“Are you certain it is not the sugar you taste?”
“Entirely, what I taste is the sweetness of your hands.”
There was something pleasant about flirting again when it meant nothing. Everything had become so fraught and meaningful with Darcy of late. Mr. Wickham was as handsome as promised, but she would never have that desperate desire for him to touch her and keep her with him, even though it would be wrong.
Soon it was time for the card games to start. After her conversation with Lydia and Darcy during the afternoon, Elizabeth could not talk with her mother. Not for any duration. So instead of joining the low stakes table with Mama and Jane, she grabbed a piece of knitwork she was doing for the poor box and sat on a couch at the edge of the room.
After a minute Mr. Wickham sat next to her.
Elizabeth smiled at him. “Should you not join one of the tables?”
“I would much rather play for pennies against you.”
Elizabeth smiled at the compliment. “I can admit the conversation of an amiable man, like yourself, is preferable to solitude.”
Elizabeth and Wickham set up a game of piquet. Wickham was either not a good player, or he intentionally allowed her to win. However, he was a very good conversationalist. Elizabeth could not stop thinking about Darcy. Both he and Wickham were very conversable men who knew how to entertain a woman in a conversation.
Wickham was more naturally charming, but he seemed enthused by being able to charm. He wanted to be liked, while Darcy thought flirtatious sallies were as much an obligation as a pleasure. Though Darcy was delighted when he made her laugh. Mr. Wickham was different. Elizabeth was sure he had never stood against the walls of a ballroom thinking of Latin.
Darcy was completely superior in substance, even if only equal at first impression.
Mr. Wickham agreed that he liked the appearance of Meryton very much and that everything he had seen of the society was excellent. They agreed that the officers of the regiment were the best company of such men in England. Further, they agreed Hertfordshire was very pretty in the winter.
Elizabeth said, “You shall hear no objection from me as to the beauty of Meryton, but I spent my girlhood here, a preference is natural.”
“Yes. My earliest years were the happiest of my life. I confess as beautiful as Hertfordshire is, I shall always have a preference for the county I spent my boyhood in.”
“What happy land saw those first years?”
“I grew up on the estate my father managed as steward, Pemberley in Derbyshire. It has a fine mansion, and a prettier park and lands does not exist in England.”
Elizabeth smiled with great warmth. “Why, that is Mr. Darcy’s estate. Did you know him at all as a boy?”
“Mr. Darcy!” Wickham pulled back and palely stared at Elizabeth. “You are acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”
“He resides with Mr. Bingley — the gentleman who just leased Netherfield Park. It is the largest house in the neighborhood.”
“Yes, Mr. Bingley…” Wickham frowned.
“Do you know Mr. Bingley?”
“We are not acquainted. But I do know of him as a friend of Mr. Darcy. Is Mr. Darcy to be here for long?”
“I fear not past December. Do tell me what you know of him. I am a most curious about how Mr. Darcy behaved when he was younger and among his own people.”
“I do not know how much I can say — we’ve not been intimate for many years. We played together as lads. Mr. Darcy’s father was my godfather. However, much of the connection ended when he died in a hunting accident.”
Elizabeth started. Darcy had said his father killed himself. Oh, yes. He had said only the lawyer knew besides his uncle. Darcy had trusted her with such a significant truth. He trusted her.
With happiness, Elizabeth said enthusiastically, “You must renew the acquaintance while here. Mr. Darcy will be pleased by the chance that brought him together with a childhood companion.”
Mr. Wickham frowned and shook his head. “Matters have come between us. We both dislike each other, and I do not think he would welcome my company.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth drew a little back from Mr. Wickham. If Mr. Darcy disliked him, there must be something dislikeable about him. She had already decided Wickham had more charm than character. Perhaps he had no character at all.
They played in silence, and Elizabeth won a round. With a flourish Mr. Wickham handed Elizabeth a two-pence piece which had been agreed as the nominal wager for the game. “For the pretty lady.”
Elizabeth took the hard coin and smiled coldly. Wickham said, “I see you take Mr. Darcy’s side without knowing any of the particulars.”
“Forgive me, but is that not natural? He has been a good friend to me.”
“You have hardly known him long enough to really know his character. You say the acquaintance has been of not much more than a month’s duration.”
“It is not the duration as much as the depth of friendship which matters.”
“Good god! The depth of friendship?” Mr. Wickham squinted at her. “I had understood your condition and connections to be…very poor. You mean to say he has sought you out with some regularity?"
Elizabeth was offended. “Do you doubt he could be friends with someone beneath him? That you have failed to keep his good opinion does not mean it is impossible to gain. Our minds are similar and we enjoy each other’s conversation. It is not mysterious. He is clever and kind, and he has that ability, valued so greatly by me, of being able to make me laugh. But you do not want to hear his praises sung.”
“I’m only exceedingly surprised — the Darcy family is haughty. They do not associate with those below them.”
“You’re wrong. Mr. Darcy has shown no improper pride, he willingly seeks me out, he even showed friendship to my sister — the one who married a blacksmith. You may insult him, but I am convinced he is better than you.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms and sat back stiffly.
“Good God — you sound as though you are in love with him.”
The words felt like a hard slap. She was in love with Mr. Darcy. She’d really known it already.
She was happy.
She had always thought she knew what happiness was, that she had always been happy. But with Darcy, she was so much happier than ever before. He was too proud. I shall marry in my own station. But even though he was proud, he was such a good man. There would be a gaping void when he went.
“Don’t look so depressed.” Wickham’s face was hard and ugly. “He’ll take you with him. He plans to make you his mistress.”
Elizabeth sneered back. “Mr. Darcy is an honorable gentleman. Unlike you, who are no gentleman at all.”
Elizabeth began to rise, but despite her snapped response, she wondered. He had begged her to take any escape and to not care about being respectable. Was he trying to say that he wanted her to come under his protection? Maybe all she needed to do to be happy with him was to smile and tell him that she would do anything for him if he would let her.
Mr. Wickham’s hand shot forward to grab her upper arm and force her to sit. Elizabeth tried to squirm away from the suddenly awful man, but she was not yet prepared to make a scene.
“I beg you to listen to me. He seduced my sister and then abandoned her. For your own sake, I beg you to be on your guard.”
“Your sister?” Elizabeth gasped. “Abandoned her? I don’t believe you — he did not, he would not.”
“Miss Elizabeth, he made my sister his mistress. No man would invent such a story. I would never say it, if I was not worried for your very soul. You can see how horrific to any respectable sensibility his behavior was. My father had been such a dear friend to his father. Yet caring nothing for family ties he callously used and ruined and abandoned my sister. Mr. Darcy is a cruel, amoral man.”
Darcy had admitted that he had taken women to bed. Was Mr. Wickham’s sister really one of them? Elizabeth stared at him.
Wickham said, “My sister was nineteen.
A lively girl like you, also penniless as my mother spent everything my father earned. Mr. Darcy liked her appearance very much then, but after only a few years she was too old for him, and he dropped her. You may love Mr. Darcy, but he is not your friend. He only wants to take his pleasure with you and then he will abandon you as well.”
“You hate him. But I know him better; he would never be so cruel as you claim. I trust him.”
“I do hate him. I would dearly love it if his scheme to make you his mistress was prevented. Though it will not hurt him much, he has put more than a month into grooming you, and I would like to see his time wasted. You are a fine woman, and he’ll not easily find another so attractive. Unless you mean to become his whore, be on your guard.”
Elizabeth stood and went to the table where her mother and Jane sat.
“I am tired and feel a little sick. I am going to my room.”
As Elizabeth left the room, she saw Mr. Wickham stand and walk to another table. With an easy smile he asked to become part of the next round.
Elizabeth walked up the stairs, and then stood in a cold hallway with her forehead against one of the doors. What had she been doing? Hugging him? Saying, “Oh, I wish we didn’t need to part.” Begging him to tell her if he’d been with women. She’d followed Mama’s advice and started touching herself, just above her breasts, so he’d look down.
Did she really wish to become Darcy’s whore?
Elizabeth pulled down the ladder and climbed into the attic room. She sat on the bed she shared with Jane and cried. She was so dirty. Mr. Wickham must have realized that she hadn’t been a respectable girl opposed to becoming his mistress. He despised her now that he saw, and she deserved it.
Would he treat her like Wickham’s sister? Promise money and happiness, and then leave her alone and heartbroken?
She didn’t believe it at all. Darcy would never seduce and then callously abandon a woman.
Maybe Miss Wickham had been in love with Darcy, like Elizabeth had begun to love him. Maybe she had seduced him. Elizabeth imagined a woman, herself or a fuzzy girl who looked like Mr. Wickham, talking to Darcy. “Just kiss me, touch me, hold me. I know we cannot marry; I do not care.”
He would smile at her. They would kiss, and she would cling to his arms while he whispered about how desperate he was to have her.
It was dark and the room became freezing. She heard the guests downstairs leaving, and saw people walking away carrying torches or lanterns. The rumbling sound from the carriages rolling away. Elizabeth hurriedly stripped out of her clothes and pulled on her nightwear. She couldn’t stop imagining Darcy touching her, pressing his hands everywhere. Whispering promises of love. She ached from the fantasy.
Elizabeth jumped into the bed, and buried herself under the heavy blankets, waiting for Jane.
At last Jane came upstairs. As she undressed, she asked worriedly, “Lizzy, what was the matter? Did Mr. Wickham say something? Tell me.”
“No, nothing. Nothing. I just had a headache.”
“It is more than that. Do tell me.”
“I can’t. Not about this.”
Jane scooted into the bed, climbing over Elizabeth, and then they cuddled together for warmth in the unheated room. It would be dreadful if Jane were not always there.
“I will despise Wickham for you, if you wish.”
Elizabeth giggled. “You never despise anyone.”
“I can make an exception.”
“I do not like Wickham, but he is not the problem. And I…I really cannot tell you what has been on my mind. I would disappoint you if you heard.”
“You would not.”
“Would too.”
Jane yawned and kissed Elizabeth’s head. “You really can tell me.”
She could not tell Jane that since she knew Darcy would not marry her, she ached with a desire to live with him without marriage. Elizabeth sighed and said nothing. Jane drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 13
For the next two days it rained, keeping everyone indoors. There was no chance Elizabeth would be about.
Darcy was hopeful. Part of him was sure she wanted to become his mistress, and that was why she embraced him, squeezing her breasts and stomach against him for an instant. She had said she wished they never had to part. She wanted him to ask. Not because she hoped for money, that of course had nothing to do with the matter, but because she held so much affection for him.
When the roads began to dry out, Darcy took to riding along them each morning, hoping to see Elizabeth in private so he could speak with her. But there was no sign of her person. He feared she was avoiding him.
His old friend, Mr. Wickham had joined the regiment, and when Darcy and Bingley dined at Longbourn, he heard from Mrs. Collins that Elizabeth had perhaps quarreled with the handsome new officer. What had Wickham told her?
The weather was clear for several days, and Darcy was sure Elizabeth must be taking walks, even if he could not find her. They had met fairly often during the morning; perhaps she had changed her habits?
If Wickham had filled her head with some story, he needed to explain. He just needed to speak to her.
At last, five days after meeting Lydia, Darcy saw Elizabeth in the afternoon skirting along a hedge. When she heard the patter of his horse approaching, she looked about as though she wished to run, but knew there was nowhere to hide. He vaulted off his horse and walked to her.
She smiled uneasily at him, and then blushed very red and looked down.
There was something so winsome and touching about the confused look on her face. It made him want to enfold her in his arms and swear all would be well forever and ever. The afternoon sun brought a burnished glow to the curls of hair that framed her face. She wore blue gloves, and Darcy realized there was tear along the shoulder of her coat that had been sewn together with a rougher fabric.
Elizabeth looked to the side, staring through the grey branches of the low hedge at a line of trees across the stubbled field. She would not meet his eyes, but she was blushing, not pale. Was that a good sign?
Darcy wanted to say something clever and charming. But any memorized phrase, any joke, would profane how he felt. There would be time enough to amuse her later. “E-E-Elizabeth.”
She looked at him, her eyes shining clear, and she bit her lip.
Darcy made himself take her arm, while leading the horse with his other hand, as he often did. “I have not seen you of late. I began to fear you avoided me.”
“Oh.”
Elizabeth’s voice was blank, not denying the charge. But she didn’t try to pull away. She squeezed his arm in a tight grasp. Her hand was so petite and fine. He knew there was so much sensation in the hand. She could run that hand over his cheek and person. And then they could hold hands.
More than anything he just wanted to hold her hand, smoothing their palms against each other, feeling each other in that simple way.
There was a woods on the far side of the field they walked along. Darcy pushed himself to say something, “I heard you met an old acquaintance of mine. A Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy searched her face. She flinched and blushed. Looking towards the woods that they were approaching she said, “Yes. I met him.”
There was heavy lead in his stomach. “What did he… You were told something by him. Something about me. Please…tell me what he said.”
Elizabeth looked at him. Her eyes were round with sympathy. “I can’t. But… I did not believe the… I know you would have acted in a way you believe to be right…” she trailed off and looked away, red faced. “I cannot speak about it.”
“But you will avoid me because of what he said. I tell you, he has attacked my family.”
“I don’t avoid you because of what he said.”
“But you are avoiding me?”
They reached the edge of the wood, and Darcy led Elizabeth down a woodsman’s path cut through the pollarded trees. “Why are you avoiding me?”
She looked down. Darcy realized
as they walked deeper in they now were invisible to those walking about the main lane. Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip, but her grip on his arm tightened. At last she half mumbled, “I am frightened.”
It felt like a punch in the stomach. Was he transfigured into some evil villain in her mind who wished to ruin her? “I frighten you? What did he say?” Darcy’s voice came out rough.
“No. You don’t frighten me. I trust you — all I believe of what he said is something you said you have done. Or something similar. I don’t believe you could ever be cruel, or…or that you treated his sister callously.”
I trust you. Darcy could breathe again. He could not stand it if he frightened her. So Wickham told her about his liaison with his sister. And now Elizabeth was frightened.
He made them stop.
Elizabeth turned to him. Her nose was red from the cold. Their gazes held. He spoke softly, “What frightens you?”
Her lips were slightly open, and she panted, her deep eyes not deviating from his. Without quite knowing what he did Darcy pulled her against himself and kissed her.
Elizabeth was stiff for a few seconds, but then she relaxed against his mouth, molding her lips with his. A small beautiful moan arose from the back of her throat.
Her lips were chapped and cold, but as he nibbled and pulled at her lower lip he knew she was sweeter by far than any other woman whose lips he had tasted. He felt light, as though he could float away. Her sweet pressure made him happy and dizzy. It was different and better than anything he’d ever felt before. She was so precious to him.
He drew his tongue over her lips, and then her tongue shyly rubbed against his. Darcy shivered. He softly stroked his hand down the curve of her hip.
Elizabeth put her hands against his chest. She laid the palms flat against his waistcoat.
Then she was gone. The feel of her pushing against him lingered on his chest with the taste of her lips and tongue in his mouth.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” Elizabeth pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. It hid her lips. Her eyes were black, and the blush faded away leaving her skin white. She stared at him in a wide, round manner. “Oh, God — this is wrong — don’t come closer. Oh, God.”
A Dishonorable Offer Page 16
