Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELIZABETH SHOULD HAVE realized that Mr. Darcy would not speak to her about anything at all. He was the most frustrating man in the entire world.

She endeavored to get some information about Mr. Wickham out of Mr. Bingley, but Bingley knew nothing other than the fact that Mr. Wickham's father had been the steward of Pemberley, something that Wickham had already told Jane.

Later, Miss Bingley cornered her to say that she had heard that Elizabeth was asking questions about Mr. Wickham. "I supposed it's because everyone saw him with your sister. But then your sister seems quite capable at charming men, doesn't she? Leading them astray."

Elizabeth strove not to react. It was just like Miss Bingley to interpret Mr. Darcy's behavior as having something to do with Jane. It was clearly Miss Bingley's own fault, however. Elizabeth wanted to laugh. She didn't, but she might have smirked a little bit.

"I don't know the particulars of what occurred," said Miss Bingley, continuing on, oblivious, "but I do know that Mr. Darcy winces whenever he hears the name Wickham and then straightaway changes the subject."

"Oh, poor Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, vaguely sarcastic, just to see how Miss Bingley would take that.

Miss Bingley's mouth turned down. "It's not that I'm suggesting that he deserves pity."

"No," agreed Elizabeth, even more sarcastic. "After all, we all know he never does anything wrong."

Caroline pressed her lips together.

"Personally, of course," said Elizabeth, pushing harder, "I may say that I have experienced his behavior as rude, and frightfully so." This was an exaggeration, of course. Mr. Darcy hadn't been frightfully rude, just a bit tone deaf. But what would Miss Bingley say?

Miss Bingley's face twisted. There was a long pause. Her voice, when it came out, was strangled. "I suppose I cannot find fault with that statement."

There. Elizabeth felt as if she'd triumphed in some strange way. She could not stop herself from continuing to push. "You know I heard how horrid he was to you."

"Did you." Miss Bingley would not look at her.

"From Jane, you see," said Elizabeth. "I heard what he said and how he said it, and I have to say, it did not ingratiate him to me, not at all."

"He was horrid to me," said Miss Bingley softly. "In mixed company, no less."

"Oh, indeed," said Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley drew herself up. "And depend upon it, Miss Bennet, I have never carried a torch for a man like that."

"Who could?" said Elizabeth. "He is wealthy and he is handsome, but the minute he opens his mouth, it's all over."

"Yes," hissed Miss Bingley.

How far could she push? She smiled. "You know, I think we might get on better than we had first thought, Caroline."

Caroline considered. "You may be right, Eliza."

Eliza? Truly? Somehow, however, Elizabeth did not let her smile falter.

"I feel a sisterly bond forming, if I may say so?"

"So do I!" Elizabeth was triumphant. A sisterly bond? Already? Just from a little pushing? Why, she should have realized the way to reach Caroline was through mutual hatred.

"Just the beginning of such a thing, of course," said Caroline. "But I must say, since it all happened, no one has understood how I feel about Mr. Darcy. To hear you speaking thus, you can't understand how it soothes me."

Elizabeth's smile widened. "Well, I see him the way I see him."

"I don't know if my brother should even keep associating with him," said Caroline.

"Truly?" Elizabeth was astonished by this.

"Truly," she confirmed. "I have begun to wonder what it is that Mr. Darcy is doing with us. We were so happy for the connections he could bring us, grandson of an earl, et cetera. But I wonder if he hides with us from the rest of society. Maybe he has done horrible things."

"I wouldn't put it past him," said Elizabeth, and she had to admit that she had not formed a firm opinion of Mr. Darcy's character. In this conversation, she had been so very harsh on him mostly for Caroline's benefit, but she wondered what sort of man he really was.

And it was at this moment that Elizabeth noted that Mr. Collins was talking to Charlotte, of all people. Oh, dear. She had not rescued Charlotte from Mr. Thane at the Meryton assembly, and she should likely intervene now. Why was she pulled in so many directions?

Caroline was still talking. "Everyone likes him. Everyone. But you, Miss Bennet, you see him as he truly is, I think, and for this reason, I find myself warming towards you."

Of course, Elizabeth was far from positive that Mr. Darcy truly had done anything untoward in regards to Mr. Wickham. She simply did not know either way. Now, she felt she'd roped herself into an alliance against Mr. Darcy simply to secure Caroline's friendship.

But it was worth it, wasn't it? If Caroline liked her, that was one less obstacle in the way of her and Mr. Bingley, and she must have this marriage. Now that there was no hope of Mr. Collins and Mary, it was imperative. She was the only hope that the family had.

Not that it isn't your own fault, stubborn girl, she scolded herself .

Caroline was even still talking. "Will you speak to Charles about it?"

"About Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth, incredulous.

"Oh, he listens to you," said Caroline. "He never listens to anything I say. You must get him to see what a blackguard Mr. Darcy is."

Oh, dear. She hadn't decided anything about Mr. Darcy yet, and now she must convince Mr. Bingley?

"You know something," said Caroline. "In fact, I think you know why Mr. Darcy winces at the name of Mr. Wickham. I think you know everything. I think, if we are truly to be sisters, you must tell me."

Elizabeth swallowed. She did not like Caroline Bingley. The woman had been dismissive towards her on a number of occasions, and she also didn't really trust that she would be discreet with any information given her.

On the other hand, Mr. Wickham had given this out while sitting casually at a table in a room with others, all of whom were nearby, playing whist. It was not impossible that someone could have overheard there. Mr. Wickham was certainly not being discreet about it. Why, he might be telling anyone and everyone. And if that were the case, then Caroline would hear it from someone else, even if Elizabeth concealed it.

"The fact is, I don't know," said Elizabeth. "Not for certain. I have heard a rumor that Mr. Darcy denied Mr. Wickham an inheritance that he was promised. Nothing legal, mind you, just the word of Mr. Darcy's late father."

Caroline blinked, thinking this over. "That doesn't seem like him," she said, dejected. "And furthermore, why would the late Mr. Darcy be promising inheritances to the sons of stewards?"

"Apparently, he doted on him," said Elizabeth. "Apparently, Mr. Wickham was sent to school by the late Mr. Darcy, treated nearly like a second son. And Mr. Wickham says that Mr. Darcy was jealous, and it was in this fit of anger that he sought to tear Mr. Wickham down once his father was not there to dote upon him. "

"Jealous," whispered Caroline, shaking her head.

"I have noticed that Mr. Wickham isn't here tonight," said Elizabeth.

"Tell Charles this," said Caroline. "Tell him what you've told me."

Elizabeth sighed. Well, at this point, what did it matter? "All right. I shall."

Caroline smiled widely. "Oh, Eliza. Dear, dear, Eliza, I think we are going to be the best of friends, after all." She reached down and touched Elizabeth's fingertips with her own, squeezing them, just the barest of touches, an intimacy that should have felt like triumph, securing Mr. Bingley's sister, but truly only made Elizabeth feel a bit panicked.

What had she done?

BY SOME CONTRIVANCE of her mother, Elizabeth and the rest of the Longbourn party were the last to leave that night. Everyone else seemed very tired or silent, except for Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, who were still chattering madly.

Mr. Bingley stood next to her, very close, his hand dangling casually next to hers. Every now and again, his fingers would brush hers. Elizabeth had never been touched thus by a man, and she was astonished at the sensation of it.

By all rights, it should be nothing, but there was something affecting about it. Maybe it was because it was such a brief, bare touch, just his fingers skimming against hers now and again, that it seemed concentrated and intense.

She could not complain about it, she had to say. It was gratifying. It made her feel self-conscious and somehow pleased. She was blushing, she was ashamed to say, but it was late, and no one was really looking at them, which was likely why Mr. Bingley was taking these liberties. She supposed there was nothing so terribly shocking about hands touching, but it was definitely a sign of his affection for her .

Mr. Darcy was there, and she did not think to speak about Mr. Wickham when Mr. Darcy might overhear. However, Caroline kept shooting meaningful looks her way, and Elizabeth knew that Caroline wished her to speak to her brother now.

"I must go to London tomorrow," said Mr. Bingley to her, his voice soft. "I shall hurry back as quickly as possible."

"Oh," she said. "I did not realize you were planning to leave."

"Yes," he said. "But never fear, I shall return within three days. Four at most. Mr. Darcy is coming with me, but the rest of the party will remain. Perhaps I could find two copies of a book that neither of us have read to bring back. Is there anything recently published that catches your fancy?"

"You look for something," she said. "Mayhap something historical, since you like that."

"But what if it's something you don't like?" he said.

She lifted a shoulder, smiling at him. "Well, you have done things that you didn't like for me, haven't you?"

"No, no, nothing. Everything I have done for you is a pleasure."

She flushed more deeply, looking away.

Caroline was glaring at her. Pointedly, Caroline moved in to engage Mr. Darcy in conversation.

Right, then. She must do it. "Do you know anything about Mr. Darcy denying Mr. Wickham an inheritance?" she said, all in a rush.

Mr. Bingley's hand collided with hers, and when there was steady pressure there, it wasn't nearly as affecting. "What?"

"It's a rumor I've heard," she said. She felt awful for having said it now.

"Is this the sort of person you are, Miss Bennet? Spreading rumors about people's reputations? I had not thought so."

She cringed. "No, it's…" She squared her shoulders. "Your sister and I, Miss Bingley, have been speaking about it tonight, and we both thought it was something you should be aware of, if you are to host Mr. Darcy under your roof and enjoy an intimate connection with him. And if you and I, well, it may become important to me, also, at some point in the future, who it is you associate with, that is all."

Mr. Bingley moved his hand, regarding her. "He danced with you this evening. What did he say?"

"I could not induce him to say anything at all about it. He went practically silent when I brought it up."

"You don't like Mr. Darcy," said Mr. Bingley in a low and wondering voice.

"I never said that," said Elizabeth, hunching up her shoulders. "I find him frustrating to speak to, yes, and he is always saying things about me that are not entirely complimentary, but I would be petty indeed to try to dish out some sort of retribution simply because he does not like the look of me—"

"He said something uncomplimentary about your looks?" Mr. Bingley turned to look at Mr. Darcy, who was now moving away from Caroline, shaking his head.

"Oh, don't say anything now," said Elizabeth. "He is looking at us."

Mr. Bingley sighed. "I don't like this sort of gossip. It's unbecoming and womanish."

"Heaven forbid I should behave like a woman," she said, and it was too sharp. "I shall endeavor from now on to behave like a man, of course."

Mr. Bingley pressed his lips together in a firm line.

Oh, drat. Apologize. You and your tongue, Lizzy Bennet, you will sink this ship before it even gets out of the port.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I repent of all of this. I should have kept my own counsel, truly, there was no purpose on earth to have carried tales to you—"

"No, it's all right," said Mr. Bingley, thoughtful. "I shall speak to him. "

MR. DARCY HAD rather expected that Bingley would delay the trip to London. They had not gotten to bed until the wee hours the night before, and he thought that he'd likely get word that Bingley thought they might as well take a day to recover and that they could leave on the morrow instead.

However, they were on their way by ten o'clock, which was quite a surprise.

Bingley sat opposite him in the carriage, simply gazing at him, an expression of consternation on his countenance.

Darcy bore it as long as he could, but finally, it burst out of him. "What?"

"Nothing," said Bingley, looking away.

Mr. Darcy sighed.

Bingley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, even as the carriage moved below them, jostling them. "What do you think of her? Of Miss Elizabeth?"

Darcy let out a rush of breath, all at once. The question had jostled him more than the carriage had. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Answer the question."

"Have you seen something about her you dislike?" Darcy shrugged. "Because if so, I shall refrain from being surprised. It is your way, after all. You go after a woman wholeheartedly and think she is perfect in every way, and then you discover some flaw, and you are entirely done with her. I have seen it before. If you want me to confirm a flaw, I shan't. I think she's lovely."

"Lovely," said Mr. Bingley, nodding.

Mr. Darcy sighed again. "That is not what you wanted to hear? Why don't you tell me what you want confirmed?"

"No more, then, about how you prefer her elder sister?" Mr. Bingley's voice lilted.

Oh. He cringed. This was an entirely different conversation than he'd thought.

"Why did you dance with her last night?"

He gestured with both of his hands, a conciliatory gesture. "I can't marry a woman like that, as you well know. There is no need to worry on that score. She is yours."

"But you think she's lovely." There was heat in Bingley's voice.

He struggled to speak, but then decided it didn't matter. Best to go with the truth. "She's extraordinary, yes. I've never met anyone like her. But I value my friendship with you far too much to allow some passing fancy in a pretty woman to destroy us. I would not trespass against that. She is yours. I am not even attempting—"

"Oh, that's obvious," said Mr. Bingley. "Because you keep insulting her, and she hates you."

"I don't insult her," said Mr. Darcy, annoyed. "She is determined to willfully misunderstand everything I say to her."

"Well, she really doesn't like you," said Mr. Bingley. "She is spreading some rumor about your reputation. She told Caroline about it, too, and she is easily turned against you these days. So, we are in a bit of a troubling spot, I think. Miss Elizabeth is causing a rift here."

"What rumor?" said Mr. Darcy.

"I don't even want to know about it," said Bingley. "I don't want to give overmuch attention to womanly gossip. I'm sure it's nonsense."

"What rumor?"

"It's about that Wickham person. I know you don't like him—"

"What about Wickham?" Mr. Darcy's heart was starting to beat very fast. "What is being said? Is it anything about my sister?"

"No," said Bingley, furrowing his brow. "No, not at all. Why?"

Darcy's stomach turned over.

"All right, here it is," said Bingley. "It's simply something about some inheritance being denied him or something or other—"

"Lies," Darcy muttered, clenching his hands into fists. "I cannot believe —or, no, I can believe it. I can readily believe it. He is the source of this falsehood, undoubtedly. It is precisely something he would do."

"I have no notion what you are talking of," said Bingley, settling back in his seat in the carriage.

"My father loved him," said Darcy. "There was a time when I loved him, too. He was my boyhood playmate. We grew up like brothers, truly. He was even sent with me to university. My father paid for his education. My father had this idea that he could be the rector at the parsonage in Derbyshire, but then—after my father died—Wickham didn't want it. I gave him three thousand pounds instead. What he did with that money, I don't know, but he was back, frightfully quickly, begging for more. I denied this request and he has been angry with me about that ever after, and has done all manner of wretched things in retaliation."

"Oh," said Bingley, shaking his head. "Well, I'm so very, very sorry to have brought that up."

Darcy waited for the next question, about Georgiana, to come.

It didn't.

He didn't volunteer further information either.

Instead, they were both silent for some time.

"You'd tell her this, I suppose," said Bingley. "I don't see why you'd wish to conceal that. There's nothing shameful about what you've done."

Well, now came the bit about Georgiana, Darcy supposed.

But Bingley was still talking. "And you could tell her that you don't mean to insult her, that you are simply overcompensating because you fancy her."

"I don't fancy—"

"But if you do that," said Bingley, "that will make everything strange. So, no, you can't do that. However, what other explanation can you offer for the way you treat her?"

"I don't treat her in any way that—"

"And, indeed, how can you stop?" said Bingley. He groaned, laying his head back against the back of the carriage.

"Look, here is what I said during the dance to her last night, nothing untoward, simply that she was not a goddess—"

"You cad!"

"No, I meant it—"

"Darcy." Bingley glared at him. "Well, I think I shall give her up."

"What?" Darcy straightened up. "Whatever do you mean? Why would you do that? You are practically in love with her."

"I barely know her," said Bingley. "She offers nothing to the family in terms of social advantages. If I marry her, there is this between the two of you, forever and ever."

"There is nothing," said Mr. Darcy, "between me and her."

"I don't mean to sound like a frightfully shallow person, Darcy, but the advantages of your friendship cannot be overstated."

"I see," said Darcy, chuckling. "So, you are using me."

"Are we not all using each other?" said Bingley.

"What do I use you for?"

"You are terrible at talking to people," said Bingley. "You and I both know it. I'm much cheerier than you, and if I talk a lot, you don't have to."

Darcy grimaced. "But Bingley, it's not like that ."

"No, it's not," said Bingley. "You're my friend, and we have been through many things together, and I value you. Not because I wish to use you, simply because you're you . Fitzwilliam. My friend."

"Good," said Mr. Darcy, relieved to hear this, for it was true for him as well. He wouldn't be gallivanting all over with new-money-from-trade if he didn't enjoy Bingley's company. Perhaps there were elements of the relationship that were transactional in various ways, he supposed. Maybe there were transactional elements in all relationships, he didn't know. But that wasn't what made people stay friends. Something deeper did.

"We have plans, do we not? I shall buy a house in the country. We each shall have hunting parties and invite the other. We shall teach our sons to shoot together. I shall give you advice on investments in trade and you will make sure I don't buy the wrong sort of land. We shall be friends for a long, long time, until we are both gray and leaning on canes."

Mr. Darcy chuckled again.

"And I think she might rather get in the way of those future plans of ours," said Bingley. "I think I shall give her up."

Darcy shook his head. "No, no. You will come to resent me for it, I think."

"No, it's my decision," said Bingley. "And you're right. I am in the first glow of it. All women have some flaw, many flaws. All women are just human. Perhaps she's too much for me, anyway. She makes me feel dull in a certain way. As if she is perpetually telling a joke and I don't comprehend it."

That might be the thing Mr. Darcy liked the most about Elizabeth. He could not help but smile.

It was quiet again.

He spoke again. "She will be devastated."

"Likely," said Bingley. "For that matter, I think I shall be a bit dampened myself, for a while anyway."

"No, Bingley, you mustn't do this, then!"

"It's done," said Bingley with a shrug. "It's best now. I shall send for Caroline and the Hursts and quit Netherfield. I would rather have a country house in the north nearer to you, anyway, I think."

"My sister," said Darcy, suddenly.

Bingley raised his eyebrows.

"You can't tell anyone, but I trust you," said Mr. Darcy. "Wickham tried to elope with her for her dowry. He nearly managed it."

"Lord!" Bingley gasped. "Your sister is but sixteen."

"Yes, and she was younger still when he did it," said Darcy. "I don't think he touched her. I hope he didn't. She says he didn't. He says… well, he would say anything."

" Lord. "

Darcy shut his eyes tightly against it .

"Fitzwilliam, this man could ruin Georgiana," said Bingley.

"I well know that," said Darcy. "I only hope that—"

"I would marry her, if it came to that, and you know it."

Darcy opened his eyes, stunned.

"Not that you would wish to marry your sister to me—"

"Thank you," said Darcy softly.

Bingley's mouth tugged up in a smile. "That's what friends are for."

"Indeed, yes," said Darcy. "And we are fast friends, Charles."