At that moment, the set ended, and the officer escorted Jane toward Elizabeth.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I introduce you to my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Lizzy, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam of Matlock House.”
After making a fine leg, the colonel said, “Miss Elizabeth, your sister tells me you are staying at Dronfield with the Miss Longs.”
“Yes. Miss Agatha Long and Miss Helen are dear friends, and their cousins the Thorns were so kind to invite us for Christmastide.”
“Berty Thorn and Miss Clarissa Thorn are the best of people. And you will find no ball as merry as the Somerset’s Christmas ball." The girls nodded, and he continued. “I understand you are from the South? Hertfordshire?”
“We are, sir. Are you familiar with the area?”
“No. I believe my father has spoken of it from visiting as a youth, and my cousin was most recently in the area at a friend's estate, but I have no connection."
“That is unfortunate, Colonel, as it is the most beautiful land in the country.”
“But are you not biased, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked with a crooked grin.
Delighted, she laughed. “I confess I am, sir. My intent is to convince all of the superiority of our little hamlet.”
Pleasantries were exchanged, and the colonel offered to fetch the ladies some refreshments. Soon after, Agatha and Helen came scampering up to the Bennets.
“Jane, Lizzy, you will never guess what we just heard.”
“I am certain we cannot.”
Agatha looked over her shoulder and turned back before lowering her voice barely above a whisper. “It is only that—”
“Speak up,” Helen said, nudging her side.
“I can only speak so loudly,” she hissed.
Agatha signaled for the girls to follow her to a small alcove.
“What we have to divulge is not polite for ballroom conversation, so it would be best to guard our privacy.”
“Then maybe we should not be discussing it at all,” interjected Jane.
Agatha dismissed Jane’s admonishment without a thought and continued on. “I have just had it from my cousin Albert’s dear friend that Mr. Wickham is a man not to be trusted.”
Elizabeth recoiled in shock. “How came you to speak of Mr. Wickham this far removed from Meryton? That is most unusual and unexpected, Aggie.” The childhood nickname rolled off her tongue as she felt her ire rising.
“I mentioned I was from Meryton, and Lord Somerset said he understood a scamp he once knew from Derbyshire joined the local militia and now resided in that village. That his name was Wickham, and I would do best to stay away from him.”
Elizabeth felt her jaw tighten. “I am tired of the rich mercilessly trouncing the character of a man who was thrown into circumstances beneath his due.”
“Lizzy! Lower your voice,” Jane pleaded, glancing about the room.
Elizabeth realized her error and leaned in. “Of what did your cousin’s friend accuse him? The same crime as others before? That his father was a steward?” She raised her chin and waited for a reply.
Helen looked about, furrowing her brows. “No, Lizzy,” she said in a whisper, “his crimes were much greater than that." She swallowed, and her sister nodded, encouraging the elder Miss Long to continue. “It seems he has attempted to…to ruin a young woman.”
“In all truth, more than one,” Agatha cut in.
Elizabeth inhaled a slow breath to calm her agitation. “And how do you know this? Who has brought this claim?”
“Why, Lord Somerset’s valet told him. He said his batman informed him after hearing it from the maids in the kitchen.”
“The maids in the kitchen?”
“Lizzy, again, you must lower your voice,” Jane said.
Lizzy turned sharply before replying. “Jane, do you know how a man’s character could be permanently maligned by listening to idle gossip in a ballroom? Or, as in this case, even the kitchens? With much pain, Mr. Wickham told me the wrongs committed against him by Mr. Darcy. How his future was ripped away by that man solely due to jealousy. I am sorry, Helen, Aggie”—turning to her friends—“you have no ally in me. I cannot give merit to claims against a man I know in my heart is good.”
The girls looked from Elizabeth to each other.
“Lizzy,” Jane began, “might we have given too much credence to Mr. Wickham’s words? We only know what he has told us.”
“My dear Jane. You are so tender-hearted that you do not want to believe ill of Mr. Darcy. However, Mr. Wickham has such a countenance of goodness about him, I would assure you of his truthfulness.
"Now,” she continued, looking up and seeing Colonel Fitzwilliam approaching them with two glasses of negus. “Let us push these thoughts from our mind and enjoy the holiday. We are at a Christmas ball, after all.”
Elizabeth turned to smile, hiding her irritation and extending her hand to the proffered glass. “Thank you, Colonel.”
Agatha and Helen curtseyed and excused themselves to find their partners for the next set, each glancing at Elizabeth and then Jane.
I cannot believe they would spread falsehoods. The poor man cannot escape his mistreatment no matter what part of the country he is in.
Lizzy looked up and blushed at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expectant eyes. “My apologies, Colonel. I was not attending.”
“If you are otherwise unengaged, might I have the pleasure of the next dance?” he asked as the musicians began to tune their instruments.
“I would be pleased to continue our earlier conversation about my fair Hertfordshire.”
She smiled at Jane as she set her glass on a table, taking the colonel’s hand. They joined the set as the music commenced.
“Is this your first trip to Yorkshire?” he asked, circling her.
“Yes, and we are quite enchanted with the moors. It is beautiful country.” She then circled him.
“But it still pales in comparison to your own part of the world?” A grin spread at the corners of his mouth as he took her hand.
“Of course.”
“Miss Elizabeth, might I ask if something was said to disturb you?” They were separated by the dance for a moment until he returned to face her. “You appear distracted.”
Am I so obvious? She smiled as they progressed down the set. “I am merely a young woman from a small estate far removed from society. I am unaccustomed to the…heated attacks some might place upon others. I have…a dislike for those who would malign the character of a worthy man who does not deserve it.”
He nodded. “That is commendable. No matter ones’ origins, proper behavior should be celebrated. I cannot condone speaking ill of one solely due to their lack of wealth, circumstances, or rumors.”
“I believe you are in the minority of the ton, sir. Others I have met seem to take great joy in just that—decrying a man’s character solely for being…socially beneath them.”
He moved around her again as they clasped hands. “Miss Elizabeth. Although I am the son of an earl, I am the second born. I have had to make my way through His Majesty’s Army, my life having been saved by those whom society deems beneath me. I do not share the same view as my peers, for I know the true value of a man is in his character and not his title or land.”
A radiant smile spread across her countenance.
“I also know that many men’s lives have been ruined through speculation and idle gossip in a ballroom and at card parties, and I have no patience for that.”
She drew a deep breath, feeling gratitude. “Colonel, your words give me hope that not all men are as unfeeling as those I have recently come in contact with.”
“Now, I cannot promise you that,” he said, laughing as he separated from her. “But I do not hold the only bit of merit in the room. Why my cousin, for example—the one I told you about who visited your home county—he is a much better man than myself. He actually should be here, but I have yet to see him.” He looked toward the door and around the room before his eyes
settled back on her. “Might I ask what brought this line of thought about?”
It must be the punch. How odd this conversation. With a stranger. She separated from him in the dance, before returning to take his hand again. “A gentleman Miss Long was dancing with claims to have knowledge of a friend. Although he is a recent acquaintance, I am disturbed by the pains that have been taken to ruin this man’s prospects.”
The colonel raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for saying so, but I have taken the measure of your character. You do not appear to me as other women who practice histrionics. These are heavy claims indeed.”
“Indeed, Colonel. This young man has shown great courage when his life should have proceeded in an entirely different direction. He has had to make his own way because the path chosen by his godfather was stolen from him.”
The colonel stiffened. He used the movements of the dance to consider his next words, then asked, “And this man? What of his story? Might I be of assistance?”
“He was the son of a steward on an estate but a day’s ride from Yorkshire. He was loved by all, most notably his godfather, the owner of the estate. At his own father’s death, his godfather took him in and educated him, promising him a living of the church when it came available. He has told me it was his fondest wish, and I do believe he would have made a fine clergyman. He was educated alongside the heir to the estate, and therein lies the problem.”
“A problem? A gentleman’s education granted by the estate owner sounds very generous. Surely, this young man must have used the schooling provided for him to secure his future. Is he a rector near your father’s estate?”
“No…no, he is not,” she said, stopping mid-step and almost causing the other dancers to collide with her. The colonel moved her along, keeping their place in line.
He quirked a brow, and his low voice sounded strained. “Do you mean, he has not taken up a position in the field that he studied for? A clergyman is an honorable vocation, and a man of the caliber you are speaking most assuredly would fit that field.”
“Yes…yes he would, but he is in the militia.”
“The militia? Well, then I am certain he offers spiritual guidance to those in his company. A man of that ilk, one whose ‘fondest wish' is to serve the Lord, would have a moral example emanating from him at all times, do you not agree?”
“Yes…”
“I am sure in your interactions with him he has proven himself a most worthy gentleman–no mockery of others, kindness to all, proper behavior in the company of ladies, guarded speeches…”
“Yes…”
“Now, what was mentioned about the heir? He who your friend was raised with?”
Elizabeth swallowed, her feelings on the subject of Mr. Wickham beginning to cloud with uncertainty. “You have given my mind much to think on, sir, but of the heir, I have no question. I have met him myself, and a more selfish, taciturn, proud, and arrogant man I have never encountered.”
The colonel smiled. “And what is the impetus for these accusations?”
"He denied my friend his promised legacy upon the death of his father.”
“I am all astonishment. Was there no legal redress?”
Elizabeth cocked her head. “No…no there was not. My friend said it was a gentleman’s agreement between his godfather and himself.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “Then I am certain the heir to the estate received his due, censored by his own people, when it was discovered he did not follow through with his father’s wishes.”
She grew quiet again, his words heavy on her mind. “No, sir. My friend said he could not wound the son without wounding the memory of the father. He has told no one else.”
“No one else?”
“I will concede…it appears he may have…told of his sorrows to a few other people in the village.”
The colonel clasped hands with the woman on his left to promenade before returning to his position across from Elizabeth. “And what of this heir? You say you have met him and were able to discern his character after the conversation you had with your friend?”
“No. That only confirmed my opinions of him. When I first met him, we were in a ballroom, and ladies outnumbered gentlemen. More than one was without a partner, and he refused to dance.”
“That is a crime indeed,” he replied, winking before handing her to another member of their group. Upon her return, he said, "And with such manners, I am certain his deceitful character was evident?”
She shook her head. “No…no, I do not believe he is deceitful. In truth, I would call him…painfully candid.” She sniffed. “But, that does not excuse his conduct toward my friend!”
“No, it does not. The unfortunate clergyman who is now a member of the militia? It is unlucky he has yet to procure a respectable position in a parish. Do you believe this villain, this heir, is to blame for that as well?”
She was quiet as the dance separated them, and her thoughts rambled with new concerns. Why ”is” Mr. Wickham not a clergyman if he was trained up as such? His manners are engaging and friendly. He should have made many connections at school which would precipitate another position amongst other estate owners. “Colonel, do you believe he has been singled out by this heir? That other estate owners will not appoint him in the position because of their allegiance to that man’s wealth?”
“Miss Elizabeth. In my experience, a man of worth will be recognized by those of equal worth. If this man is truly as decent as he presents himself to be, others will see it. Do you think it is possible he has misrepresented his own character?”
As the set ended, he said, “Forgive me. It is evident by your countenance I have troubled you. Are you displeased with me?”
“No, sir. You have given me much to consider.”
“Might I ask when your friend told you his tale?”
Elizabeth gasped, the realization of her words slowly coming forth. “At a card party.”
“At a card party? How remarkable. We do not wish to ruin this man’s reputation by speaking his name in a public setting, yet…”
He let the thought linger, and Elizabeth felt her cheeks burn.
“Miss Bennet, are you unwell? You are quite flushed.”
“I believe I need to rest. Forgive me?”
“Of course. Let us leave the ballroom, and I will have someone find your sister.” He steadied her arm, and as they continued through the room, he slowed at Lord Somerset’s side. “Cyril, could you please see that Miss Jane Bennet is brought to the library? And might you find my cousin? Send him as well.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy hated balls. It was not the dancing he despised, (he actually quite enjoyed that pastime). It was the simpering misses and their calculating mothers; it was the crush of people and the speculation of who he would dance with; it was not being at home with a good book but instead on display as a fishmonger's goods. Because of that, he had learned years before that the only way to keep the gossip at bay was to limit his dancing to those in his own party.
A pair of brown eyes flashed through his mind. A delicate upturned nose and rosy bow-shaped lips.
And that was why they found themselves at a Christmas ball in snowy weather miles from his great-uncle’s estate! He had not wanted to come tonight but believed a diversion was necessary—away from another quiet evening filled with remembrances of the Bennet sisters of Longbourn.
Her smile. Her laugh. Her impertinent remarks haunted him. It had been a month since they departed Hertfordshire, and he still felt her loss.
He handed his coat to the footman, grateful for his old friend Cyril’s invitation. The ballroom was festively dressed with boughs of holly, and the wax candles lit the space with a merry glow. He greeted Lady Somerset and made his rounds, shaking hands and accepting the wishes of the holiday.
“Darcy, you have arrived!” a jolly Lord Somerset said, his hand extended.
“Yes, Cyril. The road from Hollowridge was not altogether clear, but my drivers managed, as they always do.”
Darcy grinned at the memory. “How could I forget? We both prayed for no snow but then had our ears boxed for sneaking out of the schoolroom to have a snowball fight.”
“Yes. And Richard had it worst of all!”
Bingley interrupted. “I know the colonel can be impulsive and mischievous, but of what do you accuse him?”
“Accuse him, nothing!” Cyril replied. “He assailed Nanny with snowballs when she found us outside.”
“And therefore, he could not hear for two days, nor could he sit for three!” Darcy shook his head. “Most of my childhood adventures involved Richard and the mighty scrapes in which we found ourselves. That still holds true today, even though we are men and have left the schoolroom far behind.”
“That is right. Which reminds me…Richard asked me to send you to the library when I saw you.”
“The library? That does not sound like his regular haunt at a ball.”
Cyril waggled his eyebrows before replying. "He had two very lovely ladies with him and asked for you to join them. If I did not know him better, I would accuse Richard of preparing for another “adventure.” However, I do. Knowing he is not like his brother, the viscount, the young ladies’ reputations are likely intact. Although,” he said, pointing in the direction of the library, “Richard may be a gentleman, I have no idea if the ladies are mercenary.”
Darcy felt himself tense at his host’s jest. He thanked Cyril and turned in the direction of the library, his feet thundering down the corridor.
At least the door is open, and a footman is without.
As he approached the library door, he heard his cousin say, “My only wish is to help those who cannot help themselves,” but he stopped altogether when he heard another voice answer:
“I do not know what to say, Colonel. I am uncertain of whom to believe.”
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