“How very thoughtful of him,” Jane laughed. She turned to Mr. Darcy and curtsied. “You are too kind, sir.”
A slight nod was Mr. Darcy’s only reply, and Miss Darcy went to greet her brother.
“Are you returning to Longbourn?” Mr. Bingley asked. “Allow me to drive you there. I will send my man on to Netherfield with my horse.” He handed Jane up into the driver’s seat, thus ensuring their opportunity for some private discourse during the short journey. He then turned to assist the other ladies, but here was a quandary—for the barouche seated only four, and they were six. At length, it was decided that Kitty, Lydia, Mary, and Miss Darcy should ride, while Maria Lucas, who had a shorter distance to travel, and Elizabeth, for whom walking was no penalty, would return on foot.
Elizabeth’s gaze followed the barouche as the party gaily departed for Longbourn, and Mr. Darcy’s sudden presence at her side took her by surprise.
“Miss Bennet, might I have the honor of escorting you and Miss Lucas home?”
Elizabeth murmured her assent, and Mr. Darcy joined them as they followed the lane out of town. The majority of their walk to Lucas Lodge was passed in silence. Maria, ever-awed by Mr. Darcy’s intimidating presence, found little to say, and Elizabeth was lost to contemplation. Had Mr. Darcy seen the ladies consorting with Mr. Wickham? Although she did not fully understand the origin or depth of his animosity toward the lieutenant, she felt certain that the sight of his sister on Mr. Wickham’s arm would give Mr. Darcy no joy. To what extent he would fault Elizabeth for this occurrence, she would rather not imagine.
Where the lane forked to Lucas Lodge, Maria gratefully took her leave of them and hurried on toward home. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy walked on together in silence. Eventually, the weight of uncertainty grew too heavy for Elizabeth to bear, and she felt she must speak.
“Your gift to my sister and Mr. Bingley was exceedingly generous,” she said. “I am only sorry to miss my mother’s reaction when they arrive at Longbourn in such grand state.”
“A carriage is poor compensation for four months of unhappiness,” he replied dispassionately. “It is I who remain in their debt.”
Elizabeth continued, “What a surprise it was for Jane, and for us all, to witness your arrival in Meryton! We had just been acquainting Miss Darcy with the town.”
“Yes, so it appeared. Tell me, was Mr. Wickham of great assistance in that endeavor?”
Elizabeth cringed. So he had seen. “We met Mr. Wickham and his friend in the street unexpectedly, only shortly before you arrived. Miss Darcy did not seem displeased to encounter him.”
“My sister has no reason to view him with displeasure.”
“But clearly, sir, you do.” Elizabeth was growing impatient with Mr. Darcy’s stubborn silence on this subject. When Wickham had first spun his tale of misfortune at Mr. Darcy’s hand, Elizabeth had not credited it for a moment. Callously denying his father’s favorite the living bequeathed him—she could not believe Mr. Darcy capable of such mean behavior. But, she admitted to herself, neither had she thought him capable of deceiving his close friend. Perhaps she had judged too hastily when she acquitted Mr. Darcy of any cruelty to Mr. Wickham.
As though he heard her thoughts, Mr. Darcy slowed his pace and turned to her. “Mr. Wickham was the son of my father’s steward. My father was exceedingly fond of him and paid for his education. It was my father’s hope that he would take orders in the Church, and to that end, he bequeathed him a living on our estate.”
Elizabeth nodded. Thus far, the details did not vary from Mr. Wickham’s own story.
Mr. Darcy returned his gaze to the path and continued. “My excellent father died five years ago, and it was only months later that Mr. Wickham wrote to me. He declared his intent to study law rather than take orders, and he requested a sum of money outright in place of the intended living. Being close in age with Mr. Wickham, I had long observed his propensity toward licentious behavior. He was always careful to hide his true character from my father, but I knew he should not be a clergyman. I therefore agreed to give him three thousand pounds in exchange for his forfeiting all claim to the living.”
Here was information that squared with Elizabeth’s initial impressions of Mr. Wickham, and she had no doubt of its truth. It appeared that the worst was yet be revealed, however, as Mr. Darcy continued his account.
“Mr. Wickham proceeded to squander this sum at an alarming rate. He then racked up debts with every shopkeeper from Lambton to London. Worse, he used his connection to my family to gain entrance to several gentlemen’s clubs in town, where he incurred even greater debts of honor. When the living he had forfeited became available some three years later, he again wrote to me. His situation, he claimed, was exceedingly dire—of this, I have no doubt. He prevailed upon me to honor my father’s original intentions and grant him the living despite his previous disavowal of it. I refused, repeatedly when necessary, and he expressed his resentment rather violently to me and to anyone who would listen. I was surprised, and unpleasantly so, to encounter him here in Hertfordshire, but his continued assaults on my character come as no surprise at all.”
Elizabeth was all astonishment at this portrait of Mr. Wickham. She had always believed him a smooth, cunning sort of character, but the true extent of his malice exceeded her wildest imagination. She dared not own to her shock, however, for fear of seeming to disbelieve Mr. Darcy.
“And Miss Darcy—she is unaware of this history between you?”
“Completely, and I would wish it to remain so.” Mr. Darcy paused, and when he spoke again, it was with a softer tone. “She was very young when our father died. Her memories of him are few. What remains strongest in her mind is a general impression of family happiness—and Mr. Wickham is unfortunately an inextricable part of that impression. He was always kind to her in her childhood, and she recalls our father’s partiality toward him. I would not taint her pleasant memories with such disturbing revelations.”
“Of course not. You may be assured of my secrecy.”
“Thank you.”
Elizabeth considered that Mr. Wickham, for all his treachery, could be credited with one kindness—this intimation of his black history had conveniently allayed the more complicated questions that remained between her and Mr. Darcy. The diversion was short-lived, however, for they soon neared the stretch of lane where Mr. Darcy had delivered his letter at daybreak a month earlier. The recognition of this familiar territory forced them back into uncomfortable silence.
The words of that letter had taken up permanent residence in Elizabeth’s memory some weeks ago. By now, she felt each elegantly penned phrase to be inscribed on her heart as indelibly as the creases of her palm were etched upon her hand. The line that now occupied her thoughts concerned his desires for a meeting such as this: I would not wish you to be ill at ease, or fear any renewal of undesirable attentions from my quarter.
Ill at ease—how could she feel otherwise? As they walked along this path, leaving a trail of unspoken thoughts that grew longer with each step, a quiet desperation began to build within her. Whatever his misdeeds where Jane and Mr. Bingley were concerned, Mr. Darcy seemed sincerely regretful and determined to make amends. As the happy couple approached their wedding day with no trace of resentment, Elizabeth knew that to persist in her own censure of Mr. Darcy was both ridiculous and petty. But to release her rancor against him meant embracing an uncomfortable truth—that her current distress originated not in any fear of Mr. Darcy renewing his addresses, but rather in the hope that he would.
To harbor such a hope seemed patently foolish, when she had given him no reason to persevere in his suit, or even in his admiration. In the six weeks since their disastrous interview at Hunsford, Mr. Darcy had acted to secure her sister’s happiness, visited her home, offered his written apologies, and confided in her such delicate information as he would not share with even his closest relations. In turn, Elizabeth had—what? Poured him tea? Thrust the well-bred Miss Darcy into the compa
ny of her silly sisters and that dastardly Mr. Wickham?
A distressing thought leapt to the forefront of her mind, and Elizabeth spoke without thinking. “Oh, but the Lucases’ ball!”
Mr. Darcy seemed startled by the intensity of her exclamation, as well as its complete disconnection to any of his own thoughts. “I beg your pardon?”
“Forgive me. It is only that Sir William is hosting a ball a few days hence. ‘Ball’ is perhaps too grand a term. It is a gathering of sorts intended as a farewell to the officers of the regiment. I fear my sisters and Miss Lucas were enthusiastic in encouraging Miss Darcy to attend.”
“But my sister is not yet out.”
“Yes, I know.” Elizabeth bit her lip, regretting her earlier encouragement. “But Miss Darcy may have been persuaded to hope for your permission, as it is but a small country affair. We did not consider, of course, the factor of Mr. Wickham’s likely presence at the event.”
“I see.”
“Although, now that Mr. Wickham is aware of your presence in town, he may very well stay away entirely. He only dared attend the ball at Netherfield because he was ignorant of your being a guest there. So much was clear to me that evening.”
Mr. Darcy seemed less concerned with the question of Mr. Wickham’s attendance than with the prospect of Miss Darcy’s. “My sister expressed some interest in attending this … gathering?”
“Oh, certainly. ‘It sounds delightful’—I believe those were her words.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Darcy sounded pleasantly surprised. “You have formed a fast acquaintance with her then, in these two days.”
“I believe so. She is a lovely young lady, and I can tell that my sisters are fond of her already. I only hope they have not thoroughly shocked her with their familiarity by the time Mr. Bingley’s barouche arrives at Longbourn.” Elizabeth noted with relief Mr. Darcy’s favorable response to her teasing. His stiff posture relaxed a bit, and his expression softened considerably. “Of course, whatever offense to Miss Darcy’s sensibilities my younger sisters left undone will have been handily accomplished by my mother by the time we arrive.”
“I am certain their society can only be to her benefit,” he replied. “She was but an infant when our own mother died, and I have often regretted that Georgiana has no sister of her own to confide in.”
“Well, Longbourn has sisters enough to spare, should Miss Darcy wish to take one for her own.”
Elizabeth spoke in jest, not realizing the deeper implications of her statement until Mr. Darcy’s silence alerted her to her mistake. She was thoroughly embarrassed at having made such a slip, and even more mortified to imagine his suspicions of her intent. The gate of Longbourn was a welcome sight, indeed. She wished nothing more than to escape inside the house, but Mr. Darcy addressed her again.
“Do Mr. and Mrs. Collins plan to attend the wedding?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied slowly, puzzled by his interest in the matter. “They will arrive Wednesday next and stay at Lucas Lodge.”
“Ah. So your cousin and his wife will not arrive in time to attend Sir William’s ball.”
“I suppose not.” They approached the door of Longbourn, and Elizabeth waited for Mr. Darcy to open it. He hesitated, however, to pose a final question.
“Then on this occasion, I trust Mr. Collins cannot have preceded me in engaging your hand for the first set?” He opened the door with one hand and offered the other to assist her in crossing the threshold. She accepted his support with a grateful smile.
“For once, Mr. Darcy, your assumptions are correct.”
Chapter Twelve
Lucas Lodge
Spirits were running high at Lucas Lodge when the Bennet family made their arrival. The sounds of merry laughter and lively music overflowed the house, as did the officers of the ____shire Regiment. A goodly proportion of the officers seemed half in their cups already, and the other half were fully so.
While a generous-sized home, Lucas Lodge could not boast the hosting capacity of an estate such as Netherfield. The small hall was cleared for dancing with a few musicians crushed into one corner, but guests spilled into every available space—the salon, the drawing room, the dining room, and even Sir William’s study.
The Bennets were still greeting their hosts when the Netherfield party arrived. Mr. and Miss Bingley and the Hursts alighted from the first carriage, and Mr. Darcy handed down his sister from the second. The sight of Miss Darcy provoked squeals of delight from Maria, Kitty, and Lydia, and they flocked to her side immediately. From the center of this giggling throng, Mr. Darcy’s gaze sought Elizabeth’s, and he greeted her with a slight nod and amused smile.
Maria Lucas took great pleasure in presenting Miss Darcy to her mother. All were ushered into the Lodge, only to be immediately dispersed. Jane and Mr. Bingley occupied each other’s full attention. Sir William begged the company of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst. Mrs. Bennet and Mary attended Aunt Phillips, and Kitty and Lydia quickly departed in search of their favorite officers. Elizabeth took it upon herself to see Miss Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Hurst settled in a quiet corner of the drawing room. As they passed through the crowded assembly of officers and guests, merriment crushing in on them from every direction, Miss Darcy grew wide-eyed and pale. Elizabeth pressed her hand reassuringly, and the young lady sank into a high-backed chair with a relieved sigh.
“So many people!”
“Believe me, Miss Darcy, the number of guests is not so great. It is only our close quarters that give such an appearance.” Elizabeth left Miss Darcy’s side just long enough to bring her a glass of lemonade.
“It is a shame, Miss Darcy, that an assembly of this nature should form your first impression of society,” Miss Bingley was saying when she returned. “The balls and dinners you will attend in town in no way resemble this affair, let me assure you. The richness of decoration, the excellent music…” She looked askance at Elizabeth and whispered confidentially, “the superior quality of the personages in attendance. The country can offer nothing to approach a London ball for elegance—and you may believe that Mr. Darcy will ensure the ball held in your honor is unequalled for splendor anywhere.”
“But this is my greatest fear, Miss Bingley! To observe such a grand affair from the perimeter is wonderful, I am sure, but to be at its center? I dread being the object of such attention.”
Mrs. Hurst interjected with unusual spirit, “Exactly why your brother should marry!” She looked toward a group of gentlemen in the hall, and the other ladies followed her glance to where Mr. Darcy stood in converse with Sir William and others. “If he would but take a wife, your distress might be lessened considerably. What a comfort you would find in having a sister from the highest circles of society to guide you—one to introduce you to the best people and protect you from … others.” By the disdainful look she cast about the room, it was clear that the guests of Lucas Lodge fell solidly into the latter category.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hurst, but I have complete trust in my brother’s own guidance and protection.” Miss Darcy gazed at her brother with admiration, and Elizabeth could not help but join her.
Mr. Darcy looked remarkably well this evening, she thought. He was, as usual, impeccably dressed, and conveniently stood several inches taller than any other of the group, affording a clear view of his fine profile. Indeed, Elizabeth thought she had not seen him look so handsome since the Meryton assembly when they had first been introduced. What was it about a simple country dance that enhanced his already attractive features?
She observed the solid, defiant set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the heightened color of his complexion. His lips were slightly parted, as on the point of quick reply; his eyes, intently alert and piercing. Taken as a whole, it was the countenance of a man engaged in constant inquiry and intelligent appraisal, carefully composed to betray nothing beyond casual indifference. Another observer might call it a smug, even haughty expression; Elizabeth understood it differently. In the midst of this
boisterous gathering, Mr. Darcy remained alert to everything and responsive to nothing. In short, he was exceedingly, endearingly ill at ease.
How foolish she had been, to persist so long in her resentment of him! What absurdity, to hate the best man she had ever known simply because he was revealed to be exactly that—a man, imperfect as any other. How could she have ever preferred the Mr. Darcy of that idealized Pemberley portrait, solemnly staring down posterity, to its flesh-and-blood inspiration?
“My brother is very handsome, is he not?” Miss Darcy’s whispered question reminded Elizabeth that she was staring, and she quickly averted her gaze. She dared not answer such an inquiry aloud, but flashed Miss Darcy a guilty smile. They shared a brief, conspiratorial glance that quickly erupted into merry laughter.
“Excuse me, Georgiana.” Mr. Darcy was suddenly at Elizabeth’s side, offering his hand. “Miss Bennet, I believe it is many months now that you have owed me the pleasure of a reel.”
Elizabeth smiled and accepted his hand, taking great delight in viewing Miss Darcy’s pleased smile and Miss Bingley’s icy glare as Mr. Darcy led her past them to the dance floor.
It was not the first time Elizabeth had danced with Mr. Darcy, but this experience could not have been more different from their dance at Netherfield. The hall was jammed with couples, and between the lively step and the general din, no conversation was possible. Most fortunately, there was no Mr. Wickham to darken the mood. Elizabeth had looked for him in vain since their arrival. Thus safe from the past and prevented from speaking at present, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy danced with true enjoyment, exchanging only warm smiles and glances full of the future.
As the dance ended, both were flushed with exertion and emotion. Mr. Darcy quietly suggested that they take some air outside, and Elizabeth followed him into the garden, accepting his arm as they ambled toward a small arbor.
Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours Page 12
