Chapter 11

Mid March, 1812

On the Road From London

Fitzwilliam Darcy stared out the window of his carriage as it rolled north toward Netherfield Hall. It was very early, and the sun was making her stately way above the eastern horizon. It was Bingley’s wedding day and as lovely a day as could be hoped.

The recent rains had washed clean earth and sky, and now the early sunlight caught on the remaining water, setting the fields sparkling like sun across the ocean. Above, the sky was still tinged pink and purple and gold with the remnants of the sunrise, contrasting nicely against the furled buds just beginning to paint the bare branches of the trees green.

The calm beauty of the landscape outside was in painful contrast to the state of Darcy’s heart. He had thought – he had hoped – that his fascination with Miss Elizabeth Bennet would fade away with time. To his distress, it had only grown more powerful.

It was now painfully obvious to him that when he had encouraged Bingley to abandon Miss Bennet, it was partially because he was afraid of Miss Elizabeth, of her incredible effect on him, and thus he fled to London like a scared boy instead of regulating his heart and mind appropriately.

And then had come the unexpected meeting in Hookham’s Library, followed up by the further encounter at the Gardiner home on Gracechurch Street, and then the ice skating party at St. James Park. The Bennet ladies had returned to Longbourn within days of Bingley’s proposal to Miss Bennet, and thus he had been free of Miss Elizabeth’s disturbing influence for nearly a month now.

Darcy had tried – oh, how he had tried – to distract himself with other things. He had spent many hours with Georgiana. He had busied himself with estate business. He had even, with much reluctance, attended several dinner parties, where eager mamas had thrown their daughters at him. All the young ladies were accomplished, and many of them were handsome, but they did nothing to his heart, nothing at all.

No, it seemed that wayward organ had decided that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of a country gentleman and a vulgar solicitor’s daughter, was the woman of his dreams, as absurd as that was.

Today he would see her again, and while his heart pounded with excitement at the prospect, his mind was a turbulent sea of fear and desire. Miss Elizabeth was, without a shadow of a doubt, an exemplary lady. She was kind, well mannered, intelligent, vigorous, and unusual. If her family was a distinguished one, he would marry her in a heartbeat. Alas, the want of connection was too great a barrier. He owed it to his family name, to his beloved, precious sister, to marry a woman of excellent birth, whose connections would augment his family’s position in society. But when he thought of marrying Lady Olivia Winton, daughter of the well-born but impoverished Earl of Nightcastle, or Miss Gertrude Shelley, niece of the Marquis of Lovenly, or even Miss Anne de Bourgh, his own cousin and heiress of the grand estate of Rosings, he felt genuine repugnance.

He would see Miss Elizabeth soon, and he hoped, with a fervency tinged with desperation, that he would look upon the lady and find himself entirely indifferent.

But he was not optimistic.

/

Meryton Church

Hertfordshire

A few hours later

Elizabeth stood at the rear of the church and looked around with satisfaction. The sanctuary was prepared for the wedding, which was just as well, as the ceremony would begin in half an hour. They had, she thought, done a good job with the decorations, which were simple but elegant. Two vases flanked the pulpit, with sunny daffodils taking pride of place, surrounded by red and orange tulips like supporting singers behind a soloist.

Nor were the flowers the only bright spots about the church this morning. As though the very heavens themselves were celebrating, sun poured in through the windows and warmed the wooden pews. The floor was pooled with blue and red and yellow and green from the stained glass window behind the altar, depicting a beneficent baby Jesus sitting in the arms of his mother and smiling down on the proceedings below.

“Elizabeth!”

She turned a beaming face on the man who would soon be her brother by marriage. “Charles! The day has come!”

“At last,” Bingley agreed, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “I confess that the last week seemed a year long.”

“I believe Jane is in agreement about that,” Elizabeth returned in amusement, and then turned to the tall, well-dressed, gentleman lurking behind Bingley. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”

She was, Darcy realized hopelessly, as desirable, as glorious, as enchanting, as splendid as he remembered. Maybe even more so.

“Erm, good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said stiffly. “I hope you are well?”

“Indeed, I am very well,” she answered merrily. “I hope you and Miss Darcy are also well?”

“Thank you, yes,” he said and lapsed into his usual awkward silence. To his relief, the door opened at this juncture and Mr. Allen, the rector who would be presiding over the ceremony, entered the sanctuary. Bingley and Elizabeth rushed over to speak to the man, with Darcy trailing along behind them like a lone duckling, and then Elizabeth hurried to the back door of the large chamber as various members of the community entered. Darcy watched as the object of his adoration greeted Sir William Lucas, along with his wife and family, and then disappeared out into the vestibule, where Miss Bennet, soon to be Mrs. Bingley, would arrive in short order.

“It is pleasant to see so many of the local gentry attending the wedding,” Bingley said. “The Bennets are well liked hereabouts.”

“Yes, they are,” Darcy agreed, and realized that he spoke the truth. In spite of the vulgarity of the mother, the eccentricity of the father, and the overly exuberant gyrations of the youngest two daughters, the Bennets were a respected family in the area. He found that a trifle surprising, but then he was far more fastidious than most gentlemen. Of course, the local inhabitants had grown up alongside the Bennet girls, and were naturally excited when one of their own married well; moreover, while much of the family was lacking in manners, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were in every way delightful.

The door opened again and such thoughts gave way to anxiety as several red coated officers entered the church. Darcy had not thought that any members of the militia would attend, and if Wickham were to appear, while he would not publicly strike the man in the nose, he would be sorely tempted.

To his profound relief, Wickham did not appear, though Colonel Forster, Captain Denny, and Lieutenant Pratt, along with a number of other officers, took their places on the left side of the sanctuary. A few minutes later, Mrs. Bennet and her younger three daughters, all dressed becomingly, made their way to the front of the church, with the matriarch of the Bennet clan beaming enthusiastically.

And then the doors at the back of the great hall opened, and Miss Elizabeth entered with Mr. and Miss Bennet, arm in arm, behind her. Elizabeth made her way gracefully down the aisle to take her place across from Darcy, and Mr. Bennet guided Miss Bennet’s hand from his own arm to Bingley’s, and the ceremony began.

Darcy had been present at many wedding ceremonies before, but he had never, not once, been filled with overwhelming envy in such a holy place. He was happy for his friend, who had found a handsome and kindly lady to be his wife. But he wished he were standing where Bingley was, not with Miss Bennet of course, but with Miss Elizabeth, who was facing Mr. Allen, her eyes sparkling with pleasure as the rector spoke the ancient words from the Book of Common Prayer.

When the ceremony was complete, and the bride had signed the wedding register, Darcy stood at one side and watched as Elizabeth danced from one group of attendees to another, her beautiful face alight with joy, talking and laughing.

He wanted to marry her! He had never wanted anything so much in his entire life…

“Darcy, I know you need to return to London today,” Bingley said, breaking into his thoughts. “Jane and I would be very pleased if you could attend the wedding breakfast, though.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Darcy, please do,” Mrs. Bingley urged, her handsome face aglow.

Darcy’s desire to see more of Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been warring with his rational awareness that he needed to run back to London now, before he did anything completely insane like propose to the lady. But how could he refuse Mrs. Bingley, especially when the lady had kindly forgiven him for interfering with her courtship?

“I would be honored,” he said.

/

Longbourn

Mrs. Bennet had worked hard, and spent a great deal of money, in planning the wedding breakfast, and a banquet of tempting aromas drifted through the dining room. The table and sideboards were groaning with ham, beef roast, and pheasant. There were mincemeat, mushroom, and apple pies along with white soup, rout cakes, pound cakes, and pastries, sausage rolls, and even oranges imported from the West Indies. A separate table held Longbourn’s best cups, along with urns of tea, coffee, and hot chocolate.

Servants rushed about, wending their way between the extra tables brought out for the day, deftly avoiding the guests who filled the house. Ladies in their brightly-colored best, gentlemen in their Sunday coats, and ever and anon a flash of bright scarlet that was a militia officer, milled around, talking and laughing and eating. The house hummed like a beehive throughout with conversation and activity.

“Mr. Darcy, welcome, welcome!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed as he stepped into the rather cramped vestibule of Longbourn.

Darcy handed over his hat and cane to a servant and bowed to the Bennet matriarch. “Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. It is an honor to be here.”

“We are so very happy, sir!” the lady answered, her face bright with gaiety. Darcy, gazing down at the woman, found his heart beating a little faster. He had always found Mrs. Bennet a profoundly annoying female, but now, with joy in her eyes and her normally peevish expression entirely absent, she was quite beautiful. More than that, Mrs. Bennet reminded him now, as she never had before, of her second daughter. Elizabeth did not share her mother’s fair hair and blue eyes, but she had inherited her decided chin, straight nose, and high cheekbones from Mrs. Bennet.

“Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet cried out, turning and waving a hand toward the dining room. “Do come here, my dear! Mr. Darcy, it is such a squeeze within that I daresay…”

She trailed away as Elizabeth appeared in the doorway and then said, “Lizzy, my dear, do arrange for coffee or tea for Mr. Darcy, will you not? Dear Mr. Bingley’s closest friend – I would not…”

She broke off again with a squeak of alarm. “Oh dear, the … that is not the way to … pray excuse me, Mr. Darcy. The servants have put the mincemeat pies in quite the wrong place…”

She dashed off in a flurry of skirts, leaving Miss Elizabeth – no, she was now Miss Bennet – behind, her recent expression of happiness transformed into embarrassment.

“My mother is very excited,” she said apologetically.

“She has every reason to be,” Darcy replied, gazing down on the girl with his usual unnerving intensity. “I believe your elder sister to be a perfect match for Bingley. I have never seen my friend so happy.”

Elizabeth stared at him with surprised pleasure. “I am equally certain that Mr. Bingley will be an excellent husband to my dear sister. They have very similar characters in many ways. But come, you must enjoy the wedding breakfast, perhaps starting with a hot drink? May I pour you some coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” he said and followed her into the dining room, where Miss Mary and Miss Kitty were pouring drinks for the guests who were wandering about filling plates and chatting exuberantly with one another. The noise was rather deafening, and Darcy retreated to a corner as Elizabeth made her graceful way over to the coffee urn. She poured a cup, added one lump of sugar, a dash of cream, and danced her way back to him.

“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” he said courteously. Inwardly, he felt a surge of uneasy excitement because Miss Bennet knew how he liked his coffee. No doubt she had noticed his preferences when they were all at Netherfield the previous October, when Miss Jane Bennet had fallen sick and Elizabeth had come to care for her sister. Would it not be marvelous to sit across from this lady every morning at Pemberley and watch her make coffee for him? For that matter, he would adore making coffee for her, or tea, or hot chocolate. She liked hot chocolate, he knew…

“Is Miss Darcy still in London?” Elizabeth asked as she guided Darcy out of the crowded dining room and into the hall which led toward the main drawing room and several sitting rooms. She continued down to the end of the hall to a closed door.

Darcy took a few sips of truly excellent coffee in order to calm himself and said, “Yes, she is spending a few days with the Fitzwilliams, my cousins on my mother’s side.”

“That sounds pleasant. Perhaps she has cousins close to her own age?”

“Yes, my uncle, the Earl of Matlock is father of five children, including three daughters. Our female cousins are three and twenty, one and twenty, and eighteen, and Georgiana enjoys her time with them.”

“I am aware that Miss Darcy is a remarkable musician; perhaps her cousins share those interests?”

“Two of them do,” Darcy said after a moment. He was struggling to think clearly, his brain awhirl from close proximity to Miss Bennet, and his ears overwhelmed by the ceaseless noise and conversation emanating from the nearby drawing room. “My cousins Sophia and Cecilia are both reasonably adept with the pianoforte, though, and I hope I do not sound like I am boasting, Georgiana exceeds them both. Indeed…”

Here he trailed off and turned toward the closed door, his brow furrowing. Someone was within, in fact, more than one person, and he recognized the male voice as that of…

“Dear Wicky!” a female voice brayed. “I am so glad you were able to come to the wedding breakfast, anyway. You must listen to me! Now that Jane is well married, I am far more eligible. Jane is the kindest of souls and would never refuse to assist her nearest relations. You must know that. Surely you find me more beautiful and desirable than Miss King!”

“My dear Lydia,” the male voice oozed in return, “much as I admire you, I fear that I am no eligible husband for a lovely lady like yourself. Now if Darcy had given me the church living, I would have sufficient income to care for you as you truly deserve.”

“Oh, how I hate Mr. Darcy!” the feminine voice continued loudly. “I cannot understand how Mr. Bingley can tolerate a man willing to betray his own father’s godson in such a way.”

Darcy went rigid with rage, turned toward the door, and froze. If Miss Lydia was found alone in a room with Wickham in a compromising position, her shame would spread to her sisters. He could not do that to the woman he loved.

Miss Bennet obviously viewed the situation similarly. She darted forward, turned the knob, and rushed into the parlor, her face pink with outrage. A moment later, her high color faded as her body relaxed. To her relief, Lydia was not alone with Mr. Wickham. Her sister and the lieutenant were seated side by side on a small settee near the door, while Maria Lucas, younger sister of Elizabeth’s close friend Charlotte Collins, was curled up on a wingbacked chair near the fire, watching Wickham and her friend with an envious expression.

“Lizzy, you look as if you had seen a ghost!” Lydia giggled, turning a mocking glance on her elder sister.

Elizabeth bent a severe look on the girl and then, suddenly remembering Darcy’s presence in the corridor behind her, said, “Lydia, you are needed in the dining room. It is time for you to assist in serving coffee and tea.”

“I do not wish to,” the youngest Miss Bennet said with a toss of her blonde head. “Besides, Mary and Kitty are far more adept, as are you! No, Lizzy, I will stay here and entertain poor Mr. Wickham.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and then turned in surprise as Darcy, his color high, surged through the door. Wickham, who had risen to his feet at Elizabeth’s entrance, his usual charming smile on his lips, looked frightened and shuffled back a few inches.

Darcy glared at his childhood playmate before turning his attention on Lydia, who was still sprawled rather inelegantly on the couch. “Miss Lydia, if Mr. Wickham thought the three thousand pounds insufficient, he should have told me several years ago. At the time, he seemed pleased enough with the sum he requested.”

Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open, and she turned her stunned gaze from Wickham to Darcy, and then back to Wickham, whose skin was suddenly pale.

“What three thousand pounds?” she demanded, her own voice sounding strange in her ears.

“I paid Wickham three thousand pounds to give up all rights to the Kympton living,” Darcy said coldly, though his face was dark with anger. “He signed the papers and accepted the money.”

“Is this true?” Elizabeth demanded, staring incredulously at her former favorite.

Wickham bit his lip but drew himself to his full height. “Darcy tricked me; the living was worth far more, but I was desperate for funds at the time and thus accepted considerably less than I was due!”

“In truth,” Darcy snapped, “it was worth less since the former occupant was a hale man in his late fifties, who might have lived another twenty years had he not been stricken down by influenza. No, Wickham, you knew what you were doing; you had no interest in being a clergyman, and given your predilection for gambling and running up debts with every tradesman who crosses your path, I was pleased to give you a very substantial amount to keep you from occupying the position of spiritual leader of Kympton.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were now blazing with anger, and she demanded, “How could you deceive me in such a way, Mr. Wickham? You told me that Mr. Darcy cheated you out of the living, and now I learn that he gave you an enormous sum of money? You, sir, have no honor!”

“Lizzy, take that back!” Lydia shrieked even as Maria Lucas glared at the lieutenant with an expression of disgust.

Wickham, realizing that his only ally was a foolish girl, decided to retreat while he could.

“I fear that the situation was more complex than Darcy is stating,” he grated out, clutching the tattered remains of his dignity close to him. “Nonetheless, I would not wish to make anyone uncomfortable, so I will take my leave. Miss Bennet, Miss Lydia, Miss Lucas, my very best to you all.”

He bowed slightly and took a step toward the door, then halted as Darcy deliberately moved to block his path.

“One more thing, Wickham,” he said grimly. “I have no intention of paying off your debts here in Meryton as I did in Lambton, so I suggest you watch your step, or you will end up in Marshalsea.”

Wickham’s teeth bared in a snarl, and he pushed his way past Darcy and nearly ran down the corridor toward the front door, leaving a stunned room behind him.

Darcy watched him go, turned back toward Miss Bennet, and his heart clenched in anguish. Her eyes were bright with tears, and her countenance twisted with distress. Was it possible that Miss Bennet was in love with Wickham? On the one hand, it seemed impossible; on the other hand, Georgiana, his very own sister, had been entirely bewitched by the rogue. Furthermore, how could he have been so vulgar and discourteous as to lose control of his temper in the middle of Bingley’s wedding breakfast?

“My heartfelt apologies, Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas, Miss Lydia,” he managed. “I should not have made such a scene. I too will take my leave.”

He bowed and retreated out of the room, out of the corridor, out of the vestibule, and into the cold, crisp March air. To his relief, Wickham was already some distance away, half walking, half running toward Meryton. The last thing he wanted was another interaction with the reprobate, not while his own heart was in such a state of turbulence. He was, he realized abruptly, devastated at Miss Bennet’s distress over Wickham’s perfidy. He had chosen a very poor time to speak aloud, on a day when the entire Bennet family should be free of discouragement and anguish. He had long known that he was not adept at conversation, but this was quite the most offensive he had been in a very long while.

He groaned aloud as he contemplated whether to go back inside to bid farewell to Bingley and his bride. A moment later, he turned resolutely and began walking toward the stables to call for his carriage. He would leave a note at Netherfield for the Bingleys explaining that he had left in haste for London.

He grieved for Miss Bennet and her hurting heart. He grieved for his own heart as well. He hoped that one day he would recover from his fascination with the lady, but it would undoubtedly be a long, painful process.