Chapter 5
DARCY
The engagement taught me that desire could feed on almost nothing.
On a ribbon tied at Elizabeth's waist. On a curl that had escaped near her ear. On the way she slowly removed her gloves after a walk. On a smile she gave me when Mrs Bennet recited Pemberley's exact income for the third time to yet another set of visitors.
I could touch her only rarely, and so each contact acquired an unreasonable importance.
I offered her my hand to help her into the carriage and held her fingers a moment longer than necessary after she had found her balance.
I placed a shawl on her shoulders and felt her warmth through the wool.
I bowed over her hand beneath her family's watchful eyes, then dreamed at night of the skin hidden by the glove.
She continued to deny me her lips.
Always with a gleam in her eyes that transformed the refusal into a promise rather than a rejection.
I knew she still doubted some of my actions. I thought her body, her smiles, and the frequency with which she sought my company revealed what her pride held back. Her refusal of a kiss seemed born of modesty and propriety, not an absence of feeling.
At least I believed so.
Bingley returned to Netherfield four days after our arrival. He spent the first hour thanking me for my frankness, the second attempting to conceal his impatience, and the third in the Longbourn drawing room looking at Miss Bennet with an expression that confirmed the extent of my error.
Elizabeth said nothing to reproach me in front of him.
That was worse.
On the way back, while Bingley spoke enthusiastically of Miss Bennet's gentleness, I kept seeing the way Elizabeth had observed her sister. Her happiness was evident, but a reserve remained in her gaze when it rested on me.
“I was wrong,” I said abruptly.
Bingley stopped speaking.
“You've already told me that.”
“I had no right to decide for you.”
He considered me for a moment, then smiled.
“I could take advantage of this rare disposition toward humility to make you confess other faults.”
“Don't push your advantage.”
“That sounds more like the Darcy I know.”
His cheerfulness did not diminish my unease.
Two days later, Elizabeth asked me to walk with her. We were accompanied by Kitty and Lydia, but the young ladies soon spotted two officers on the Meryton road and hurried ahead without consulting us.
“Their notion of chaperoning lacks rigor,” Elizabeth observed.
“Should I call them back?”
“You can try. Lydia has developed a remarkable deafness whenever a uniform appears.”
We followed at a distance. The path crossed a small wood where new branches filtered the light to green. Elizabeth walked at a brisk pace. The hem of her dress brushed her boots, and the steady movement of her body drew my gaze more often than it should have.
“Mr Wickham has been avoiding Longbourn since your return,” she said.
I stiffened.
“That's preferable.”
“He claims your presence obliges him to forgo several invitations.”
“So he presents himself as a victim with his usual skill.”
“He told me a story that was hardly flattering to you.”
I stopped.
She took two more steps before turning.
Wickham's name, in her mouth, awakened an anger I knew was mixed with jealousy. I remembered too well their conversation at Meryton, her interest, the studied charm with which he had captured her attention.
“What did he tell you?”
“That your father intended a living for him that you refused to give. That out of resentment, you deprived him of the profession he had been promised.”
“And you believed him.”
“He gave me details. You gave me only contempt.”
I looked at the path ahead of us. Kitty and Lydia were far enough away not to hear us, but we could still see them between the trees.
Speaking of Georgiana was almost impossible for me. Her secret was not mine to share. Yet Elizabeth was going to become her sister. She had to know the man Wickham truly was, and perhaps I had to finally accept that silence, when it protected a guilty party, ceased to be honorable.
“My father offered him the opportunity to enter the church,” I said. “Wickham declared he had no such vocation and asked for a sum in exchange. I paid him three thousand pounds. He spent it. Several years later, he claimed the living that had become vacant. I refused.”
Elizabeth did not respond.
“There is more,” I continued. “But what I am about to confide must never be repeated without my consent. It concerns my sister.”
Her expression changed at once.
“You have my word.”
We resumed our walk, more slowly.
“Last summer, Georgiana was at Ramsgate with a companion. Wickham joined them there. He won my sister’s trust. She had just turned fifteen. She was still impressionable, isolated, and… deeply attached to our father’s memory. Wickham knew exactly how to exploit that attachment.”
I had to stop.
The rage had not diminished with time. It had only grown quieter.
“He wanted to marry her?” Elizabeth asked.
“He wanted her thirty thousand pounds. They had arranged an elopement. Fortunately, I arrived the day before they were to leave.”
Her hand flew to her lips.
“Good God.”
“Georgiana confessed everything. Wickham vanished the moment he realized I knew.”
“She was only fifteen, with almost no experience of the world.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth paled.
“And I believed him… I encouraged him to speak of you. I was glad to find yet another reason to detest you.”
The violence of that last word struck me, though she spoke of the past.
“You did not know the truth.”
“Because I chose the version that best flattered my prejudices.”
I had never heard Elizabeth judge herself so harshly. I wanted to reassure her, but I did not yet know how to offer comfort without seeking a solution.
“Wickham is skilled. Many have believed him.”
“You did not.”
“I knew him.”
She stopped near an old beech tree. Patches of light moved across her face.
“Why did you not expose him?”
“To protect Georgiana.”
“And the other young women he might deceive?”
The question was fair. I disliked it for that very reason.
“What do you suggest? That I publish a child’s mistake to warn every foolish girl in the kingdom?”
She drew back slightly.
I regretted my tone at once.
“No,” she said. “I understand your silence. I only fear what it might cost others.”
Lydia was laughing somewhere ahead with the officers. I followed Elizabeth’s gaze and understood what she was thinking.
“I will speak to Colonel Forster. Without revealing my sister’s name.”
“He may not believe you.”
“He will believe me enough to watch Wickham.”
She looked at me in astonishment.
“You are accepting another of my requests…”
“You will be my wife in three weeks. It would be wise to accustom yourself to being heard.”
“You might regret it.”
“I already regret the time when I did not listen to you.”
She remained silent.
I raised my hand toward her face, then stopped before touching her. A lock of hair had come loose beneath her bonnet. I gestured toward it with my eyes.
“May I?”
She nodded.
My fingers brushed her temple. The curl was soft. I tucked it slowly behind her ear, unable to stop my fingertips from tracing the delicate curve down to her jaw.
Her breath caught.
I did not withdraw my hand.
“Elizabeth.”
She lifted her face.
We were alone among the trees, though Lydia and Kitty remained visible in the distance. I could feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers. Her lips were parted. My entire body strained toward her.
“Not today?” I murmured.
Her eyes dropped to my lips.
“You are persistent.”
“Desperately.”
I thought she would consent. She even placed a hand on my arm, and that contact alone was enough to make breathing difficult.
A burst of laughter rang out on the path.
Elizabeth turned away at once.
Kitty came running back toward us, Lydia behind her.
“Lizzy! Mr Denny has invited us on a walk tomorrow. Mr Darcy, you can come too, if you wish, but I’m afraid it will be very boring for you.”
“Your solicitude touches me,” I replied.
Elizabeth coughed to hide her laughter.
I withdrew my hand from her face, but when we resumed walking, she slipped her fingers around my arm—though propriety did not require it.
That willing touch erased the doubts her reserve should have stirred.
She gave it no name.
I gave it one for her, and I chose the wrong word.