Chapter 14
Fourteen
J essabelle approached the painting slowly, her eyes calculating and hard and a mean smirk playing about her mouth.
“So you think you fell in love, hm? And now you think you have answers to all the world’s trials and tribulations.”
“What do you want?” Darcy forced his voice to be authoritative and sure, even as he pulled Elizabeth against him a bit more tightly. “The spell is weakening. We have seen it already, so take it away, and allow us to be free.”
She sauntered towards them, her skirts swaying to and fro with her measured steps. “You have never understood, Darcy, that the painting has never been your true prison. No, your true prison is your family, your precious heritage, the much vaunted Darcy name. It is that and this estate which keeps you within.
“No one really sees you. No one cares to see you. They see a large house and a grand estate. They see the nephew of an earl and a fine figure of one at that. However, as you see—as I have made you see—there is nothing more to you than that. I took it all away from you, leaving you with ruination and despair, and you see how it has been. Who has come to see you in your tribulation? Who has made an effort to look into the painting and see you? No one. They were all happy to let you rot.”
“ I saw.” Elizabeth’s voice was strong and sure. “I wanted to see him, and see him I did. I fell in love with him, the man I saw behind the painting. I care nothing for Pemberley, no matter what state it is in.”
“You are enchanted,” Jessabelle said, awarding her only the merest contemptuous flick of her eyes. “Know you not that this is so? His mother’s glass undoubtedly affected your ability to view him.”
Hearing this, Darcy felt a brief pang against the slight. Is this true? Could this enchantment be nothing more than mere diversion?
Elizabeth looked calm, untroubled by the assertions. “You know nothing of the matter, madam. I assure you the glass did no more than permit me entry into this sanctum. My heart is true.”
Jessabelle ignored her. “Were you in your proper state you would hardly have afforded this poor country mouse a glance, Darcy. My brother has laid the whole of her situation before me.” She smiled triumphantly in Elizabeth’s direction.
“Daughter of a gentleman, it is true, but a country squire with an entailed estate worth two thousand a year. There is five thousand pounds from her mother— her young, healthy mother—to be settled among five sisters after her death. She and her sisters are desperate to join themselves to rich gentlemen.” She laughed cruelly. “Miss Elizabeth, I do commend you. It seems you have proved even more successful than your much more beautiful sister, Jane.”
Her hard gaze returned to Darcy. “The eldest Miss Bennet has lately managed to ensnare a man named Bingley, worth five thousand a year. Surely, you cannot think it happenstance that Miss Elizabeth should have come here seeking the bigger prize? She cannot bear to be outdone by her sister. She sought you, and she found you in a vulnerable state, so horribly lonely that you were willing to believe any person who was not cruel must be in love with you.”
“Your facts are creditable,” Elizabeth said, her voice calm. “My father’s estate is nothing to Pemberley, and my portion is small indeed. But I am not so calculating as you would suppose. I came to Pemberley seeking a day’s diversion, not a husband. I am as surprised as anyone to find my truest love concealed within its walls.”
“Say it is not so.” With her words of devotion hanging in the air, Wickham stepped forwards. “Dearest Lizzy, did our time in Hertfordshire mean nothing to you? Have I lost forever my chance to call you my own?”
Elizabeth stiffened. “I beg your pardon, Mr Wickham?”
Darcy fought to remain calm and to doubt her not, but it was difficult, particularly once Wickham inserted himself .
Wickham hung his head, an abject posture of pure misery. When he raised his countenance to hers, a look of longing and sincerity marked him. “Surely, you know—you must know—how I feel for you. Never have I met your equal, and I shall admit that it-it frightened me a bit, the strength of such feelings. I had not even supposed I would experience such devotion for any lady.” His voice went soft for a moment. “Surely, not one who was so much my superior.”
Darcy felt his chest tighten. Certainly, it could not be true. Had Elizabeth been—but no! She had assured him that she had never felt for any man the way she felt for him.
“Mr Wickham, firstly, you must cease referring to me in such a familiar way,” Elizabeth said in a firm voice. “Further, you know quite well that our friendship was nothing of the sort. How could it be when you so rapidly attached yourself to Miss King?”
To Darcy, she added, “Mr Wickham is presently engaged. Is that not nice?”
“No.” Wickham shook his head sadly. “No, I could not—dear Mary! How I hope I did not leave her broken-hearted! But I could not go through with it, not when my heart and my thoughts were filled by you.” He reached his hand to the painting, touching it tenderly, and making it look like a lover’s tender caress.
“You are certainly a practiced liar, sir,” Elizabeth said, scouring her cheek with her hand as if she had felt Wickham’s touch. “We were friends and no more than that. I was moved to pity by your ridiculous tales of mistreatment. ”
“And tales of mistreatment I have aplenty—courtesy of the Darcy family. Elizabeth darling, come now. You do not think such a man as Darcy would ever marry you?” He burst into peals of laughter, his sister joining him.
“He is very high and very proud,” Wickham added when his mirth had been exhausted. “He will be freed from his prison, and his gratitude for your society will wane. He will recall himself to his own sphere and wish for you to be returned to yours.”
“I do not believe you,” she said but cast an uncertain glance towards Darcy. He shook his head slightly.
“Were you not the daughter of a gentleman, I daresay he should not have spoken to you at all, never mind that he has been within this prison for these many years. Is that not true, Darcy? Did you question her regarding her parentage?”
“I did,” Darcy admitted, hanging his head.
“For whatsoever you have to accuse him of, Mr Wickham, it can be nothing to me. I have known Mr Darcy as a fine gentleman, kind and humorous and good. You will not laugh me out of that opinion, no matter how you might try,” Elizabeth said.
“Think what you like of your lover, be he true or not,” Jessabelle pronounced, “but do heed our words when you are faced with your decision. You might give up a great deal for someone who should be degraded by any association with you.”
“Decision? What decision?” Elizabeth asked.
“An important decision,” Jessabelle said, her lips curling around the word as one might a delicious treat. “The curse is such that only one of you may leave. ”
“One of you may leave now,” Wickham said, with a taunting smile, “but the other must wait out the duration of the curse, four more long years.”
“At which point whomsoever remains shall be free,” Jessabelle said. “So you must be necessarily separated, but when time has elapsed, you will be free to reunite and live out your years in felicity. I suppose we will see then how your devotion has survived.”
Wickham added, “The only question is, of course, which of you will stay? And who will go?”
“The choice is yours to make,” Jessabelle said lightly. “Ladies first.”