darcy waited, now almost impatient to learn what these other two events had been, and the gentleman did not make him wait long.
“She attended her very first London dance. She was quite impressed with it and went on to describe it in great detail even as she lay injured in her bed: the lanterns, the flowers, the music—all declared by her to be thrilling and romantic.”
Darcy had no difficulty picturing the Miss Elizabeth he had met five years ago expressing such an opinion. He then waited for Mr. Bennet to reveal the last of the three events.
“But even that did not hold a candle to the enthusiasm she expressed for the other event that left such a great impression on my daughter . . . her meeting you.”
The room was again quiet for several moments as Darcy processed this information. From Elizabeth’s reaction to him at the Assembly, he would never have guessed that meeting him had any effect upon her at all. Hiding his astonishment, he looked up at the gentleman who stood before him, waiting.
“So it is your plan to use me as an impetus in the hope that she will regain her confidence, thus allowing some other gentleman to eventually court her?”
“Does that offend you, Mr. Darcy?”
A smile slowly appeared on Darcy’s lips. “Perhaps, a little.”
Mr. Bennet’s mood lightened for the first time since he entered the study. “Surely you have no designs on my daughter. As much as I believe she has merits that would impress any fine gentleman, even I understand that the richest man in Derbyshire must marry someone of equal wealth and consequence.”
“So I have been reminded since the day I reached my majority,” answered Darcy.
“Well, what say you? Would you be willing to help my Lizzy regain her confidence?”
Darcy looked up into the hopeful eyes of Mr. Bennet. He found he could not deny him. “I don’t know if your plan will succeed, Mr. Bennet, but yes, I would be willing to assist you.”
As he thought again upon her sweet face, he let her name drift through his mind: Lizzy. Sweet Lizzy. Yes, the name suits her well.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“As I live and breathe!” cried the young Lieutenant. “If it isn’t George Wickham!”
Lieutenant Denny put down his glass of ale on the bar and extended his hand towards the tall, dark-haired man.
“What brings you to Meryton?” asked the young man dressed in regimentals.
“I may be seeking a commission, and I heard the militia was making its way here,” replied Wickham. “How are they treating you?”
“Colonel Forster is a fair man; I have no complaints.”
George Wickham’s luck had finally changed at the card tables, providing him just enough money to buy a commission. Of course, the merchants in town had no idea that his credit was less than stellar; he had used every charm he had to convince them that he was a gentleman who honoured his debts.
He had also used his charm on their daughters, who turned out to be just as gullible and just as anxious to believe he was of noble character. It was his plan to move on with the militia before they learnt of his deceit.
In less than a year, he had gone through the three thousand pounds Darcy had given him in lieu of the living. When he had beseeched Darcy a second time for more money, he had been unceremoniously refused, and last year’s scheme to elope with the young and naïve Georgiana had been thwarted by Darcy’s unexpected arrival at Ramsgate. Right now, this was his best recourse: buy a commission and hope for some opportunity to present itself.
Besides trying to find ways to live a privileged life without the burden of work, Wickham’s aim in life was to make Darcy’s existence as miserable as possible; his envy and resentment of the man having begun from when they were children. When one plan failed, he would just bide his time until another scheme could be devised. He found it quite an amusing pastime.
He would wait for the right moment, as he always did with each new town he inhabited, to spread his story about his unfortunate dealings with Mr. Darcy. He was always fascinated how most people were eager to believe the worst of someone who was in possession of a large fortune, especially when they were not.
In the past, whenever he relayed his fictitious tale, it seemed to endear him to the women he met and helped forge a bond with the gentlemen who sympathized with his plight. Even though they were not acquainted with the man in question, they seemed more than willing to believe that Mr. Darcy had cheated him out of his inheritance.
And Darcy unwittingly helped him in his fabrication, for even those who had actually met the man, mistook his taciturn reserve as arrogance.
Yes, Meryton seemed like just the perfect place for him right now. His charm and good looks would not be wasted here. Besides, it was far enough away from both Pemberley and London that he had no concern of running into Darcy. They would meet again soon enough.
********
“We have come to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health,” stated Bingley as the two gentlemen were led into the parlour.
Hill hurried into the dining room, where Mrs. Bennet sat with three of her five daughters. When she was informed of the two guests waiting in the parlour, Mrs. Bennet fairly choked on her tea.
She rushed to Jane and pinched her cheeks, hoping to bring some colour back to her pale skin. “Oh what a pity Kitty and Lydia have gone into Meryton,” she declared as she looked over to Mary and Elizabeth, the look on her face displaying her disappointment that the wrong two daughters were seated before her.
Mary raised her eyebrows acknowledging and dismissing the insult all in one brief look. Elizabeth’s only thought was to flee to her room.
“Bring them here to the dining room Hill and then see that more tea is readied.”
Moments later, Hill appeared with the two gentlemen in tow. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy,” she announced.
The two men entered the room and bowed to the ladies assembled. Bingley immediately approached Jane. “My friend and I were concerned as to your recovery, Miss Bennet. I trust your health is improving?”
“Yes,” stated Jane. “Today is the first time I have ventured below stairs. It was so kind of you to come all this way to inquire.”
“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Bennet as she looked over both gentlemen with approval. “Unfortunately my other two daughters are from home as they have walked to Meryton this afternoon. You remember my other two daughters do you not, Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, of course,” he responded. “I remember them well from the Assembly and from the party at Sir William’s. They are very . . . enthusiastic young women, Miss Lydia especially.”
This pleased Mrs. Bennet immensely as the smile she displayed covered her entire face, and she appeared to literally bounce with delight.
Darcy glanced over to Elizabeth who was fixated on her embroidery. She had barely acknowledged their entrance into the room except for a slight bow of her head.
Elizabeth was determined to keep her eyes concentrated on her needlework. His presence in Hertfordshire had once again promoted dreams of him, and last night’s had been most disconcerting. Her cheeks flushed red at just the thought of it . . .
We are dancing the last waltz of the evening, and he is holding me so closely in his arms that every part of my body is brushed against his. My limp seems to have no place in my dreams; I am elegant and graceful on my feet.
Our steps move us towards the balcony
doors, and his eyes quickly scan the room to make sure we are not being observed. Then, without another thought to propriety, his whisks me through the doors, and we are suddenly alone in the darkness, breathing in the cool, crisp night air. Only the moon is witness to our indiscretion.
I look up at him in confusion. But his eyes give away nothing as he pulls me into his arms. “I have been waiting all night to finally have a few moments with you all to myself, Elizabeth.”
I know I should be angry, but that is not the emotion that is suddenly consuming me for I, too, have been longing for a chance to be alone with Mr. Darcy.
His eyes are steadfast on mine as he lowers his head and places a tender kiss upon my lips. I should be embarrassed by my response for it is all too eager and willing, but I have no desire to escape his seduction. I am lost, and I do not care if I am ever found so long as I can remain here in his arms. When his lips finally release mine, softly he whispers, “Promise you will always save the last waltz for me, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth gave a brief glance upwards, only to find Mr. Darcy’s penetrating brown eyes focused directly upon her. Her flushed complexion grew even more inflamed.
After tea was served, Mr. Bingley turned toward Jane. “Perhaps a short walk would help restore your well-being. The weather is extremely fine today, and the fresh air quite invigorating.” He then turned to her mother. “That is if you do not think it too soon, Mrs. Bennet.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.
“Why yes! That’s just the thing! I am sure it would be most beneficial! Mary, you must go along and keep Mr. Darcy company.”
In the absence of Lydia or Kitty, Mary would have to do. However, Mary’s reaction was to give a horrified look to her mother. Mr. Darcy seemed far too intimidating for her taste.
“Mama, I had planned to practice on the pianoforte this afternoon. I hope to play at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”
“We would not wish to keep you from your practicing, Miss Mary,” said Mr. Bingley.
As Mrs. Bennet was about to insist that she go, Mr. Darcy intervened.
“Perhaps you will go in her stead, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth took in a sharp intake of air as the needle with which she had been embroidering pierced her finger. She quickly brought it to her mouth, and Darcy could not help but stare as her lips gently tugged on the injured tip. He met her gaze and reminded himself to breathe.
Mrs. Bennet was determined not to let an opportunity for Jane to be alone with Mr. Bingley pass, and she conveyed that determination with the stern look she gave to Elizabeth.
“Why, of course, Lizzy would be happy to accompany you,” said her mother as Elizabeth was just about to voice her protest. “Go along, Lizzy. I am sure Mr. Darcy will not mind keeping a slow pace, will you, sir?”
Elizabeth’s eyes looked downward, and she felt her complexion redden once again with embarrassment.
“Not at all,” he replied. “I would prefer a slow pace on such a pleasant day.”
As Elizabeth was about to again voice her refusal, Jane quickly spoke up. “I will go retrieve our gloves and pelisses, Lizzy.”
“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Bennet as she did not want to give Elizabeth any time to think of an excuse. “Mr. Bingley said the weather was extremely fine. No one shall mind if you forego such niceties, will you, gentlemen?”
Bingley and Darcy looked at each other, then nodded in agreement to Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth sighed. She was well and truly caught. In a matter of moments, he would witness the ungracefulness of her walk and learn of her imperfection. She took a deep breath and knew there was nothing to be done. She might as well get on with it.
Mr. Bingley walked over to Jane. With a demure smile, she rose and placed her hand on his extended arm. As she did, Mrs. Bennet looked as if she might burst with happiness.
Darcy approached Elizabeth where she sat and offered his right arm to her. She stared at it for a long moment. How strange, she thought, that no one else in the room was aware of the significance of what was about to occur. Only she knew that the next moment would put an end to all of her fantasies.
She felt the tears that welled in her eyes and quickly wiped them away, hoping they had not been detected. She finally placed her hand on his arm, and he guided her to her feet. They walked to the door, and she knew he felt the unevenness of her gait.
As they made their way outside, he stopped after they had gone only a few steps and dropped his arm. Her hand fell away, and she looked up at him.
“I will understand if you have changed your mind, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not at all, Miss Bennet.”
He walked around to her other side and extended his left arm. She automatically placed her hand on it as she gave him a curious look.
With the support of his arm now on the right side of her body, her injured right leg was less vulnerable, and as they continued on, her gait was noticeably improved.
Silence stretched between them for a while as they adjusted to the rhythm of their walk. Jane and Bingley were far ahead of them, a fact to which they paid little attention.
“You seemed quite intent on your needlework. Is it something you enjoy?”
Elizabeth had never considered if she enjoyed it or not. If one were female, it was just something one did.
“It passes the time, Mr. Darcy.”
“I gather that means no.”
“If I were more proficient at it, perhaps I would enjoy it more. I have neither the talent nor the patience for such tediousness. I’m afraid most of my attempts are considered a scandal, and my fingers usually suffer from the effort.”
“So I have witnessed,” he said with an amused smile. He lifted her hand from his arm and made a show of examining the recently injured finger.
Even through his gloves she could sense his warmth. She tried not to react as she breathlessly waited for him to release his hold.
But before he placed her hand back on his arm, he brought the injured finger to his lips, and she watched in fascination as his lips slightly parted, and she felt the warmth of his mouth on her finger as he softly placed a kiss where the needle had penetrated.
Her heart did a summersault.
She struggled to maintain an even cadence to her breathing as he then placed her hand back on his arm, tucking it in securely.
They were silent again. Elizabeth walked beside him, bewildered. What could possibly have prompted him to perform such an intimate act?
Having been the recipient of pity on many occasions over the last five years, she was often times amused at the different reactions it could invoke—uncomfortable nervousness being the most prominent, followed closely by overtly sweet solicitousness. However, never had a gentleman reacted in such a manner. Perhaps it was chivalry, but whatever the reason for his behaviour, she was sure pity had been the underlying inducement.
She tried to keep her voice light and airy. “Your manners are impeccable, Mr. Darcy. You have not brought up the subject of my . . . my limp. In fact, you have done a commendable job of avoiding the subject.”
Of course, he knew of the accident and its effect upon her walk from Mr. Bennet. Now he wondered if it appeared odd that he did not inquire about it.
“Is it something you wish to discuss?”
She turned to look at him. “No” she said reflexively. “I . . . I have rarely discussed it with anyone. Not really. Perhaps Jane, but even then . . .” Her words trailed off as she displayed a look of contemplation.
She emitted a small mirthless laugh. “Perhaps I am the one who has always done such a good job of avoiding the subject.”
He looked into her eyes then, as he softly remarked, “If you ever do wish to discuss it, Miss Elizabeth, I would be privileged to listen. Perhaps when we have become better acquainted, you might honour me with your confidence.”
Her only response was a slight dip of her head and a slight flush of her complexion as she searched the dark depths of his eyes. Even if his offe
r was sincere, she could not imagine exposing such intimate feelings to him.
Again they were silent, but Elizabeth allowed herself to relax a little. She inhaled a cleansing breath. “I must admit you were right, Mr. Darcy. I am enjoying this most pleasant day. I had forgotten how lovely it is to walk this path. I have missed most of the summer flowers; the jasmine are all but gone,” she said with some sadness in her voice. “Ah, but I see that autumn is already starting to make a most admiral show of colours.”
He mimicked her action and inhaled deeply as his eyes searched around them, wondering why it was still possible to smell the jasmine, though none were about. “I am glad you are enjoying our walk. Perhaps we should resolve to do it more often.”
Her lips curved ever so slightly, giving him a glimpse of the smile that might have been, had she not persisted on resisting it. Several curls that had escaped their pins danced for a moment, caught in a slight breeze, and it was then he realized the source of the sweet scent of jasmine.
“But is that all you are enjoying?” he asked. “I had hoped perhaps my company was enjoyable as well.”
She eyed him with a raised brow. “Do you need reassurance as to the pleasure of your company, sir? I would think that being the richest man in Derbyshire would guarantee such circumstances.”
“Obviously, that does not impress you.”
“I am impressed that you feel the need to entertain me while your friend calls on my sister.”
“Well, since we both have been put upon to chaperone, we might as well make the best of it, for I have a feeling we will be required to perform this duty often.”
As they eyed the obviously besotted couple up ahead, Elizabeth was inclined to agree. “I suppose we shall have to bear it with all good humour,” she said with a sigh.
“Should I be offended?” he asked, trying to keep the mood light but finding it difficult. “Do you look upon my company as an imposition you must suffer?”
Her complexion deepened. She had only meant it as a tease. “No, not at all, sir,” she quickly answered. “If anything, I was concerned that the suffering would be on your part. I am sure there are a great many other things you would rather be doing.”
The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love Page 6
