13. Thirteen
Thirteen
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said with a touch of exasperation, “I do not believe there is anything of theological importance to be found in a ribbon shop.”
“Nonsense, Cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins replied, puffing out his chest. “Every endeavor, however humble, may serve to glorify the higher principles to which we aspire. Even ribbons.”
Lydia snorted loudly, earning a sharp look from Jane. “Well, I think they glorify bonnets,” Lydia said with a grin, tugging Kitty’s arm. “Come, let us look at that one with the blue trim.”
The two younger Bennets skipped ahead, leaving Elizabeth to follow at a more sedate pace. Mr. Collins hurried alongside her, gesturing broadly toward the shop displays. “Lady Catherine herself is most particular about ribbons. She insists that her household be adorned with the most tasteful embellishments—nothing garish, of course, but always elegant. And, of course, Miss de Bourgh’s gowns are the very model of taste and femininity.”
“I am sure,” Elizabeth sighed. She exchanged a glance with Jane, whose faintly amused expression betrayed her own struggle to remain composed.
A week had passed now since their return from Netherfield, and Jane was now quite recovered. And again, as they had nearly every day this week, the party from Longbourn had found themselves venturing toward Meryton—all for disparate reasons, and all encouraged and abetted by Mr. and Mrs. Bennet… again, for disparate reasons.
As the group lingered outside the milliner’s shop, Lydia’s attention wavered from one display to another. She was in the middle of declaring that she must have a bonnet trimmed with blue when two officers approached, their red coats bright against the dull gray of the day.
“Ah, Miss Bennet!” called one of them, a familiar face from the previous week’s assembly. Lieutenant Denny, all cheer and confidence, tipped his hat with a broad smile. “I trust you are enjoying your morning?”
Jane smiled politely. “Very much so, Lieutenant. And you?”
“Well enough, thank you,” he replied before gesturing to the man beside him. “May I have the pleasure of introducing my friend, Mr. George Wickham? He has just joined us here in Meryton. Wickham, may I present Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Mary Bennet, Miss Catherine Bennet, and Miss Lydia Bennet, as well as their cousin, Mr. Collins.”
The man at Denny’s side stepped forward with an easy bow. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, ladies.” His gaze swept over the group, his expression warm and unhurried. “And Mr. Collins, of course.”
Elizabeth noted the slight hesitation in his voice when he addressed Mr. Collins, but it was quickly smoothed over with a courteous smile. She glanced at her cousin, who, puffed up with self-importance, was already preparing to make himself known.
“Mr. Wickham,” Collins began grandly, “it is a pleasure, indeed. I am Mr. Collins, clergyman of the parish of Hunsford, serving under the esteemed patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Wickham bowed again. “The very name of Lady Catherine commands respect, Mr. Collins. I am well acquainted with her—by reputation, of course—and I am honored to meet one of her trusted clergy.”
“You are acquainted with her? Why, sir then you must know the honor you do me, for I have been sadly alone in my comprehension of the great lady’s goodness. Miss Elizabeth, this, indeed, is a gentleman well worth knowing better!”
Elizabeth managed to tune out most of her cousin’s effusions, her attention drifting to Mr. Wickham as he exchanged a wry glance with Lieutenant Denny. His composure never faltered, though the faintest flicker of amusement crossed his face.
“You are newly arrived, then, Mr. Wickham?” Jane asked.
“Indeed, Miss Bennet,” Wickham replied, turning to her. “And I must say, I am already most impressed with the welcome I have received. The warmth of this town is unparalleled.”
“Oh, how charming!” Lydia exclaimed, stepping forward. “And will you be attending the next Assembly, Mr. Wickham? Surely you must come—it would be a crime for a new officer not to attend!”
“I would not dream of missing it,” Wickham said, his smile broadening. “Especially if all the young ladies of Meryton are as delightful as you, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia giggled, and Elizabeth bit back a smile of her own. There was something undeniably magnetic about Mr. Wickham, though she could not yet decide if it was genuine or merely polished. His manner was effortless, as though he had been born to charm, but there was nothing yet to suggest anything untoward. In fact, he seemed entirely agreeable.
“And what brings you to Meryton, Mr. Wickham?” she asked, curious to hear more.
“A change of scenery, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied. “The regiment offers an opportunity to serve and to explore new parts of the country. I find that variety is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”
“An admirable sentiment. I hope you find Meryton’s charms sufficiently varied.”
“I have no doubt,” he said with a slight bow, the twinkle in his eye suggesting he had already formed a favorable opinion of the town—and perhaps its inhabitants.
Lieutenant Denny clapped Wickham on the shoulder. “I told you, didn’t I? Meryton has the friendliest neighbors a man could hope for.”
“Indeed, you spoke the truth,” Wickham said, glancing between them, “But I am afraid, ladies, that we are keeping you from your morning errands. Lieutenant Denny and I have duties to attend to, but I hope to see you all again soon.”
“The pleasure was all ours, sir,” Elizabeth said.
Lieutenant Wickham tipped his hat, preparing to take his leave, when the sound of approaching footsteps shifted the mood entirely. Elizabeth turned her head just as Mr. Darcy stepped out of the stationer’s shop. His gaze swept over the group, halting briefly on Wickham.
Elizabeth expected the usual polite nod, but instead, Darcy’s expression froze, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.
“Ah… Mr. Darcy,” Wickham said with a tight smile, his earlier ease visibly fraying. He hesitated, then offered a stiff bow. “A happy coincidence, I’m sure.”
Darcy did not return the gesture. “Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked between the two men. Darcy’s stance had stiffened slightly, his usual air of control edging into something more brittle, while Wickham stood as though rooted to the spot. For the first time since their introduction, Wickham appeared unsure of himself.
“You are acquainted, then?” Elizabeth asked.
Wickham hesitated again. “We are… familiar. A long time ago, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy’s eyes locked on Wickham with the precision of a blade. “Not long enough.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken history. Wickham shifted his weight but made no attempt to meet Darcy’s gaze again. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth, his expression carefully composed.
“Meryton is fortunate to have such a lively community,” Wickham said, his voice lighter now, as if determined to reclaim the ease of their earlier conversation. “I am certain I shall enjoy my time here.”
Elizabeth nodded, her attention still divided. Darcy, for his part, seemed entirely uninterested in Wickham’s efforts to steer the conversation.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said abruptly, turning to her with a sharpness that felt deliberate. “I trust your family is well?”
Elizabeth blinked at the sudden change of focus. “Quite well, thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
“I am glad to hear it.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment, then shifted to Collins beside her, who, for once, seemed flabbergasted into silence. “I believe I have an engagement to keep,” he said at last. “Good day.”
Without sparing Wickham another glance, Darcy turned on his heel and walked away, his retreat as abrupt as his arrival.
Elizabeth turned back to Wickham, who was now watching Darcy’s receding figure with an expression she couldn’t quite place—something between frustration and resignation.
“Well,” Wickham said lightly, watching him go. “It seems Mr. Darcy has not changed.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity burned brighter, but she merely tilted her head. “And what, Mr. Wickham, would you say Mr. Darcy was before?”
Wickham hesitated just long enough to be noticeable before smiling again. “A subject for another time, perhaps. I would not want to darken such a pleasant day.”
Elizabeth frowned but let the matter drop, her thoughts churning as the group resumed their walk.
Darcy stood just outside the bookseller’s shop, gazing down the busy Meryton street. His earlier encounter with Wickham had stirred his irritation, but it was the second encounter—Elizabeth Bennet’s radiant smile turned toward that scoundrel—that had truly set his mind in motion.
He had been too reactive, too defensive. He had made his disdain too odiously clear, and in pubic, even!
That would not do. Egad, someone as perceptive as Elizabeth Bennet would already be imagining scenarios, trying to discern the cause of his dispute with Wickham and imagine a woman to be at the heart of it.
And a woman—especially one with an active mind such as hers would immediately leap to that prospect, and she would not be too far wrong. She probably even thought he was jealous of her attentions to Wickham!
If Elizabeth Bennet thought to trifle with him, to tease him into losing his composure, she would find herself sorely mistaken. His bet with Bingley required gentlemanly civility, yes—but civility had many forms. He could be every inch the gentleman and still outmaneuver her.
What about her cousin, that Collins fellow? He had stood stupidly watching the entire exchange, with scarcely a coherent thought sparking in his murky dull eyes. Darcy’s lips quirked in a faint, humorless smile. The man was a buffoon, yes, but even buffoons could serve a purpose.
His thoughts were interrupted by the very figure who had consumed them. Elizabeth Bennet appeared down the street, her arm linked with her sister’s as they strolled past a milliner’s window. Mr. Collins trailed behind them, his chest puffed out and his head tilted upward, as though the rooftops were studying his profile.
Darcy did not hesitate. He stepped into their path, bowing slightly as the group approached. “Miss Bennet,” he said, touching his hat courteously. “Miss Elizabeth. How fortunate to meet you again.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments before she composed herself. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, inclining her head. “You are quite the fixture in Meryton this afternoon. I had thought you were already on your way back to Netherfield.”
“It seems the town offers more interest than I anticipated.”
“Oh, we do our best to entertain,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Though I would not have thought Meryton suited to your tastes.”
“On the contrary,” Darcy said. “It has a certain charm. And of course, the company is unparalleled.”
Elizabeth’s brow arched slightly. “I do not believe I had the pleasure of introducing you to my cousin when we met earlier. Mr. Collins, this is Mr. Darcy.” She clasped her hands before her and smiled sweetly. “Mr. Darcy is a rather fine poet, Cousin.”
Darcy coughed. Oh, the crafty snipe! She would throw that back at him…
Mr. Collins stepped forward, his hat doffed. “Mr. Darcy! Why, sir, you are not the Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, are you? I wished to enquire earlier, but I was in such awe… pray, sir, are you the very same?”
Darcy’s eyes flickered to Elizabeth’s for an instant. He could not say why he sought reassurance there, but the look she returned—a sly quirk of her lips and an inviting tilt of her head—made his stomach curdle. That look was not a welcome, but a dare.
“Indeed, I am.”
“Why, sir!” Collins threw a hand over his heart. “I have the very great honor of being named Rector to Hunsford Church, by the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who, I understand, is—”
“My aunt,” Darcy finished with a half smile. Oh, this just got even easier. If Lady Catherine had chosen Collins, Darcy could nearly print out a list of the man’s merits and faults merely by type. And toying with the man for his own purposes would be child’s play.
“What an honor to meet you here, sir.” Darcy shook the man’s hand, though his grip was firmer than necessary. “I trust you are enjoying your visit to Longbourn.”
“Oh, quite so, quite so! It is a most delightful household, and Miss Elizabeth has been... most accommodating.”
Darcy’s gaze flicked to Elizabeth, who was pressing her lips together in what he could only interpret as thinly veiled irritation. “Indeed,” he said, his tone taking on a faintly conspiratorial edge. “Miss Elizabeth is known for her engaging company. I do not wonder that you find her a delightful presence.”
The look she shot him—half astonishment, half betrayal—that was all the indication Darcy needed to know he was on the right track.
Collins beamed, clearly missing any subtext. “Oh, most engaging! I daresay I am quite fortunate to have such opportunities to... to deepen my acquaintance with her.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “And you are wise to seize them, Mr. Collins. Such opportunities are not to be taken lightly.”
Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. “I am certain Mr. Collins’s visit will be a memorable one.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Darcy agreed, turning back to Collins. “You must find Miss Elizabeth’s wit and intelligence quite stimulating.”
“Oh, yes,” Collins said eagerly. “Though, of course, one must temper wit with modesty, and Miss Elizabeth excels at both. Lady Catherine herself would undoubtedly approve.”
“Ah, Lady Catherine, indeed,” Darcy said, his tone turning faintly reverential. “Her discernment is unmatched. No doubt she would commend your excellent judgment in choosing to spend your time so... wisely.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “Mr. Darcy, your high opinion of Mr. Collins does him great credit.”
There was danger there, but the fire was not yet kindled so brightly that he did not dare to dance close to the flame.
“Only what is deserved. Mr. Collins clearly has an eye for quality.”
Collins puffed up further, and Darcy had to resist the urge to laugh outright. Elizabeth’s irritation was as excruciatingly obvious as her attempts to mask it, and he found himself enjoying the sight of her composure beginning to fray. Finally, he had found a way under her skin!
“Well, we must not keep you from your errands,” Elizabeth said finally, her tone clipped but polite. “Come, Jane, Mr. Collins.”
“Oh, but Miss Elizabeth,” Collins said, hovering awkwardly near Darcy, “perhaps Mr. Darcy would favor us with further conversation. I am sure he has much wisdom to impart.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Darcy said, bowing slightly. “I would not intrude further on the ladies’ afternoon.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, her smile forced. “How considerate of you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Always, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his voice quiet but deliberate. “Always.”
As they walked away, Darcy allowed himself a small, private smile. He had seen the way her hand tightened around Jane’s arm, the tension in her posture. Whatever game Elizabeth Bennet thought she was playing, she was not the only one who could wield strategy. And with Mr. Collins so eager to hover at her side, Darcy had a ready-made ally—one who, despite himself, might just help Darcy keep his distance.
For now.
The tea at Lucas Lodge was already in full swing when Elizabeth arrived with her mother and younger sisters, the room alive with chatter and the faint clink of teacups. Papa had claimed he would come, right up to the moment they all mounted the carriage and he found that his “gout” was troubling him. Elizabeth had given him a rather stern look, but the only response she got was a faint chuckle as he closed the door.
Still, the Bennet ladies expected to be well entertained. Charlotte—bless her—had strategically placed her family to intercept their more tiresome guests, leaving Elizabeth free to mingle—or at least attempt to find some amusement among the company.
It was not long before Mr. Wickham appeared, his charming smile bright enough to cut through the din of conversation. He greeted her warmly, sliding seamlessly into her company as though he had been invited specifically for her entertainment.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, inclining his head. “You appear to be the brightest star in the room this evening.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And you, Mr. Wickham, appear to be an excellent flatterer.”
“A man must develop certain skills to survive in such dazzling company. Though I must confess, your wit leaves me at a distinct disadvantage.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Perhaps you are more skilled than you let on.”
“Ah, but my skills pale in comparison to present company,” Wickham said with a laugh. “I daresay I am always at the mercy of a pretty face, no matter how clever I fancy myself.”
“Perhaps we should test that theory,” Elizabeth replied. “What say you to a wager?”
Wickham’s grin widened. “A wager? My kind of game. What shall we wager on?”
Elizabeth glanced across the room where Sir William Lucas had cornered a hapless young officer and was animatedly extolling the virtues of his family’s recent improvements to their garden. “How long do you think Sir William will speak on that subject before the poor man escapes?”
Wickham followed her gaze, his expression turning sly. “An excellent wager. I give him... six minutes.”
Elizabeth smirked. “I give him ten.”
Wickham extended his hand. “Done. And what shall we wager?”
Elizabeth considered for a moment. “A shilling, perhaps? Nothing too extravagant.”
“Agreed,” Wickham said with a flourish. “Though I warn you, I am rarely on the losing end of a wager.”
The two turned their attention to Sir William, who was now gesturing expansively toward an imaginary flower bed. Wickham leaned in closer, his voice low. “He does seem particularly inspired today. I may have underestimated him.”
Elizabeth laughed, and they continued to watch the scene unfold. Sure enough, the officer finally managed to escape precisely nine minutes later. Elizabeth clapped her hands together triumphantly. “Nine minutes! Ten is closer to nine than six. I win.”
Wickham placed a hand over his chest in mock dismay. “Ah, you have bested me, Miss Bennet. I am undone.”
“Then you owe me a shilling,” Elizabeth said with a grin, extending her hand expectantly.
Wickham hesitated, patting his waistcoat pocket with exaggerated movements. “Ah, well, you see... I seem to have left my coins in my other coat.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered slightly, but she said nothing. Mercy’s sake, it was only a shilling. Wickham turned to the nearby officer, Lieutenant Denny, lowering his voice. “Denny, be a good fellow—lend me a shilling, will you? I’ll repay you tomorrow.”
Denny blinked, then barked a laugh that drew the attention of several nearby guests. “Lend you a shilling? You owe me more than a week’s pay from gaming last night!”
Wickham stiffened, his charming facade cracking just enough for Elizabeth to notice. He recovered quickly, turning back to her with a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, well. It seems I must concede defeat entirely. I cannot bear to disappoint a lady, but my poor pockets betray me.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. “It seems, Mr. Wickham, that your skills as a gambler may not extend to your finances.”
He laughed again, though it sounded hollow this time. “You wound me, Miss Bennet. But rest assured, I will make good on my debt.”
“Never mind,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It was not a fair bet. You had no possible way of knowing the depth of Sir William’s lungs.”
“A lady as gracious as she is beautiful,” Wickham replied, with a hand over his chest. “I do not receive such mercies lightly, I assure you. You have made a devoted servant of me, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth said nothing further, but the moment lingered in her mind long after Wickham had moved on to charm another guest. His polished manners and ready smile suddenly seemed thinner, less substantial, as though they could collapse under the weight of a stronger wind.
What in Heaven’s name had happened between this fellow and Mr. Darcy? She was prepared now to think there might be some genuine complaint. Whatever history existed between them, it was unlikely to be a matter of simple jealousy.
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a faint smile. If Wickham was as slippery as he appeared, he might just be the perfect tool for her wager. Darcy was already unsettled by his presence; what might happen if she encouraged it further?
This could be very useful, indeed.