Chapter 11 #2
“Mr. Darcy, welcome, welcome!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed as he stepped into the rather cramped vestibule of Longbourn.
Darcy handed over his hat and cane to a servant and bowed to the Bennet matriarch. “Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. It is an honor to be here.”
“We are so very happy, sir!” the lady answered, her face bright with gaiety.
Darcy, gazing down at the woman, found his heart beating a little faster.
He had always found Mrs. Bennet a profoundly annoying female, but now, with joy in her eyes and her normally peevish expression entirely absent, she was quite beautiful.
More than that, Mrs. Bennet reminded him now, as she never had before, of her second daughter.
Elizabeth did not share her mother’s fair hair and blue eyes, but she had inherited her decided chin, straight nose, and high cheekbones from Mrs. Bennet.
“Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet cried out, turning and waving a hand toward the dining room. “Do come here, my dear! Mr. Darcy, it is such a squeeze within that I daresay…”
She trailed away as Elizabeth appeared in the doorway and then said, “Lizzy, my dear, do arrange for coffee or tea for Mr. Darcy, will you not? Dear Mr. Bingley’s closest friend – I would not…”
She broke off again with a squeak of alarm. “Oh dear, the … that is not the way to … pray excuse me, Mr. Darcy. The servants have put the mincemeat pies in quite the wrong place…”
She dashed off in a flurry of skirts, leaving Miss Elizabeth – no, she was now Miss Bennet – behind, her recent expression of happiness transformed into embarrassment.
“My mother is very excited,” she said apologetically.
“She has every reason to be,” Darcy replied, gazing down on the girl with his usual unnerving intensity. “I believe your elder sister to be a perfect match for Bingley. I have never seen my friend so happy.”
Elizabeth stared at him with surprised pleasure.
“I am equally certain that Mr. Bingley will be an excellent husband to my dear sister. They have very similar characters in many ways. But come, you must enjoy the wedding breakfast, perhaps starting with a hot drink? May I pour you some coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please,” he said and followed her into the dining room, where Miss Mary and Miss Kitty were pouring drinks for the guests who were wandering about filling plates and chatting exuberantly with one another.
The noise was rather deafening, and Darcy retreated to a corner as Elizabeth made her graceful way over to the coffee urn.
She poured a cup, added one lump of sugar, a dash of cream, and danced her way back to him.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” he said courteously.
Inwardly, he felt a surge of uneasy excitement because Miss Bennet knew how he liked his coffee.
No doubt she had noticed his preferences when they were all at Netherfield the previous October, when Miss Jane Bennet had fallen sick and Elizabeth had come to care for her sister.
Would it not be marvelous to sit across from this lady every morning at Pemberley and watch her make coffee for him?
For that matter, he would adore making coffee for her, or tea, or hot chocolate. She liked hot chocolate, he knew…
“Is Miss Darcy still in London?” Elizabeth asked as she guided Darcy out of the crowded dining room and into the hall which led toward the main drawing room and several sitting rooms. She continued down to the end of the hall to a closed door.
Darcy took a few sips of truly excellent coffee in order to calm himself and said, “Yes, she is spending a few days with the Fitzwilliams, my cousins on my mother’s side.”
“That sounds pleasant. Perhaps she has cousins close to her own age?”
“Yes, my uncle, the Earl of Matlock is father of five children, including three daughters. Our female cousins are three and twenty, one and twenty, and eighteen, and Georgiana enjoys her time with them.”
“I am aware that Miss Darcy is a remarkable musician; perhaps her cousins share those interests?”
“Two of them do,” Darcy said after a moment.
He was struggling to think clearly, his brain awhirl from close proximity to Miss Bennet, and his ears overwhelmed by the ceaseless noise and conversation emanating from the nearby drawing room.
“My cousins Sophia and Cecilia are both reasonably adept with the pianoforte, though, and I hope I do not sound like I am boasting, Georgiana exceeds them both. Indeed…”
Here he trailed off and turned toward the closed door, his brow furrowing. Someone was within, in fact, more than one person, and he recognized the male voice as that of…
“Dear Wicky!” a female voice brayed. “I am so glad you were able to come to the wedding breakfast, anyway. You must listen to me! Now that Jane is well married, I am far more eligible. Jane is the kindest of souls and would never refuse to assist her nearest relations. You must know that. Surely you find me more beautiful and desirable than Miss King!”
“My dear Lydia,” the male voice oozed in return, “much as I admire you, I fear that I am no eligible husband for a lovely lady like yourself. Now if Darcy had given me the church living, I would have sufficient income to care for you as you truly deserve.”
“Oh, how I hate Mr. Darcy!” the feminine voice continued loudly. “I cannot understand how Mr. Bingley can tolerate a man willing to betray his own father’s godson in such a way.”
Darcy went rigid with rage, turned toward the door, and froze. If Miss Lydia was found alone in a room with Wickham in a compromising position, her shame would spread to her sisters. He could not do that to the woman he loved.
Miss Bennet obviously viewed the situation similarly.
She darted forward, turned the knob, and rushed into the parlor, her face pink with outrage.
A moment later, her high color faded as her body relaxed.
To her relief, Lydia was not alone with Mr. Wickham.
Her sister and the lieutenant were seated side by side on a small settee near the door, while Maria Lucas, younger sister of Elizabeth’s close friend Charlotte Collins, was curled up on a wingbacked chair near the fire, watching Wickham and her friend with an envious expression.
“Lizzy, you look as if you had seen a ghost!” Lydia giggled, turning a mocking glance on her elder sister.
Elizabeth bent a severe look on the girl and then, suddenly remembering Darcy’s presence in the corridor behind her, said, “Lydia, you are needed in the dining room. It is time for you to assist in serving coffee and tea.”
“I do not wish to,” the youngest Miss Bennet said with a toss of her blonde head. “Besides, Mary and Kitty are far more adept, as are you! No, Lizzy, I will stay here and entertain poor Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and then turned in surprise as Darcy, his color high, surged through the door. Wickham, who had risen to his feet at Elizabeth’s entrance, his usual charming smile on his lips, looked frightened and shuffled back a few inches.
Darcy glared at his childhood playmate before turning his attention on Lydia, who was still sprawled rather inelegantly on the couch.
“Miss Lydia, if Mr. Wickham thought the three thousand pounds insufficient, he should have told me several years ago. At the time, he seemed pleased enough with the sum he requested.”
Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open, and she turned her stunned gaze from Wickham to Darcy, and then back to Wickham, whose skin was suddenly pale.
“What three thousand pounds?” she demanded, her own voice sounding strange in her ears.
“I paid Wickham three thousand pounds to give up all rights to the Kympton living,” Darcy said coldly, though his face was dark with anger. “He signed the papers and accepted the money.”
“Is this true?” Elizabeth demanded, staring incredulously at her former favorite.
Wickham bit his lip but drew himself to his full height. “Darcy tricked me; the living was worth far more, but I was desperate for funds at the time and thus accepted considerably less than I was due!”
“In truth,” Darcy snapped, “it was worth less since the former occupant was a hale man in his late fifties, who might have lived another twenty years had he not been stricken down by influenza. No, Wickham, you knew what you were doing; you had no interest in being a clergyman, and given your predilection for gambling and running up debts with every tradesman who crosses your path, I was pleased to give you a very substantial amount to keep you from occupying the position of spiritual leader of Kympton.”
Elizabeth’s eyes were now blazing with anger, and she demanded, “How could you deceive me in such a way, Mr. Wickham? You told me that Mr. Darcy cheated you out of the living, and now I learn that he gave you an enormous sum of money? You, sir, have no honor!”
“Lizzy, take that back!” Lydia shrieked even as Maria Lucas glared at the lieutenant with an expression of disgust.
Wickham, realizing that his only ally was a foolish girl, decided to retreat while he could.
“I fear that the situation was more complex than Darcy is stating,” he grated out, clutching the tattered remains of his dignity close to him. “Nonetheless, I would not wish to make anyone uncomfortable, so I will take my leave. Miss Bennet, Miss Lydia, Miss Lucas, my very best to you all.”
He bowed slightly and took a step toward the door, then halted as Darcy deliberately moved to block his path.
“One more thing, Wickham,” he said grimly. “I have no intention of paying off your debts here in Meryton as I did in Lambton, so I suggest you watch your step, or you will end up in Marshalsea.”
Wickham’s teeth bared in a snarl, and he pushed his way past Darcy and nearly ran down the corridor toward the front door, leaving a stunned room behind him.
Darcy watched him go, turned back toward Miss Bennet, and his heart clenched in anguish.
Her eyes were bright with tears, and her countenance twisted with distress.
Was it possible that Miss Bennet was in love with Wickham?
On the one hand, it seemed impossible; on the other hand, Georgiana, his very own sister, had been entirely bewitched by the rogue.
Furthermore, how could he have been so vulgar and discourteous as to lose control of his temper in the middle of Bingley’s wedding breakfast?
“My heartfelt apologies, Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas, Miss Lydia,” he managed. “I should not have made such a scene. I too will take my leave.”
He bowed and retreated out of the room, out of the corridor, out of the vestibule, and into the cold, crisp March air.
To his relief, Wickham was already some distance away, half walking, half running toward Meryton.
The last thing he wanted was another interaction with the reprobate, not while his own heart was in such a state of turbulence.
He was, he realized abruptly, devastated at Miss Bennet’s distress over Wickham’s perfidy.
He had chosen a very poor time to speak aloud, on a day when the entire Bennet family should be free of discouragement and anguish.
He had long known that he was not adept at conversation, but this was quite the most offensive he had been in a very long while.
He groaned aloud as he contemplated whether to go back inside to bid farewell to Bingley and his bride.
A moment later, he turned resolutely and began walking toward the stables to call for his carriage.
He would leave a note at Netherfield for the Bingleys explaining that he had left in haste for London.
He grieved for Miss Bennet and her hurting heart. He grieved for his own heart as well. He hoped that one day he would recover from his fascination with the lady, but it would undoubtedly be a long, painful process.