10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

D arcy's hand banged down on his desk in shock as his eyes scanned the letter before him. Bingley's familiar handwriting, usually a source of lighthearted correspondence, now delivered a blow that left Darcy momentarily breathless.

Wickham . Hosting Bingley at Netherfield! The words seemed to leap off the page, each one more bewildering than the last.

George Wickham, with enough wealth to lease Netherfield? It was unthinkable. Where had he come by such means? Wickham could mingle with the gentry, certainly, but he was never a man of substance, nor even prudence. Darcy doubted there was even a farthing left of the three thousand pounds he had signed over to him five years ago. The idea of Wickham playing the part of a gentleman of property was fantastical.

His hand trembled slightly as he set the letter down. What could Wickham possibly want with Bingley? Darcy couldn't fathom Wickham's intentions. Why extend such an invitation? They had not known each other at university, for Wickham had developed his own circle of friends, quite apart from Darcy's… and he rarely showed his face in lectures. But if Wickham wanted to find out who Darcy's friends were, it would have been the work of a moment.

First, he spent the summer charming Georgiana, and now Bingley…

But that was not the most baffling question. How had Wickham managed this sudden rise? His charm had always been impressive, able to win people over with ease. But to become the new master of an estate like Netherfield? Darcy had seen all Bingley's figures when he was considering the lease. It required substantial means, and apparently Wickham had offered to pay even more than Bingley had been prepared to do.

Darcy stood abruptly, the letter slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the floor. He began to pace the room, his head starting to feel tight again as his pulse bounded at his temple. What the devil did all this mean ?

He paused by the window, staring out without really seeing. What if Wickham had changed? Georgiana's recent, muddled revelations about him suggested… what? She had spoken of misunderstandings, of feeling confused at the very worst. But that was not enough to accuse Wickham of any ill intentions, though Darcy's instincts advised him otherwise. Could Wickham be trusted?

An immediate impulse surged through him. He needed to act. Writing to Bingley, suggesting he reconsider his stay at Netherfield, seemed prudent. Bingley might not be aware of Wickham's history of irresponsibility, and he was sure to be taken in.

Darcy strode back to his desk and grabbed a sheet of paper, the quill poised in his hand. How should he phrase it? "Dear Bingley, I feel it necessary to advise caution regarding Mr Wickham. He may not be as reliable as he appears..."

He hesitated, the nib of the quill hovering over the paper. Would a letter suffice? He could hardly write of his concerns regarding Georgiana—in fact, there were few specifics he could dare put down at all. Would Bingley understand the gravity of the situation through mere words on a page? Bingley, with his open heart and trusting nature, might dismiss his warnings as unnecessary caution. Wickham's charm had always been considerable, and Bingley could easily fall under its spell.

But confronting Bingley directly... Was that too much interference? Bingley was his own man, after all.

He paced the room for a few moments, his fingers working into a knot behind his back, and stopped again, staring at the blank sheet. No, he needed more than just words on a page. He needed to understand what Wickham was about, not just for Bingley's sake but for his own peace of mind. There were simply too many unanswered questions after last summer, and then this? Perhaps he had been mistaken in his judgment, but that did not seem likely.

Bingley's letter had also spoken of Elizabeth Bennet. That name drew a curve of his lips as his finger found the paragraph again.

Bingley had danced with her.

Danced … Darcy's brow pinched as he tried to imagine that rather… interesting creature… dancing. Not covered in mud and making sardonic quips to mask her pain, but fresh and at her best… drawing her partner in with her sharp wit and those captivating eyes.

It was not difficult to sketch her face. Hardly a day had passed that she had not flitted through his mind and warmed his thoughts with the memory of her laughter. What would she look like in a ball gown, with her hair coiled up just so, her creamy décolletage bared to the dewy kiss of candlelight?

He shook himself, snapping his vision back to clarity, and Bingley's words scripted on the page. That was why he would do very well not to return to Meryton! He had no business letting his fancy run wild on a mud-splattered vixen from a small town and an unremarkable family. Particularly not now, with his own future seeming somewhat… precarious.

But… perhaps it might not do any harm to… well, to warn her. She had several sisters, did she not? Four… his memory on the matter was too exact for his liking, but there it was. Her family and the young ladies of Meryton—Wickham's charm would easily enchant them. It might not be harmful—had not Georgiana sworn that the tiger had changed his stripes? But it was worth a look, at least. Yes, that was only proper.

A letter would not suffice. He would do better to see the situation, to make sense of Wickham's sudden rise, and ensure that all was well with Bingley and his new friend.

After all… Darcy blinked and clenched his fist as that stabbing panic lanced through his mind again. Westing might not be wrong. And if not, then Darcy would do well to see that others were well. That they were warned, while he was still able to give the word of caution.

To Meryton, then.

" C harlotte," Elizabeth began as she pulled her gloves off in the entryway at Lucas Lodge. "You left the ball so suddenly last night. I was worried. Are you well?"

Charlotte looked up from her needlework, her smile faint but present. She was seated near the window, a bit of muslin poised easily in her hands. The morning light cast a soft halo around her, but it could not disguise the faint lines of unease etched on her face. "Good morning, Lizzy. There is no need for concern. I assure you, I am quite well. "

Elizabeth's frown deepened as she moved closer, the worry in her eyes unmasked. "No need for concern? You looked so... troubled. What happened?"

With a sigh, Charlotte set down her needlework, the motion deliberate and slow. "Truly, I was only weary. The Assembly held little interest for me, so I decided to leave, and Papa obliged. There is nothing more to it."

"Weary? It looked like more than that. You seemed... downcast. Are you certain there is nothing else?"

Charlotte's gaze held steady, though her voice was gentle but firm. "Lizzy, you are imagining far more than there is. I appreciate your concern, but it really was just fatigue."

Elizabeth studied her friend's face intently, seeking any sign of hidden distress. "Charlotte, I know you well enough to see when something is amiss. Please, if there is anything bothering you, you can tell me."

Charlotte's response was a resolute shake of the head. "I promise, Lizzy, there is nothing more. I simply had no desire to stay at the ball."

Elizabeth frowned, but what was she to do? If Charlotte was determined not to speak, she could not force her to do so. "If you say so, Charlotte. But know that my concern remains."

"I know, and I am grateful. Now, tell me, how is everyone at Longbourn? Any news worth sharing?"

"Oh, the usual. Kitty and Lydia are comparing the lists of their conquests from last evening. Mary is still recovering—it will be two days before she utters more than a monosyllable—and Mama is already fretting over the next Assembly."

A soft laugh escaped Charlotte. "That sounds like them. And how are you, Lizzy? Did you enjoy the rest of your evening?"

"Quite well," Elizabeth replied, her tone brightening. "I must tell you about my dances with our new neighbours. Mr Bingley was most agreeable. We danced the fifth together, and he was all charm and smiles. I believe he means to stay some while in the neighbourhood, so we shall all have an opportunity to know him better."

"That is wonderful to hear. And what of Mr Wickham?"

"Ah, Mr Wickham, the sun around which most of the room revolved last night. He is a captivating dancer, full of wit and conversation. We spoke at length, and I must admit, I found him very agreeable."

Charlotte leaned in, her complexion warming. "Tell me more, Lizzy. What did you talk about? Did he show particular interest in anyone? "

Elizabeth's cheeks flushed slightly. "We spoke of many things—his experiences travelling in Europe, his admiration for the arts, and his thoughts on various authors. He has such a way with words, Charlotte. He made even the most mundane details sound fascinating. And he asked about my family with genuine interest, not just the polite inquiries one might expect. He seemed particularly amused by Lydia and Kitty's antics."

"Well! That is certainly generous of him. Did you say you danced with him twice?"

"Oh, yes, and it caused quite the stir, but he was so easy that it hardly seemed to be noteworthy until afterwards when I reflected on it. I was the only lady he favoured so."

Charlotte's eyes widened knowingly. "Indeed, he must be charming."

"Quite! At one point, I asked him about the latest novel by Maria Edgeworth. That was when he was forced to admit that he truly is not an extensive reader, though he knows so many authors from his travels that he is often able to fool people quite nicely. We had a good laugh about that. He said he preferred a juicy bit of gossip over some dusty old epic, and I told him he would get along famously with my younger sisters. But he said he rather liked talking to a lady who made him think, and so… yes, that was when he solicited my hand for a second set."

"It sounds like he left quite an impression on you, Lizzy. How wonderful to find someone who can amuse you as well as you amuse everyone else."

"Such stuff! Come now, you know as well as I do that you are the true wit between the two of us. Oh, Charlotte, I wish you had been there. Mr Wickham would have quite enjoyed your conversation."

Charlotte smiled lightly, her fingers returning to her needlework. "And Jane? How did she enjoy her evening?"

"Oh, you ought to have seen how Mr Bingley gazed at her! I have never seen such admiration in a gentleman's eyes. I quite fancy she is the reason he declared to Sir William that he meant to linger at Netherfield for as long as Mr Wickham would have him."

"Then I am happy for Jane. And for you too. It sounds like you had a delightful evening."

Before Elizabeth could respond, Lady Lucas's voice called from the doorway. "Charlotte, dear, could you help me with the baskets? I told Mrs Long I would tend to what remained after the ball, and Maria was to help me, but she has gone off to Longbourn."

Elizabeth blinked. She had intended to discuss Charlotte's well-being but had been led astray by her own excitement. Now, it seemed, she had missed her chance.

Charlotte set her needlework aside. "Coming, Mama. "

Elizabeth rose with her. "May I help? Surely, Charlotte, if you were too weary to dance last evening, an afternoon assembling and delivering charity baskets would be too taxing."

"Not a bit of it," Charlotte insisted. "Go on, Lizzy. Shall I see you at church tomorrow? I think Mama would not mind if I joined the Bennets in their pew."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes… yes, of course! I shall hold you to that promise, you know. Else I will be forced to come after you."

"I will try," Charlotte vowed as she saw Elizabeth to the door.

Elizabeth wrapped her cloak about her shoulders and turned back as she stepped outside. The door was already closed, and Charlotte had gone off to help her mother. How… odd.

"Foolish, selfish of you, Lizzy," she scolded herself. "All that prattling on… you sound like Lydia." She knotted her fingers inside her gloves and found the path back to the village. If she dared to take the shortcut, she could pass by Netherfield…

But no, had she not already spent enough time and breath on those gentlemen today? Nattering on about them when she should have been encouraging Charlotte! She simply would have to learn to keep her wits about her when Mr Wickham was present.

" M r Wickham!" Elizabeth exclaimed, unable to contain her surprise as she, Jane, and Mary rose and curtseyed in greeting. "And Mr Bingley, how lovely to see you both."

"Good afternoon, Miss Bennet," Wickham replied, flashing a smile that could have rivalled a full moon in all its brilliance. "Netherfield was rather dull this afternoon, so we thought we might seek some of the best company to be had."

"You are quite welcome here, but I am afraid we will have to send out for good company. "

Mr Wickham laughed. "I cannot decide whether that is modesty or sarcasm, Miss Elizabeth, but I fancy it regardless. Ah, thank you," he said when Hill offered to take his hat and coat.

"Please, do be seated," Jane invited, gesturing for the gentlemen to follow them into the drawing room. "I am afraid Mama, Kitty, and Lydia have gone to town, but may we offer you some tea?"

"We would be grateful, Miss Bennet," Mr Wickham answered for both of them. "I trust all the Bennets are quite recovered from dancing unto the wee hours last Friday?"

"The thing was simple enough," Mary replied before Elizabeth could speak. "If one does not dance every set, there is ample time to rest one's feet."

Elizabeth caught the curious arch of Mr Wickham's brow, and she hastened to smooth over what might be perceived as a rather peevish speech. "I am sure what my sister means is that you gentlemen must have been put to some trouble, indeed, seeing that the number of ladies far exceeded the number of gentlemen present. It is to your credit that both your hearts and your feet never faltered in the face of all the ladies awaiting their turns."

"Ah, Miss Elizabeth, you credit us with valour, but I shall let you in on a little secret," Wickham replied, leaning forward with a wink. "The pleasure was entirely ours."

"Oh, now that is a wondrous thing to hear. I understand you are still finding the town to your liking, Mr Wickham?" Jane asked.

"Very much so. I was particularly impressed by how friendly everyone was. Bingley, do you not agree?"

Mr Bingley blinked—for he had been gazing raptly at Jane—and his grin widened. "Oh, very much so. Why, I have not gone anywhere or met anyone but that I fancied this was the pleasantest part of all England."

"We are so glad you find it so, Mr Bingley," Elizabeth answered warmly.

"Indeed! I do hope Meryton's tolerance for greeting new faces is not yet exhausted, for I had an interesting letter this morning." He glanced at Mr Wickham, who invited him to continue with a smile and a nod. Bingley cleared his throat. "I have some happy news. My friend Mr Darcy has accepted my… that is, Mr Wickham's invitation to come to Netherfield. He should be arriving by tomorrow."

Elizabeth's pulse quickened. "Mr Darcy? That is…" She blinked and swallowed. Oh, it would be a false step if she said too much. "Is… this Mr Darcy… is he a particular friend of yours? "

"Yes," Bingley said, his smile broadening though his gaze flicked uncertainly to her sisters. Good man, he somehow managed to refrain from letting on that she had already met the gentleman! "I… I think you will find him quite interesting."

"I am certain I shall. Any friend of yours, Mr Bingley, of course."

"Oh, he is not merely my friend. Mr Wickham here has known Darcy for years! You will surely recall my surprise, Miss Bennet, when I mentioned my friend to my host and found we shared the acquaintance. Of course, when we discovered that, we simply had to invite him."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Yes, I do recall, it was a happy coincidence. Is he… ah… an amiable man?" She shot another glance at Mr Bingley, hoping he would keep her little secret, but she found the gentleman blushing at Jane, and entirely ignorant of her look.

"Darcy is a remarkable man," Mr Wickham supplied. "I am sure you will find him quite... intriguing."

Elizabeth laughed. "‘Intriguing?' That sounds like a challenge, Mr Wickham."

Bingley chuckled. "Darcy can be somewhat reserved. Some might even say ‘aloof.' But I assure you, he is quite a dignified fellow, and he is as good a man as ever I knew—save, perhaps, for his father."

She leaned forward, folding her hands over her knee. "I look forward to meeting him, then. Perhaps we can draw the man out of his shell, eh?"

"Be gentle with him, Miss Bennet," Mr Wickham laughed. "We would not wish to frighten him off before he has a chance to let down his guard."

"Oh, a recluse. My specialty! I shall have to see if I can find the key to this locked-up fellow. All in good sport, of course! But enough about Mr Darcy, who is not even here. We have hardly done our duty to the two of you, seated in our drawing room. Look, here is Mrs Hill with the tea."

After the gentlemen had whiled away their quarter of an hour and taken their leave, Elizabeth resorted to pacing the drawing room. Mr Darcy, returning to Meryton! His would be a welcome face this autumn. Exceedingly welcome if her first impression of him was at all accurate. Was he truly as kind as she recalled? More than likely, he was spoken for by some insipid London heiress.

A pity, really. Such a kind and handsome gentleman, one blessed with that wry turn to his mouth that spoke of deeper understanding than he let on, ought to be the rightful property of a wife who could appreciate his cleverness. Well, Mr Bingley had spoken of no wife coming to Netherfield with Mr Darcy, had he? How very interesting…

Particularly if Mr Wickham made good on his promise to host a ball at Netherfield.