Chapter 11

Eleven

Not only did dancing with Mr Darcy leave Elizabeth dissatisfied with learning more about Mr Wickham, it gained her angry words from her mother in the carriage home.

"Lizzy," she cried, "how could you dance with the man who has been so cruel to Jane's Mr Wickham? Lady Lucas was shocked you would subject your family to such a spectacle!"

"Mama, only days ago when you first hated Mr Darcy, you spoke of Lizzy diverting him from Jane and marrying him for his fortune!"

Mary's comment flustered her mother; Elizabeth threw her a grateful smile she hoped her sister could see across the dark carriage.

"Lizzy was talking up a storm with Mr Darcy as they danced," supplied a helpful Lydia. "Were you telling him how awful he is, and how we all hate him?"

Before Elizabeth could respond, Jane spoke up. "Lizzy did as all of us should. Mr Darcy is here as a friend to Mr Bingley and his sisters, and he wished to dance with the lady Sir William calls ‘the brightest jewel of the county'."

Lydia and Kitty snorted, but Jane's words seemed to inspire new worries in their mother.

"Well, of course such a man would want to boast of dancing with her," cried Mrs Bennet. "But mind you, he is up to no good, flirting with Lizzy for his own aims. You are a good girl, Jane, to keep your distance." In a lower voice, she added, "Your aunt Philips suspects Mr Darcy may wish to separate you from Mr Wickham through Lizzy!"

Elizabeth could scarcely contain her annoyance. Yet another mad theory for his presence!

Mary, who had danced but once and refused the punch, was more rested than the others and more sensible of easing the tension within the carriage. "Mama, if Mr Darcy remains at Netherfield when Mr Wickham returns to Meryton, perhaps they can again forge a friendship through Mr Bingley."

Jane agreed with alacrity. "Yes, all are such good men at heart."

Elizabeth swallowed a sigh, grateful for the darkness shielding her amazed expression. Such optimism! I shall never fall in love and lose all sense.

A few minutes later, as they bid each other good night in the hall, Jane bent her head close and—ever mindful of her younger sisters—whispered, "Mr Bingley says Mr Darcy never dances if he can help it. You and he made a fine pair, but I hope all was well between you? I witnessed smiles and conversation, but neither of you appeared pleased afterwards."

Kitty's emergence from the chamber she shared with Lydia provided Elizabeth with an excuse to escape to her room. Her thoughts were a mix of anger and regret as she undressed, but Jane's observation teased its way to the forefront. Every time she had the opportunity to talk to Mr Darcy about the single subject that united them, one of them persisted with questions and the other became taciturn or angry. I doubt his honesty, he doubts Jane's virtue. We are both of us at fault. Now he leaves me with more questions—more fears—than answers.

Have I ever had such difficulty having a simple conversation with another person?

Balling up her ragged stockings, Elizabeth tossed them almost angrily at the window. Enervated as she may have been from a night of dancing, it was frustration which now kept her mind fully alert.

Why, if Mr Darcy is so certain of Mr Wickham's perfidy, is he so reluctant to lay out his case? He must know it was his sister who introduced Jane to Mr Wickham and was then abandoned by them.

Could he believe his former friend had turned a page on his alleged prior behaviours and truly loved Jane as she deserved to be loved? No, it seemed he could not. Elizabeth was gripped by a frightening realisation: it was possible Mr Darcy could do more than allay her doubts and fears—he could worsen them. Mr Wickham must be very bad if Mr Darcy could hardly speak of it.

If only he would!

An assembly full of her neighbours, dancing, drinking, and chattering loudly over the music, was not the forum for such a fraught conversation. Nor was Longbourn's drawing room, in company with eager ears and gossiping tongues. In each, Jane was nearby and vulnerable to others' opinions on an engagement Elizabeth now was certain was a horrendous mistake.

Pulling on her night-rail, Elizabeth yawned and slipped into her bed. She sat, rubbing her toes, smiling as she considered that her feet, unlike Kitty's, were uninjured from her turn with Robert Lucas. Her mind drifted to the memory of Mr Darcy in his fine waistcoat and jacket, his hair trimmed, bowing to her and requesting her hand.

Jane's comments about his usual disinclination to dance were absurd! Until the most unpleasant topic arose, he seemed to enjoy dancing with her. How well they had fitted together. He was so graceful, a fine figure; never had she felt herself in more capable hands in a dance. Capable and comforting, she thought, for despite his vexing reluctance to do so, Mr Darcy had promised to confide in her. He was clearly not a gentleman who spoke easily of private matters, least of all to a woman below him in station residing in a small market town that had not welcomed him.

He is willing to trust me so as to aid Jane and my family, which even my own father seems reluctant to do. That alone distinguished him as earnest and honourable. Elizabeth had already been aware of his discernment and that he was watchful—and she was often the object of his stares. Such overt glances would be Mr Darcy's most glaring flaw; otherwise, his manners were perfect—except for his propensity to be taciturn. Still, he had tolerated her family's imperfect behaviour on more than one occasion and seemed to comprehend that she had little choice but to do so as well. Nothing escaped his notice, and his mind was always engaged. How wide-ranging and interesting conversation could be if they moved beyond the worrying subject of her sister's future.

As she slipped into the embrace of a much-needed sleep, her concerns for Jane grew, and the urgent need to speak— alone —to Mr Darcy was her final thought. It was her first consideration when she awoke as well.

She was still summoning an excuse to call at Netherfield and seek out Mr Darcy when, shortly after fleeing the house the following morning, she encountered the man himself riding towards her.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth."

She looked at him atop his horse, a gleaming black giant, as striking and intimidating as its rider. Mr Darcy's hard jaw was set, a small crease burrowing between his dark eyes. One gloved hand loosely held the reins; the other rested on his thigh. She blinked, her face heating, almost mortified by the pleasure she took in the sight of him.

"Good morning to you, sir." Nodding, she looked away briefly at a grove of beech trees—a common and uninteresting place to rest her gaze.

"Do you walk alone?" He dismounted and stepped towards her, leading the enormous beast.

"At this hour, I nearly always am alone, especially the morning after an assembly," said Elizabeth. "I am in no danger from anything more than bird droppings or frisky rabbits."

Curious whether he had intended to meet her and commence the private conversation he had promised, Elizabeth asked whether he too was alone. Earning only a nod in response, she wondered at his taciturn behaviour. "If you prefer solitude and silence, I shall leave you to it, but I must know whether Jane or her reputation are in danger from Mr Wickham."

She turned away, trying to keep herself from beginning yet another argument.

"Wait," came a quick reply as Mr Darcy moved to stand before her. "Please, I would speak to you. My manners were poor last evening. I apologise for any insult."

Looking up, Elizabeth found he was gazing at her intently. The weak morning sun was behind him, but even in the dim light, she could see that he was freshly shaven and wearing crisp, clean riding clothes. No man should be perfectly groomed to take a walk or ride when the sun had scarcely risen. Unconsciously, she smoothed the creases in her morning gown.

"I thank you, but I must apologise for the words I spoke to you at Longbourn. I am a great defender of my sister and am too eager to see slights where none exist."

The wariness in his countenance shifted to something more open. "You should not regret your words. Protecting a sister—one's family—is all that is admirable."

His eyes swept over her. Suddenly realising she had removed her bonnet earlier, Elizabeth placed it on her head and fumbled with the ribbons.

"It is. You must enlighten me as to Mr Wickham's character. I fear that whatever terrible things he has said of you must be his in equal measure."