Chapter 2
The morning seemed a fine one. The sun had started to rise when she had left home, quietly escaping through the kitchen door while the whole house was still fast asleep.
The crisp air and the frosty ground made it feel like winter already, and she mused that she would not be surprised if any morning now she would wake to a white covered soil.
The sun, milk white and weak, barely showed from behind the clouds, and Elizabeth escaped the house for a long walk — her favourite activity to clear her mind.
It was only a day before the Netherfield ball, and she was tired of staying at home, especially with Mr Collins there.
A confrontation with him was inevitable; considering his annoying attention to her and his persistence in asking to dance the first set with her at the ball, she knew only too well what would follow, and she prayed to keep her temper enough to behave at least civilly in her rejection.
She had left a note for Jane, informing her where she was, and she imagined her mother’s displeasure at discovering her absence.
From that side, she expected no support in her intention to reject Mr Collins’s proposal — quite the opposite.
She knew her father would never force her into such a marriage, and for that, she felt fortunate.
Being married to such a man — one she could not respect and admire, even less love — would be horrible torment, and no prison could be worse.
She prayed that at least her sister Jane would be granted the happiness she deserved.
Mr Bingley paid Jane a very marked attention every time they were in company, and it was expected he would show even more evidence of his affection during the upcoming ball.
The gentleman seemed already enchanted — and rightfully so, since Jane was not only the most beautiful girl in Meryton but also the kindest and sweetest and the best sister and companion one could wish for.
“Dear Jane. Probably the most beautiful in the whole of Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth smiled to herself.
Mr Bingley’s feelings were clear, but so were his sisters’, as well as Mr Darcy’s. Their disdain for the Bennets and the entire community was difficult to miss, and it was equally easy to discern their opinion about Mr Bingley’s admiration for Jane.
That was not a good sign, and, if they had any influence over Mr Bingley, Jane’s happiness could be in danger.
She smiled as she thought of her sister while she continued to walk towards Oakham Mount.
Jane always argued with her in regard to her long, solitary walks.
Serene and sedate Jane could not understand the need to exercise for one’s spirit.
But to her, it was a habit that had started in her childhood, to soothe her childish upsets.
As the years passed, she had kept it up, only the distances had changed, becoming longer as her reasons for being unsettled became more serious.
Elizabeth finally reached the highest point and her intended destination, resting a moment while she enjoyed the beauty around her.
From the main path, she took a few steps down, towards the old oak tree that guarded the hill.
From it, a steep slope fell towards the valley where Netherfield Manor dominated the landscape.
If fate took Jane where she wished and deserved to be, Elizabeth would have many chances to exercise her legs visiting her.
In such circumstances, she would even be willing to resume her riding lessons so she could reach Netherfield more easily.
She would do anything to know Jane was happy.
She was the only one in their family expected to make a good marriage since her beauty and gentleness compensated for their lack of dowry and poor connections.
And Mr Bingley was indeed a perfect match for Jane, from all perspectives.
As she sat down, with her back against the oak’s large trunk, Elizabeth realised that she had never met a man whom she could begin to consider as being ‘her match’.
The most pleasant man of her acquaintance was their new friend — and everyone’s favourite — Mr Wickham.
His appearance, his manners, his voice, and his smile were all charming, and she enjoyed his presence exceedingly.
She also felt flattered that he seemed to single her out from all the other ladies; it was a pleasing compliment that satisfied her vanity — she admitted as much to herself.
But her heart was not touched — her face was not flushed when she saw him, she did not miss him when he was absent, she found nothing to admire in his knowledge or his judgment.
Yes, his situation in life was very poor due to the dishonourable actions of Mr Darcy — the most unpleasant sort of man that Elizabeth had ever met.
And yes, Mr Wickham was condemned to relative poverty by the cruelty of the same disdainful person.
But even if his situation had been different, even if Mr Wickham had been in possession of a good fortune, Elizabeth would still not have considered him the man she wished and hoped for as a husband.
She startled at the sound of hoofs and a horse’s neigh, and with curiosity she furtively peered from behind the tree.
With much vexation, she recognised the very Mr Darcy she had just been thinking about, sitting astride his horse on the main path as though her own musings had summoned him.
He dismounted and looked around as though trying to find his bearings, and Elizabeth immediately slid back against the tree, hoping he would not notice her.
The last thing she wanted was to exchange Mr Collins’s annoying company for Mr Darcy’s.
Although, he would probably take his leave immediately if he saw her.
Immediately after turning his disapproving stare on her, of course.
Unlike Mr Collins, Mr Darcy loathed her company as much as she disliked his.
While she pondered whether she should make her presence known, she was prevented from making a decision by the surprise of another arrival.
It was yet another horseman, one whose voice she recognised bemusedly as Mr Wickham’s.
She had no time to alert them to her presence as a conversation started and soon turned into an argument full of revelations that shook Elizabeth’s entire being.
At first, with a strong prejudice against everything Mr Darcy might say, she was ready to dismiss all his allegations; but the evidence was so strong that she thought her ears and her understanding must be betraying her.
If anyone in the world had related that discussion to her, she would have laughed and rejected such ridiculous claims without hesitation.
However, as the argument unfolded, for it was painfully obvious it was not a friendly encounter, her chest constricted and her temples pulsed and ached from the magnitude of feelings that overwhelmed her, forcing her to accept the truth as well as the admission of her own foolishness.
Still, she needed time, as well as calmness of mind to comprehend everything she had unwillingly heard, so she returned home perturbed, absent, entering through the same kitchen door she had used only hours earlier, sneaking back to her room to try to contemplate everything she had witnessed.
Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy had unknowingly and unwittingly exposed themselves to her, without disguise of any sort, with a sincerity that only unguarded anger and resentment could reveal.
Their past dealings, shared accusations, and insinuating threats had revealed their true nature and disclosed an image of both so utterly different from the one Elizabeth had sketched.
The recollection of what she had heard was vivid in her mind.
The information was not complete though, and there was more she needed to complete the picture; however, it was enough to prove the extravagance and general profligacy of Mr Wickham and to know that the stories he had spread about Mr Darcy were false.
Could he be such an unworthy man and she such a complete simpleton to have trusted him implicitly?
His countenance, voice, and manner, indeed his entire appearance of goodness, had established him at once as a man in possession of every virtue.
And she had simply refused to use her wit and common sense to challenge his claims.
What appalled and sickened her the most was the brief — but oh so painful — mention of Miss Georgiana Darcy.
She remembered very clearly how Mr Wickham had declared that he had not seen the girl for several years but that he had heard that she had turned out to be as proud and unpleasant as her brother.
Such a statement, when he had attempted to elope with her only months ago, was disgusting!
And he had the audacity to imply that he might reveal the history, to harm the girl’s name. Could it be possible?
Wickham’s disrespectful treatment of the young girl — the daughter of his godfather — was, in Elizabeth’s eyes, far worse than any past conflict he and Mr Darcy might have had and spoke more eloquently about the man’s character than any other flaws.
And, despite his own faults and unpleasant manners, not for a moment could she condemn Mr Darcy for the savage gesture of hitting Mr Wickham; in fact, she felt he deserved much worse!
The sound of voices in the hall calling for her cut short her reflections, and she quickly wiped her face and tidied her hair then hurried to join her family downstairs.
In the midst of the din and chatter, under her father’s curious scrutiny and Jane’s worried gaze, bearing her mother’s scolding and Mr Collins’s reproachful looks, Elizabeth only hoped for more spare time to piece together her knowledge and decide what to do next.
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