14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

" M r Wickham seems quite popular with everyone," Jane murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as the door to Longbourn opened, revealing Mr Wickham and his party from Netherfield. "I think Papa even likes him."

Elizabeth nodded. "I believe he does. It will be interesting to see how our guest manages—" she cleared her throat softly, glancing over at Lydia and Kitty, who were trading giggles, "— everyone's company tonight."

Mrs Bennet fluttered about near the door, her cheeks flushed and her voice a touch too loud as she greeted the gentlemen. "Oh, Mr Wickham, how delightful to see you! And what a charming party you have brought!"

Mr Bennet stood beside her, his expression one of mild disinterest as he offered a polite nod to each guest. Elizabeth and her sisters stood back a little, watching the guests enter and waiting their turn to offer their greetings.

Lydia covered her mouth and almost… not quite… concealed a squeal. "Mr Wickham brought a pineapple! Such a lavish gift!"

Elizabeth glanced at Mr Wickham, who was presenting the exotic fruit to her mother with a charming smile. "He certainly knows how to make an impression."

Mrs Bennet accepted the gift with awe, gasping in pleasure and calling for Mrs Hill to bring a tray to display it properly. "Oh, Mr Wickham, how generous of you! Wherever did you find such a thing?"

Wickham's smile widened. "It is but a small token, Mrs Bennet, to show my appreciation for your kind invitation."

Elizabeth pivoted her attention to Mr Darcy. The slight curl of disapproval in his lips caught her eye. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on Mrs Bennet's overzealous excitement and Lydia's giggles, then lightly flicking over herself before settling into that familiar mask of detached politeness .

A pang of discomfort twisted in her chest. He would never think well of her family—of that, she had no doubt. It was almost a relief; if she settled that fact with herself now, she would never have to be disappointed in him.

Yet, it still stung. Distant, aloof, probably critical. Why should it matter? It did not matter at all.

Mr Wickham, in stark contrast, seemed genuinely pleased to know them. He offered his most charming courtesies to each of the sisters in their turn, then finally spoke again to their mother with an amiable smile and a slight bow. "Mrs Bennet, if I may, I daresay we have not been so warmly received in any house in Hertfordshire, and that, madam, is an excessive compliment, indeed."

Mrs Bennet beamed. "Oh, such a flatterer you are! Shall we proceed to dinner? Mr Wickham, if you would be so kind as to lead the way." She took Mr Wickham's offered arm, her eyes shining with delight. "Simply wait until you have had one of my syllabubs!"

As the gentlemen began to pair off with the ladies, Mr Bingley offered his arms to Jane and Mary with a broad smile. Her father, however, chose to walk alone, leaving the remaining three daughters unescorted.

Elizabeth sighed. How typically Papa of him.

The confusion on Mr Darcy's face almost made up for her father's disappointing performance. The gentleman was glancing after Mr Bennet, then his eyes bounced about the room as if counting the remaining daughters again for himself, just to be certain he had not miscalculated. And then he repeated the pantomime, his eyes widening just a little more with each bounce.

Clearly, he could not escort all three sisters. He hesitated, starting to move, then stopping himself. It would be rude for him not to escort anyone, yet equally rude to leave one sister entirely alone. After a brief moment of indecision, he started towards Elizabeth, resolving the dilemma with a determined stride.

He extended his arm, and her chest gave the oddest squeezing sensation. He looked pleased for an instant, an inviting warmth in his usually stern eyes, but as he drew nearer, his expression became more guarded, almost stiff. "Miss Elizabeth, may I escort you?"

"Of course, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth replied, placing her hand lightly on his arm. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the subtle rigidity that spoke of his discomfort. It was not at all like that first time he had escorted her, when she had depended upon the strength of his arm to keep her from falling on her injured ankle. So gallant and helpful had he been before that he had imprinted himself in her mind as the perfect gentleman. But this time, he… well, he looked like he would rather be anywhere else, and she was almost afraid to touch him.

Oh, this would not do. She had seen hints of humour in him before, had she not? The poor soul looked positively miserable this evening, almost as if he were in physical pain. Perhaps she could say something to lighten his mood. She began by tilting her head toward him with a small smile until he was obliged to return her look. "Where did Mr Wickham obtain that gift on such short notice? I know of no one around here who has had one this season, and it even looked fresh! He has bestowed a rare favour upon my mother."

"London is but half a day's ride," Darcy observed, looking straight ahead.

"Well, yes, but to go to such trouble!"

"It was little trouble." His head swung around for an instant, and his eyes bored into hers with a particular weight. "And the pleasure of a gift is all in the giving, is it not?"

She hesitated, then smiled. "Well! Now, I wonder how many favours he sought to effect that particular ‘gift,' but you are quite right. He does seem terribly satisfied to have given my mother such pleasure."

"Indeed," Darcy replied after several seconds, his voice thick with a raw sort of huskiness. "He does have a certain… charm."

Elizabeth glanced up at him, noting the careful neutrality in his expression. "You speak as though charm is not a virtue you particularly value, Mr Darcy."

Darcy hesitated, his eyes meeting hers briefly before looking ahead. "Charm can be a double-edged sword, Miss Elizabeth. It can mask many things."

Before Elizabeth could respond, they entered the dining room, the long table gleaming with polished silver and fine China. Mr Wickham guided Mrs Bennet to her seat at the foot of the table with a flourish, then moved to claim the seat beside her. And then, by some odd happenstance, Elizabeth found herself seated between Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy.

Why, how fortuitous! She had been curious to compare the two gentlemen side-by-side, and what better opportunity than at dinner, when she would be expected to speak with first one, then the other?

But as the first course was served, Elizabeth found herself working a deal harder than she had expected just to extract a handful of words from the man on her left. They were all one-syllable responses until she was tapping her toe impatiently under the table. Time to ask him some more pointed questions that could not be answered with "Yes" or "No."

"Mr Darcy," she began softly, "How long do you intend to remain at Netherfield? "

He paused the motion of his spoon. "My plans are not fixed, Miss Elizabeth." He never even looked up as he said it.

Elizabeth frowned. "Not fixed? Why, that means one of two things."

His brow edged upward. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Oh, naturally. Either you have no other prospects at all to brighten the dull days of winter, or you have far too many invitations to make your decision in haste. So, what of it, Mr Darcy?" She lifted her wine glass to her lips, then continued after she had set it down. "Are you still debating on who shall have the honour of your company through Christmastide and Twelfth Night?"

His mouth tightened on one side, and his gaze returned to his plate. "I have not yet determined that."

She sighed and turned back to her own syllabub. Mr Darcy was certainly proving to be a disappointment over her expectations.

Suddenly, he stiffened, drawing in a breath, and turned to her. "But you are right about one thing, Miss Elizabeth."

"Oh?" She set her spoon aside. "And what is that?"

"I have more obligations and invitations than I care to count. None, unfortunately, particularly appealing."

She pursed her lips. "Then, have you no family with whom to pass the festive season?"

"A great deal too many of them, in fact."

"And are they all in London?"

"For the moment, save for one aunt in Kent."

"Kent? I would have thought you might have said Lancashire or Northumberland."

His brow creased, and he looked at her questioningly.

"The way you speak," she offered by way of explanation. "I assumed you hailed from one of those counties."

He shook his head, still looking away as much as possible. "No, Miss Elizabeth. My family hails from Derbyshire."

"Derbyshire," Elizabeth repeated, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "It must be a beautiful place. Do you visit often?"

"Whenever I can."

Gracious, but he was a reluctant conversationalist. Best to try a different approach. "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mr Darcy?"

"Yes," he said, his voice softening slightly. "I have a younger sister, Georgiana. "

"Tell me about her," she encouraged gently. "She must be a delightful young lady."

Darcy hesitated, his gaze flickering towards Mr Wickham before he responded. "Georgiana is very dear to me," he said, his voice low. "She is... an excellent musician and a kind soul."

Elizabeth sensed there was more he wished to say but was holding back. "It sounds as though you are quite fond of her," she prompted, hoping to draw him out further.

Darcy's eyes darkened slightly as he glanced again at Wickham. "Indeed," he replied, his tone now clipped. "But perhaps this is not the time for such discussions."

Well. So much for drawing the man out. "Of course. Another time, perhaps."

T his was all blasted uncomfortable. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, Darcy was acutely aware of Elizabeth Bennet's every movement and word. His head throbbed with a dull ache that seemed to grow sharper with each passing moment.

He knew it was unwise to engage with her—his interest would betray him in a moment, and that was precisely the last complication he required at present. Fitzwilliam Darcy smitten by a countrified bewilderment! But a tempting bewilderment she was, with eyes that crackled like a hearth flame and a smile that concealed far more than it divulged.

No, no, he must put her off, if for no other reason than she distracted him too much. His object in coming here was to learn more about George Wickham, dash it all, not one Elizabeth Bennet. And so, he attempted to keep his responses clipped and practical. But each attempt to avoid her left him feeling colder, more distant, and he worried she would think him rude. Why he ought to care was a mystery that would require some introspection, but care, he did.

His discomfort grew as the tables turned, and he was forced to watch Elizabeth's easy conversation with Wickham. They spoke with such familiarity and warmth, a sharp contrast to his own stilted attempts to prevent any intimacy. He listened intently, catching snippets of their dialogue about Charlotte Lucas, though he was supposed to be conversing with Catherine Bennet. The girl was too intimidated to speak much, and he doubted she had any thoughts deeper than the flavour of the soup to share, anyway.

Wickham was fairly leaning over the table, all but pushing his elbows onto it in his interest in the lady. "Miss Elizabeth, I have by now had the pleasure of meeting several families in the area, but I realise my understanding of them is still quite limited. Could you perhaps provide me with some particulars?"

He could tell she was smiling by the sudden roundness of her cheek as she gazed back at the rogue. "Of course, Mr Wickham. Who would you like to know more about?"

Wickham appeared to consider, but that was probably an act. Wickham knew exactly what he was about. If only Darcy did, as well. "I have been introduced to Sir William and Lady Lucas. They seem quite agreeable."

"Yes, they are," Elizabeth replied. "Sir William is always ready with a kind word, and Lady Lucas is very…" She hesitated— "Practical." Another bunching of her cheek into a smile, though this one flashed more briefly. "She is a devoted mother, always looking out for her family."

"And the Gouldings?" Mr Wickham continued.

"Oh, I would advise you to caution there."

Wickham affected a surprised grin. "Indeed?"

"Unless you wish to hear ‘facts' about yourself repeated to the neighbourhood that are rather less than factual. They are well-meaning but rather prone to gossip. Mrs Goulding is particularly fond of sharing news, whether it is true or not."

Wickham chuckled softly. "And Mr Long?"

"Mr Long is quite respectable and very generous to his nieces, Annabelle and Maryanne. They are often in Meryton, visiting their aunt and uncle," Elizabeth explained.

Mr Wickham then glanced towards Darcy before continuing. "I was quite charmed by the younger Miss Lucas. Maria, I believe? However, I have had few opportunities to speak with the elder Miss Lucas."

Elizabeth's posture softened at the mention of her friend. "Charlotte is a dear friend, Mr Wickham. She is wise and kind, though she has been rather low-spirited of late."

Wickham's brows knitted. Egad, how did the man alter his entire face like that? He almost looked… sincere. "Low-spirited? That is unfortunate. Has something specific troubled her? "

Elizabeth sighed, and her fingers toyed with the fork beside her plate. "She has been avoiding company at every opportunity. She often claims some malaise, though the only thing that appears to be wrong is a lack of enthusiasm for anything. Jane and I fairly had to drag her into the carriage the other day—that was why we were so unwilling to turn back, do you see. It was difficult enough to get her out that one time. She seemed happy for a little while, though she smiles but rarely anymore. I am worried for her."

Wickham leaned in slightly, his voice low and sympathetic, even as his gaze flicked to Darcy for an instant. "I am sorry to hear that, Miss Elizabeth. I once had a friend who suffered from low spirits."

Darcy's attention sharpened, the throbbing in his head intensifying. What friend could that be? Not himself, surely. Wickham could not accuse him of low spirits simply because he preferred dignity and more solitary pursuits. He still enjoyed life, hang it all—at least, he did when his eyes were not crossing from stabbing pain and he could walk without getting dizzy.

"What became of your friend, Mr Wickham?" Elizabeth asked. "What was done to help him?"

Wickham's expression darkened momentarily. "It is a sad tale. I tried my best to encourage him, to brighten his prospects, but in the end, he took his own life." Wickham paused, then added hastily, "But such outcomes are rare, especially for ladies. Your friend likely needs only good company and something to look forward to."

Elizabeth's spine had stiffened at the mention of the man—whoever it was—putting an end to himself, but he could see the forced lift of her shoulders as she nodded thoughtfully, clearly trying to take some comfort in Wickham's words. "I hope you are right."

Wickham raised his glass, his demeanour brightening as he raised his voice to be heard by all. "Speaking of something to look forward to, I have been wishing to host a ball at Netherfield. However, I face the dilemma of not having a hostess. Perhaps I may canvass the subject in friendly company. What are your thoughts on this matter?"

There were several murmurs of interest, but it was Kitty Bennet, unable to contain herself, who blurted the loudest. "Two years ago, Mr Northam—you know, the previous master of Netherfield—he did not have a hostess either. He asked Lady Lucas and Mrs Goulding to help plan a tenant's harvest party for the estate. Surely, if that was appropriate, Mr Wickham could ask some lady of the neighbourhood to help. "

Mr Bennet wadded the corner of the tablecloth to dab his mouth, then dropped it, casting a deadpan look at his wife. But it seemed that Bennet's lack of support for the notion was unique, for everyone else spoke approvingly.

Wickham's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "An excellent point, Miss Kitty. Perhaps there is a well-respected lady in the area who could be prevailed upon to act as hostess for the ball. It must be the mistress of one of the principal estates, of course—a lady with an unimpeachable reputation in the community."

Mrs Bennet flushed with pride and half-rose from her seat. "Oh, Mr Wickham, I would be honoured!"

Darcy felt a wave of bonafide nausea as he observed Mrs Bennet's unabashed enthusiasm. Heavens, where was the basin in this dining room? Was there a door through which he could excuse himself if the need arose? He doubted his hostess would even notice his departure.

Wickham had not actually asked her, but the woman seemed to assume the request tendered and accepted. Her face shone with delight, her voice loud and eager. Darcy's head pounded, the noise of the room amplifying the pain. He placed a foot down in front of the chair leg and gave a slight push… only a little advantage, in case he needed to step behind Miss Elizabeth's chair for the nearest escape.

But in plotting his path, he glanced at Elizabeth, who was staring open-mouthed at her mother's audacity. To her credit, she forced her jaw closed and turned away, and her eyes blundered into his. The flash of pained humiliation there… that was something with which he could empathise. He offered her a slight tightening of his lips but dared risk no more.

"Thank you, Mrs Bennet," Wickham said warmly. "I could not think of a more suitable hostess. It would be an honour to have you assist in planning the ball."

Mrs Bennet's eyes sparkled with delight. "Oh, Mr Wickham, you are too kind! I shall ensure that everything is perfect."

Darcy's expression remained one of silent horror, his eyes wide with incredulity. The very idea of Mrs Bennet in charge of such an event was almost too much to bear, and yet he could not help but feel a grudging admiration for Wickham's deft handling of the situation. Wickham had managed to turn a potential embarrassment into a moment of triumph for Mrs Bennet and, in doing so, had ingratiated himself even further with the family.

Blast the man.