Chapter 8

Eight

Over the next few days, as Darcy was drawn further into Meryton society, he found himself plagued by the ghost of his former friend. More than a few askance looks and scowls came his way from those merchants and neighbours charmed by the nefarious Wickham, but others appeared merely curious about his arrival there so soon after the man. All, he noted, appreciated his coin.

"Three single men of fortune coming to Meryton in less than a month," he heard whispered. "Ten thousand a year!" For once, Darcy cared less for their scrutiny of him than he did about being placed in any category with Wickham. How was the worm considered a man of fortune? The only things of worth Wickham had taken from his time at Pemberley, besides a squandered education, had been his clothes and a fine gelding; Mrs Reynolds had counted the silver and inventoried his mother's jewellery to ensure it. Miss Lydia alluded to Wickham's coming riches: Was it gambling wins, or had he charmed an inheritance from a rich widow?

Reflecting on his two brief meetings with Miss Bennet, he allowed that she was pleasant and serene but did not seem in possession of any great emotion—even when mention was made of her future husband. She appeared to be a woman easily satisfied. Miss Elizabeth, however, hid little of her feelings, or her intelligence; he was vindicated that his own estimation of her was maintained by testimonies from Netherfield's groom and Meryton's book-seller. He wished to talk to her—of her sister and Wickham—and saw his opportunity when an invitation to dine at Longbourn arrived. The offer was greeted happily by Bingley and Hurst. Miss Bingley took a dimmer view, but her efforts to pretend a headache or persuade Darcy to affect one were in vain.

"If you wish me to continue dissuading your brother from his fixation on Miss Bennet, I must witness their interaction and intrude upon it. I must, and pardon my words, judge the worthiness of the Bennets."

Had the lady known his true mission, to determine whether there was any true worth in Wickham's connexion to Miss Bennet—and to perhaps engage in conversation with her fiery-eyed sister—she would have pretended an apoplexy.

Upon their arrival for the event, Miss Bingley and the Hursts were greeted with civility, while Bingley's genial smile was welcomed happily; Darcy heard his own name repeated without warmth. Mr Bennet apparently found some amusement in the spectacle and winked at Miss Elizabeth; to her credit, she looked, if not pained at his effrontery, at least somewhat uncomfortable. Any pleasure Darcy felt was gone when Mrs Bennet began babbling nonsense about the glories of the local game and Wickham's fondness for Longbourn's gravies. She was soon joined in her inanities by her youngest daughters.

Hurst is a genius to feign sleep so easily , thought Darcy, who, for the sake of his sanity, turned away and gazed absently through the south-facing windows at an overgrown garden. His interest in the conversation was renewed when he discovered Miss Elizabeth showing far greater interest than her father in the concerns of a tenant family over a blocked waterway and a broken fence.

"Now Lizzy, that fence is near the wood and unnecessary to the confinement of the Cowgills' goats or their children. I should ask you to put on your boots and lead their eldest few into the water to kick away the branches and rocks obstructing the stream."

She smiled when the others laughed, but Darcy could see her embarrassment. He tried not to display his disgust at her father's dismissive jest and enquired about the books she preferred.

Although clearly surprised by his application, she answered readily. "Novels and poetry, though I enjoy history as well. My father ensures his favourite books are available to me so he has someone to talk to about them." Miss Elizabeth gave her father a fond look Darcy did not think he deserved. "We are a small society here, and it is difficult to find anyone interested in discussing the Peloponnesian War."

Miss Bingley's snort nearly echoed that of Mrs Bennet. Darcy barely managed to refrain from scowling at them as his emotions roiled with some feeling he could scarce understand. He saw Miss Elizabeth shrug and thought of how admirable she was, reading books in order to provide her father with some intelligent conversation. He wished to defend her desire to learn more of the world beyond the borders and confines of her life in a small market town, but remained silent.

If he was staring in wonder, he did not realise it until Mrs Bennet's braying voice cut into his thoughts.

"Dear Wickham is a great reader. He might not know much about the Romans, but he and Mr Bennet had a great many discussions about poetry. Is that not right, Mr Bennet?"

As he hid a scowl at the lady's witlessness, he heard Miss Elizabeth laugh—a clear, light sound that erased some of the tension from her face. Darcy, finding himself almost uncontrollably drawn to her, wondered whether she was laughing at her mother or at Wickham's pretensions of academic grandeur. Both merited derision; he hoped it was the latter. She met his gaze, and her smile faded. Chastening himself for showing interest, he looked away and told himself she was too intelligent to believe Wickham sincere and decent. He needed to confirm it, to learn what she knew and thought of the blackguard who sought to be her brother. She could give him answers.

With a start, Darcy realised he again was staring at her, and she was looking uncomfortably at the floor. He could only be thankful when dinner was announced.

Over a finer than expected meal, Darcy listened to Mrs Bennet crow about her future son, her anticipation for a grand wedding, and her sorrow that her eldest daughter would no longer be at Longbourn or even in the county.

"But Norwich is quite lovely, they say, so Jane will be well settled in Mr Wickham's house near there, in Norfolk."

Indignant as he felt over the lady's loud and misguided boast and the embarrassed blushes she had brought to the cheeks of her eldest daughter, his mind was filled with more questions. He knew enough of Wickham's family to be nearly certain there were no connexions in that part of the country. Unwilling to make the enquiries himself and reignite the antipathy the Bennets felt towards him, he extended his leg underneath the table and kicked Bingley's foot. Bingley startled and, after swallowing a bite of potato, shifted his gaze from Miss Bennet to Darcy. Understanding developed quickly, and he turned to Mrs Bennet.

"Um, Mr Wickham has an estate in Norfolk? A lovely country there…some good game," Bingley babbled haplessly. "I believe I knew a fellow from there…was his estate in Crostwick?" When no one offered him an answer, Bingley looked at his sister, who appeared vexed at being forced to address him, or anyone, at the table.

"Certainly, I have no idea about all these people with whom you claim an acquaintance," said Miss Bingley. "It is the steady friendships, such as that of Mr Darcy, that are of greater consequence."

Darcy was certain Miss Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Miss Bingley's airs merited constant mockery, and he was glad she understood it as well.

"Mr Bingley is a friendly sort of man, and it speaks well of him that he maintains civility even with those who least deserve it," said Mrs Bennet.

Darcy overlooked her slight and Miss Lydia's snickering; he was warmed by the exasperation he detected in Miss Elizabeth's countenance.

"Mama," she said, "Mr Bingley is not acquainted with Mr Wickham but perhaps will visit his friend in Crostwick someday and could call on Jane and her husband. Jane, do you know where exactly you will be settled?"

As Darcy silently congratulated Miss Elizabeth on her acuity, he saw her sister's blush deepen. Whether Miss Bennet noticed Bingley's stricken expression was unclear, but Darcy could see her discomfort. "Mr Wickham has been there but once, but he tells me it is a fine house with an abundance of gardens, and there is a sitting room facing east for the morning sun. He assures me only a few rooms are in need of decorating. I cannot give you more information. Papa, you and Mr Wickham have exchanged letters." She looked almost pleadingly to her father. "Could you tell us more?"

Mr Bennet's eyebrows rose; he swallowed a bite of fish and frowned. "Mr Wickham writes letters much as he speaks—full of charm and plans and flowery praise. Indeed, much like my cousin Collins but without the details that, while dull, are useful to a man whose wife is eager to make plans."

In other words, the man had no idea, no particulars at all about the house his first-born daughter would make her home some one hundred miles away. A quick glance at Miss Elizabeth showed her to be as unsatisfied as he felt with such an answer. How many of Wickham's other promises had not been looked into?

Bingley broke the ensuing silence and turned his efforts to lightening the conversation with a question about the neighbourhood's partiality for card parties. Mrs Bennet and her youngest daughters were immediately engaged. Miss Bingley's opinions on town preferences were canvassed, and a discussion on fashion followed.

Darcy was content to observe Miss Bennet. Unless there was a fortune attached to her name—and nothing he saw at Longbourn hinted at such wealth—there was little that would attract a man with Wickham's tawdry tastes other than the notion of displaying her beauty in public and enjoying her flesh in his bed. It was cruel and unjust, but she appeared to have been taken in by abundant charm and false promises. Could she and her father truly be so na?ve as to abandon caution and trust a man skilled in empty compliments? Longbourn was a fine house with fairly fashionable furnishings; its entirety was scarcely the size of one wing of Pemberley. Was it fine enough for Wickham? He thought not.

Feeling himself under scrutiny, Darcy discovered Miss Elizabeth watching him. He forced himself not to return her gaze, but sitting nearly opposite one another, his eyes kept straying to her. When she became engaged in conversation with Mrs Hurst, he was free to watch her. Her manners, while infinitely better than those of her mother and younger sisters, were decidedly easy. She conversed animatedly, even going so far as to disagree with not only Bingley but with her father. He could not help but enjoy the subversive nature of her impertinence and wondered how well she tolerated Wickham. She could not be taken in by him, and the failure of his charms on her would niggle at such a vain but worthless miscreant.

Dimly, he heard his name spoken and tore his attention away to discover Miss Bingley dismissing Mrs Bennet's raptures over Netherfield and lauding Pemberley as if she were its mistress.

"It is one of the grandest homes in all of England, with such gardens and a library to rival that at Cambridge or Oxford."

Mr Bennet's attention was quickly captured by such a compliment, and he enquired as to the size and depth of its collections.

"Oh no," cried Bingley. "This is a topic on which Darcy can converse for hours. You are wonderful to provide him eager ears, for I am deaf when it comes to books and bindings and all the folderol of literature."

Miss Elizabeth burst out laughing. "You must not insult books in this house, Mr Bingley! Even those bound to us by blood must show respect for my father's library."

Looking abashed, Bingley raised his hands in defeat. "Darcy is kind to tolerate me, for much as I enjoy a good tale, I prefer when it is read to me rather than?—"

"Rather than turning the pages yourself," Miss Bingley acknowledged. "Mr Darcy is my brother's superior in the world of understanding, for he is a great reader."

Darcy swore he heard Miss Elizabeth snort in amusement. He turned to her. "A voracious and faithful reader may be the better description."

"Mr Wickham also praised your stacks and said he spent many hours curled up in the red velvet window-seats in Pemberley's library, lost in the written word." She gave him a challenging look, which appeared less hostile and more truly curious.

He raised his eyebrows. Did the man lie about the smallest details? There were no window-seats in Pemberley's library and not a scrap of red velvet. The vast room's windows were surrounded by shelves; comfortable sofas and chairs and a chaise longue favoured by his mother sat beneath them. But Wickham spent few hours in that place of wonders; he would not know its volumes, let alone its furnishings. Should he correct the reprobate here, to an audience certain to receive his words with hostility? No, best to maintain the thin veneer of civility he had thus far managed when the scoundrel's name arose.

He smiled at his inquisitor. "Window-seats in the library? He must have been thinking of some other room. There are no window-seats there, nor any red beyond that found on book bindings. My great-great-grandfather designed the library for comfort—both for the books and their readers—and preferred a blue and green colour scheme that my mother maintained there."

Miss Elizabeth nodded and looked directly at him; she was the only one at the table who appeared to understand that Wickham had either a very poor memory or a dubious command of the truth. Mr Bennet instead demanded to know more of the collection. "I care nothing for the fabrics on the chairs," he said, "but tell me of the leather and bindings and whether every volume has been read at least once."

Finally, a subject on which he was happy to engage. The discussion ended when Mrs Bennet pivoted to Miss Bingley with a query on the latest in sleeve lengths. Inanity ensued, and by the end of the meal, Darcy was more than ready to go home and abandon any of his concerns over Miss Bennet's happiness. What was it to him, after all, if the eldest daughter of a country squire married Wickham? Do not be an ungrateful nodcock , he reminded himself. She saved Georgiana. It was a short-lived friendship, ended by Wickham's machinations rather than Miss Bennet's, her presence had kept his sister from whatever Wickham had intended.

Darcy gazed around the table as the ladies rose and excused themselves. His thoughts lingered on Miss Elizabeth, who did not seem to fit with the rest of her family, and her sister, who was too gentle to leave to her fate.

They do not deserve a connexion to Wickham.