Elizabeth had never been so happy to leave a place in her entire life. Surely she would always remember with fondness the rewarding occupation of nursing her dearest Jane back to health. Bingley, of course, had been nothing but his gracious, amiable, and generous self. He was an excellent host, forever solicitous of both her welfare and that of her sister. His sisters, however, had been everything that was ungracious and condescending, and the proud and haughty Mr. Darcy, in her opinion, had been little better.
It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice that the man seemed to materialize everywhere she had happened to venture during the few moments she was able to leave Jane for any length of time. She had met him quite by accident in the library on countless occasions—and also in the conservatory, in the music room, in the morning room, in the garden, and on the grounds. If Elizabeth had not known better, she would have sworn he was deliberately throwing himself in her way, but she did know better. Whenever they were in company together, Darcy was usually cool and aloof, yet he chose to stare at her constantly and with a level of intensity that had begun to make her uncomfortable. Surely such a handsome, wealthy, and intelligent man, who was used to nothing but the very finest society, could not deign to look upon a woman of her inferior station and circumstances in life unless it was to find fault, and indeed, she knew he had found fault with her, almost from the very first moment of their acquaintance at the assembly in Meryton some weeks ago.
Elizabeth laughed as she recalled his disdainful comment. “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” Yet, while she was at Netherfield, Darcy had paid her no insignificant degree of attention, even going so far as to engage her in several heated intellectual and philosophical debates while in company with the rest of their party, none of whom he had included in their almost-private verbal sparring. To Elizabeth’s amusement, such pointed notice of her often resulted in Miss Bingley becoming angered, and Elizabeth had found herself banished to the far end of the table during family dinners, with only the inebriated Mr. Hurst for companionship, while Miss Bingley fawned over Darcy and tried to monopolize his notice. Yet, even at these times, Darcy’s dark, penetrating eyes continued to seek her out. Whatever could it mean?
Charlotte Lucas had often told Elizabeth she believed Darcy admired her a great deal, but Elizabeth could not agree with such a notion. Her usual reply was to laugh it off and tell her, “That is simply not possible, Charlotte, for I know he dislikes me as much as I do him,” before steering the conversation to some other topic. After a while, Charlotte no longer commented on such observations, but she did raise a speculative brow and cast a knowing look at Elizabeth each time she caught Darcy observing her friend, which was almost constantly whenever they were thrown into company together. Elizabeth found this occurred quite often.
The two gentlemen from Netherfield had just entered Meryton on their way to Longbourn when they chanced to notice the very ladies whom they were, indeed, intending to call upon, standing on the opposite side of the street. With great eagerness, Bingley urged his mount toward the object of his affection, Miss Jane Bennet, while Darcy remained several paces behind, struggling against the turmoil incited in his breast by the pleasing form and fine eyes of Jane’s sister Elizabeth.
It had been happening for many weeks now and, no matter how many times Darcy reminded himself of the unsuitability of her situation and the lowness of her connections, the lively intelligence, clever wit, and graceful yet unassuming manners of the lady never failed to impress upon him the very great danger he faced in spite of his disapprobation.
He had tried every method within his power to rid himself of his overwhelming—and rather disconcerting—feelings for her, but the bewitching Elizabeth Bennet would not grant him reprieve. When Darcy was awake, she invaded his thoughts constantly, and in the late hours of the night, she ruled his subconscious, leading him to forbidden imaginings of passionate splendor.
Darcy reined in his horse, his eyes fixed firmly upon Elizabeth. She was engaged in conversation with an unidentified gentleman who appeared to be paying her rapt attention. After a few moments, their conversation waned, and in the next instant, she looked up to see Darcy staring at her. She acknowledged him with a small, polite inclination of her head, which caused the gentleman she had been talking with to turn.
Immediately, Darcy felt the color drain from his face as his mind reeled with painful recollections of Ramsgate and his sister, Georgiana… and Wickham! Good God! What the devil is George Wickham doing here? Anger spread like wildfire through his entire body, leaving him fighting to master his emotions. It was not a feat easily accomplished in the midst of Meryton. He was seething as Wickham touched his fingertips to the brim of his hat, his mouth curling into a smirk as he acknowledged Darcy’s glare. Darcy forced himself to look away toward Bingley, who was shrouded in happy oblivion as he smiled down from his horse at Jane Bennet. He had clearly missed the exchange between the two men.
This was not the case with Elizabeth, who had been appraising their interaction with some degree of concern on her face. Her gaze darted from Darcy to Wickham and back again. Without meaning to, Darcy’s gaze came to rest upon her just as a particularly severe look of displeasure spread over his handsome features. Elizabeth started at this, and Darcy, instantly regretting it, softened his expression, perhaps more so than he would have wished, providing Wickham with a private bit of information—information Darcy would never have wanted him to have at his disposal. Turning from Darcy with a sneer, Wickham focused all his charm on Elizabeth and proceeded to engage her, once again, in conversation.
Darcy’s blood grew cold. The idea of George Wickham gaining Elizabeth’s good opinion was more than he could stomach, but what could he do about it? Nothing! Absolutely nothing without laying his personal business open for all the world to scorn. He could not bear to put Georgiana through such humiliation and censure. But what of countless other young ladies? What of their honor? What of their respectability? And what of his Elizabeth? Darcy suddenly felt all the frustration of his position anew as a familiar ache in his breast reminded him she was not rightfully his to protect.
Lydia Bennet’s wild laughter echoed through the street. Wickham’s easy manners and handsome countenance had most likely already recommended him to Elizabeth’s youngest sisters. Darcy watched with resentment and alarm as Wickham conversed easily with Elizabeth. After several agonizing moments, her eyes turned up to meet his own tortured ones, and in their depths, Darcy could easily discern surprise, confusion, and curiosity. Surely, the witty and intelligent Elizabeth Bennet would not be taken in by the likes of George Wickham!
But what if he was in error? Wickham was charismatic and dangerous. Yes, she had no fortune to tempt him, but knowing Wickham as intimately as he did, would her relative poverty be enough to ensure her safety? She was certainly one of the handsomest women of Darcy’s acquaintance, and she had a multitude of charms to recommend her to any man. Darcy was agonizingly aware of each of them. Another alarming thought occurred to him then—should Wickham happen to succeed in imposing upon Elizabeth, what slanderous falsehoods might he fill her head with about him?
Darcy’s relationship with Elizabeth had always held an underlying level of anxiety. Even now, after nearly six weeks of being acquainted, including living under the same roof at Netherfield while she nursed her sister, it seemed tenuous at best, but any lies Wickham might now see fit to tell her could very easily cause irreparable harm to his suit. But why? he demanded in exasperation. Why should that be of tantamount concern? As deep a desire as I feel for her, could I ever sanction myself to act upon those feelings? Could I ever truly allow myself to form any real design on her?
He fought to repress the attraction he had felt toward her since the very first moments of their acquaintance. It had been a constant struggle, one he knew he was losing. Bloody hell! It was simply no use! Even the merest possibility of Elizabeth Bennet thinking the worst of him—and at Wickham’s hands—made Darcy’s present agitation all the greater. He could not leave his desire for her esteem to chance, and with an impulsiveness few who knew him in Hertfordshire would recognize, he leapt from his horse.
This action finally succeeded in rousing Bingley from his unabashed admiration of Jane, and he followed Darcy’s lead with enthusiasm. Blissfully unaware of the hostility radiating from his friend, Bingley greeted the assembled group, then turned his attention back to Jane. “It is a pleasure to see you this morning, Miss Bennet, and all your sisters! We were just on our way to Longbourn to call upon you when we happened to see you here. It is certainly an exceptionally fine day, is it not?”
Jane blushed becomingly before replying that, indeed, it was. Denny, one of the officers under Colonel Forster’s command, stepped forward then to introduce Wickham to Bingley’s acquaintance, informing him that his friend was to take a lieutenant’s commission with their regiment, now quartered in Meryton. Bingley received him with his usual unaffected good humor and, though he gazed at Jane every few seconds, somehow managed to maintain an intelligent discourse with the gentlemen.
Darcy silently noted Elizabeth’s continued observation of his thinly veiled hostility toward Wickham. He knew he must speak, or she would certainly think the worst of him for such animosity. With nothing short of a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to assume a semblance of composure and inquire after the health of her parents.
She met him with civility as she replied, “They are both in excellent health, I thank you,” and fell into silence.
“Um, do you often walk into Meryton, Miss Bennet?” he asked, failing to suppress a scowl at his adversary who, at that moment, dared to be smiling at his Elizabeth while attempting to speak convincingly with Bingley.
“Why, yes, Mr. Darcy. It is a pleasant enough walk, and as you can see, there are always an abundance of acquaintances to be met with.” Here, she glanced boldly at Wickham. Darcy wrestled most fervently to hide his displeasure. Elizabeth continued calmly, “What think you of the village, Mr. Darcy?”
“Charming,” he muttered, his answer perfunctory.
“And have you had an opportunity to acquaint yourself with the various establishments, sir?”
“What? No, not well. I have been too much engaged since my arrival to have had that privilege.”
Though Wickham’s eyes appeared to be focused most diligently on the rest of their party, Darcy knew with certainty Wickham was paying very close attention to his conversation with Elizabeth. The master of Pemberley desperately wished to say something—anything—that would communicate an appropriate warning to her in some small way, but he knew it to be impossible under the circumstances. His frustration was extreme. Relief, however, came from a most welcome quarter.
“As it so happens, Mr. Darcy, there is a particular item I was hoping to procure this morning in one of the shoppes, just there, at the end of the street. If you feel you can bear my company, sir, I would be quite willing to assist you in familiarizing yourself with all the attractions Meryton holds.”
Though Elizabeth’s offer took Darcy by surprise, the benefit of such a proposal registered immediately. He tore his gaze from Wickham’s profile long enough to offer her his arm, which she took after a slight hesitation. “Thank you, Miss Bennet,” he said sedately, “I am most obliged to you.”
He led her away from the group at a restrained pace, and Elizabeth nonchalantly pointed out various aspects of the town and certain shoppes.
Darcy offered distracted responses, contemplating how best to address her on the unsavory subject of Wickham. After walking far enough to avoid being overheard, Elizabeth startled him once again by inquiring, in a somewhat direct manner, how long he had been acquainted with Mr. Wickham.
Darcy overlooked her boldness and stated, “I have known him practically my entire life, Miss Bennet. His father was my father’s steward, and a very respectable man. We played together as boys, grew up together on my father’s estate, and, at one time, even looked upon each other almost as brothers.” He paused to observe her startled reaction before blurting out, in spite of his better judgment, “You seem to take an eager interest in that gentleman’s relationship with me, Miss Bennet. Why is that? Is it merely curiosity on your part, or something more?”
“Why, Mr. Darcy, I was concerned only for the gravity of your countenance. It appeared to me even more serious than usual, and I merely thought you could use a diversion. Seeing as you do so enjoy staring out of windows whenever something greatly displeases you, I thought, perhaps, you might appreciate the opportunity to stare into them instead.”
Darcy, who under normal circumstances and with any other lady would have deemed such impertinence offensive, found it, instead—and when coming from this particular lady—to be nothing short of enchanting. Oh, how he dearly loved it when she took it upon herself to tease him! The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he said, “Yes, well, I thank you for your concern, Miss Bennet.”
He then cleared his throat and continued, “After the passing of Mr. Wickham’s father, my own excellent father supported him at Cambridge with the intention the church would be his profession, and a valuable family living would be his once it were to fall vacant. After my father’s passing, which was but five years ago, Mr. Wickham professed a desire to study the law. Knowing by that time his habits deemed him quite ill suited for the life of a clergyman, I hoped rather than believed him to be sincere. He requested and was granted the sum of three thousand pounds in lieu of the living…”
If Elizabeth had not known exactly what to expect, Darcy surmised from her shocked expression it certainly was not this. Steadily and with no small degree of increasing agitation, he continued to give her a detailed account of Mr. Wickham’s rather lengthy history of disreputable behavior.
When he came to the events of the previous summer at Ramsgate, however, the pain was still too fresh, and Darcy found his pride would not allow him to utter the name of his beloved sister. Instead, he revealed only the attempted seduction and elopement of an estimable young lady of his acquaintance. At last, he had done.
Elizabeth’s gaze remained on Darcy’s face. She was sickened to think she, who had always prided herself on her abilities of discernment, had been so ready to tease and insult the taciturn man before her—a man whom she had known for many weeks now—in favor of a complete stranger whom she had only just met and was, even now, for the most part, still unknown to her. Wickham’s easy countenance and pleasing manners had, in the mere quarter of an hour she had spoken with him, managed to make quite a favorable impression upon her, but what a mistaken impression she had apparently formed! Elizabeth blushed with mortification. That it should have taken place in the presence of Darcy made her agitation all the more extreme. For some reason she could not quite explain or even fathom, Elizabeth could not abide Darcy thinking any less of her than he already did for having erred so greatly in her judgment of such a man as Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth’s anxiety was apparent, and Darcy felt all the responsibility of it as he stopped and, in a low voice full of heartfelt concern, said to her, “Miss Bennet, I am sorry, exceedingly sorry if what I have just related has caused you such distress. Please believe me, my purpose in doing so was solely to warn you and your sisters of the very great danger to yourselves from Mr. Wickham’s society. It was not my intention to be malicious or to cause you pain, and I must beg your understanding and hope you will forgive me for having upset you.”
Elizabeth looked away. “No, sir, I am perfectly well, and indeed, you are mistaken. There is nothing to forgive, but I find I must now confess to you how unprepared I was to hear such an infamous account of the same amiable gentleman with whom I have only just become acquainted. I find it almost beyond me to credit such dreadful accusations and such duplicitous behavior, yet, given what I have come to know of your character, and given it is also your intimate history with Mr. Wickham, I fear I must believe you and allow it is true.”
Darcy uttered an audible sigh of relief and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Yes,” he said quietly, “it pains me to insist it is true in every particular. Please believe my sincerity, Miss Bennet, when I say there is no one who wishes more than I that Mr. Wickham’s gentlemanly appearance would ever be more than just an appearance.”
By the time Darcy and Elizabeth returned to the rest of their party, Wickham and Denny had since taken their leave. Elizabeth went to Jane and requested they all return home without delay. Jane readily agreed. Bingley, who proclaimed he was not entirely prepared to part with the ladies so soon, begged leave to accompany them back to Longbourn—a proposal that was met with happy acceptance from Jane. Feeling the danger of spending more time than he ought in the disconcerting company of Elizabeth Bennet for one morning, Darcy declined to join them, saying he had some pressing correspondence he had long put off but now found required his immediate attention.
That evening, in the privacy of their room, Elizabeth disclosed to Jane the particulars of her conversation with Darcy. Never wanting to think ill of anyone, Jane insisted Wickham could not possibly be so very bad as Darcy’s account of him made him seem.
“But, Lizzy, are you certain, absolutely certain, he has such designs at this time? Perhaps he has come to regret his past actions and is anxious to reestablish his character in the eyes of the world. He seems to possess such an expression of goodness in his addresses.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Jane. I would well wish to think as you do, but I cannot help but believe it unlikely. Though Mr. Darcy’s countenance bespoke the most vehement dislike of Mr. Wickham, you did not notice the way Mr. Wickham looked at Mr. Darcy. His expression was one of such derision and insolence. No, I cannot so easily acquit him of the crimes Mr. Darcy has laid at his door. I feel most inclined to believe he is not a man to be trusted.”
“By this account, then, Lizzy, he appears to feel as passionately for Mr. Darcy as Mr. Darcy does for him. Something very bad, perhaps even worse than what Mr. Darcy has related to you with regard to their association, must surely have occurred to promote such strong feelings of aversion.”
“I confess I am of your opinion on this matter. Mr. Darcy was most disturbed, Jane. Even as he was speaking privately to me of Mr. Wickham, he remained visibly so. It is most out of character for him to reveal such emotions on any matter, and given this, I cannot help but wonder whether he may yet be keeping something further to himself.”
Jane was thoughtful for a long moment before saying quietly, “Lizzy, I do believe Mr. Darcy must be in love with you.”
Elizabeth stared at her and laughed. “Jane! Whatever makes you think such a thing? Surely Mr. Darcy feels nothing for me. You remember his comment at the assembly, do you not?”
“Indeed, it was very wrong of him to say such a thing at all, never mind in company, but, Lizzy, does it not strike you as incredible that a man of Mr. Darcy’s notoriety—such a proud, private man of much significance in the world—would speak with you so willingly and openly about his dealings with such a man as Mr. Wickham? I can hardly credit it. No, it could only be a compliment to you, my dearest sister.”
“Really, Jane, this is too absurd!” She laughed again. “You know just as well as I do, Mr. Darcy holds me in contempt for my decided opinions and my impertinent manner. He would never deign to pay his addresses to me, an unknown country miss with nothing more than fifty pounds and my charms to recommend me, not when he could have a fashionable woman with fifty thousand and a title.”
Jane smiled. “I beg to differ.”
Elizabeth made to protest, but Jane silenced her. “You forget, Lizzy, I, as well as Charlotte, have noticed the attention Mr. Darcy pays you, even if it is nothing more than staring at you from across the room. It cannot have escaped your keen observation that you are, indeed, the only lady he stares at.” Jane shook her head. “No, there is no other explanation for it. Mr. Darcy must be in love with you.” The discussion was continued in earnest, and half the night was spent in conversation.