Chapter 17

Seventeen

Once he tamped down his frustration with Elizabeth's meddlesome sister, Darcy's disappointment was acute. Leaving now felt inelegant. It was not how a gentleman should behave.

Certainly, he had never acted in such a manner before—private conversations in assembly rooms and on walks, whispered thoughts and shared histories… Who had he become, this man enthralled by—nay, in love with—Elizabeth Bennet?

Half an hour later, he was bidding his farewells at Netherfield. Beholden to her sick relations, Miss Bingley did her best to conceal her despair at his departure and managed instead to praise him.

"I am glad you have been careful, sir," she confided, standing far too close as he watched his carriage roll up. "The Bennets are scheming. We are fortunate that dear Jane remains engaged and out of Charles's reach, yet I understand Eliza Bennet rebels against her mother's disapprobation and has similar designs on you."

Her hand touched his sleeve in nearly the same spot as Elizabeth's had earlier lain. He pulled away as she continued her complaints. "The ridiculous local servants we employ tell my maid that Mrs Bennet has warned her away from you, yet the impertinent girl pursues you in spite of it! I am glad you are leaving us. We shall follow straightaway!"

He nodded wordlessly and moved quickly down the steps to the carriage. He did not wish Miss Bingley to see the happiness her words had stirred in him. Much as he had sensed Elizabeth's feelings matched his own—the tenderness of her expression, the eagerness she had for his company, and the acceptance and pleasure she took in his touch—this morning's near embrace had confirmed it.

The lovely, impertinent girl admires me. That others saw it as well strengthened his joy and certainty. And, he laughed, that the lady most sour to the notion had been his source!

For this, I shall owe a coin to Miss Bingley's gossiping maid.

Upon her return to the house, Elizabeth found Jane in her chambers sorting hair ribbons and as concerned about Mr Darcy's business with their father as she was over the general health of the Netherfield party.

She moved the pile of colourful fabrics and sat next to Jane in the window-seat. "Mr Darcy has gone to London to meet Mr Wickham and deliver him a letter from Papa that will free you and our family of any obligation."

Her sister paled, her lower lip trembling. "But how? I shall be ruined!"

"No, you, dear sister, will remain perfect. All of Meryton sees you as the best of the Bennets and will be pleased to see you made happy, in any circumstance." Elizabeth squeezed Jane's hand. "Mr Darcy will ensure you are protected and your future happiness made safe."

"Mr Darcy? How?"

"You were correct about him. Mr Darcy may not be all goodness, but he has neither cruelty nor villainy in him, and he knows the truth about Mr Wickham. Much as he may admire you, Mr Wickham is unworthy of being your husband."

Jane's blue eyes widened; her hand rose to her lips, and she took a deep breath before urging her sister to tell her all that she had learnt from Mr Darcy. Although Elizabeth spoke of Mr Wickham's imprudent waste of his education, dissolute life, and profligate spending, she refrained from mentioning his wife or his initial plan in Ramsgate, to seduce Miss Darcy for her fortune; her sister needed no further grief, nor the guilt she may feel over her young friend. When she concluded, Jane was pale, her expression surprisingly less sad than angry.

"He is so bad, I never thought it!" she cried. "Yet while Mr Wickham lacks steadiness and goodness, he professes to love me!"

"What man, good or bad, would not admire you? He has behaved quite ill," Elizabeth said, uncertain whether Jane's anger would turn quickly into desolation and tears. But it did not; instead she saw the strong, resilient spirit that had been hidden the past week.

"Lizzy, I am relieved. No matter what more Mr Darcy uncovers, I do not wish my attachment to Mr Wickham to continue. I made a very foolish mistake, and I do not want him as my husband, nor should we recognise him as our friend."

Elizabeth moved closer to embrace her sister. "I am glad we are in agreement. He charmed us all, and only the arrival of the man he so degraded could make clear what all of us should have noticed. Of course," she laughed softly, "every man who sees my Jane falls in love with her, which makes our efforts—to determine the good men from the bad—only more important."

Jane pulled away, swiping at her eyes. "My behaviour is little better."

Concerned by the plaintive tenor in her sister's voice, Elizabeth moved towards her and placed her hands on her shoulders. "Jane?"

Jane whirled round, revealing a stricken expression. "I transferred my affections from one man to another, almost more quickly than I can make rose water or paint a screen!"

Elizabeth drew a blanket round Jane's shaking frame and clasped her tightly, whispering assurances that she was the best of all women, the best of her sisters.

"Mr Wickham is not a good man, nor was your ‘poet', who thought your eyes to be the colour of milkweed pods, your hair a shade of lemon. He was hapless and hungry and rather stupid—you were then Lydia's age! No girl is prepared for such oozing charm. Mr Wickham is more practised an actor and lover, and he fell in love as much as he is likely capable with your beauty and kindness. He surprised himself as well, I think, but he is a creature who seeks wealth and comfort in marriage, not a true partnership or hard work. You are better off without him."

"I have been so foolish. Even Mary expressed surprise I would act as Lydia might, and she consoled me only by advising that my kindness entrapped me."

Understanding that Jane deserved—even required—recognition for the part she had unconsciously played at Ramsgate, Elizabeth finally mentioned Miss Darcy. "You are no fool, but a heroine for having done a service to Mr Darcy and his sister. It was your presence that prevented Mr Wickham from exerting his designs on her—a girl of fifteen. You have Mr Darcy's eternal gratitude."

Jane gasped. "In spite of his admiration for me, Mr Wickham is a terrible man." After a moment passed, she added awkwardly, "What of other ladies?"

"You are a dear heart, casting off a bad man and thinking only of other ladies who might suffer a similar fate."

"Not every lady has you as a sister, or friends as helpful as Mr Darcy," said Jane. "He is a much more agreeable man than Mr Wickham. A very good man."

Good, tender-hearted, clever, and generous , thought Elizabeth, who, feeling her cheeks warm to hear him praised, turned away. Jane nudged her shoulder. "I knew you would see it. All this time spent talking to Mr Darcy, at Mama's request, to protect me. You truly admire him, perhaps as much as he admires you."

As Elizabeth began to protest, she recalled the gentle touch of his hand on her cheek and felt herself reddening even further. Shrugging, she looked at Jane and began to laugh.

"Has one family ever boasted two sisters with a poorer understanding of men?"