Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
T he card games continued with much merriment. Elizabeth was able to speak briefly with Charlotte Lucas, but it was not long before she was called back to Mr Collins and Mr Bull, whose manner led her to wonder if he was attempting to earn her regard. She did not feel affection for either man, and she resolved to keep her guard up lest she give either one the wrong impression.
Her attention wandered to Meryton’s newest arrival. Mr Wickham’s chief weapons were charisma and flattery, both of which he deployed with considerable skill. Although he spent little time with Elizabeth after they were first introduced, she observed him as he moved from person to person, speaking and laughing easily. Kitty and Lydia had attempted to engage his attention, but he politely rebuffed them, satisfying Elizabeth that they were in no danger of encouraging his interest.
Later in the evening, she spied Mr Wickham and Mr Bull deep in conversation. The latter appeared to be whispering into the former’s ear. The younger man’s expression was sombre, and he nodded as he continued to listen, his brow furrowed. When Mr Bull pulled back from Mr Wickham, he saw Elizabeth and gave her a broad smile. Curious and hoping she might discover what they had been speaking of so seriously, she joined them. They did not allude to what had occupied them, but it was not long before she learnt that Mr Wickham originated from Derbyshire.
“What is it like?” she asked. “My only knowledge of the county is from my aunt, who hails from Lambton.”
“Lambton! I grew up close by, on the grounds of an estate called Pemberley.”
“Pemberley? Mr Darcy’s estate?” she exclaimed.
“It is. I had heard he was in the area.” Mr Wickham smiled, his teeth white and gleaming. “Are you well-acquainted with him?”
“Very little. I am afraid we are not friends,” she said.
“Miss Elizabeth has fallen foul of Mr Darcy’s fastidious eye,” Mr Bull interjected, telling the other man what had happened at the assembly.
“The man is a fool, to find fault with one as lovely as you.” Mr Wickham’s smile broadened. “He has the habit of making others feel inferior. Perhaps I should say no more. I have known him too long to be a fair judge of his character. He wronged me, you see.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Elizabeth said.
As much as she wanted to know their history, she knew she could not ask. Fortunately, Mr Wickham needed no encouragement to continue and, gesturing at his regimental uniform, said, “The church ought to have been my profession, not the militia. The late Mr Darcy expressed a desire for me to be presented with a valuable living, but it did not please the son to honour his father’s wishes.”
“Good heavens,” cried Elizabeth. “Can you not contest it?”
“Alas, I have not the means, and the bequest was worded in such a way that it was open to interpretation. A man of honour would not have doubted the intention, but Mr Darcy chose to, and now here I am.” His handsome face assumed a sad expression. “A man with his wealth and connexions can do as he likes. He has a sister who is as proud as him. He takes prodigious care of her, dictates everything in her life, where she goes, whom she befriends. He will ensure she only marries an aristocratic man, regardless of her wishes.”
Elizabeth arched her eyebrows. “You know a great deal about the family, then.”
Mr Wickham nodded and leant forward. “And, of course, there are rumours about his cousin Domin–”
“I think I have heard quite enough about Mr Darcy,” Mr Bull interjected loudly.
Elizabeth turned to him and, for the first time in their short acquaintance, she saw him look annoyed. Leaving Mr Bull to compose himself, Elizabeth addressed Mr Wickham.
“It is a shame Mr Darcy is a tyrant towards his sister. I have resolved only to marry for affection, but I know that it is not always the case—especially when a young girl has a large dowry.”
Her comment was rewarded with an approving look from Mr Wickham. “I, too, hope to marry where my heart leads.”
Mr Bull snorted in apparent disbelief. Wishing to avoid a dispute between the men, she said, “Let us change the subject. Mr Bull, I long to hear about another of your foreign adventures.”
Mr Bull looked at Mr Wickham almost as though in warning before saying, “For you, Miss Elizabeth, I would do anything.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest that such a statement was unnecessary, but mercifully her aunt called Mr Bull away to be introduced to one of her friends’ daughters. Mr Wickham smiled appreciatively at Elizabeth. “Now, what were we talking of, Miss Bennet — ah, yes, the merits of marrying for love…”
It was the night of the ball, and Netherfield had never looked as impressive. Tall candelabras lined the ballroom, the candles upon them casting merry reflections upon the walls and floor. It seemed as though all of Meryton were in attendance, every guest dressed in their finest clothes. Moving through the crowd, Elizabeth found Jane in a corner. Her sister was a vision of loveliness in a gown of light blue satin, their mother’s diamond earrings sparkling brilliantly at her ears.
“Has Mr Bingley truly left you alone? I had supposed he would ask you to dance every set,” Elizabeth teased.
“Do not be ridiculous. You know he could do no such thing.” Jane looked past Elizabeth and into the crowd of revellers. “I believe he is presently dancing with one of Lady Merton’s daughters.”
“How disappointing. I am sure he would like to remain by your side all night and is cursing anyone who dares to keep him away.”
“Lizzy, stop.” Jane laughed, turning to Elizabeth, her eyes shining. “You are wrong to tease. Mr Bingley is kind and amiable to everyone, not just me.”
“Mr Bingley does not behave to you as he does to all people.” Elizabeth smiled. “He adores you. It is written all over his face. Has he ever mentioned a desire to?—”
Jane shook her head and glanced about before replying quietly, “He has never spoken of love. Oh, but Lizzy, there have been times where I have suspected he wanted to say more.”
“I am delighted for you. There are few men I would deem worthy of your gentle heart, fewer still that I would be happy for you to marry. I wish you both well.”
“There has been no declaration. Pray, let us not speak any more of it, else I might tease you about Mr Bull. He is clearly very interested in you.”
“Mr Bull is not the man for me,” Elizabeth insisted. “I have done nothing to encourage his attention.”
“Is he here tonight?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “If I am being honest, I am avoiding his company. His behaviour is unpredictable, and I am afraid he has had too much wine tonight.”
“What of Mr Wickham? After our aunt’s party, you told me how handsome you think him. Are you disappointed he is not here?”
“He is a pleasant man whose company I have enjoyed, however, I know him very little. It is a shame he felt he could not attend, but my regret goes no further. Come, I believe I see your Mr Bingley searching for you.” She glanced over to the far side of the hall where the gentleman stood, craning his neck in every direction, evidently seeking someone.
Darcy watched Elizabeth—as he had begun to think of her—move gracefully through the dancers. He could not turn his gaze away from her. She was especially lovely tonight in her fine attire, and her cheeks were bright from the exertion of dancing. Ever since their last encounter, he had been unable to stop his mind from drifting back to her. In the dappled woodland light, her beauty had struck him like a hammer to the chest. The sensation she had provoked within him—a desire to pull her into his arms, to protect her from harm—had been so overwhelming that he had ridden away at speed, unwilling to look back, afraid she would see how powerfully she affected him.
Recalling the second piece of speculation printed about him, linking him to a ‘Miss B from Hertfordshire’, Darcy instinctively knew it must have been referring to Elizabeth. She was the only local lady he had noticed, and although he did not believe anyone was aware of his attraction to her, he had asked her to dance at the Lucases’ party. And since whoever is behind this nonsense clearly wishes to plague me, they would take delight in making it seem that I am in love with the very lady I refused to dance with at the assembly . How long would it be before other people also concluded that ‘Miss B’ meant Elizabeth? At first, he had been certain of her involvement, that she—or more likely her mother—meant to entrap him. That surety faded the instant he saw the look of genuine confusion on her lovely face as he tried to warn her to pay greater attention to her reputation. In that moment, he had been convinced of her innocence. He did not know who had written the vile notices in the newspaper, but she had no part in it.
Elizabeth laughed brightly as she walked down the line. He attempted to see who she was dancing with, and then reminded himself not to care. You will pay no notice to a country miss with no fortune and no connexions. He permitted himself one final look before returning to his glass of wine. No matter how pretty her eyes are.
After suffering through a dreadful set with Mr Collins—who did not know the steps and had trodden upon her toes more than once—Elizabeth found her shawl and slipped out of the ballroom and made her way into the garden, seeking fresh air and a moment of quietness. It was a clear night, and she walked a short distance along the gravel path before stopping to enjoy the stars and bright moon, which swathed the gardens in light. A masculine cough drew her attention, and she turned to find Mr Bull. He stepped out of the shadows, staggering slightly.
Uncomfortable with his obvious intoxication, Elizabeth murmured, “Excuse me, I ought to return to my friends.”
As she tried to pass him, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping about her bare arm. He leant towards her, swaying.
“Do not flee, my little sweet. You cannot know—cannot fathom—how often I have pictured you and I alone.” His words were slurred.
Horrified, Elizabeth tried to shake her arm free, but his fingers clamped tighter.
“None of that,” he hissed. “You are wasted here. Much too pretty and clever for this rabble. Let me taste you.” Lurching forward, he grabbed her other arm, pinning her to the wall and he pressed his wet, scar-twisted lips against hers, the stinging smell of alcohol on him making her gag.
A scream rose up in Elizabeth’s throat, but she was too scared, too overwhelmed to know what to do. Instinctively, she put her hands on his chest to push him away, but he only tightened his grip. She twisted her chin this way and that, as she frantically struggled against him.
“Remove your hands from her.”
She recognised Mr Darcy’s deep voice at once, and relief washed through her body. Mr Bull released his hold and stepped away. Trembling, she brushed away a tear that threatened to fall down her cheek and moved towards Mr Darcy, putting distance between her and Mr Bull. Mr Darcy offered her his arm, which she accepted without hesitation. As he took note of her appearance, his brow contracted when his gaze fell upon her arms.
His voice tinged with indignation, he asked, “Are you hurt?”
Struggling to find the words, Elizabeth turned to face Mr Bull. Shame consumed her, although she knew it should not. “There has been a misunderstanding.” She inhaled deeply, her lungs aching as they filled with the cold air and composed herself. Eyes fixed on her assailant, she said, “One that will never happen again.”
Mr Bull opened his mouth as if to retort, but then closed it quickly. He scowled at Mr Darcy and strode into the darkness.
Mr Darcy addressed her quietly. “I saw you leave the ballroom. When you did not return, I wondered whether something had happened. Shall I escort you to your family?”
Her heart racing, Elizabeth could only nod in reply. She was grateful to see no trace of judgment or arrogance in his expression, only concern. They walked towards the house in silence.
Reaching the doorway, she said, “I thank you for your chivalry, but perhaps it would be for the best if we returned to the ballroom separately.”
He nodded. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is not far, and I am feeling much better.” She shivered, drawing the shawl closer to her body, her arms still sore from Mr Bull’s attack.
“I shall wait here while you enter first.”
There was another pause, and Elizabeth blushed. “W-would it be too much to ask for your silence about?—”
Mr Darcy did not let her finish. “Rest assured, you have my discretion. All I need is reassurance that you are well enough to return unaccompanied.”
She smiled weakly and said with bravado, “I shall do my best not to faint.” Too late, Elizabeth remembered the events of the stable, and she bit her lip, regretting her ill-chosen words. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Mr Darcy spoke first.
“I would be the last man to judge you if you did.”
Gathering herself, Elizabeth raised her chin. “Thank you again.” Without another word, she took a deep breath and walked towards the ballroom.
Darcy studied Elizabeth as she sat quietly next to one of her sisters. Aside from a few tendrils of dark hair that had fallen loose, there was no evidence that anything untoward had taken place. Yet she hardly spoke, and when she did, it was with none of her usual animation. He seethed as he recalled seeing her struggle against Mr Bull. She had not been a willing participant in their encounter, that much was clear. What might have happened if I had not been there to intervene? His blood ran cold at the thought.
Some young man came to claim Elizabeth’s sister for a dance, leaving her alone. He watched as she took a deep breath and brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. Darcy pulled on the golden chain of his watch to check the time, noting that the ball would soon end and she could return to her home. Conscious that he was staring at her, Darcy cast his eyes about the room. On the opposite wall, he saw Mr Bull. The man was staring, eyes narrowed, in Elizabeth’s direction, his broad face full of menace. Did he mean to do her harm?
Shocked that the scoundrel had not immediately left Netherfield, Darcy determined to seek him out, but by the time he had pushed his way through the crowd, the wastrel had vanished. An unexpected, protective instinct burnt within him, and after a moment’s deliberation, Darcy sought out Bingley, announcing:
“I wish to stay another week.”
“Stay as long as you like, my friend.” He smiled crookedly.
The echo of Elizabeth’s terrified protest rang in his ears. “Thank you, Bingley. I will.”