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Part Thirteen
Mr. Collins, upon learning of Mr. Darcy's unexpected departure from Rosings, promptly hastened thence to console Lady Catherine and her daughter; and on his return brought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of having them all to dine with her.
Elizabeth was uncertain she was equal to the task of facing Mr. Darcy's relations after the way she had behaved, but she knew she could not plead her way out of another engagement without giving rise to questions she could not bring herself to answer. Jane offered her an encouraging and sympathetic smile and Elizabeth answered her cousin that she was looking forward to the occasion.
Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. "I assure you, I feel it exceedingly," said Lady Catherine; "I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to my nephew, and he to me! Darcy was excessively sorry to go! But so he always is, and he seemed to feel it more acutely, I think, than last year. His attachment to Rosings certainly increases."
Elizabeth blushed uncomfortably at Lady Catherine's pointed allusion to the expected attachment between her daughter and nephew, an attachment Elizabeth now, to her chagrin, knew to be fictitious. Looking at Miss de Bourgh, she could discern no reaction there and found she could pity both of them for laboring under an expectation neither had an inclination to fulfill.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits. And immediately accounting for it by herself, by supposing that she did not like to go home again so soon, she added:
"But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure."
Sensing Elizabeth's discomfort, Jane answered for them both. "We thank you, my lady, but are unable to accept your generous offer. Our father will be here Saturday to collect us."
"Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight."
"But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry our return."
"Oh! your father of course may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. And if you will stay another MONTH complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am going there early in June."
"You are all kindness, madam," Jane demurred on their behalf, "but I believe we must abide by our original plan."
Lady Catherine seemed resigned, but had many other questions to ask respecting their journey, and as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary, which Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her; or, with a mind so occupied, she might have forgotten where she was. She was exceedingly grateful for Jane, who covered for her moments of distraction admirably.
Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the greatest relief; and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections.
Mr. Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied every sentence; and her feelings towards its contents threatened to swallow her in misery. The cold contempt and derision which had pervaded every passage of that missive echoed her own self-castigations. But at times, her spirits almost rallied. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation. Unwarranted as her accusation had been, what should she had thought when he declared his love in one breath, and then lingered with unseemly zeal on her inferiority in the next?
Indeed, she mused bitterly, he has other feelings which shall soon overcome whatever pain my treatment of him must have occasioned.
But when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. In her own past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret; and in the unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother's indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia's guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever.
No, Elizabeth concluded. Her time would have been better spent examining the flaws of her own behavior. But because she could conduct herself admirably in company, she had never seen the need, nor understood how infected by the improprieties of her mother and sisters and even her father she had been. How well she had thought of herself and how deceived in her own superiority she had been!
Anxiety on Jane's behalf was another prevailing concern; and Mr. Darcy's explanation heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. Not only had she been separated from the man she had come to love, but she had been forced to endure the pain of thinking that man was courting her sister, and had been deprived of her nearest natural confidante throughout the entire matter. Elizabeth could not think on Jane's heartache without abject remorse. She could not account, however, for why Bingley had never returned to Netherfield, then. According to Darcy, he had somehow come to believe Jane did not return his affection. But how could that be? That his sisters must have played some part in the matter she could not doubt, but what of herself? Had she done aught to encourage this misconception? His occasional look of melancholy in London now seemed to make sense to her in a way it hadn't before; that he had been repining for Jane was obvious. But why should he repine, when he could have returned to Netherfield and ascertained her affections for himself at any time?
The answer, in the end, came from Jane herself.
"Lizzy!" she entered the parlor, carrying a correspondence folded in her hand, her normally placid expression alight with humor and perplexity, "do you know who has just written me? Caroline Bingley! It is the first I have heard from her since shortly after she left Netherfield. But look at this--she has addressed the letter to Mrs. Jane Collins. And she congratulates me on my recent marriage. Can you imagine? I wonder however she could have mistaken Mary's wedding for my own. I have written her several times since Mary was wed, and I have used my name."
"But I do not think she has read your letters," Elizabeth replied as gently as she could. "Dearest Jane, I did not wish to grieve you, but when I called on them in London this winter, it was very clear to me that Miss Bingley did not expect the visit, though I know you wrote to her of it at least twice."
"But that cannot be." Jane declared, "Miss Bingley was most adamant when she left Netherfield that we should be the most devout of correspondents. It is true I have not heard from her for some time, but she has been in Town, and has had less time to write than I have. No, Lizzy, you are mistaken; I'm sure she was merely confused about when to expect your visit, or became busy and forgot about it. I do not think she would willingly neglect our correspondence."
"Have it as you will," Elizabeth acceded. "I have promised myself I shall not question your judgement concerning the character of those people with whom you are more intimately acquainted than I forthwith."
"But that does not explain how she came to believe I am Mrs. Collins," Jane mused. "This is most strange."
A feeling of dread overcame Elizabeth as she recalled the content of her discussions with Miss Bingley and also with Mr. Bingley. "I fear I may have had something to do with that," she confessed after a moment, distressed.
"However could that be?"
"When I visited them, I remarked to both Miss Bingley and her brother about my sister's recent marriage. But I believed Miss Bingley to be in correspondence with you and thought she would at least know the generals of the matter. I do not believe I ever troubled myself to specify which sister had wed. And you are the oldest; it only stands to reason that people would expect you to be the first to marry. Oh, dear, Jane...I do believe that may be why Mr. Bingley came to think you did not care for him. Jane! What have I done?" she cried, distressed.
"No, Lizzy, you must not grieve yourself! You could not have known that in sharing news of your sister's marriage your words would be mistaken. You are not to blame!"
"I must contrive some way to make this right," Elizabeth fretted, recalling how troubled and shocked Mr. Bingley had become the moment she had mentioned her sister's marriage. "The hurt I have given you, not to mention poor Bingley! All this time you could have been together, and but for me, WOULD have been!"
"Say nothing more of it, Lizzy. You take too much upon yourself. The matter is easily enough resolved; I shall reply to Miss Bingley's letter and set the matter aright. The information shall pass from her to Mr. Bingley, and if he does indeed feel some attachment for me, he will return to Hertfordshire once he knows the truth. If not, then I shall know he never cared for me."
Elizabeth did not share Jane's confidence that the information would be passed on, if Miss Bingley ever bothered to read Jane's letter, and resolved that she must find some way to correct the mistake. Excusing herself, she left for a stroll down the lane, for her father was due to arrive to collect them the next day and she would miss the beautiful woods of Rosings Park and her solitary rambles there.
On this particular outing did she encounter Colonel Fitzwilliam on horseback, heading in the direction of the parsonage. He has on his way, he explained, to pay his farewells, as he would be departing early the next morning. Thus he dismounted and led her horse, accompanying Elizabeth back in the direction of Hunsford.
"Miss Bennet," he said at length, "it occurs to me that you have been much out of spirit since last we spoke. I sincerely hope it was nothing I said which had troubled you so."
Knowing he was referring to the subtle reference he had made at that occasion toward the futility of his attentions toward her, Elizabeth contrived to smile reassuringly at him. "Indeed not, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I shall recall our acquaintance with nothing but the greatest pleasure and forthwith desire to call you a good friend indeed."
"Then so it shall be," he replied gallantly, smiling once more.
"Colonel," she ventured after a moment. "I will ask you now to pardon my impertinence, but I understand that you and I share another acquaintance, that of a gentleman who is a member of the --shire militia. A Mr. Wickham."
The effect of the name on the gentleman beside her was marked. He stiffened and his footsteps faltered as he strolled beside her. A grimace tightened his countenance. "I am acquainted with that--gentleman, yes. I spent many summers at Pemberley with Darcy and Wickham, and we were all at Cambridge together for a while."
"Forgive the impropriety of my inquiry, sir, but what manner of man is Mr. Wickham?"
"Miss Bennet, it would not do me any credit to give you a report of a man who is not present to defend himself against what I may have to say of him."
Wickham, she thought unhappily, had shown no such restraint.
"I understand, Colonel," Elizabeth replied, "and your forbearance does you credit indeed. It is only--" she broke off, uncertain of how to continue without confessing the whole of the situation to him.
"You are very well acquainted with him, then? Close to him?" the Colonel asked sharply.
"I have considered him a very good friend indeed," she confessed, troubled. "But I have come to fear I may have been imposed upon as to the nature of his true character. And worse, that such an imposition has led me to wrong a decent man grievously, as I have believed everything Mr. Wickham has told me implicitly. So I would beg you, sir, to feel no worry of shocking me with improprieties and simply, for my own peace of mind, give me the truth of the matter. Not only for my own sake, but for that of my younger sisters, with whom he is also quite a favorite."
"To put it plainly," Colonel Fitzwilliam began after a moment of deliberation, "George Wickham is a scoundrel of the first water. He was the honored favorite of the late Mr. Darcy, his godson, in fact. Mr. Darcy gave him every possible advantage, took him in when his father died, educated him beyond the standards he normally could have expected. In spite of all this, he always felt he had an entitlement to more. As a boy, he was horribly jealous of Darcy and could not bear it when Darcy's father gave his own son more attention than he did Wickham. He often contrived to create difficulty between them, engineering situations which would make Darcy appear unfavorably in his father's eyes. Throughout his boyhood, Darcy was subjected to repeated lectures on the importance of propriety and pride and the comportment required of someone in his station in life, when in fact, he rarely did anything deserving these admonitions. And Darcy never understood why, never saw what Wickham was doing, and did not wish to believe badly of a man he considered practically a brother. I was older, though--I could see what was happening. I tried to warn him, but he would not hear of it. If Wickham's mischief got Darcy into trouble, Darcy was sure it was merely an accident, and if his father felt there was something wanting in Darcy's behavior, then surely something must indeed be wanting and he would endeavor to correct it. For Wickham's part, I think if he could have managed it, he would have arranged for Mr. Darcy to find some reason to disinherit his son in favor of Wickham. Thankfully, that day never came.
"I had been at Cambridge for a couple years when they came together to be schooled, and there I saw the full extent of Wickham's behavior revealed. He had little interest in his studies and was much happier at the gaming tables and taverns. This, too, I tried to reveal to Darcy, but it wasn't until a particular incident opened his eyes that he understood Wickham's true character. By then, they were almost finished with their studies, and Mr. Darcy's health was declining, so upon graduation, Darcy returned home to assume his duties at Pemberly and prove to his father he could be the sort of gentleman Mr. Darcy always admonished him he should be. He did not have long, and whether he ever achieved success, I could not venture, for he never confided in me the state of his relationship with his father at the end. But Darcy was left to deal with the execution of his father's will."
Elizabeth nodded, murmuring softly, "There was to have been a preferment, I understand."
"That was his father's wish, and though it was not formally required in the will, it was plain it has been what the late Mr. Darcy had desired for Wickham," Fitzwilliam confirmed.
"And Mr. Darcy chose not to honour that desire?"
"He chose no such thing," the Colonel denied. "He struggled, for painful experience had at last revealed to him that Wickham's habits were as dissolute as his manners were engaging. He felt, and rightly so, that Wickham was particularly ill-suited for the church. Whether he would have eventually decided to honour the request, no one knows, for Wickham did Darcy the one service he's ever performed for the man in his life and solved the dilemma. He made it known he had no intention of taking orders, and that he would rather have compensation in lieu of the living. The matter was resolved for no less than £3000, and Wickham left for London, citing an intention to study law. I could have laughed when I heard it, for Wickham had been singularly inattentive to his studies at Cambridge and I was certain it was too late for him to be changing his ways."
"Then that's the end of your family's association with Mr. Wickham," Elizabeth sighed, grateful the painful tale had reached its conclusion. Certainly this picture the Colonel painted of Wickham did not at all agree with the one she had cherished. She felt saddened by her loss and disillusionment, and wished only to be alone with her ruminations for a while, particular the new light they shed on the character of Mr. Darcy himself, and how it had been formed.
"I wish I could say it was, but Wickham did continue to intrude upon the family's contentment at intervals. I don't know the particulars, but I believe that Wickham later wrote Darcy and demanded the living he had been promised. I can only surmise he had exhausted his £3000 and was in need of further funds. Darcy--quite understandably--refused his request, though it was repeated on a number of occasions. But it wasn't until last summer that they came face to face again."
Fitzwilliam broke off, frowning uncertainly, as though he feared he had said too much. Elizabeth turned to face him. "Colonel?"
"Forgive me, Miss Bennet. 'Tis only--these matters touch upon issues of some delicacy, and if they came to be publicly known, could hurt people very dear to me. I will tell you, because I admire you and believe you need to know what manner of man your family is associating with in Wickham. Only--I must beg your discretion as regards what I have told you and what I WILL tell you."
"You may count on it, sir," she said sincerely.
"Thank you," his expression was earnestly grateful as he faced her once more. "I believe I have mentioned my cousin, Miss Darcy, and the fact that I share guardianship of her with her brother?"
"You have, sir."
"Last summer, a companion was engaged for her, a Mrs. Younge. She seemed a respectable woman of reduced circumstances, and Georgianna professed the wish to see the sea, so to Ramsgate did they travel for the summer. We were not aware that Mrs. Younge was a particular acquaintance of Mr. Wickham, and that they had conspired between them to bring Georgianna to a place where Wickham could insinuate himself into her affections without interference by her brother or myself. She was a gentle girl of a mere fifteen years of age, and all she remembered of Wickham was a pleasant companion of her childhood. She was easily persuaded to believe herself in love, and consented to an elopement."
Elizabeth drew in her breath in a horrified gasp without realizing she had done it, and Fitzwilliam nodded grimly. "His goal, of course, was her fortune of £30,000, though I am sure he did not scruple over the opportunity to take vengeance on Darcy. Since their father's death, Georgianna had become the shining beacon of Darcy's life. She looks up to him almost as a father, and there is nothing he would not do to protect her and see to her comfort. Had Wickham succeeded in his ploy, his revenge would have been complete indeed."
"But he did not succeed?"
"Only by sheer happenstance. Darcy arrived to pay Georgianna an unexpected visit two days before the intended elopement was to have taken place. She could not bear to deceive him and confessed to him to entire plan. Needless to say, he sent Wickham packing posthaste. 'Tis lucky for Wickham I only came to be acquainted with the matter after the fact, for I think my restraint would not have been as commendable."
Elizabeth was still absorbing this information as the parsonage gate came into view in the distance, her countenance grave. "So, while Mr. Wickham's character is far from sterling, his primary motivation is mercenary, and therefore my sisters are safe."
"Indeed, Miss Bennet, they are not. But I should not say more in present company."
"I shall forgive you the impropriety of the answer if you will forgive me the impertinence of the question, sir. If my sisters might be affected, then I need to know. The youngest is barely sixteen, and they are silly girls, easily influenced, and rather too fond of anyone in regimentals. Does Wickham pose a danger to them?"
"Are they comely?"
"They are, sir."
"Then you would be wise to not allow them within a mile of the man," the Colonel said with a hint of anger, followed by a heavy sigh of resignation. "I know of at least one child born during our time at Cambridge that should have borne the name Wickham had there been any justice applied in the matter. As it is, it is only lucky that the child was not born with the name Darcy, for that is the appellation Wickham provided to the young woman in question. I told you he would have seen Darcy disinherited in he could; he might have succeeded if the woman had been only slightly more clever and scheming. As it was, she confessed to not knowing Darcy before she realized what the advantages would have been had she pretended he was the man in question. There were also similar schemes involving Wickham's debts of honor, and not all of those escaped the late Mr. Darcy's notice. Darcy and I eventually came into the habit of buying Wickham's notes whenever we could do so to save his good name. This was the manner in which Darcy became disillusioned as to Wickham's true character. Guard yourself, Miss Bennet, and guard your sisters extra carefully. He is not a man to be trusted."
With that warning, they had reached the parsonage, and the Colonel held the gate for Elizabeth and allowed her to pass by. He followed her into the house to make his farewells to her sisters and brother-in-law, and then with one last significant look at her as he made his bow, he took his leave, and Elizabeth was left to her troubled thoughts once more.
Part Fourteen
When informed of the content of Elizabeth's conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Jane could scarce credit the report, for it did defy even her ability to believe the best of everyone.
"I do not know when I have been more shocked," said she. "Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered, to find a man who was almost as a brother to him to have treated him so basely. Such a disappointment! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so."
"Indeed I do," Elizabeth said solemnly. "I did not think the remorse I had felt when I learned of how I had misjudged Mr. Darcy's actions and intentions could have been worse, but immeasurably worse it has grown. Now, even his pride is not so offensive to me, for I know now the foundation upon which it was established. I understand, now, why he is uncomfortable in company, and why he himself proclaims to 'avoid those weaknesses which lend a strong disposition to ridicule.' I know now why he is possessed of such an implacable temper and it grieves me indeed, for I know he will never forgive me for what I have said to him."
"Lizzy, you must not feel so," Jane reassured her. "You are a victim of Wickham's deceit the same as Mr. Darcy himself has been." Jane paused, then: "Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner!"
"Oh, no!" Elizabeth cried vehemently, "waste not your pity on that rogue! There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it."
"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the APPEARANCE of it as you used to do."
"No, Jane, but I never knew him as you did, and that, perhaps, was my downfall. Had I but once conversed with him without seeking an opening for further mockery, I might have known him as well."
"How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they DO appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general understand Wickham's character."
Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, "Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?"
"That it ought not to be attempted. Colonel Fitzwilliam has specifically asked for my discretion in the matters that concern his cousin, and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of Wickham's conduct without providing particulars, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent--especially with people laboring under the perception that he did play you falsely--that it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton to attempt to place him in an amiable light. You yourself have tried for months without success. I, as his erstwhile greatest critic, am certainly not equal to it. I feel I have an obligation to try to set matters right, but I cannot do so without betraying the Colonel's confidences, and that I will not do."
"You are quite right. Besides, to have his errors made public might ruin Wickham for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate."
"I cannot feel so assured of that thought as you do, Jane," Elizabeth replied. "I have foresworn hasty and irrevocable judgements, but I think a man of such a character does not reform so easily. If I maintain my silence, be assured I do it not for Wickham's sake, but for that of Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam."
* * * * *
Jane and Lizzy were in due course collected by their father, who did not linger long under the roof of Hunsford despite his cousin's protestations that he should remain, and they bade their sister farewell, assured of her felicity and contentment, amidst promises that they should all re-unite again ere too long had passed. Elizabeth found she could not face her father without embarrassment, for it seemed at every turn he lauded her good sense, and she felt she had conducted herself with anything but. His false praise discomfited her greatly.
There was a good deal of news to be had upon their return to Longbourn, and Mrs. Bennet, Kitty and Lydia did seem determined to have it all out before Jane and Elizabeth had passed through the front door. It was with the greatest satisfaction that they related that Mr. Wickham was not to be engaged to Mary King. This news was accompanied by many disparaging remarks from Lydia about Miss King's freckled countenance and a general attitude of gratefulness for Mr. Wickham's lucky escape from such an arrangement. When the facts were out, it seemed Miss King's uncle had stepped in and taken over her supervision and brought her to live with him in Liverpool, and that before he left he had made a point of discouraging Wickham's suit. Now possessing such intelligence as she had, Elizabeth could only be but relieved on Miss King's behalf and grateful for the wisdom of the uncle for seeing what she herself had not.
Her mother and sisters went on to relate news which brought Elizabeth even greater joy--the militia was decamping shortly and going to Brighton for the summer. They were astonished when Elizabeth did not share their dismay at this news, but she professed she considered it well past time that the militia were parted from her family and they from the militia. Jane did gently commend the wisdom of this situation as well, and as a result, neither Mrs. Bennet nor her youngest two daughters would hardly deign to speak with Lizzy or Jane for the next several days.
The eldest Bennet sisters were anxious to see if Jane's letter to Caroline Bingley setting her right on the matter of her being married would bear fruit in the form of a return to Netherfield by Mr. Bingley. For her part, Elizabeth was inclined to believe that Miss Bingley would not share such intelligence with her brother even if she bothered to read it in the first place. It was not long, however, before Jane received a response, informing her of Miss Bingley's embarassment and amusement over the mistake. Jane read the relevant passage aloud to her sister:
"--Indeed, Charles and I were highly diverted when we realized the misapprehension we had both labored under. Nevertheless, though my gratulation was premature, my brother and I both wish you the best and continue assured that it will not be long ere such felicity is yours in truth. For Charles' part, he remains quite busy entertaining Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy, such that I rarely see him at home. He has professed his intention to relinquish Netherfield before long, and while I shall miss seeing you again, I agree that, under the circumstances, it is for the best and that he would be better off seeking an estate further north, perhaps in Derbyshire."
"Oh, that loathesome woman!" Elizabeth cried when Jane had finished. '''Tis plain there is nothing she wouldn't say to discourage your hopes."
"If she wishes to discourage my hopes, then it is because they have no chance of coming to fruition," Jane murmured sadly. "Mr. Bingley does not love me. I simply must resign myself to that fact."
"But he does! Mr. Darcy said as much in his letter!"
"And yet Mr. Bingley intended to court you, did he not?"
"Only because he believed you to be married! Mr. Darcy said he somehow came under the misapprehension that you did not care for him and sought to salve his wounded hopes by trying in vain to fall in love with someone else. Jane, I am certain Miss Bingley never informed him that you were not Mrs. Collins."
"No, Lizzy, I'm sure you are mistaken."
"Have it as you will, but of this I am convinced. Caroline Bingley does not want any Hertfordshire relations and means to do what she must to safeguard against such a possibility."
* * * * *
Before leaving Meryton, Colonel and Mrs. Forster and the officers were invited to tea at Longbourn, and thus Elizabeth found herself confronted by the presence of Mr. Wickham for the first time since Colonel Fitzwilliam's revelations.
So appalled was she--as much by her own self-deception as by his lies being so completely disguised by his amiable exterior--that she could barely bring herself to face him and deal with him civilly. She had dreaded seeing him again and had sought to avoid his company at all costs. In this instance, however, she could contrive no escape and therefore was forced into the encounter.
He sought her out directly, as they had always done when in each other's society. This only served, after what had since passed, to provoke her, for it reminded her of how blindly partial she had once been to him, and how completely he had deceived her. So little was Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good humour, that on his making some inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen him often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour. With an air of indifference he soon afterwards added:
"How long did you say he was at Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's."
"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Mr. Wickham with a look which did not escape her. "And pray, may I ask?-- " But checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style?-- for I dare not hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that he is improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was."
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while she added:
"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of accents:
"You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the APPEARANCE of what is right. His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must only deter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart."
This was simply too much for Elizabeth to bear with equanimity. She had not intended to confront him, to be more moderate in her expressions to Wickham than she had been to Darcy and to learn from her past errors, but her temper escaped her, both at his continued attempts to deceive her and at his malicious slander of a man she now knew to be innocent of all charges laid against him of wrongdoing by Wickham.
"Indeed, I'm sure you are correct," she replied with a tight smile and was revolted by his look of relief when he believed her deceived again. "Why, after my conversations with Colonel Fitzwilliam, I'm inclined to condemn the lot of Derbyshire-bred men for scoundrels and rogues, so shocking were the tales he told me of young men raised within that county."
"All of them! Why, Miss Bennet, that is uncharitable of you. Surely some of us..."
"Perhaps one or two may remain immune in the end, but I am not yet convinced. Why, Colonel Fitzwilliam did relate to me stories so scandalous, of young men who would lure away girls of a very tender age from their families and attempt to induce them into illicit elopements for the purpose of gaining what wealth their dowries might provide, young men who would deceive and betray even their gentle and generous benefactors by accruing debts of honor and causing strife and discord between fathers and sons and besmirching the good names of decent and honorable men. No, Mr. Wickham, I am not, at this time, inclined to be charitable toward the men of Derbyshire in the slightest."
By the end of her speech, Wickham was ghastly white and quivering with fury. She went on to add:
"I would not wish to injure a person who has done me no specific wrong and therefore, should I find myself encountered by such a man, I would keep my intelligence of such a character to myself. Unless, of course, I were to see him often in the company of those closest to me--such as my dearest friends or even my sisters. Then, I'm sure you understand, as a matter of mere self-defense, I would have no recourse but to tell what I know to, say, his employer. But I'm sure it would not be necessary, would it, Mr. Wickham?"
She took a grim satisfaction from his brusque nod and the fact that he could barely execute the required bow before turning on his heel and stalking away. He was out of temper for the rest of the gathering and was quick to excuse himself at the first possible opportunity, taking care not to linger with undue attention toward her younger sisters as he made his farewells to her mother.
* * * * *
There was one chord of discontent within the Bennet household, that did resonate throughout the days preceding the militia's departure, and that was the fact that Mr. Bennet steadfastly refused to take his family on holiday to Brighton, despite the pleading of his wife and younger daughters. So vocal was their distress that Elizabeth could not help but recall Mr. Darcy's remarks on her family and feel their justice renewed, and be all the more aghast that he saw fit to include herself in that judgement. She was heartily ashamed of her family, and ashamed of herself for feeling so.
Despite the pleading, nagging, and general misery of his wife and daughters, Mr. Bennet remained unmoved by the prospect of balls and sea-bathing in Brighton. Elizabeth's support of this decision nearly earned her the censure of her mother and sisters once more, but her mother was not to be refused the opportunity to mourn Jane's inability to engage Mr. Darcy's affections before an audience for long.
"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one day, "what is your opinion NOW of this sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Phillips so the other day. All those weeks in Kent with him--I will say I knew such a thing might happen when I sent Jane to Hunsford in my stead--and STILL he does not propose to her! Well, he is a very undeserving young man--and I do not suppose there's the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done."
"I think you wise indeed, ma'am, not to speak of it with anyone, for you will only make dear Jane uncomfortable. You are correct; there is no chance that Jane will ever marry Mr. Darcy--she is not in love with him, and we were all mistaken to have ever imagined it so. It would be best, I think, to give up all hope on that front."
Mrs. Bennet was aghast. "Not--! Not in love with him! Don't be ridiculous, of course she's in love with him! Don't you know he has ten thousand a year?!"
Perceiving the futility of trying to convince her mother, Elizabeth did excuse herself at the first possible opportunity, and thereafter refused to speak on the subject with anyone. She did suddenly have an unexpected empathy with Mary, however, for all the years she had spent unable to understand--or be understood by--any member of her family.
Elizabeth's complacency as to the salvation of her family with the militia's removal to Brighton was disturbed when Lydia received an invitation from Mrs. Forster--a young and silly woman of whom it was not charitably stated that she had everything in common with Lydia--to join her and her husband as their guest in Brighton for the summer. The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, were vocal in the extreme and there was no peace to be had at Longbourn that entire afternoon. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home. He heard her attentively, and then said:
"Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner--nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair."
"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately taking her hand said in reply:
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton."
"And we may have no hope of respectability and creditability at Longbourn if she DOES go!" Elizabeth cried, unmollified by his assurance and discomfited by his praise, which she now knew to be wholly false. "I beg you not to let her go, Father. It is not just Lydia's character with which I am concerned. It has come to my attention that some of the officers of the regiment are not the gentlemen they portray themselves as, that they are not honorable or respectable, however agreeable they may appear."
Her father looked at her sharply. "And how is it you have come to this understanding, when all of Meryton society dotes upon them? Have YOU anything specific to accuse them of?"
"No, not I. It is a matter of confidence, sir, and I would beg you not to inquire further, for I cannot supply specifics without betraying the trust of a friend and possibly damaging the reputation of an innocent young woman, who, through no fault of her own, was deceived by one of them so that he might get his hands on her dowry."
"Come, Lizzy! We have not spent the years in this household since Jane's coming out mourning the lack of proper dowries for my daughters only to fear fortune hunters at this late date!" her father chided with humor.
"And what if it is not a fortune the man in question might be after?" Elizabeth replied without thinking. At her father's sharp look, she subsided. "Forgive me, sir--I cannot speak more plainly without owning intelligence you would find distressing for one of your daughters to possess. But suffice it to say that mercenary motives are not the only flaws in this man's character. And you have said yourself, sir, that Lydia is a heedless girl who is far too easily influenced and determinedly ignorant of proprieties."
"Lizzy! That is quite a charge to lay against the character of your own sister! To imagine she might do such a thing--"
"I think she is silly enough for anything, and unaware of the very great harm which might befall her family if she were led astray. She's a pretty girl, Papa. The lack of a dowry would be no deterrent to one who did not wish to be married. For it would not be the first time the man has ruined an impressionable girl."
Only now did Mr. Bennet appear to be considering her argument with suitable gravity. "These are serious accusations, Lizzy...why have they not been brought to Colonel Forster?"
"As I said--it was a matter of confidence. As long as the man behaved himself and did not appear to pose a threat to any of our acquaintance, I saw no reason to bring these facts to light. The reputation of a respectable young woman not much older than Lydia herself is at stake if these facts became common knowledge, and I would not jeopardize that. He is to be gone, and soon, so I did not see any harm in remaining silent."
"And you are confident of the source of these charges?"
"Absolutely so, sir. The people most likely to have been injured had these tales been falsified are those the teller held dearest. I have lately learned to be more cautious in whom I believe and why, and I assure you sir, I believe this information implicitly."
"Well," Mr. Bennet sighed at last. "In light of this information, I suppose I have no choice but to keep Lydia under the close supervision of her family. She shall not go to Brighton."
* * * * *
For her trouble, Elizabeth found herself witness to Lydia's declaration that she would hate her sister forever and steadfastly refuse to forgive her as long as she should live, once Mr. Bennet did announce his decision, for he was not inclined to shoulder the tempers of his wife and youngest daughter alone and therefore did not keep secret the part Elizabeth playing in his decision. It was a condemnation she felt she could bear with equanimity, though the displeasure of her mother was something else entirely. Her mother's disapprobation was so severe and her criticism of anything Elizabeth did was so strong that Elizabeth began to anxiously count the days until her aunt and uncle would arrive and take her to the Lakes with them and bring her some relief from the endless censure. But as the spring passed into summer, Elizabeth bore witness to Jane's increased despondency as word of Mr. Bingley's return to Netherfield still did not arrive. Summer brought some hope of relief for Elizabeth's plight, for the time fixed for the beginning of her northern tour with the Gardiner's was now fast approaching, and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again within a month, and as that left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with the leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour, and, according to the present plan, were to go no farther northwards than Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to be seen to occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of her curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.
At once, all pleasure Elizabeth had in anticipating the journey was extinguished, for it was impossible for her to see the name of that county without thinking of Pemberley and its owner. It was a remote possibility that she would encounter Mr. Darcy, but a possibility nonetheless, and she could not think of facing him without mortification. And so melancholy was Jane that Elizabeth seized upon a way to relieve them both of their misery and wrote to their aunt and recommended that they take Jane with them to Derbyshire instead to give her a relief from the general air of discontent that filled Longbourn. After all, Elizabeth reasoned, it was she, not Jane, who had curtailed Lydia's pleasure that summer and brought about the unpleasantness in which they all resided, and though she continued to believe her interference was for the best, it was unfair that she should escape the fruits of her labours while Jane endured them, and to her mind, Jane was greatly in need of a holiday, and would be the less distressing Bennet sister for Mr. Darcy to encounter, should such a circumstance arise. Her aunt Gardiner acquiesced to her plea on Jane's behalf, and Mrs. Bennet was ecstatic that Jane should be going into Pemberley, though quite for other reasons than those that Elizabeth cherished, and thus it was decided that Jane should accompany them instead.
Part Fifteen
Elizabeth's spirits were further lifted when she received a letter from Jane, which was addressed to her from the village of Lambton. She wrote:
Dearest Lizzy:
I cannot thank you enough for your generosity of spirit for sacrificing your own holiday with my aunt and uncle Gardiner and allowing me to undertake this journey with them instead, for it has been a delightful treat, and so much has happened with which I must acquaint you.
As you know, we are now in Lambton, the small village in which my aunt Gardiner spent her girlhood. It is a lovely village, and my aunt cannot be accused of bias when she says that it is the most wonderful of places. It also has the distinction of being not five miles from Pemberley. Forgive me if the mention of that estate and its owner brings you discomfort, but I must share this information if I am to reveal to you all that has happened.
Two days after our arrival at Lambton, we decided to tour Pemberley, for my aunt informed me that the grounds were fair and the house rich and beautifully furnished. She was not mistaken, and my uncle remarked that there were parks and groves enough to satisfy even your enthusiasm for them, and never has a lovelier house more happily situated existed. Upon our arrival, we were told the family was from home and would actually be returning on the morrow with a large party of friends. The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, conducted the tour and is, to all appearances, very attached to the family she serves. She then turned our tour over to the gardener, and as we were walking the gardens, who should we encounter but Mr. Darcy, who had only just arrived that moment, unannounced, a day ahead of schedule. He was somewhat reserved and uncomfortable at first, but I am happy to say our friendship holds true, and he was courteous and kind to our aunt and uncle. So you see, dearest Lizzy, I am happy to relieve you of your despair, and I am certain that if our gracious reception is any indicator, than Mr. Darcy cannot begrudge you the events of your last encounter as you so fear, for though his feelings might have been injured, he is not a malicious man and surely must understand that whatever misapprehensions you labored under at that time, they came from the best of intentions and a loyalty to those you care about, and no one of reasonable character can find fault with that.
But that is not the end of my news. Mr. Darcy informed me, the next day there would be arriving the rest of his party, and with some of them did I share an acquaintance, for Mr. Bingley and his sisters would be staying at Pemberley. At first I was nervous and distraught by this information, for how could I possibly face Mr. Bingley without having my hopes excited despite the fact that I now knew he no longer cared for me? And my nervousness was exacerbated when Mr. Darcy requested to introduce to me his sister of whom he is very fond, for of course Caroline Bingley's letters had led me to believe that Mr. Bingley was courting Miss Darcy. Nevertheless, I had no excuse for refusing and therefore consented to the introduction the next time Mr. Darcy and his sister ventured into Lambton. I resolved I should meet Mr. Bingley with complete composure and hoped that once the first meeting was past, we might thereafter regard each other as common and indifferent acquaintances.
To my great surprise, they arrived two mornings after at the inn where we are staying, and I was introduced to Miss Darcy, who is a shy, sweet girl with whom I could bring myself to feel no discomfort whatsoever after having met her. If hers is indeed the direction in which Mr. Bingley's affections lay, then I cannon but wish her happy, for my disappointment is no fault of her own and being familiar as I am of her ill treatment at that hands of Wickham, I dare say the poor girl deserves every happiness. Also accompanying them, however, was none other than Mr. Bingley, and for that fact I was indeed anxious. You will be incapable, I am sure, of triumphing at my expense when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me, for Mr. Bingley did in embarassment reveal to me that until the previous afternoon when he arrived at Pemberley and was informed of my presence in the area, he had, in fact, believed me to be married and residing in Kent. On this I will not dwell for long, for I am at a loss to understand Miss Bingley's apparent desire to be intimate with me when in Hertfordshire. As for Mr. Bingley, there was a great deal of awkwardness in that meeting and I could barely bring myself to converse with him with anything resembling composure. But now that it is past, I feel perfectly at ease, for the worst of it is over. While I do not entertain the hope that I can watch him with Miss Darcy without some pain, I like them both sufficiently to wish them every possible joy and will be perfectly content to call myself their friend.
At the end of that meeting, we were invited to dine at Pemberley the next evening, and my new understanding of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst was affirmed when, upon seeing them, they were everything that was polite and insincere, but to the close observer made it plain that they had no pleasure in my being there. I cannot understand their attitude, I am afraid, for surely it must be obvious to them that Mr. Bingley is in no danger from me, especially with Miss Darcy at hand. I confess myself confused also by Mr. Bingley's behavior, for while he was always polite and kind to Miss Darcy, he did not spend a great deal of time with her, and with myself he was every bit as attentive and charming as he had ever been in Hertfordshire. He confessed a yearning to return there and a nostalgia for his time there last winter, and he denounced any intention of relinquishing the property in the future, stating that he was debating on whether or not he would return soon, but was leaning toward doing precisely that. I barely knew what to make of the situation. In any case, it does not signify. I shan't allow my hopes or expectations to be excited again. It's absurd that a man may not return to a property he has legally let without raising undue speculation, and therefore I am resolved that henceforth I shall regard him fondly as a friend and nothing more.
Write soon, Lizzy, and tell me how fare my young cousins and sisters and mother and father, and most especially yourself, for I have been greatly concerned for you indeed since this spring.
Yours etc.
Elizabeth was elated upon receiving this news, for unlike her sister, she was certain now that all might turn out well between Mr. Bingley and Jane if he did indeed return to Hertfordshire. Her heart was also considerably lightened that Mr. Darcy did not begrudge Jane for Elizabeth's treatment of himself and had treated her and her aunt and uncle graciously. It spoke well of his character and Elizabeth felt anew the injustice she had done him.
The next morning before breakfast, while the house was still relatively quiet, Elizabeth began her letter to Jane thus:
My dearest Jane,
If it is a voice of caution you seek, you have written to the wrong sister. Perhaps Mary would suffice and provide you with passages from Fordyce's sermons on proper feminine behavior and the role of a woman to wait upon the pleasure of a man where proposals and the like are concerned, but surely neither Kitty nor Lydia would do, nor most especially my mother, with whom I have elected NOT to share your information about having encountered Mr. Darcy there in Derbyshire for obvious reasons. I think her shock may be great indeed if you should return the betrothed of Mr. Bingley, but I cannot believe she shall be too distressed, even if he has only a mere five thousand pounds a year. With the matter of the entailment resolved upon Mary's marriage, surely the need to snare the wealthiest son-in-law is not so pressing. She cannot, I think, mourn her disillusioned hopes overlong once a proposal is secured and your happiness is apparent to all.
And if I am being presumptuous, I cannot apologize for it, for I feel you are in very great danger, Jane--danger of making Mr. Bingley every bit as in love with you as he ever has been. How fortuitous is this meeting of yours, that it should render useless the machinations of Miss Bingley, but for which I am convinced Mr. Bingley would long since have returned to Hertfordshire to court you. Therefore, you, dearest Jane, may downplay the importance of Mr. Bingley's attentions to you all you may wish, while I shall entertain all the hopes and expectations for you that you yourself have renounced, and incautiously anticipate your return to Hertfordshire as the betrothed of Mr. Bingley.
For myself, the summer days are now filled with the entertainment of my nieces and nephews, who continue inhumanly energetic but at least I now have companions for my daily rambles and a diversion for my attention. Lydia continues in better spirits than when you departed, and she and Kitty appear to have mended the breech between them and are now much as they ever were...
It was at that moment when the wailing began from her mother's room, and Elizabeth laid aside her letter. Several hours later, she took up her pen again to conclude it.
Dearest Jane, since writing the above, something most shocking has happened. Lydia was not to be found in her room this morning, and Kitty came forth with a note she found on Lydia's bed, stating that she has run off to Scotland... with Mr. Wickham!
Mother is in hysterics and Father in shock. Kitty did not seem wholly surprised by this news as we might have hoped, and over the course of the morning did reveal when questioned that she knew Lydia had a secret beau she has been meeting outside Meryton for nearly two weeks, but that she would not reveal to Kitty the identity of the man, and that Kitty had helped conceal her absences because she thought the entire affair was romantic. I scarcely know what to think of the matter, for I cannot believe Wickham so disinterested that he would take Lydia knowing my father can give him nothing, and I fear greatly for Lydia. I know you will wish to reassure me that the situation is not completely without hope, but so imprudent a match on both sides! What can Wickham possibly hope to gain from it, for I am certain it is not affection for Lydia which drives him.
Father has gone out to seek for them and see if they might be stopped, and we shall know more soon.
Yours etc.
Two days later, Elizabeth was forced to take up her pen and compose another letter to Jane.
Dearest Jane, I hardly know what I would write, but the news has gotten much worse and the most distressing of my fears are confirmed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wickham and Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Though Lydia's short letter to Kitty gave us to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, in order to learn more about when Wickham left his regiment and under what circumstances, Father sent an express to Colonel Forster the day Lydia left and a response came late yesterday. Within it, he stated that something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W. never intended to go to Scotland, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, sent word from Brighton. He went on to state that plans for this elopement may have been in the works for some time, for Mrs, F., upon learning the news, revealed that the suggestion that she invite Lydia to Brighton had been Wickham's! I cannot understand it, for there has never been anything in Wickham's behavior to suggest any partiality for Lydia. I can remember no symptom of affection on either side; and had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all were. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about him for the first two months; but he never distinguished HER by any particular attention; and, consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites. So why, after leaving his regiment, would he come back here for her? Why would he wish her to accompany the regiment to Brighton, in the first place? It makes no sense.
Father has since attempted to trace their steps, but all that is known after this is, that they were seen on the road to London, but no further, certainly not headed toward Gretna Green. Father has made every possible inquiry this side of London, but without any success--no such people had been seen to pass through. Our distress, Jane, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, and knowing what I know of Wickham's character, I have no hope that this will turn out well. Colonel Forster's letter confirms our worst fears, for he said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. It is most shocking indeed that a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt. Perhaps I am not doing Lydia justice. But she is very young; she has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half-year, nay, for a twelvemonth-- she has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater-- what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman. We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating. No, I have not the smallest hope.
Mother is ill, and keeps to her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better; but this is not to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Kitty is bewildered by their distress and I should be angry at Kitty, but the foolish girl had no inclination of the great harm she was doing us all by her role in this. I am truly glad, dearest Jane, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes, but I am afraid I must earnestly beg for your return. My father is going to London with to try to discover her, and I shall accompany him, and my mother will need someone beside Kitty to look after her, and your company shall be of greater comfort than mine would be. What Father means to do I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way. In such an exigence, my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness."
What Elizabeth did not relate to her sister was that Mrs. Bennet had seized upon what comfort could be provided by blaming someone else for Lydia's actions. If Lydia had not been prevented from going to Brighton by Elizabeth's scheming, she claimed, she would not have taken it into her head to do something so rebellious as this. It was therefore, she concluded, Elizabeth's fault, rather than Lydia's, or Kitty's, that disgrace and ruin had been brought upon them all. With that conclusion, though not the rationale behind it, Elizabeth was not disinclined to agree. It was fortunate Mary had made a prudent marriage, for it was unlikely any of the rest of them would ever do so now. There was not a servant in their household who had not heard the wails and cries of her mother and was not soon aware of the cause of them. The news was all over Meryton by now. Already her Aunt Phillips had called to condole with her mother, and she was sure Mrs. Long and Lady Lucas would not be far behind to gloat over their misfortune. Elizabeth was most anxious to be away from the house and hoped, if she could not provide her father with assistance in his search for Lydia, she might at least provide him with comfort and company, which she was ill equipped to offer her mother. Certain that Jane would return within a matter of days and that Kitty could at the very least atone for her part in the affair by being responsible for their mother until that time, Elizabeth would not be denied in her insistence to accompany her father and left with him first thing the following morning.
* * * * *
Some days later, her uncle arrived at the house on Gracechurch Street, and Elizabeth and her father were immediately entreated to join him there. By that time, Elizabeth was not certain accompanying her father was any better than remaining with her mother. No progress had been made in locating the pair, and Mr. Bennet's mood deteriorated with every day of failure. Elizabeth could scarce of be comfort to him, and felt utterly useless. Her only consolation was that he did not share in her mother's censure of her, but respected that she, of all of them, had had the foresight to anticipate such a turn of events. Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few days longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable to her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and for that Elizabeth was grateful, that Jane's burden in caring for their mother might be less.
Jane's first letter to Elizabeth, arriving with her aunt, brought her little comfort, for it was as she feared. All Meryton had turned out to blacken the man who, but three months before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues--all honoured with the title of seduction--had been extended into every tradesman's family. Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world; and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of her sister's ruin more certain; and even Jane, who believed still less of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now come when, if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before entirely despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some news of them. Of her leave-taking of Mr. Bingley she wrote not one word, and Elizabeth dreaded that this business would prevent Mr. Bingley's ever renewing his addresses to Jane, just when it seemed that all her sister's dreams had come so close to fruition. This, more than anything, did Elizabeth resent about the whole business, for Jane did not deserve the unhappiness this turn of events might have brought upon her.
Since no news had been found of Lydia and Wickham by any of the roads to Scotland, the primary inquiry of Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner was to check at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet
thought it possible they might have gone to one of them, on their first coming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. Mr. Bennet, now understanding it had been Wickham to whom Elizabeth had been referring during their discussion of Lydia's proposed trip to Brighton, sought her authority in any matters pertaining to the man's business, any friends or acquaintances she might be aware of, but she was obliged to disappoint him, for she knew of no such people in existence. The could only hope that Colonel Forster might respond to their letter asking him for more details from Wickham's friends in the regiment that might give them some clues as to where the man might be hiding.
Elizabeth also received a letter from her sister Mary, who confiding she was writing against her husband's wishes. She wanted Elizabeth to know it might be some time before she could contact her family again, for her husband Mr. Collins was now fearful of the ill effects such a close relation to a girl of such poor character might have on his wife and himself, and most importantly on the condescension which his noble patroness so kindly bestowed upon them. She assured Elizabeth that she had every hopes he would relent once the crisis had passed, and dwelt for a while on the fragility of a woman's reputation and the need to guard oneself against the undeserving of the other sex. Mary apologized to Elizabeth for this intractability in her husband's stance on the matter and that she would do what she could to convince him not to attempt to separate her entirely from her family.
The reply they received from Colonel Forster was not encouraging. It was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with whom he kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one living. His former acquaintances had been numerous; but since he had been in the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of particular friendship with any of them. There was no one, therefore, who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him. And in the wretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him to a very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton. He owed a good deal in town, but his debts of honour were still more formidable.
Mr. Bennet was disheartened by his failure to find any word of Lydia, and Mr. Gardiner entreated him to return home to his family, assuring him that he would remain to continue the search. Elizabeth dreaded returning home, for she knew her mother better than to hope that she had relented in blaming her for Lydia's ruin. She was unaware that her uncle had received a letter from his wife informing him of Mrs. Bennet's determination to hold Elizabeth responsible for the affair despite all logic and her suggestion that it might be best to invite Elizabeth to stay on with them for a while, under the reasoning that, should Lydia be recovered, it might be wise to have at least one of her family on hand, thus relieving Elizabeth of the obligation to return home to her mother while Mrs. Bennet continued to blame her. The invitation was duly extended and gratefully accepted, and Mr. Bennet departed London without his daughter, and Mrs. Gardiner returned that very night.
Three days hence, Elizabeth sat in the parlor attempting to write a letter to Jane informing her that there had been no further developments in the matter of Lydia and Wickham and meeting with dismal failure, unable to bring herself to relate such miserable news and further deflate her sister's hopes. She became aware of voices in the foyer, and hoping despite logic that it was the arrival of any information pertaining to Lydia, she rushed out to ascertain the situation for herself, and found herself stopping short and staring in astonishment at Mr. Darcy.
"Miss Bennet!" he exclaimed, looking shocked and then annoyed. Belatedly, they each remembered their manners and executed the perfunctory bow and curtsey.
"Mr. Darcy--I, um, was not aware you were in town. I understood from my sister's letters that she had encountered you in Derbyshire recently."
"Yes," he said with cool politeness, his response barely fulfilling the requirements of civility, "I have only arrived but two days ago."
"I see. And your trip to the country, it was a pleasant one?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I understand the Bingleys accompanied you and your sister--they were all well, I hope?"
"Very well, when last I saw them."
"Good, good." Elizabeth foundered for a topic, for the issues most pressing on her mind of late left little mental agility for small talk. "And you--enjoyed your trip to the country?"
"Yes, I thank you, being back at Pemberley was enjoyable indeed," he said shortly, with great exasperation as Elizabeth chided herself for being such a fool. The maid re-entered the foyer from her uncle's study and announced that Mr. Gardiner would see him. "You will excuse me, madam, but I am here to see your uncle on a matter of business."
"Yes, of course, I shall not detain you," Elizabeth demurred, and stared in bewilderment and discomfort as he walked away.
* * * * *
The next day, Lydia was brought to the Gardiner's house by her uncle, and Elizabeth breathed easy for the first time in weeks at the announcement that she and Wickham would be married as soon as Mr. Bennet approved the engagements Mr. Gardiner had conducted on his behalf. Elizabeth was astounded when she was informed that Lydia's dowry would be only the thousand pounds she was to receive upon her mother's death, and one hundred pounds per annum. It hardly seemed a sufficient amount to induce a man as penniless and indebted as Wickham into matrimony with a girl he had no obvious reason to wed, for she could not believe it had aught to do with inclination on his part. It was obvious her uncle must have laid out a generous sum for the payment of Wickham's debts, at least, which would leave her father deeply indebted to the man.
At the very least, however, Mr. Darcy's appearance at the house in Gracechurch Street made much more sense--it explained how Lydia was found so quickly. Elizabeth could only surmise that somehow word of their family's predicament had reached Mr. Darcy--perhaps through Mr. Collins and thus Lady Catherine de Bourgh--and that he had volunteered what information he had regarding Wickham's acquaintances and contacts, enabling Mr. Gardiner to find the pair and bring about the marriage. That he had done that much astounded Elizabeth, for he had no reason to think well of any of their family except Jane, and certainly none to aid them. It spoke of the goodness of the man that he was able to put aside his resentment of HER enough to render some assistance in the matter, for she cherished no hope he had forgiven her. His cool attitude toward her during their encounter in the foyer attested to that. But, she supposed, his sense of honour must have at least been sufficient to induce him to step forward with what information he had, for the sake of his friendship with Jane if for nothing else.
Her father's response on the matter of the engagements came the next day, and preparations for the wedding began. Shortly thereafter, nonsensical letters from their mother containing instructions about wedding clothes and the best warehouses as well as an order to Elizabeth to stand as Lydia's bridesmaid, since Kitty could not be there. Mrs. Bennet lamented that Mr. Gardiner had made arrangements for Lydia to be married from London rather than at Longbourn where she might be seen by all her friends, and Lydia lamented that none of Wickham's friends from the regiment should be able to attend. Elizabeth despair of any improvement in sense for the girl, as she continued to behave as though she had done nothing shameful and seemed genuinely perplexed at all the distress she had caused.
"We would have been married sooner or later," Lydia shrugged. "My Wickham simply needed time to get his affairs in order."
"That may be well enough for you," Elizabeth exclaimed in exasperation, "but it may well have been ruinous for the rest of us!"
"Lizzy!" her Aunt Gardiner gasped, setting aside her embroidery. "Surely this can accomplish no good now."
"You're right, ma'am," Elizabeth subsided. "If she is too foolish to understand the very grave harm she has done all the rest of her family by her thoughtlessness, then it is certainly useless for me to inform her. Excuse me." Elizabeth quickly left the drawing room before her composure was lost completely, and as she made her way up the stairs, heard Lydia's careless and gloating response echo through the hallway, "Lizzy's merely jealous because I'm to be wed before her, and envious of my Wickham, because she once fancied him herself!"
Elizabeth retired to her room heartsick and weary. Still no word had come from Jane that she had had any further contact with Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth's heart broke for her sister. She was doubly distressed that Mr. Darcy should know of her family's troubles and think that much worse of them, as surely he must do. Perhaps he might even advise Bingley against his suit for Jane, though he had once supported it despite its imprudence. Certainly he could not want to see his friend attached to such a family as theirs, despite his respect for the eldest Bennet sister. Despite the fortunate resolution to their recent family drama that was to be had when Lydia and Wickham married and went away to the north, Elizabeth could not remember a time when she had felt more hopeless.
Three days later, she accompanied Lydia and her aunt and uncle to the church where her sister was to be married to Wickham in a very private ceremony, and stopped short to see Mr. Darcy standing in the sanctuary with Mr. Wickham. Scarcely able to breathe, Elizabeth met his eyes, unable to fathom why he would possibly be there. He gave her a cool nod and turned his back on her, facing the parson, and Elizabeth made her way to the front of the church in confusion, barely aware of the proceedings. The wedding was conducted in a very straightforward manner, for the clergyman wisely thought it best to get the deed accomplished with a minimum of fanfare. Mr. Darcy stood as Wickham's groomsman, and within moments, it was done and Lydia was now Mrs. Wickham. There would be a wedding luncheon for the family at the Gardiner's house, and then Mr. and Mrs. Wickham would be traveling to Longbourn to take their leave of the bride's family before he assumed his new commission in the north. Elizabeth had declined to travel with them to Longbourn, pleading the excuse that the newlyweds would surely not wish another to accompany them, but in actuality simply certain she could not bear their company for such a long journey. Instead, her uncle's carriage would take her to halfway to Longbourn in a couple days and her father's carriage would meet her and take her the rest of the way.
After the ceremony was complete, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner dutifully congratulated the bride and listened to her effusions over her triumph at being wed before all but one of her older sisters, Mr. Wickham bowed to Elizabeth with a sardonic smile.
"Allow me to congratulate you, sir, on your wedding," she said with some effort.
"Thank you, sister," he answered warmly, then pitching his voice low, leaned toward her and said confidentially, "What say you, sister? Will you now reveal what you know of the character of Derbyshire men?"
Elizabeth reeled back in shock and horror as the implication of his words struck her, and quickly left the sanctuary of the church, seeking the fresh air to be found on the front steps of the church. Revenge! That had been Wickham's design all along, revenge on her for learning to truth, for confronting him with it, for all but daring him to be seen with her sisters. All of it, his attempts to get Lydia to Brighton, his coming back for her when he left the regiment, his taking her off without ever intending to marry her--all of it had been done to avenge himself on Elizabeth. It was her fault all this had happened, hers and no other! If she hadn't spoken to him so rashly, hadn't lost her temper and confronted him, he would never have sought Lydia out, never have taken her from her family and ruined the hopes of Jane and all her sisters for respectable matches.
Suddenly, she was deeply afraid of what her uncle must have laid down to appease the man and turn him from his primary design of vengeance to do the right thing. Surely no reasonable sum could have accomplished the deed. No, it would have had to be an extortionate amount, not merely enough to pay off his debts or set them up comfortably or purchase a commission. How deeply indebted to her uncle was her family, and how could they ever possibly repay him? Elizabeth wept with vexation and her own folly and the depth of Wickham's malice.
"Miss Bennet." Mr. Darcy's voice came from behind her and she quickly composed herself, wiping her eyes, unwilling to have him see her distressed. "Pardon me, I appear to be interrupting your solitude. I shall go."
"No, please, it is no interruption. Allow me to take this opportunity, sir, to thank you for the great aid you have rendered my family."
"I beg your pardon!" he said sharply, seeming taken aback.
"For helping us find Lydia, Mr. Darcy. It seems quite obvious that you were the one who enabled my uncle to locate her."
"Yes, well..." he frowned, seeming discomfited.
"I can imagine the mortification it must have cost you to deal with Wickham once more, and can only stress how grateful I am that you assisted us in bringing this about. That you should be inclined to help us after the way I have treated you is generosity beyond compare."
"Indeed, I am not inclined," he said coldly, and Elizabeth's misery was renewed at his contempt. "However, Miss Bennet, when I make an error, I rectify it."
"Indeed, sir, and so must I. Please, you must allow me to apologize for the way I treated you on the occasion of our last conversion."
"I would beg you do not apologize. Things were said on that occasion that are best forgotten by both of us as soon as possible."
"After what you have done for our family, sir, I would be remiss indeed if I did not attempt to rectify the matter."
"Then by all means, be remiss, madam! I respect your contempt more than your deference, for at least I know the contempt was sincere and not the result of a polite obligation for whatever service you imagine I have rendered. Good day, Miss Bennet."
Stunned by the cold anger and hostility in his voice, at his dismissal of her apology, Elizabeth watched as he strode quickly down the steps and disappeared into his coach. By the time the rest of her family emerged from the church, Elizabeth's tears had ceased and she was able to face the carriage ride back to her uncle's house with some semblance of composure. Upon their arrival, however, she excused herself to her room with a headache, and came down neither for the wedding luncheon nor to take leave of her sister and brother-in-law when they departed.
Chapter Nine
Darcy was still sitting on the stairs with Miss Bennet. She had laid her hand on his shoulder. She was a good person. Through the pressure of her hand he could feel all her goodness seeping into him. It overwhelmed him too much to speak.
Elizabeth waited until he would finish what he had begun to say. She was intrigued. He was going to ask her something, something that he felt he had no right to ask and that she would despise him for. What could it be? She would not despise him. She felt sorry for him. "Yes, Mr Darcy?" she asked softly when it was taking him very long to speak. Perhaps she should encourage him a little.
"You are aware, perhaps, that you are very lovely," he said.
That was not what she had expected and it took her by surprise. "Me?" She had forgotten about herself while she had been listening to him. It cost her some effort to consider her own person again and then some effort to understand his words. She was lovely? Why?
"Yes. Are you not aware of it?"
Elizabeth blinked. She looked away from his intense stare. "Er...Mr Darcy, I do not understand you." What could be his point?
"It is admirable that you do not know you are lovely," Darcy thought out loud. "I am afraid this makes my problem all the greater."
"Which problem would that be, Mr Darcy?"
"May I call you Elizabeth?"
"You may." Elizabeth wondered if this had been the question he had meant to ask all along, but somehow she doubted it. It was not something that she would despise him for and she could not imagine it being a very difficult question to ask.
"Elizabeth..." Darcy tested how it would sound if spoken aloud. He had said it many times in his mind. It sounded very good. "I do not know what to do."
She had gathered as much. "I do not think you can do much. This was your sister's decision," she said kindly. "As painful as it is to you. There is nothing anybody could do. But what were you going to ask me?" She was still curious.
Darcy shook his head in embarrassment. "Forgive me. I could not impose myself on you in such a manner." A little kindness and he was lost. Fortunately he had realised just in time that it might not be the same for her. She had listened, but she would not have come to respect him for his confidences. Perhaps it was the opposite. He should be stronger.
Elizabeth saw his expression become more proud. He was regretting his behaviour, she surmised. There was nothing she could do about that. She could tell him there was no need, but she was not sure she would be completely happy yet with Darcy imposing himself on her either. Perhaps it was for the best that he had some temporary regrets. She understood it must have been difficult for him to reveal all of this. He would, she was certain, regret this regret when he realised that it was better to let it all out.
"I...thank you," Darcy said stiffly. "Perhaps..." But then he shook his head at himself and got up as stiffly as he had spoken. "Thank you. I hope I can count on your discretion."
Elizabeth nodded. He was an interesting character. His departure would give her time to reflect on him. "I am not offended and I will not speak," she assured him. He had not asked if she was offended, but it was likely that he might wonder about it later. It was best to reassure him right away.
Darcy looked at her gratefully and then fled.
Georgiana had distanced herself from her relatives when she did not find them to hold the same idea of what the truth was as she did. She had not called on them anymore and they had been reluctant to call on her when she had proved to be contrary every single time.
She had withdrawn as much again as she used to. Her husband was not often available for support either. He had an occupation during the day, naturally, but he said this required him to do some things at night with his fellow officers that were not for women. Georgiana had met but a few of these other officers, but she knew none of them were married. There would really not be any place for her there should she insist on coming along.
Besides, if George told her something, it would be the truth. She did not believe that he was capable of lying to her. What reasons could he have to do that?
Precisely what her husband did on his outings was unknown to Georgiana, but she trusted him, as he was always very attentive and caring to her when he was home. There could not be a kinder or sweeter man than George. At first she had been thinking her brother was the only nice person on earth, but she had come to reconsider that opinion. Perhaps her brother was not so kind after all. He should have supported her more.
George was going to be sent abroad, but she was past the stage of being torn about it. She was no longer doubting that she would follow George to wherever he would be sent. There was no point in staying here alone if all her relatives were so incapable of understanding and supporting her. She would be alone in the world if it were not for George.
George had been shocked when she had said it to him. He had tried to convince her that it would be better for her to stay home, but the Darcy stubbornness had asserted itself. It was from France that she wrote her brother.
Darcy had been ashamed of his openness, even though Elizabeth had seemed to think there was nothing to be ashamed about. Still, he had taken pains to avoid her afterwards.
This had been easier when she was still at Netherfield, because enough opportunities were left to meet. He did not want to stop seeing her at all. All he had wanted to avoid was that he might be tempted to be weak again, for he considered it a weakness to reveal his feelings. He had absolutely no objections to seeing Elizabeth from a small distance. It was even something he needed, but this had become a little difficult when she and her sister had returned to Longbourn.
Suddenly he wished he had not been such a fool as to keep his distance. He should have spoken to her and by now they might have been friends. What must she be thinking of him now? He had ruined his own chances at becoming more intimately acquainted with the lady. No woman would accept being confided in, then pushed away and finally approached again. He would not blame her at all if she despised him. No, he could never blame her for anything.
It was all his own fault. He should not have spoken, but if he had not spoken, he would not have come to appreciate her more. Yet if he had not spoken, she would not have come to despise him. What could he do now? Anything he would say would make things worse. There was no way things could improve. He would undoubtedly make sure that any situation would be ruined by his pride, embarrassment, reserve or awkwardness.
He simply did not have the ability to deal with feelings. It was feelings that had ruined his sister's life and now they were threatening to ruin his own life as well. Somewhere a little voice told him Elizabeth might help, but he was too afraid to have any confidence in that. It was silly make-believe, something that he could not believe in because it might only give him more pain if it turned out to be self-deception.
He had seen Elizabeth a few times on his walks, although they had never spoken because Darcy had taken another path before they could meet. One of these days, however, there would not be such an opportunity and he would be forced to greet her. This was not something he was unwilling to do, but he did not mind postponing it for a while longer.
After some time the young lady began to be a little frustrated by his escapes and she attempted to time her walk a little later so that he would be meeting her on a very long stretch that would not offer any escape routes except blatantly offending her by sneaking into the shrubbery, which, she supposed, he would not do because he was a gentleman. While his embarrassment might cause him to avoid her, he would never affront her.
She succeeded in her scheme.
Darcy had been dragging his feet, but he had not managed to walk slowly enough to make up for her later departure. He found himself to be without alternatives when she came into sight. All he could do was walk on -- slowly.
"Miss Bennet."
"Mr Darcy." There was a gleam of self-satisfaction in her eyes. Her scheming had worked out.
He did not know what to say and said the wrong thing. "Are you a little later today?" He realised it was the wrong thing when he had spoken. Elizabeth was not stupid.
"If you are so well acquainted with my schedule, Mr Darcy, I must wonder at your regular avoidance of me," she said archly. He must be a troubled soul. Perhaps there was something she could do to help him. She was not in the habit of feeling that way and it puzzled her. However, she was not given to suppressing her curiosity and if something puzzled her she had to investigate.
Darcy felt embarrassed. "I..." he began, but he could not think of a suitable excuse.
"I was wondering if perhaps you thought I would not notice." He said nothing and she continued. "But after seeing you avoid me several times can you wonder that it puzzled me why you do not take a different path altogether?"
"I can see why it would puzzle you," he conceded. It was a miracle that he could even speak calmly, but he ascribed it to the gentle curiosity in her tone. "But I..." He still had no excuse.
"There must be something down that path that is more interesting than me," she remarked with a smile. "I have to insist that you show me."
Darcy looked alarmed. "You insist that I show you?" She could not be wanting to accompany him! What would he say? It would be very impolite to stay silent all the time, yet he had no idea what they could speak about.
"Yes, so I can make up my mind about being offended or not. I shall not be offended if it is something interesting."
"What if it is not?" He looked horrified now. There was absolutely nothing down that path. It would become all too clear that he had been avoiding her on purpose. She was offering him a gentlemanly way out, but he could not take it. He was too honest for that.
"Let me be the judge of that. Do you want to show me or would you prefer not to? Would you prefer to walk on alone?"
There was more to it than that. Darcy felt as if he had to decide on something important. He feared that if he said he would walk on alone, she would be lost to him forever as a friend, but he might also lose her if she discovered what an idiot he actually was. He stood indecisive for a moment. If both were distressing, he might as well settle for the one that allowed him to enjoy her company for a little longer. "I will show you the path," he said. The genuine smile he received in response made him wonder if this was going to be as distressing as he had imagined.
"Thank you. I am all anticipation." She took the arm he offered.
He looked alarmed again. "Perhaps you should lower your expectations a little." Perhaps he was speaking as much to himself as to her, he realised. He ought not to be so affected by simply walking with her arm in his.
"But Mr Darcy," she said in a faintly teasing tone, "you are too critical and demanding a man to take just any path, I am sure. It must be for a special reason."
It was, but not the sort of reason she might be imagining. "How would you know I am critical?" What else did she know about him?
"That is a guess. Am I wrong?" She did not think he was.
"I do not think you are, but I do not know if it is very good."
"Good of you or good of me?" Perhaps he did not want her to know what he was like. He seemed to regret that he had confided in her, but she did not know yet why. At least, she could not be sure until she knew a little more about him.
"Good of me."
"Sometimes it is, sometimes it is not," she replied thoughtfully. He was too critical of himself -- that much was certain. Perhaps he agreed that it was not always only good.
"That helps," Darcy said sarcastically.
"Sarcasm, Mr Darcy?"
"What if it was?" he asked a little apprehensively.
"Sarcasm is good." Perhaps she could wriggle a few more sarcastic remarks from him. They might be revealing. She pointed ahead. "Is that not where you generally leave the path?"
He pretended to study his surroundings as if he was not absolutely sure. "I think it might be."
"If you are always so cautious about how you phrase things, perhaps I should assume you are always speaking in understatements?" she asked and then she coloured when she remembered he had said she was lovely. Perhaps she should not assume understatements everywhere.
"This is the path." He did not know if he always spoke in understatements, but it was very likely. It seemed quite a safe course of action.