Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IN THE MORNING , Elizabeth regretted sending the letter to Mary. She thought she might have been hasty, and she perhaps shouldn’t have sent the letter off into the world in the hands of some servant boy. What if something befell him? What if the letter fell into the wrong hands?
It admitted that she and Mary had gone to see Mrs. Widebottom.
Furthermore, it accused Mary of publishing The Tattle Post .
If anyone found that letter, the family would be much worse off than they already were.
The house was full of guests. They had not greeted her and her father last night when they’d arrived, but they were there at breakfast and they were in every sitting room. People were out on the lawn, shooting clay pigeons, taking walks on the grounds, playing games that involved rolling balls and knocking over pins in the yard.
There was an elaborate luncheon, everyone gathered together in the dining room, all abuzz with conversation. They all seemed to be having the time of their lives, as if it were all just an extended party. And perhaps, yes, that was what it was to be idle and wealthy and to have nothing else to do with one’s self.
Elizabeth found herself simply dodging conversations as much as she could, however, trying to hide, trying not to be singled out.
In the afternoon, a large party called from Brambles End. It was Colonel Fitzwilliam, Lady Matlock, Mr. Darcy, and his sister Miss Darcy, who was the entire reason for this visit. Elizabeth knew it was important that she attempt to form a close friendship with Mr. Darcy’s sister.
It was only that everything seemed difficult lately.
Was she in love with Mr. Darcy, in fact? There was a point in time when she had thought she was, but now, she could not find the thread of it. Everything seemed so maddeningly complicated, what with the scandals and with Mary and with her deception of Colonel Fitzwilliam.
And Jane was married now.
Elizabeth wasn’t even sure she’d come to terms with that. Her sister was married, and she was to be married also. It seemed like a kind of madness, somehow, as if she could not quite conceive of actually being married.
Elizabeth was unsure that she was ready for everything that came along with marriage. She obviously wasn’t yet ready for kissing.
Miss Darcy was exceedingly quiet.
Elizabeth tried to draw her out, asking questions, but Miss Darcy said precious little.
Her mother and Lady Matlock dominated the conversation. They seemed to be fast friends now, which confused Elizabeth. When had that happened? How had that happened?
Her mother deferred to Lady Matlock in all things, Elizabeth noted, which was probably intelligent, she supposed. Elizabeth hadn’t been aware her mother was capable of deferring to anyone, of course. She seemed to play the role rather well, however.
Lady Matlock scolded Mrs. Bennet on never having explained about her relatives in Cheapside, and her mother said she was so embarrassed that, of course, she had concealed it, but Elizabeth knew her mother and that was not the way her mother behaved when she was embarrassed.
Elizabeth had a headache.
Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke up at about this point and proposed a walk in the gardens and everyone agreed.
Elizabeth thought to speak to Miss Darcy some more, or even to her husband-to-be, but instead she was somehow herded off by the colonel, separated from everyone else.
The colonel linked their arms and walked very fast, and they were soon all alone together.
She should have protested more, she thought. What would Mr. Darcy think? On the other hand, perhaps the colonel deserved an explanation.
He, however, was talking already. “If my cousin is pressuring you in some way, you must tell me, and we shall figure a way around it. I’m sure you’re aware that you may end this engagement at any time, so if you’re not sure of him, you have time before you must commit. And I’m not giving up yet, so I want you to know that.”
She finally had the presence of mind to extricate her hand from his arm. “Really? So, your gambling debts are that dire, then? You’d put up with anything to try to claim your prize?” Oh, she hadn’t meant to say that. She cringed.
He gave her a wounded look. “Oh, no, Miss Bennet, you must never think that’s why I’m pursuing you.”
“You don’t deny you have debts.”
“All gentlemen have debts,” he said, with a shrug. “It doesn’t mean anything. Mine are not dire. I told you before that I could not marry where I chose. And you said that there was a going price for the son of an earl and suddenly, you have the funds to pay it. And I can choose you. You led me to think you wished to choose me.”
She felt guilty now. Well, she had felt guilty all along, but now the guilt welled up at once, and it was choking her.
“No, it wasn’t quite that way,” he said thoughtfully. “You didn’t lead me to believe it. You weren’t feigning it.”
She let out a noise. “Oh, so sure of that?”
“Positive,” he said, holding her gaze. “Deny it, Miss Bennet, deny that you feel something for me, even now. Tell me you’ve only ever felt anything for my cousin and that you were deceiving me. Say it aloud.”
She looked away. “Well, I thought of our family’s position and you seemed willing and I didn’t mean to take advantage of you—well, perhaps I meant it, but I am sorry if I hurt you or lied to you—”
“Look in my eyes and tell me you feel nothing for me,” he said.
She looked into his eyes. Nothing came out of her mouth.
“There,” he said. “You see?”
“No, there’s nothing to see, Colonel Fitzwilliam, truly. I am marrying Mr. Darcy!”
His mouth curved into a smile. “We shall see about that.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I am not going to marry you.”
“You’ve barely given me a chance,” he said. “Elizabeth.”
She let out a noise of indignation. “I’ve not given you leave to call me by my first name.”
“I think I shall, however,” he said. “And you should call me Richard.” He was still smiling and looking very pleased with himself.
At this point, Mr. Darcy appeared, practically running to catch them up.
Colonel Fitzwilliam turned on Mr. Darcy and smirked, still smiling that smug smile.
Mr. Darcy hit him.
Elizabeth let out a cry.
The colonel laughed, more startled than hurt, backing away, hand to his jaw. “What was that? Is that how you throw a punch, Fitzie?”
Mr. Darcy seized the colonel by the cravat, baring his teeth. “You do not run off with my intended, do you understand?”
The colonel pried Mr. Darcy’s hands off his cravat. “What are you afraid I’m going to do? Kiss her? Maybe you think she’ll enjoy it when I kiss her more than when you do.”
Mr. Darcy hit Colonel Fitzwilliam again.
This time the colonel seemed hurt and angry. He smashed his fist into Mr. Darcy’s nose.
Mr. Darcy let out a roar and blood started spurting out of his nose.
Elizabeth covered her mouth in horror.
At this moment, Miss Darcy came into view, accompanied by both Kitty and Lydia. They took in the bleeding Mr. Darcy and the panting Colonel Fitzwilliam and all stopped short, eyes wide.
One second later, all three of the younger girls began talking at once, all trying to figure out what had happened.
“Best do something about that nosebleed, Fitzie,” said another voice, a deep voice, a male voice.
Elizabeth turned slowly to see that someone was dismounting from a horse and striding towards them. The someone was holding out a handkerchief.
The someone was Mr. George Wickham.
Miss Darcy looked at the man, screamed at the top of her lungs, and promptly fainted.
“ON LEAVE,” SAID Wickham, sitting in the midst of the vast west wing sitting room at Collswood Hall. “Yes, the regiment left Brighton just yesterday. We shall all come back together in approximately two weeks. I didn’t know where I would go, of course, but I thought about the lovely Bennet sisters and I thought I’d drop by here to offer my congratulations on your good fortune.”
“Yes,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “And now you’ve done that, and you should be on your way.” The colonel had not wished to allow Wickham into the house. Mr. Darcy had been similarly inclined.
When they all came back to where Lady Matlock and Mrs. Bennet were seated outside, Lady Matlock immediately came down on the side of kicking Mr. Wickham to the highways and byways, but Mrs. Bennet said he was a family friend, and inquired why it was that they were so soured on him.
Not a word from the Fitzwilliams or Darcys on that.
So, Wickham was admitted inside.
Elizabeth was going to have to ask Mr. Darcy if she was allowed to tell the tale of Wickham’s misdeeds to her mother. She was also going to have to ask him not to hit Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Had the men fought over her?
Was that what it was?
Mr. Wickham’s voice. “Miss Elizabeth. How is it that you come to be in the company of Mr. Darcy, then?”
She turned to look at him. Oh, no, what was that look on his face?
“I do hope we can be friends again, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Wickham. “I seem to remember we were quite friendly.”
“I am engaged,” said Elizabeth brightly.
Mr. Wickham shrugged. “I suppose that’s to be expected. Nothing standing in your way anymore.”
“To Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Wickham let out a guffaw, and then, realizing she was serious, composed himself. “Erm, congratulations to you both.” He eyed Mr. Darcy. “Fitzie, really. What a surprise.” Back to her. “But when is the wedding? Is the date set?”
“No,” said the colonel loudly.
She sputtered.
Mr. Darcy sputtered.
“A woman can change her mind about these things,” said Mr. Wickham, smiling widely. “Not sure if you’re aware.”
Elizabeth was horrified.
In front of everyone, Mrs. Bennet invited Mr. Wickham to stay with them, under their roof, to the extreme dismay of the Matlocks and Darcys. Miss Darcy was reduced to making tiny mewling noises, in fact, and it was such that Mr. Darcy was obliged to say that he and his sister really must go.
As they had come in one carriage, the Matlocks made their goodbyes as well.
Mr. Wickham waved them off with a smirk and then thanked Mrs. Bennet profusely. He stayed in the sitting room, flirting shamelessly with both of her sisters and her mother for hours afterward.
Elizabeth eventually gave up on ever apprising her mother of the situation and instead sought out her father, who was in the house’s library, sprawled out in an easy chair, eating an apple as he perused the pages of a book.
“Papa, I must speak to you about Mr. Wickham,” she said.
“Wickham,” said her father without lowering the book. “That was the one you liked, wasn’t it? The handsome one? I think the Darcy one is better, Lizzy. I’m surprised at you, really. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so shallow.”
“What are you saying?” She plucked the book out of his hands.
“You wish to break your engagement and marry the Wickham fellow, I presume.”
“Absolutely not. He’s a blackguard.”
Her father took a bite of the apple, shrugging. He chewed and swallowed. “I will say that very handsome men seem to be in possession of terrible morals, as a general rule. When you are nice to look at, you see, you don’t have to be nice.”
“Papa, Mama has invited him to stay here, in our house.”
“Well,” said her father, “it’s her house, isn’t it? Not mine, not at all. I have no say.” He gestured for her to give him the book back.
“But you have to speak to her about Mr. Wickham.”
“Lizzy, you must learn to coexist with your jilted lovers, I’m afraid. It builds character.”
“I was never involved with Mr. Wickham. I certainly never loved him. There was no jilting.”
He reached over and got the book from her. “Well, why else wouldn’t you wish him here?”
“I’m telling you, he’s a blackguard.”
“You’ve lost my place.” He paged through the book. “Really, Lizzy.”
“Papa, he’s a fortune hunter who tried to elope with a fifteen-year-old girl, and he is under this roof, even now, and you have young daughters who he could prey upon.”
Her father looked at her over the top of the book, sighing. “I had not thought about what was going to happen to Lydia with fortune hunters.” He furrowed his brow. Then, he shrugged. “I’m not concerned, actually. Lydia is very vain, and she’ll hold out for a title, I’m quite sure. She will only succumb to dukes and barons. We are saved. Off with you, Lizzy.”
“Off with me? Even if we aren’t worried about Lydia, we can’t have this man in our house, as our guest,” said Elizabeth. “Please talk to Mama.”
“I shall,” said her father, eating more of his apple.
“When?”
“Later,” he said, chewing.
Elizabeth threw up her hands, frustrated, and quit the room.
Angrily, she made her way through the halls, looking for her mother. She couldn’t find her anywhere, so she went out onto the grounds where she spotted her mother in the midst of a game of shuttlecock.
When Elizabeth tried to get Mrs. Bennet’s attention, her mother waved her off, saying she would speak to her later.
Elizabeth waited on the fringes of the game, shaking her head and feeling her frustration mount.
Mr. Wickham appeared on the periphery of the gathering. He gave her a little wave.
She made her way over to him, hands clenched into fists. She spoke in a low voice when she got closer. “I know what you did to Miss Darcy.”
“Oh, do you?” said Mr. Wickham, giving her a smile. “Well, I doubt that very much, because what I did to her is nothing, Miss Bennet.”
“Nothing,” she said. “That’s why she fainted when she saw you.”
“Of embarrassment, likely,” said Mr. Wickham. “Or who knows, shame, perhaps. I’m well aware she carried various tales to her brother, but she’s lying.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Why would she lie about such a thing?”
“It was better than the truth, that she attempted to throw herself at me, and I refused, because—of course—she was far too young at the time.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”
Mr. Wickham shrugged. “No, no one does.” There was pained resignation in his tone.
She glared at him. “Stop that. I don’t believe you.”
“No, of course not,” said Mr. Wickham. “Listen, it’s the story of my life, Miss Bennet. When it comes to this family, they get away with whatever horrible things they do, and no one chastises them for it. I bear the brunt of their bad behavior, and it doesn’t matter. You’re the only person who ever believed me. Now, he’s gotten to you. You’re marrying him, which is unbelievable… I don’t know why I bother.” He let out a bitter laugh.
“I don’t either,” she said.
“Miss Darcy had to say something ,” he said. “We were discovered, by her guardian, a Mrs. Younge. Miss Darcy begged her not to say anything, but Mrs. Younge had a duty to Mr. Darcy and she could not remain silent. Miss Darcy was outraged. So, Miss Darcy got back at her. She blamed Mrs. Younge, said that Mrs. Younge and I were in league together, and Miss Darcy would not own what she herself had done.”
“Oh, stop it,” said Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet, I don’t mean to be overly vain, but it’s just fact. Women are drawn to me. They do things sometimes. It’s this face of mine.” He gestured at himself.
“You’re awful,” she told him. But, well, he was disarmingly handsome.
“I’m only saying, it’s not the first time. And women think… I don’t know exactly what they think, but they behave as if simply because they find me attractive, I ought to find them attractive. They act as if my participation is a foregone conclusion. It’s disturbing sometimes, truly.” He hunched up his shoulders. “Perhaps, there have been times, also, where I’ve allowed… I’ve taken advantage… if the girl was pretty… but Georgiana Darcy was a child and I would never have touched her!”
Elizabeth was beginning to feel confused. She blinked at him.
“I understand,” said Wickham. “Between my word and his sister’s, of course Darcy could not take my side.”
“You lied to me before,” she said tartly.
“Did I.”
“You said that Darcy denied you the living in Hertfordshire, and the truth of it was that he gave you money in lieu of it.”
“Oh, is that what he says.”
“Yes!” She turned to him, now quite animated and forceful. “Deny that he gave you three thousand pounds.”
“His father left me that much in the will. He could not have denied me that.”
She shook her head. “That is not what Mr. Darcy said.”
“Mr. Darcy likely does not think that three thousand pounds is more than a trifle. It is nothing to him. It was quite a lot to me. And it was to sustain me as I was studying to become ordained, but the bulk of it was stolen from me.”
“Stolen?” She gaped at him. “This is a new wrinkle in the story.”
“It isn’t important to the story,” said Wickham. “He denied me the living, after I was ordained, that is what I am saying. The misfortune of having thousands of pounds stolen from me would not have mattered if he would have but done as his father wished.”
“Deny that you told him that you did not wish to be a clergyman,” she said tartly.
“I do,” he said.
“He said that you told him you had decided upon pursuing the study of law,” she said. “That he gave you that money to use in that pursuit, and that you frittered it all away—”
“No, no, lies,” he said. “Did I once mention, offhand, a passing fancy that I might study law? I think I may have. But no, Miss Bennet, depend upon it, that is a distortion of the truth on his part.”
She decided to say nothing. What was the point of it all, truly? Mr. Wickham would say whatever it was he wished to say. He was a liar, and there was no reason to believe anything out of his mouth.
Wickham leaned in closer. “I wonder at it, this heel-turn in your opinion of him, I must say. You have observed him time and time again. You know what his character is. You know that he cares about the appearance of uprightness more than anything on earth. You know that he would say anything at all if it made him look superior to me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know that at all. And it isn’t a heel-turn. When we spoke, just before the news of my mother’s inheritance came to us, I told you that my opinion of him had changed.”
“You said that he had not improved in essentials.”
“That is because I had misunderstood his essential self,” she said. “And you were instrumental in deceiving me about who he was. You said whatever it was that you could to give yourself an appearance of uprightness. At his expense.”
“No, no.” Mr. Wickham shook his head. “No, you are incorrect about that. I did not insult the man out of hand. When we first spoke, you already thought badly of him. I had never met anyone who did, and I thought you were insightful, the sort of woman who sees the truth about people, and I admired you for it. I do not feel safe to express the truth about Mr. Darcy or his family to anyone in society. You were the one person who I thought had not been deceived by him.” He shook his head, looking pained.
She was even more confused, she had to admit. Not because she thought that Mr. Wickham’s version of the truth was, in fact, true. She was never going to believe that. But she was beginning to wonder if he, in fact, believed his own lies.
If so, he was more pitiable than dangerous, perhaps.
A sad man who must believe that the world is against him, not scheming and dastardly, after all.
She folded her arms over her chest. “We shan’t speak of this again. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. It is over and done.”
He grimaced. “It matters, indeed. Because he has turned you against me.”
She sighed. “I am not against you, Mr. Wickham. I don’t really think Mr. Darcy is either. He’d be quite happy to see you settled and successful.”
Mr. Wickham scoffed.
“I don’t think he wishes you pain,” she said.
“Oh, Miss Bennet, when you marry this man, you will see how very, very wrong you are about his very character.”
“I don’t wish you pain either,” she said, deciding to ignore his dig against Mr. Darcy.
The conversation continued for a bit longer after that. She tried to steer it in other directions, speaking to him of the game they were standing nearby, the weather, that sort of thing.
He was gruff and huffy, however, not willing to be engaged.
She eventually gave up on all of it and retired to her bedroom.
Lying on her bed, she stared up at the ceiling.
Well, she had failed utterly in getting Mr. Wickham removed from the household, and she wasn’t even sure if that was what she wanted anymore. Perhaps Mr. Wickham wasn’t really a very bad man, just one who spent too much time dwelling on his misfortunes. Perhaps he was only the sort of person who felt the need to lay blame elsewhere for his own adversities, never able to take full responsibility for them.
She had known others who behaved thus. It was not that uncommon a trait amongst people, she supposed. She did not find that appealing in him, or in others, but perhaps someone else might be willing to excuse it. Perhaps all Mr. Wickham needed was one good experience. If he could be successful in some way, perhaps he might stop being so very self-pitying.
Perhaps she would not attempt to make him leave, after all.
She rolled over, putting her face into the pillow.
She could not help but think of what it was that Mr. Wickham had said about how she was so very, very wrong about Mr. Darcy’s character.
It shouldn’t have disrupted her, but she could not deny that she was flummoxed about the way Mr. Darcy had conducted himself that very day. He’d hit Colonel Fitzwilliam. Twice.
Hitherto, she would have loudly declared that Mr. Darcy was incapable of such behavior.
How well did she know Mr. Darcy?
MR. DARCY’S NOSE hurt, but his pride hurt worse.
Some part of him would have liked to go hide away somewhere, all alone, not to face anyone at all, but he recognized this as cowardly and beneath him, so he set in his head his duties to others and addressed them in the order of importance.
Georgiana was his primary concern, so he escorted her to her bedroom when they arrived back at Brambles End. He told her maid to undress her and put her directly to bed and then he left to give instructions to the staff in the kitchen to prepare something comforting and warm for her to eat and drink.
When he returned to his sister, he found her snugly swathed in blankets, eyes heavy.
At this point, he remembered that he’d dragged his sister from bed only a few scant hours before. Also, he recalled the conversation with his aunt, about how Georgiana was always lying in.
His aunt wasn’t incorrect that young people had a tendency to wish to sleep away the morning. He knew, at Georgiana’s age, on days when he’d had no engagements, it was not uncommon for him to stay in bed until the mid-morning, sometimes as late as 11:00. But this had been rare, for he almost always had engagements. He certainly had never had a string of time where he was sleeping and sleeping, into the afternoon. Indeed, it wouldn’t have been allowed.
He always had responsibilities. Schooling. Social obligations. Things to see to on his father’s properties, for even as a boy, he was learning about how to shoulder his responsibilities.
Georgiana had less responsibilities, he supposed.
“I’m going to get rid of him,” he said to Georgiana.
“Wickham, you mean?” she yawned. “Good. I dislike seeing him.”
“It was wrong that you had to see him or that you had to endure his presence,” said Mr. Darcy. “But you must have seen that we were in a bit of a bind. If we were to make clear the extent of his villainy to you, it would damage you. It only made sense to remain quiet.”
“I hardly see that it matters,” said Georgiana. “The Bennet family is practically buried in scandal at this point.” She yawned again. “They could not judge me.”
“You know it’s not really about them,” he said. He had to admit that he had perhaps exaggerated all of the consequences that would befall Georgiana if the story came out. Why, it had been over a year ago, so there was no concern of her being gone with Wickham’s child, so that would not prevent a marriage. Her dowry being what it was, there would always be the ability to make her an advantageous match.
Pride.
Always pride, he thought. I am overcome with the fear of my wounded pride.
This was the real reason he concealed whatever had happened in Ramsgate.
“What’s it about, then?” said Georgiana.
“It’s about our good name,” he said. “It’s about tarnishing it. It’s about the fact that we must not give anyone the ability to tear us down.” He lifted both of his hands. “But I think we need to speak about some other matter, truthfully. I am concerned about you, about how much you are sleeping.”
She shrugged, and she looked tiny and wan and helpless, surrounded by so very many blankets. “If you wish it, I shall get out of bed earlier in the morning.”
So easily?
“I don’t wish to be thought of as self-pitying,” she said.
He nodded. “Good. Quite good. I approve.” He gave her a little smile. “I’m glad we spoke.” Yes, so easily, because he and his sister were cut from the same cloth. They were Darcys, and the Darcy name was something that one lived up to. His sister would rise to the challenge, just as he had.
He was pleased that had gone so easily and so well.
That sorted, he turned to the next matter he must see to, and that was his cousin Richard.
On his way to seek Richard, he found his aunt, who was in a sitting room, having a glass of wine, looking frazzled. “What a day we’ve had,” she said. “I have canceled dinner. I simply can’t manage anything more today.”
He nodded. “Yes, quite a good idea.” A pause. “I am seeking Richard.”
“He’s in the upstairs study,” she said. “I don’t wish to dwell on unpleasantness, you understand, so I have nothing to say about whatever passed between the two of you this afternoon.”
“No, of course not,” he said.
“But it goes without saying that it must never be repeated.”
He gave her a quick nod. “Yes, agreed. My apologies for my lack of decorum.”
“No, please,” she said with a little moan. “None of that. No apologies. Men of your stature do not apologize, Darcy.”
He nodded again. Of course. Not even to family. There was no point in it, for there was no forgiveness. She would not mention it again, but she would hold it against him forever. She would pointedly not mention it over and over again, and it was a black mark on his character that would never be forgotten.
But no, no apologies. Bear it up.
That was quite same whether one was a Darcy or a Fitzwilliam.
“I trust you two are not going to behave like twelve-year-old mongrels when you find him.”
“No, my lady,” he said. “You may be assured that won’t happen.”
“Good,” she said. “Shut that door on your way out, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course,” he said.
He left his aunt and made his way to the upstairs study. There was a fire burning in one corner, a messy desk in the other, and several leather easy chairs surrounding a small table in the center of the room.
Richard was drinking, too. He looked up, raised his eyebrows, and gestured with his head to the brandy bottle sitting out on the table.
Darcy went there directly and poured himself a glass. Facing away from his cousin, he downed it and then poured himself another.
“When I said it was war,” his cousin said mildly, “I meant in a metaphorical sense, not a literal one.”
Darcy smirked. He turned around and faced Richard.
Richard gestured for Darcy to sit down in a chair opposite him.
Darcy sat down. He contemplated his brandy. “The war is over. You are laboring under some malformed idea that there are battles left to be fought, and there are none.”
“This is why you punched me.”
Darcy sighed.
“Twice,” said Richard, laughing softly.
“Yes, well, you punched me, too. Rather harder than either time I hit you.”
Richard shrugged. “That wasn’t as hard as I can hit. I simply wanted you to get hold of yourself.”
“You seized her, manhandled her, and spirited her off against her will—”
“Oh, please, she came willingly enough.”
“You have no right to touch her.”
“It wasn’t that sort of a touch. She and I were quite close before I was dispatched to this… wilderness and she stayed behind in London. She and I needed to have a conversation, and you interrupted that. Now, she and I have to have another conversation.”
“No,” he said. “No more conversations. No more touching. None of that. You need to accept the fact that she’s mine.”
“Oho. So, she’s your property now.”
“You know what I mean.”
It was quiet.
Richard reached forward and picked up the brandy bottle. He poured some in his glass and offered the bottle to Darcy, who shook his head as he hadn’t so much as sipped at what he had in his glass now.
Richard set the bottle down and settled back in his chair, taking a long, thoughtful swallow of the liquor. “She isn’t, actually, and that’s the real problem, and we both know it.”
“What are you even saying? You aren’t making sense.”
“She isn’t yours,” said Richard. “You can sense that, and that is why you hit me.”
Darcy grimaced. He had the urge to fling his glass in Richard’s face, leave his cousin sputtering, his features wet with brandy. He had the urge to hit Richard again. He had the urge to take his cousin by the front of his jacket lapels, propel him through the room and slam him into the wall repeatedly.
He did none of these things.
“The problem, you see, Fitz, as I see it, is that you have never had to woo or win a woman in your life. You’ve simply had simpering skirts coming to you, giggling and flattering you, batting their pretty eyelashes at you, hoping you’d pay them some mind. You have this idea that whenever you saw a woman you wanted, all you need do is beckon casually with two fingers and that she would swoon gratefully into your arms.”
“No,” said Darcy, shaking his head. “No, that is precisely not the sort of woman I would ever want. The reason that I cannot get Elizabeth Bennet out of my head is because she would never be that way.”
“There we are agreed,” allowed his cousin. “Even so, you have done nothing to deserve her.”
“No,” said Darcy, shaking his head firmly. He downed his brandy and set the glass on the table. “No.”
“No, you don’t deserve her?”
Darcy was flustered. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m right,” said Richard. “I’m right and you can’t admit it.” He ruefully contemplated his own drink. “Now, this isn’t saying that I deserve her, either, I suppose. But at least I understand that I should attempt to put some effort into pursuing her.”
Darcy stood up. This was a pointless conversation.
“It’s not me, you see,” said Richard. “I’m not the obstacle in the way of securing her. You’re in your own way, Fitzwilliam.”
“When will you cease to behave this way?” said Darcy. “Once I’ve married her, will you stop?”
“I shall stop when she’s actually yours. If she’s ever yours.”
Darcy pressed his lips together in a firm line. Then, he walked out of the room, feeling as if his waistcoat was squeezing his rib cage so tightly that he could not catch a breath.
ELIZABETH DID NOT go down to dinner that evening. She sent word that she was suffering from a headache, and this was not a lie, though she had been experiencing a persistent dull ache in her skull for most of the day, and she was practically used to it.
If she’d been in a different disposition, she might have welcomed the distraction of conversation and company to drown out the pain.
Instead, she stayed on her bed, still dressed, trying to read a book that she could not truly concentrate on.
She couldn’t think either. She did not know what to think.
She could hear distant noise in the house, the faint filtering noise of music being played, many voices all singing together, merriment and laughter, all downstairs, all just below her, and here she was, locked away and confused and out of sorts.
It was dark when a knock came at her door.
She opened the door to find a servant there, a young girl who looked nervous and giddy. “You have a visitor,” said the servant. “It’s ever so exciting. He wishes you to meet him at the side door near the gardens, and he has paid me quite a bit of coin to never speak of it all.”
“Who is it?” said Elizabeth, thinking it must be Colonel Fitzwilliam, still intent on making her admit that she was really in love with him.
“I don’t know,” said the girl, laughing. “Oh, please, you must come along. He shan’t give the rest of the coin until I come back with you. And he is very handsome.”
Well, then.
Not Colonel Fitzwilliam, she thought, for no one would describe him thus.
Likely Wickham, then.
Yes, just like Wickham to lure her out of the house. How Wickham came by the money to bribe this girl, Elizabeth could not say, however.
She realized he was probably lying to this poor girl, and Elizabeth was angry. She would go down there and give him a tongue-lashing for whatever empty promises he’d made. “Very well, lead the way,” said Elizabeth.
But it wasn’t Wickham at the door.
It was Mr. Darcy.