Chapter 22
Netherfield Ball
The Third Set of Dances
It had been an extremely dull and dreary few days for Wickham, and he could not keep the grin of absolute delight from his face as the highly trained musicians began to play familiar chords.
Dancing was a delightful diversion at the best of times, and now it was like ambrosia.
He would have been cheerfully happy with even a plain partner, but he had been blessed with the hand of a truly lovely lady instead.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was as graceful as she was beautiful, and a skilled, experienced dancer.
The couples exchanged bows and curtseys, and Wickham stepped forward to clasp Miss Elizabeth’s ivory-gloved hands.
She returned his smile, looking equally delighted with the dance, and then he moved on to his neighboring young lady, losing himself to the joy of the steps.
He had refrained from all his usual diversions since joining the militia in his endeavor to give up his accustomed vices.
It was, no doubt, very conducive to his health and the well-being of his soul, but he was going nigh out of his mind with the boredom of it.
He took refuge in his room most of the time that he was not on duty, as too many temptations lurked beyond that small door.
His fellow officers, second sons with more or less modest incomes from their fathers, spent much of their time in the taproom, enjoying the available libations and the dice and the cards.
Wickham was doing his utmost to eschew such activities now, but not being content with perpetual sloth, he found speedily that he needed something to occupy his time and attention.
Sometimes this was the Bible, but being unaccustomed to the discipline, he could not read the Bible incessantly for his own entertainment.
It was Mrs. Bennet who was his salvation, or more precisely, a suggestion of hers that had arisen during their extensive and fateful conversation some days ago in Lady Lucas’s drawing room.
Mrs. Bennet, wise lady that she was, anticipated that he would need a new pastime and had suggested that he might benefit from subscribing to the lending library at the bookstore.
Wickham, not habitually a great reader, had reluctantly acknowledged that he ought to do so, and he had likewise reluctantly purchased a subscription, despite suspecting that it would not see all that much use.
On this point he had been mistaken, and Mrs. Bennet’s sagacity had been validated.
The proprietor of the bookshop, after verifying that Wickham was quite literate and that his reluctance to read derived from a natural disinclination rather than any inability to do so, had recommended a newer acquisition, a novel titled Robinson Crusoe.
Wickham had accepted recommendation and book both, and borne it back to his room to begin it that very day.
He had been pleasantly surprised by it. He remembered books largely as dusty, dry things, filled with all sorts of useful facts of dubious practical value that were intended to educate and enlighten and bore one to tears.
Robinson Crusoe was anything but boring, as it riveted Wickham’s attention as he read of the hapless sailor’s misadventures and ingenuity in overcoming them.
Despite his newfound enjoyment of reading, Wickham was absolutely ecstatic to be attending a ball.
He, like Robinson Crusoe, had desperately missed the company and conversation of other people, and there was conversation aplenty this evening; the ballroom filled with not only all the notable local families, but also all his fellow officers.
Indeed, he was turning young Miss Long in the dance now, her eyes merry above a laughing mouth.
He felt much the same as he rejoined Miss Elizabeth and turned with her hands in his.
In that moment, Wickham loved dancing above all else in the world.
The active, graceful movement of it, so unlike the regimented militia drills, the glitter, the loveliness, all came together to make a perfect evening.
He was similarly looking forward to dinner.
The food at the Pig and the Poke was quite palatable, but it was simple, earthy, homey fare, and a little variety was entirely welcome.
Too, over dinner, he would have the chance to make himself agreeable to all his neighbors, and likewise to be charmed by their company.
It was certainly an unadulterated delight to be dancing with Miss Elizabeth.
She was light on her feet and knew the cotillion well, moving with sure grace through the steps in time with Wickham and the other dancers in their set, her face wreathed in smiles.
He had worried that Mrs. Bennet might be wary of entrusting him with her daughters for even so long as a dance, so Wickham had sought a discreet audience with her soon after her arrival at the ball to solicit her permission.
To his relief, she had given her consent, with the stipulation that he be allowed to only dance one set with each.
It had been a reasonable condition, to which Wickham had agreed at once and with gratitude.
Two sets hence, he would claim Miss Mary’s hand for a country dance.
Miss Bennet, unsurprisingly, had not even a single dance left by the time Wickham had braved the throng around her to ask for a dance.
He had taken this disappointment with graceful equanimity, as it was no great surprise that Miss Bennet should be the most sought-after lady at the ball.
Even in London, Wickham suspected, she would be considered a diamond of the first water.
Several of the girls from Meryton were quite handsome and even pretty, but none could rival the Bennets, and even among her sisters Miss Bennet shone like a gem.
Wickham had seen a great many very beautiful ladies in his time, but Miss Bennet easily rivaled the prettiest of them.
From a purely pragmatic standpoint, Miss Bennet would need that beauty.
According to rumor, it was imperative that at least one of the Bennet daughters marry, and marry well.
Longbourn, Captain Denny had informed him, was entailed away from the female line and would go to some distant, pompous cousin who was currently visiting the family.
It really was a great pity that the ladies would lose their home upon the death of their father, and a pity greater yet that their portions were likely not substantial.
Longbourn was a respectable estate, but not a particularly large one, and with five daughters and a household to support, it seemed unlikely that much of the income had been saved for dowries.
No, were the girls’ portions even approaching reasonable, considering the sad dearth of young men in the area, some enterprising young buck would have made at least one of them an offer of marriage.
Miss Bennet was by far the loveliest of the ladies, but Miss Elizabeth had a piquant, vibrant beauty about her, and Miss Mary, with her delicate features and golden-red hair, had a prettiness all her own.
For now, at least, all three sisters seemed to have no concerns for their uncertain future, instead enjoying to the fullest the current dance.
Wickham was determined to follow their lead and devote himself to the innocent pleasures of this night.
Tomorrow, temptation would once more raise its head, painted and hollow and alluring.
Tomorrow, the game of cards and dice and the ale below his room would call his name, a siren-song of self-destruction.
Tomorrow, his fledgling self-discipline would be tested once more.
Tomorrow, he would revisit his memories of the horrors of Marshalsea once more to bolster his flagging willpower.
For tonight, however, he would dance, and eat, and chat, and glory in one evening of pure, innocent amusement.
The dance came to an end, and Wickham clapped along with the others before turning to Miss Elizabeth. “Thank you for a most enjoyable set of dances. Would you care for some lemonade or punch?”
“I would like some lemonade, yes,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “Perhaps you would be willing to escort me to my mother’s side first?”
He followed her gaze and felt his chest tighten at the sight of Mrs. Bennet, seated by the wall, staring at him intently.
He managed a smile and said, “Of course.”
He was required to pass Darcy, who was standing next to Miss Darcy, and he forced himself to keep a straight back and a calm expression.
He was more than a little afraid of Darcy, especially since he knew the master of Pemberley had paid off his debts in Lambton and could, if he wished, toss him into Marshalsea on that score alone.
“Mr. Wickham, good evening,” Mrs. Bennet said when the pair reached her.
He bowed. “Good evening, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Mamma, Mr. Wickham is going to fetch me some lemonade. Would you like some?”
“I would,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Are you dancing the next set, Mr. Wickham, or would you have a few minutes to talk with me?”
He was tempted to lie and say that he did have a partner for the next dance, but that was not true.
“I would be pleased to talk with you, Madame,” he answered. “Pray allow me to fetch drinks for both you ladies first.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded majestically, and Wickham went off in search of drinks, though he made rather a point of skirting the edge of the room so as not to encounter Darcy again.
When he returned, he handed over the lemonade to both ladies and obediently sat down in an empty chair to the left of Mrs. Bennet.
The pair made small talk until Miss Elizabeth went off on Mr. Denny’s arm for the next set, and Mrs. Bennet turned an intent look on Wickham.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” she asked.
“Very much,” he replied truthfully.
“And how have the previous few days been? I have not been in the rooms above the Pig in the Poke pub for many years, but last I saw them, they were quite comfortable.”
“Oh yes, my room is very comfortable indeed. One of the great benefits of being in the country again is the plentiful wood for the fireplace. ‘Tis far more pleasant than the smell of coal, even if coal burns hotter.”
“I entirely agree,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I spent much of my youth in London, and while there are advantages to being in Town, I far prefer the country.”
Wickham considered her with some surprise. “Are you not from Hertfordshire then, Madame?”
She shook her head. “No, I am from Sussex, but my father favored the lights and merriment of London to living quietly on an estate. It is one of the realities of life that family members can have such different views on such matters.”
Wickham nodded and said, “My father was rather like you in that respect, as he was happiest in Derbyshire at Pemberley. My mother, on the other hand, found estate life boring and spent as much time as she could in Derby which, while not nearly as large as London, was far more exciting than home.”
“Am I correct in thinking that you take after your mother more than your father?”
“In looks, I take after my father,” Wickham replied, “but in temperament, I certainly take after my mother. Our family was most fortunate that old Mr. Darcy was so kind, else we would have been in debt.”
“He sounds like a very generous man,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“He was,” Wickham agreed and found himself watching Darcy accompany his sister onto the dance floor. “I am certain my godfather would be most disappointed with my behavior these last years, as he had the highest opinion of me.”
“One cannot change the past,” Mrs. Bennet said sympathetically, “but it is possible to learn from one’s past and do better in the future.”
He blew out a breath and said, “I know, but I confess it is difficult … well, I trust that by God’s grace, I will learn to be content, and even happy, with a quiet life.”
“Mr. Wickham, as the mother of five daughters, it is my primary responsibility to care for my children. I find you an interesting man, and will be praying for strength for you, but I do not think it would be wise if you visited Longbourn overly often. However, I suggest that you make the acquaintance of the parson, Mr. Allen. He is an intelligent and sympathetic man, and I expect you will like him and his wife.”
Wickham was disappointed at this speech, but not surprised.
The Misses Bennet were young, attractive ladies, and their mother was rightfully protective.
But truly, Mrs. Bennet had shown more interest in him than Mrs. Wickham; she had not been a motherly woman, Mrs. Wickham, and had largely cast the raising of her only child on servants.
“Do the Allens have daughters?” he asked, and Mrs. Bennet smiled and shook her head.
“They have three sons,” she explained, “and all are grown and working elsewhere.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Wickham said. An elderly parson would probably be a boring individual, but Wickham was lonely, so he would at least make the man’s acquaintance.