Chapter 7
Seven
DEVOTION TO A CAUSE
Elizabeth kept in mind that she was not attending strictly to socialise.
Most of these officers would have little of the type of prestige in their backgrounds that she would require, and their pay was nearly insignificant.
Still…it would not be unheard of to have a viscount’s younger brother cooling his heels in a regiment like this one, a company unlikely to see any action, for they were far enough from the coast to generally feel safe from war’s immediate dangers.
The lieutenant drew her into the next dance, the Boulanger; the other men in their group were mostly officers of different ages, all very affable, and importantly, none of them Mr and Mrs Philips or Sir William and Lady Lucas.
When it was their turn to watch the other dancers, she had her opportunity to ask him careful questions, of his background—which was obviously a good one, based upon the refinement of his address—and most importantly, his future.
Providentially, he offered answers easily.
“My father was the son of a vicar,” he explained. “His dearest friend in the world was another gentleman, owner of a great estate in Derbyshire, who saw to my education and in his will recommended that I be given a valuable living as soon as it became vacant.”
“You will be taking orders someday?”
“I pray I will, if the legal tangle can ever be unravelled.”
It did not take much effort to learn the reason for the ‘tangle’; Mr Wickham was too happy to explain.
“My friend died, and the son is not the father. He was always jealous of his father’s feelings towards me.
When the living became available, he gave it to another.
My solicitors give me little hope, however. ”
“That is awful! I cannot believe any judge in the land would allow it!” It was nearly time for them to join the circle, and she regretted the brevity of their discussion.
He smiled at her with deep confidence. “He is rich, and he has too many men in his pocket to make it a quick about-face. I shall maintain my great faith in our English justice, however. Fitzwilliam Darcy has more than one living to give. He must answer for his perfidies sooner or later, I have no doubt.”
She nearly stumbled, and it was only with the greatest of effort that she managed to cover her surprise.
For the first time, she acknowledged to herself that she had been searching for Mr Darcy, however unconsciously it was done.
The rest of the dance was performed in a kind of daze, as she contemplated what she had learnt and decided whether to believe him.
It was not, perhaps, the kind of tale one told a new acquaintance.
However, she had been the one to probe with questions regarding his prospects, however delicately, and Mr Darcy had demonstrated the sort of arrogance of a man who might ignore the wishes of his dead father—had he not ignored her wishes to carry Neddy home herself?
Nevertheless, she had convinced herself that he had meant it as a kindness.
Not only that, but Mr Hill had insisted on giving her the generous purse he had unexpectedly left for the bottle of remedy.
“But you gave me the remedy in the first place!” she had protested, trying to refuse.
“From ingredients ye gathered,” he contended, pressing it on her.
She had not been able to bring herself to argue; while Longbourn supplied her and Neddy amply with food and coal, they did without many of the elegancies of life, and the sum had been a boon. Clearly, Mr Darcy was no nipcheese.
A Mr Denny, another officer, was her next partner; he had a bit of property, she discovered, but he was a shopkeeper’s son—he would never be thought more respectable than Mr Philips.
To hold the living for a parish upon a vast estate would be something else.
It was disagreeably shallow to think so cold-bloodedly, but she had promised herself to be ruthless.
Besides, Mr Wickham was a handsome man, a man who struck her as being rather easier to care for than either Mr Denny or Mr Morris.
And Mr Darcy?
She dashed the thought against the rocks of realism. Mr Darcy would marry someone far, far different than Elizabeth Bennet.
Jane, meanwhile, had not sat out a single dance. Elizabeth observed that, in between each one, Mr Bingley seemed never to be far away, and he, with whomever he was partnered, often managed to join her set. It was a good sign—but hardly enough to build a future upon.
I must not raise my hopes simply to spare myself pain.
Mr Morris was a short and square man—square jawed, square shouldered, sun-browned—dressed in unadorned but quality fashion.
No one could ever call him handsome; his eyes were too small and deep-set, while his eyebrows seemed to be one straight unbroken line across his protruding forehead.
In spite of his looks, he was slightly more respected than Mr Philips, and that was all she must consider.
He did not always attend the assemblies, but he was here this evening.
Telling herself she was thankful for it, she contrived to be standing near him after her dance with Mr Denny.
Mrs Bennet, however, suspended her plan to capture his attention.
“Well, Lizzy, were you ever going to greet me?”
Elizabeth turned to face her mother with an internal sigh. “Hello, Mama. You look lovely tonight. How do you fare?”
“As if you cared about my feelings! I was abed for three days with a feverish cold, but I might have died, without ever a visit from you!”
It did no good to explain to her mother that she was unwelcome at Longbourn, that her aunt and uncle did all in their power to treat her and most especially Neddy with the utmost contempt.
They were subtle about it, and Mama was impervious to subtleties—and of course, Mama’s experience with them was much different.
The Philipses coddled her to a ridiculous degree, which naturally encouraged her myriad infirmities.
“I am sorry to hear it. Neddy suffered the sniffles last week, but he is past it now.”
“He belongs at Longbourn,” she said. “Should anything happen to him, I swear I will hold you responsible! If only you had taken Lydia with you when you left with Neddy! Everything would be different!” Bawling might begin next—it was a familiar refrain, and reminding her mother of the facts would do nothing to change it.
“Lizzy! I am so glad to see you! You look lovely!” Jane’s greeting was a most welcome interruption.
“Thank you for the dress,” Elizabeth smiled gratefully at her sister, but inside, she wondered how Jane managed it—seeing the good in both the Philipses and Elizabeth—for never were there two parties more diametrically opposed to each other.
“It looks far better on you than it ever did on me,” Jane said kindly. They were joined by the tall, red-haired man, whom Jane did not hesitate to introduce.
“Lizzy, this is Mr Bingley, who has taken the lease of Netherfield. Sir, my younger sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Another sister! Why, I did not know you had any sister except Miss Mary! I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Elizabeth.”
Not very many minutes later, the genial Mr Bingley engaged her for the next set but one, as he was promised to his own sister for the following.
In the interim, Mr Morris had moved somewhat farther away, but after Jane took to the floor with an officer and Mr Bingley collected his sister, she found the opportunity to meet his gaze.
She offered him a shy smile, and before she looked demurely away, she saw the surprise in his answering expression.
The daughters of Longbourn did not encourage the attentions of land stewards, no matter their prosperity.
Could he possibly have influence enough to help her bring about change?
The Philipses are no better than he, but they seem to believe they have risen in the world, she thought bitterly.
It was impossible not to search, again, for Mr Darcy in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen.
As she had hoped, Mr Morris found the courage to ask her for the reel.
He was not an easy conversationalist, saying very little except for what she managed to extract from him—although not everyone could be expected to be good at banter during a lively reel.
She did learn that even though his wife had been dead a year, he mourned her still—a good sign of loyalty, she thought.
She did not require being first in his heart, for she intended to keep hers to herself.
Love was a difficult and demanding mistress, and Elizabeth planned to avoid her chains.
Nevertheless, if the man was always so silent, would he take on the Philipses when necessary?
Would he stand up for Neddy? She was so very tired of being the only one who would.