Chapter 19
“Well, you seem to be in a happy daze, Lizzy. What has put you in such a frame of mind?” Jane asked as she stood up from the breakfast table and came around the other side to join her. The rest of the family had gone their separate ways to prepare for the various tasks and appointments they had for the day. Elizabeth’s cheeks filled with heat at being found out. Of course, Jane knew her better than anyone else in the world. She should have known her sister would confront her about her happy mood sooner or later. Indeed, even a loud bout of squabbling between Lydia and Kitty at breakfast had not been able to remove the smile from her face.
Yet Elizabeth was loath to explain her happiness, even to herself. “Whatever do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, linking arms with her sister as they headed out of the dining room.
“You know very well. Do you realise you have not stopped smiling since you came into breakfast? I cannot help but wonder what could account for such behaviour.” Jane gave her a sly smile, or at least, as sly as one so good could offer. “What is it?”
Elizabeth was unsure how to answer. She tried to keep a straight face. “Have I been smiling the whole time? I did not think so.” She could not conceal her joy, however. She laughed, and Jane soon joined her as they started up the stairs toward their room.
“Then stop smiling,” Jane challenged her.
Elizabeth halted on the stairs, facing her sister. She tried, but she could not manage it. “I cannot!” she said gleefully. “I do not know what has come over me. Perhaps it is the sunshine.”
Jane raised a brow and glanced out the small window cut into the stairwell. “It is as grey as charcoal out there.”
“Well, the sun was shining earlier,” Elizabeth argued.
Jane was silent for a moment while they climbed the stairs. Once they were in their room and the door was closed, she pinned Elizabeth with a mock-serious stare. “Come now, tell me everything. Ever since the little party at Netherfield, you have been happier than usual.” She settled down on the edge of the bed to listen while Elizabeth paced in front of her.
She raised her hands and gave another quick laugh. “I do not know. You are right in that there is nothing special to account for it. I am simply happy.” She turned and retrieved a cloak. The butterflies swirling in her stomach gave her little desire to sit about the house doing needlework all day. “Let us go into Meryton.”
“Meryton? But it will rain!” Jane protested.
Elizabeth went to the window seat and leaned on the well-used cushion to look up at the sky. “It will not last long, even if it does rain. Come along, we could both use some fresh air and a brisk walk.”
Jane sighed. “Very well,” she replied. “I believe Mama had a message for the butcher, in any case. I shall deliver it while we are there.” She retrieved her cloak and bonnet, and they were soon out the door, walking toward town.
They walked in companionable silence for most of the way, giving Elizabeth time to think about why she was in such good spirits. She supposed that the dinner party had gone so much more smoothly than she had expected. She had feared her family might subject them to another bout of impropriety, and so she had given Lydia and Kitty their warning. The results had been beyond her expectations. Kitty and Lydia were behaving themselves so much better that even her father had commented on it. The day after the party, Elizabeth had hinted to her father that a little guidance was needed to bring the girls to heel. She did not want to see their spirits broken, only guided toward a more positive outcome. And as their behaviour at Netherfield showed their potential for improvement, so the squabble this morning showed the need of it.
Better still, Mr Darcy had been so attentive to Mary and the rest of her family. There was so much more to him than she would have thought even a month ago. She smiled to herself and linked arms with Jane as they walked the last hundred yards into town. “I am glad that Mr Darcy arranged for the dinner party. I suppose I am so happy because it went so well. Do you not think it went well?”
“I do. It was lovely to spend some time with the Bingleys and Mr Darcy, away from the crowds. I hope we shall have the occasion to meet again.” Jane sighed contentedly and looked up at the sky. The wind had picked up, but instead of bringing the rain, had pushed the gloomy clouds away towards the horizon.
“You do like Mr Bingley a good deal, do you not?” Elizabeth asked.
Jane started, then looked away as if she had been caught — like a child who had snuck into the larder. Her mouth twisted this way and that as she tried to work out what to say. “I think he is an upstanding gentleman, yes. He is well-mannered and sensible —”
“Yes, we know all of that. But do you like him?”
Jane stopped in the middle of the lane, growing more confused by the moment. “I esteem him highly. That is to say, I am appreciative of his friendship.”
“Esteem! Appreciative!” Elizabeth took her hand and tucked it into the crook of her arm. “There is nothing sinful about admitting feelings for the man. Everyone else can clearly see that he is in love with you. And I think, if you did some honest soul-searching, you would find that your feelings are growing as well.”
Jane shook her head, but not in argument. “You are right, of course. I somehow feel that if I allow myself to hope, it will be crushed. Mr Bingley is too far above me.”
“That is not true. Indeed, while it would be an excellent match with regard to fortune, one might say that your position in society is higher. He is the son of a merchant, after all, while you are a gentlewoman. More importantly, you are a good woman, Jane. He would be fortunate indeed to have you as his wife.” Elizabeth squeezed her hand.
Jane shook her head. “I thank you, but if he cares for me, why has he given no indication of it? It is most likely that he feels only friendship for me, nothing more.”
“That is not true, Jane. You do not give yourself anywhere near enough credit.” Elizabeth was unsure if she should disclose the conversation she had had with Mr Darcy. “I know you do not wish to seem prideful or conceited. No one who really knows you would ever accuse you of such things. But perhaps showing a bit more of how you feel will give him the encouragement he needs to speak?” she suggested.
Jane only shook her head, and out of compassion for her embarrassment, Elizabeth dropped the subject. They entered town and went to the market street, where Jane stepped in to the butcher shop to deliver their mother’s message. Elizabeth made her way slowly towards the milliner’s shop, happy to stop and speak with friends and acquaintances as she passed.
But Elizabeth’s contentment could not last. She was still half a street’s length away from the milliners when she was set upon by someone she had neither expected nor wanted to see.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, how fortuitous that we have bumped into one another,” Mr Wickham said with a wide grin. Far from making him look charming, it reminded Elizabeth of a predator on the prowl.
“Mr Wickham,” Elizabeth said coldly, with the slightest nod she could give.
She continued walking, but Mr Wickham followed, falling into step with her. Though he might have intended the gesture as friendly, she was far from feeling anything akin to warmth for the man, especially after learning what he had tried to do to Georgiana Darcy.
“It seems like an eternity since we last met. I am sorry if I caused you any trouble with Mr Darcy the other day outside your gate. He is a very disagreeable man.” Mr Wickham clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head solemnly, though his features did not entirely seem to match his words. Quite the contrary. If Elizabeth were any judge, Mr Wickham seemed to welcome the chance to paint Mr Darcy in so dark a light.
Mr Wickham did not seem to notice her scepticism. He offered her a charming smile before going on. “I was sad that we did not see you at the assembly a few nights ago. I had hoped to trouble you for a dance.”
Insufferable man. Elizabeth gritted her teeth from barking every foul thing she thought of him right there in the middle of the bustling street. She took a deep breath and turned away. “We were invited to Netherfield for a small family party on the night of the assembly,” Elizabeth explained. She bowed and started to walk away. “Good day, Mr Wickham.”
Mr Wickham clicked his tongue in disapproval and followed right on her heels. “It is a pity — no, a shame — that you were forced to accept an engagement to Mr Darcy. I fear he might lock you up at Pemberley, as he has done with his poor sister. Really, the man is intolerable.” He fell into step beside her. “But perhaps there is a way to rescue you from such a fate.”
“I do not see how that is possible, sir,” Elizabeth replied coolly. Did she even want to be rescued? Though Elizabeth would never choose to discuss her doubts with Mr Wickham, she was growing increasingly unsure.
“It is a pity. I imagine you looked utterly ravishing the night of the Netherfield Ball. Perhaps Mr Darcy could not help himself. As I am sure no self-respecting, warm-blooded gentleman could.” His eyes held a wicked glow, as if he were coming in for the kill.
Elizabeth drew in a quick breath. Surely he would do nothing untoward in so public a place. And yet…something about Mr Wickham’s persistence left her feeling distinctly uneasy. She wished she had not left Jane’s side. It would not do to make a rash reply. Thankfully, she was nearly at the milliner’s shop. Elizabeth hurried the last few steps, though Mr Wickham followed her inside. She turned her back on him and shot an annoyed glance at Mrs Greene, the shopkeeper. Thankfully, Mrs Greene was a matron of great good sense, and far from mealy-mouthed. She gave Elizabeth a concerned look and stepped closer in case Elizabeth might need assistance in extricating herself from her unwanted follower.
Unfortunately, it seemed all too likely that such help might be required. Mr Wickham simply would not seem to take the hint that Elizabeth did not wish to speak to him. He leaned closer, watching over her shoulder as she picked up a bonnet without seeing it.
Mr Wickham cleared his throat and attempted another charming smile. “We seem to keep missing each other at the dances, I am afraid. It is a pity you had to dance the first set with Mr Collins at the Netherfield ball. What has happened to him? I have not seen him around the village since.” She hated the sensation that his eyes were roving over her person, studying each curve. She straightened and turned toward him.
“My cousin is gone. He left some weeks ago,” Elizabeth said briefly. Though the response had been reflexive, the least she could offer an acquaintance, her breath caught in her throat as the full meaning of Mr Wickham’s remark struck her.
How could Mr Wickham have known she had danced the first set with Mr Collins?
Unless, of course, he had been there?
She deftly shook her head and turned away once more, pretending to busy herself looking at the array of caps and bonnets on the shelf before her. Surely no one had spoken of her dance with Mr Collins, for everyone had been too enthralled with the compromise that had taken place in the library with Mr Darcy. They would not have thought to speak of such an uninteresting detail as who she had danced with before the infamous incident.
She glanced at Mr Wickham, trying to remain composed. “Mr Collins has returned to Kent, Mr Wickham. I am afraid he is not likely to return,” Elizabeth said. It was essential to say something, though she hardly knew what. She must do her best to conceal any surprise.
He gave her a wolfish smile. “Perhaps that is for the best, Miss Bennet. I should not wish for him to importune you by demanding any more dances from so fair a lady.” Odd indeed, that he would pursue the subject. Elizabeth glanced at Mr Wickham’s face, attempting to conceal any special interest. Was there not something duplicitous in his expression? The only way he could have known she had danced with Mr Collins was if he had been in attendance. But why would he have concealed himself throughout the evening? He had said he would be there when she had asked him. He had said that if Mr Darcy wished to avoid his company, it was he who would have to go. However, he had shown his true cowardly colours when he had not shown up at the ball that night. Or so Elizabeth had thought.
Elizabeth’s agitation was too great to conceal entirely. Mrs Greene must have perceived some of it, for she stepped forward. “Can I offer you any assistance, Miss Bennet?” she asked. The older woman raised her brows, making it clear that she was offering more than to bring another bonnet or show her a wider choice of ribbons. Elizabeth could only guess that she was asking if she needed to call the constable.
Elizabeth shook her head slightly. “No, I thank you, Mrs Greene. I shall look at this lovely bonnet a little longer.” And question Mr Wickham a little longer — but that, she could not say to the kindly Mrs Greene. Elizabeth quickly turned back to Mr Wickham. “Surely you agree, Mr Wickham, that it would have been rude to refuse Mr Collins? He is, after all, a close relation and had been a visitor in our house.”
Mr Wickham shrugged, then showed his most brilliant smile. “I suppose you are correct. You are too magnanimous, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He leaned in closer and spoke in an intimate undertone. “If I had been there, I do not think I would have been able to share you with anyone.”
Elizabeth could not help herself. She flinched away, dropping the bonnet in her hands. Mrs Greene swooped in and picked it up, giving her a look that mingled reproach and concern.
“Forgive me,” Elizabeth said, her voice a little uneven. “That was terribly careless of me, Mrs Greene. I should not wish to treat so pretty a bonnet with disrespect.”
“Not to worry, Miss Elizabeth. It has not come to any harm,” Mrs Greene said readily.
“I thank you, that is very kind,” Elizabeth replied. Now that she took a moment to notice her surroundings, she saw several pairs of eyes watching her. And several more hands covering people’s mouths as they whispered. No doubt the rumours were flying. What was Miss Elizabeth Bennet doing talking so intimately to a man who was not her fiancé?
Panic began to settle in. She had to extricate herself from the situation before her reputation suffered even more, before Mr Darcy found out. Surely he would not believe her innocent in Mr Wickham’s games a second time. “If you will excuse me, Mr Wickham, I have some shopping to do.”
“Allow me to accompany you. I have missed our walks, and I should very much like to renew our acquaintance.” Mr Wickham gave her a little bow. “I should be honoured to be at your service, in fact. Honoured, and quite delighted.”
Elizabeth drew in a deep, even breath. “I thank you, Mr Wickham, but I must decline,” she said firmly. “Good day, sir.” She curtsied, making it very clear that their conversation was at an end.
Even Mr Wickham could not ignore so direct a dismissal. “Ah, yes, I see.” He bowed slightly and tried to take her hand. Elizabeth quickly clasped it behind her back. He straightened, giving his most charming smile. “Good day, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.”
Elizabeth watched him leave, then turned and exchanged a knowing glance with Mrs Greene.
The older woman shook her head. “He is very charming, but I cannot like such persistence,” the older woman said.
“Nor I,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you for being so attentive.” She knew the woman would know what she meant. Gathering up the ribbons she had meant to purchase, Elizabeth paid Mrs Greene and swiftly left the shop, her heart pounding. She must find Jane as quickly as possible and get home. It frustrated her to no end to realise that she was no longer safe to walk in her beloved village alone, without the threat of being harassed by Mr Wickham. The sooner the militia moved on, the better for them all.
Yet Mr Wickham’s odious presence had not flustered her half so much as his words. She replayed the conversation over and over again, wondering if she could have misinterpreted what his words meant. But what other meaning could she take from them? It was not impossible that someone might have spoken of her first dance with Mr Collins, and yet Elizabeth found it distinctly unlikely. Yet if he had not been told of it by someone present, Mr Wickham had lied about being at the ball.
And not only lied, but deliberately concealed his presence.
She quickened her step, eager to find Jane and return home as quickly as possible. The mud from the rain that morning had made the street nearly impossible to traverse without slipping. She looked down for a moment, delicately lifting her skirt’s hem to keep it from the mud.
In her haste, she nearly ran unseeing into a broad, masculine chest, only just stopping in time.
Elizabeth gasped in astonishment. “Forgive me, sir. I did not mean — ” She stumbled back in her haste, half blinded by embarrassment.
The muddy street was almost her undoing. As Elizabeth stepped back, her foot nearly slid out from under her. The man put a hand on her elbow to steady her and keep her from falling in the nick of time. “Miss Elizabeth? Are you well?” he asked.
She knew that voice. Her head snapped up, and she was face to face with none other than Mr Darcy! Elizabeth drew in a quick breath. Had he seen her with Mr Wickham again?
But there was no sign of anger on his features. “Oh, Mr Darcy!” she exclaimed. “I am so glad you are here.”