Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet

by Jennifer Joy

  Elizabeth’s hands clenched of their own volition, and it was with immense pride she maintained a disinterested air and a cool complexion despite the sisters’ spiteful remarks aimed at Jane. “She must be remarkable, indeed. Could a Darcy be anything other than exemplary in all her habits and accomplishments? Pray excuse me, I must return to Jane.”

  Elizabeth kept her head high and her back stiff as she left the room, knowing they watched her. She felt their eyes burning into her back.

  Had she not been convinced of Mr. Bingley’s gentle nature, she would have encouraged Jane to deaden any tender regard she held for the gentleman. But Mr. Bingley was nothing like his conniving, manipulative sisters.

  Would it be forgivable for Elizabeth to borrow one of his horses, so she might ride over his property until she found him? Probably not. It was much too bold — even for Elizabeth.

  She considered walking over the fields, but the property was extensive, and the rolling hills would not allow for an easy search.

  There was nothing she could do until Mr. Bingley returned.

  Not satisfied with her helpless state, Elizabeth found the butler and asked if he would inform her the moment his master returned.

  Nearing the stairs, her feet heavy with defeat, Elizabeth paused when she heard the smack of a cue ball. They did not have a billiard table at Longbourn, but Elizabeth knew the sound well. Her uncle Gardiner often discussed business matters with particularly difficult clients in his billiard room. He claimed the competition made men more willing to invest when they would not otherwise loosen their fists around their pocketbooks.

  It occurred to Elizabeth that Miss Bingley might have misled her. What if Mr. Bingley was at home?

  Following the sound, Elizabeth arrived to a dim room with wooden panels on the walls, accented by portraits of somber-looking men in heavy frames. They frowned at the table set in the middle of the room as if to show their disapproval of the sport … or, perhaps more accurately, of the gentlemen indulging in it.

  The only gentleman present, however, was Mr. Wickham. He set his cue against the floor, leaning against it lazily. “Miss Elizabeth, what a pleasure to see you. Bingley and Darcy left me to my own devices, and I require entertainment. Do you know how to play?”

  She did, but she was in no mood for diversions. “Mr. Bingley is not in?” she asked, more out of disappointment than a need to be told yet again that Mr. Bingley was not at home.

  Mr. Wickham must have sensed her disappointment. In a more serious tone, he said, “Is there a matter with which I might be of assistance?”

  “Thank you for offering, but I am in need of a carriage. Jane is much improved and wishes to return to Longbourn, but our carriage is not available to be sent until Tuesday.”

  “Oh, now, that is a problem,” Mr. Wickham said, pinching his chin, his fingers scratching over his whiskers and his lips pulled into a rare frown.

  “Is it?” Elizabeth asked, surprised at his grave reaction.

  Mr. Wickham startled as if he had been quite lost in his thoughts. So much so he had forgotten she stood just inside the doorway.

  He feigned a laugh and forced a smile. Waving the hand he had been tugging his whiskers with moments before, he said, “I only meant it is a problem to find your host is gone when you wish to borrow his carriage. I understand Miss Bennet is much improved for her to wish to undertake the journey to Longbourn?”

  “You make the three miles sound like an arduous inconvenience. I assure you it is not so far.”

  He laughed. “Surely not for a certain young lady to have traveled it on foot. However, any trip, no matter how short, is unbearable when one has been so recently ill. It is a rare constitution, especially among the gentler sex, that can endure what you suggest when she burned with fever just days ago.”

  “Perhaps our sex is not so fragile as you claim us to be.” Elizabeth bit her tongue on hearing the edge in her tone. She really ought not quarrel with Mr. Bingley’s guests, and she seemed to be making a habit of it. First, Mr. Darcy, and now, Mr. Wickham.

  Mr. Wickham bowed. “I deserve your rebuke, Miss Elizabeth. I fear I am out of sorts and, as a consequence, am not expressing myself with the precision I intended. Surely you would never argue that a lady ought to be treasured and cared for with all the consideration she bestows on others. Were you to ask for the carriage, I fear your host would assume his care was insufficient. Bingley is a sensitive creature, quick to react, and he would torture himself for an imaginary fault in his attentions toward Miss Bennet and yourself.”

  Elizabeth made a mental note to reassure Mr. Bingley of his kindness and excellent care, but she would not be swayed from her purpose. “There is no place like one’s own familiar room with her loving family surrounding her to spur on a full recovery. You are a good friend to Mr. Bingley for concerning yourself with his sentiments, but I also must concern myself with my sister’s wishes. And she desires to return home sooner than Tuesday.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Why not call for Mr. Jones’ opinion one last time? He is more qualified than anyone else to ensure no harm will come to Miss Bennet for traveling prematurely.”

  “She has no fever or headache, and the soreness in her throat has disappeared to a small scratch. What further use can Mr. Jones be to her when the illness is gone?”

  “Ah, but who is to say the trip will not prove too much for Miss Bennet and she would sooner fall ill again on returning home? And only to spare yourself three more days?”

  “Apparently, you are one to say it.” Elizabeth turned again before he could offer another argument contrary to her purpose.

  How strange Mr. Wickham should be so persistent in his persuasions for them to stay on when it could not matter to him what they decided to do. He was not in a position to marry without a fortune, and Elizabeth could think of no other way she or Jane could be of any interest to him at all outside an enjoyable, but superficial, acquaintance.

  He smiled again, this time more genuinely. “I am sorry to press when I know you would never do anything to cause harm to anyone, least of all your sister. I will take it upon myself to ensure Bingley knows of your request. I will stand watch at the window to await his return.”

  “A gallant offer if ever I heard one, but pray do not trouble yourself. I believe that under these circumstances, it would not be any inconvenience if I were to request the carriage from Miss Bingley … who I am convinced will be all too pleased to lend it. Her brother cannot require its use until he returns home, and by then, I daresay his carriage will be restored to its place.”

  Far from the charm she had expected her answer to recover, Mr. Wickham’s eyes hardened and his jaw set.

  Elizabeth mumbled, “I must return to Jane,” and once again turned to leave.

  “Wait!” he called after her.

  She did not wait. Mr. Wickham’s arguments were baseless, and Elizabeth saw no benefit to either of them in repeating her replies when his manners disturbed her.

  “Miss Elizabeth!”

  She stepped quicker. Had he lost his mind? What was he about?

  “I know Walter Wyndham.”

  Elizabeth stopped abruptly. Mr. Wickham had her full attention.

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth’s heart leapt in her chest. She could not take another step away for all the tea in India. If Mr. Wickham knew Mr. Wyndham… She rubbed her hands together, clasping them together before she betrayed her eagerness to Mr. Wickham, who was certain to take advantage of it.

  Hope blossomed within her. Maybe, just maybe, she might be able to meet the man himself.

  She pinched her arm just to make sure she was awake. Ouch! Yes, this was real. Gloriously real.

  Slowly, Elizabeth turned, eager to hear what else Mr. Wickham had to say and taking great pains not to show it.

  With a shrug and a light tone, she said, “How delightful for you, Mr. Wickham, but I fail to see how your acquaintance with the gentleman should affect my desire to leave
for Longbourn today.”

  She held her breath and watched him, taking in the frustrated bunching of his lips and the constant shifting of his eyes about the room. Was Mr. Wickham to be trusted? Wait, how did he know she admired his poems?

  “I do not know why you think I would want to know Mr. Wyndham,” she said.

  “I could not help but notice the title of the book Mrs. Bennet brought for you. She said you admired the poet,” he said, his mouth poised to say more but his eyebrows knit together in doubt.

  Elizabeth waited.

  Mr. Wickham stepped closer to her in the hall, but he was slow to speak. So slow, Elizabeth was prompted to urge him on.

  “Do you really know Mr. Wyndham?” she asked.

  He sighed, but his answer was immediate. Almost sad. “Yes, I do. Quite intimately, in fact. He has been a dear friend of mine since our Cambridge days.”

  Ah! That explained how they had met. It also meant he was not American as her aunt had suggested and implied that Mr. Wyndham was not as old as Elizabeth had feared he might be. Unless he was a professor… She had to know. “Did you attend university at the same time?”

  “We did for a short time. I started university two years before he did, but we had so many acquaintances in common, we were often in each other’s company. He is a remarkable chap, often misunderstood by those who do not have the advantage of his friendship.”

  How thrilling to hear how similar Mr. Wickham’s description of the poet was to her own imagining of Mr. Wyndham. She wanted so badly to ask if he was as handsome as she believed him to be, but that was not the sort of thing to ask an unmarried gentleman with whom one wished to negotiate.

  She would meet Mr. Wyndham and see for herself.

  Looking around and lowering his voice, Mr. Wickham continued, “If you agree to stay until Tuesday, I will personally deliver a letter penned by you to him. I will be discreet for your reputation’s sake.”

  “You know where he is currently residing?”

  “London is only half a day’s journey and faster on horseback. I can deliver your letter and bring you his response within a day.”

  London. He was so close.

  Lifting her chin and looking Mr. Wickham squarely in the eye, Elizabeth said, “I wish to meet him. Surely, as his close friend, you could arrange for us to exchange introductions in a public place, a tearoom or a bookshop. Anywhere a lady is known to frequent would do.”

  “Absolutely not! A letter and nothing more.”

  “Very well, then, I will see Miss Bingley.” She proceeded down the hall, confident Mr. Wickham would not be content to let her go.

  Until she reached the stairs.

  With a glance at Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth nodded in determination as she slowly took the first step. Then, the second. Then, the third.

  Still, he did not try to stop her.

  Under the pretense of hearing a noise, she looked over her shoulder again.

  Mr. Wickham stood there, but still, he said nothing. He merely nodded his head in her direction before returning to the billiard room.

  This was not going how she wanted it to at all!

  Half-way down the steps, Elizabeth had a decision to make: Stubbornly continue down the steps to ask Miss Bingley for the carriage or swallow her pride and retrace her steps to the billiard room and accept Mr. Wickham’s offer.

  A letter was preferable to nothing, was it not? Granted, she took a risk in sending an unsolicited note to a gentleman, but Mr. Wickham had said he would be discreet. She believed him. Of what use would it be to Mr. Wickham to expose her impropriety when he had been the one to suggest it?

  “Walter Wyndham.” Elizabeth whispered his name, the syllables soft on her tongue and sweet crossing her lips.

  Lost in her illusions, she came crashing back to reality when she heard someone call her name.

  “Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Bingley said, standing at the bottom of the steps. Mr. Darcy stood beside him.

  “Yes?” she said, blinking her eyes and shaking her head.

  “Simmons said you wished to speak with me as soon as I returned? Is … is Miss Bennet … well? She has not taken a turn for the worse, I hope?” Mr. Bingley asked anxiously, his eyes looking beyond her toward Jane’s room.

  Mr. Darcy’s intense gaze unnerved Elizabeth, but the clouds had cleared from her mind and she had decided on a different path. She was quick to ease Mr. Bingley’s concern. “I am sorry to give you cause for worry. My sister is improved, but I wished to seek your advice since you have ventured out of doors already this morning and are in a better position to know if the weather is agreeable. Jane has known nothing but the walls of her room for several days, and I thought she might like to sit in the garden.”

  For making it up at the last minute, Elizabeth was rather proud of her excuse. It was not unreasonable, though she owned it was, perhaps, overly cautious.

  Mr. Bingley was delighted. “Some fresh country air is just the thing! There is a breeze, but there is not a bite in it as there has been lately. I shall ask Caroline and Louisa to lend Miss Bennet their warmest wraps, and I would be happy to sit with her to block the wind so she might enjoy the fresh air for as long as she deems it helpful to her health.”

  He took upon his task with all the enthusiasm of a young man well on his way in love.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Bingley’s abrupt departure left Elizabeth with Mr. Darcy, who looked at her as if he could see through her to read her true intentions.

  Chapter 18

  Darcy had no desire to leave Miss Elizabeth’s company immediately. He had returned from his ride with Bingley prepared for the tedious association of the other ladies of the house. It had been a pleasant surprise to first see Miss Elizabeth and her ever-ready smile. She had a lovely smile. And intelligent eyes. Perhaps too intelligent.

  Darcy had yet to wholly discern if her intentions tended toward the manipulative tactics most common among females. He found himself wishing her to be different … which meant he must be cautious.

  “Your sister is improved?” he asked, grimacing at himself because the question had already been addressed.

  “She is, thank you.” Miss Elizabeth shifted her weight, a scuffed half-boot peeking from under her skirt as she took a step up. “I should help her.”

  Darcy, also, ascended the stairs. He did not wish to sit in the garden, nor did he want to be so easily found by Miss Bingley. Wickham could be trusted to help him pass the time until Bingley was available to begin the arduous task of going over ledgers — normally satisfying work for Darcy but made difficult for the flighty habits and haphazard managing of his pupil, who would sooner spend no more than thirty minutes perusing the sums, declaring them good enough, and walking away to engage himself in a pursuit more agreeable to him … such as blocking the chilly breeze for Miss Bennet.

  Miss Elizabeth’s pace slowed as she neared the top of the steps.

  Darcy slowed to allow her to continue.

  She did not budge. Instead, she looked at him as if his gentlemanly gesture was an inconvenience.

  “Pray, do not let me keep you from going wherever it is you are going,” she said. “I … I only need a moment … to … stand here.”

  Darcy’s concern grew. “Are you well?” he said, instinctively reaching for her arm. She did not look dizzy.

  She jerked away from him. “I am quite well, Mr. Darcy. I am only suffering from a brief moment of indecision, and I do wish you would be so kind as to allow me a second or two to determine in which direction I should go. In peace.”

  As if he were imposing on her. Another gentlemanly deed gone unappreciated. Had Miss Elizabeth’s intelligence been inferior, Darcy would have been concerned she had apparently forgotten the way to her sister’s room. Instead, he was frustrated. How could he prove his gentlemanliness if she was determined to misunderstand him?

  He could not fail to point out the obvious. Pointing to the left, he said, “Miss Bennet’s room is in that direction.”

 
; Sparks glistened in her eyes, and Darcy knew he was in for a clever retort when Miss Elizabeth’s eyebrow shot up.

  “If I were lost, you would be the last person I would ask for direction. I cannot help but feel you would forever hold it against me, and I have no wish to be in any man’s debt,” she said, the flecks in her brown eyes and the high color in her cheeks tempting Darcy to provoke her further. And that eyebrow…

  He bowed, so she would not see his smile.

  The air around them stirred as Miss Elizabeth left him on the landing, but his senses followed her. The faint spice of cinnamon whirled around Darcy, teasing his nostrils in her wake. She had not turned to the left, but to the right. In the direction of clattering ivory balls. To Wickham.

  What business did Miss Elizabeth have with Wickham? Her lack of fortune guaranteed she could not be the target of his amorous advances. Unless… Unless Wickham had less than honorable intentions.

  Darcy strode to the billiard room. Miss Elizabeth was not so foolish as to fall under the spell of Wickham. Or was she?

  Or was this a trap to incite jealousy within him to secure his affections as other ladies had attempted to do? It would not work.

  Darcy heard her before Miss Elizabeth saw him.

  “I agree to your terms,” she said tersely. Her arms were crossed — not the stance of a maiden in love or of one attempting to manipulate anyone.

  Relief flooded through Darcy, but it was temporary. Wickham looked as smug as he always did when he got what he wanted. What did he want from Miss Elizabeth?

  Keeping her eyes fixed doggedly in front of her, Miss Elizabeth brushed past Darcy into the hall … where he could only presume she would find her way to Miss Bennet’s room without him pointing it out to her.

  Darcy glared at Wickham. “You will keep your distance. She is a lady.”

  Wickham raised his cue and took aim. “You fancy her.”

  “To the contrary,” Darcy said, grabbing a cue and moving to the other end of the table lest he clap Wickham over the head with it. Even gentlemen had limits to their self-control.