Chapter 2
A Sunny Thursday Morning
“Miss Bennet! Good day!”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam! I did not know you walked this way.”
“I am making my tour of the park as I do every year and thought I would end with a call at the parsonage. But I don’t want to disturb you if you would like to finish your letter.” He gestured to the paper she was refolding.
“Not at all! It is the latest letter from my sister in London, but I have read it before.” She deposited the letter into her reticule with a smile.
“How does Miss Bennet? Is she enjoying the Season?”
“I do not think so. Jane is the sort of person who will do all that is asked of her, and do it graciously, though she has no personal desire to do so. She does not like to disappoint others, and she will never see fault in anyone else, so if she is unhappy, she blames herself for becoming that way in the first place or refuses to acknowledge it at all.”
“Is she unhappy in London then?” he asked kindly.
“Not as such—she enjoys all that Town has to offer and our aunt and uncle are keeping her well entertained. But she has recently suffered a disappointment and I’m afraid her temperament will not allow her to overcome it easily.
” She wondered at herself for sharing such information so easily, and with a man who did not even know her sister, but she had been worrying about Jane excessively, and she had always felt so comfortable with the colonel.
No matter—it was said now. She could not take it back.
“I know a young lady in a similar situation. Even though the fault was all on his side, she insists on berating herself for all she misunderstood and what she believed of him. It has been many months now, but she is much altered by the experience.”
“I am sorry for her. After seeing Jane in similar circumstances, I would not wish it on anyone. Why must men lavish attention on ladies to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, speak to them as if they are in the deepest throes of love, and then disappear without a word? It is unspeakably cruel.”
He looked at her with sad eyes. “Yes, it is.” Then a moment later, “It is one of the many reasons I am glad I am not a lady.”
Elizabeth was surprised into laughter and gave him a mock reproachful look. “You find going to war against the French preferable to wearing bonnets and making morning calls?”
“Morning calls I do not mind, but I’m sure I would look dreadful in a bonnet.”
She laughed again, and he smiled to see it.
“Jane tells me that our mother expects her to come home engaged, she does not care much to whom, and if she will not oblige her in this, which Jane certainly will not, Mama wishes her to return to Longbourn before the militia leave for the summer. If I thought Denny and Wickham could cheer her, I would agree to the plan, but Jane has never cared much either way about the officers.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s interest was piqued. “Did you say Wickham? Not George Wickham?”
“Oh, forgive me, I forgot you must be known to him. He said he grew up at Pemberley—his father was steward there.”
“Yes, he did, fine lot of good it did him,” he said harshly. “Miss Bennet, I must give you a friendly warning. Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted. Not with pretty young ladies, not near anyone with change in their pockets, and certainly not with credit at the local shops.”
She was surprised at his vehemence, but supposed he had gotten his knowledge from Mr. Darcy, and said something vague about knowing there to be a difficult history between them.
Much to her surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam told her that his opinion of Wickham was based on his own experience and information as well as that of his cousin.
He laid out for her, in painstaking detail, how Wickham had lied and cheated his way through school, been sent down from university, caused more trouble than he could rightly tell a lady, and left a trail of debt and ruin wherever he went.
In case she had felt sorry for Wickham, she should know that Mr. Darcy had long been paying his bills at various shops and had covered his debts of honor at university for some time.
Darcy had cleaned up Wickham’s messes of one sort or another until his father died.
Then Wickham was given a thousand-pound legacy and lest she believe the cock and bull story about a living being denied him, she should know he was given three-thousand pounds in lieu of the living (that he wasn’t qualified for anyway as he had never taken orders) and had signed away all rights to it while saying he wished to study the law.
His knowledge was first hand as he had been one of the executors of his uncle’s will.
Elizabeth stared at him, mouth agape. The colonel paced before her, furious in his recitation but controlling it with a rigidity she had not known him capable of. She grimly thought this must be how he managed on campaign and felt some sympathy for his recruits.
She felt something in her hand and looked down to see Colonel Fitzwilliam had placed his handkerchief in her palm. She looked at him in confusion and he said, “If I may?” and dabbed at the tears streaming down her cheeks.
She had not known she was crying and continued to stare at him in astonishment. George Wickham, a liar and a cheat? A gambler and seducer? He had had such truth in his looks!
“Oh, what you must think of me!” she cried. She turned from him and he spoke to her back.
“I think the same as I always have, Miss Bennet. That you are a delightful young lady whom I am glad to know.”
She nearly snorted in disbelief. “I am a fool!”
Now it was her turn to pace. She went from one end of the stand of trees to the other, mumbling to herself and occasionally dashing away tears angrily. He heard something about vanity and flattery but could not make out more than that.
“Miss Bennet, please forgive me. I did not intend to distress you.” He hesitated. “Was Wickham a… favorite of yours?”
She looked at him in confusion until comprehension dawned, then explained that he had been something of a favorite over the winter and they had enjoyed a friendly flirtation, but no serious feelings had been involved.
Then Wickham began courting Mary King near Christmas so none of it mattered anyway.
The colonel quickly asked if Miss King had any dowry to speak of, and Elizabeth told him that she had recently inherited ten-thousand pounds and that Wickham had not seemed to notice Miss King until her inheritance became common knowledge.
At this further proof of her blindness and idiocy, Elizabeth searched in vain for somewhere to sit down.
Where was a fallen log or an oddly placed bench when she needed one?
Unable to find what she was looking for, she sank onto the grass from actual exhaustion and buried her face in her hands, too mortified at her past behavior to be worried about the son of an earl’s opinion on her current lack of propriety.
She wept heartily for a few minutes, soaking the Colonel’s handkerchief through, then mustered the courage to look up. He was kneeling before her, close enough to reach out and touch, but not close enough to make her feel crowded.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, I beg you would pretend you never saw me like this, weeping on the ground in Lady Catherine’s grove.”
He smiled gently. “I will never breathe a word of it, Miss Bennet. I am sorry for distressing you.”
“I have distressed myself. I have had a taste of my own vanity and the flavor is bitter. It is no fault of yours.”
He nearly disagreed with her, but then said nothing and looked determinedly past her left shoulder, letting her know he was there if she needed him, but giving her the privacy she clearly desired.
Eventually, his leg began to cramp, and he sat down near her, his back against a tree trunk and his legs stretched out before him.
Elizabeth was so surprised by this action that she forgot to castigate herself for a moment and nearly laughed at the fact that an earl’s son was sitting beside her in the grass at Rosings.
“Colonel, just when I think I cannot be more shocked, you rise to the occasion.”
He smiled and tipped his head theatrically. “I strive to please, madam.”
She smiled rather sadly and said, “I have come face to face with my own shortcomings today, and I find myself rather mortified, not only at what I have found, but that you have been witness to it all.”
“I beg you would not make yourself uneasy. Wickham has a talent for deception I have seldom seen duplicated. You cannot blame yourself for being taken in.”
“But I can blame myself for what I did with the information I swallowed so unthinkingly.” She shook her head as he looked on in worry. “I suppose I owe your cousin an apology now.”
She said the last so grimly and with such an expression of dread that he could not help but smile. “Darcy will understand. His own father was taken in by Wickham. I doubt he is expecting an apology, anyhow.”
She made a resigned face. “Regardless, I owe him one.” A frown line appeared between her brows. “Though I hate to give him the satisfaction of thinking even worse of me than he already does. At least now he can despise me for my gullibility—I can hardly fault him for that.”
“Why should you think Darcy thinks badly of you?”
“He has always disliked me.”
“Has he?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think so?”
“His behavior, his expressions, his words,” she said, as if explaining why the sky was blue. She let her head drop back. “And now I have given him irrefutable proof of his superiority. If I were more magnanimous, I should let him enjoy the victory.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled and shook his head. “You needn’t worry. Darcy thinks very highly of you.”
She scoffed.
“Truly, he does. He has sung your praises more than once.”
It was impossible to hide her incredulity. The idea of Mr. Darcy singing anyone’s praises, let alone her own, seemed as likely as Lady Catherine allowing someone else to speak at dinner.
She leaned her head back and sighed. “Your sisters are very lucky to have such a brother.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You are very patient with weeping women.”
He laughed softly. “I only have one sister, and I do not believe I have ever seen her weep. She is two years my senior and spent most of our childhood ordering me about.”
Elizabeth gave him a weary smile. “That is what elder sisters are for. Regardless, you have been very kind to me today, and I thank you for it.”
“I am most disturbed for having distressed you. Truly, Miss Bennet. I had no wish to give you pain. If there is anything I may do for your comfort, you need only ask.”
She rested her hand on his sleeve. “Thank you, Colonel. You are kinder than I deserve.”
“Nonsense. I wish I could do more. Surely you know, Miss Bennet, you are deserving of every kindness?”
His expression was so sincere and his voice so gentle, she nearly burst into tears again. “You must stop, Colonel, or I shall never recover.”
He smiled at this and pressed her hand. “I hope you know I will stand your friend, Miss Bennet. And should you ever need it, I shall stand as your brother.”
She did cry a little at this, for she had always wished for a brother, and though she and the colonel had enjoyed a flirtation, they both knew it would be entirely fruitless.
She was free to enjoy his friendship with no expectation of more.
Hearing him acknowledge the same was both a relief and reassurance all at once.
“Be careful what you offer, dear Colonel. I may take you up on it.”
“I am at your service.”
He helped her up from the grass gently and led her to the lane as if she were an old lady who could not support herself.
“I will be well from here.”
“Are you certain you do not wish me to escort you to the parsonage?”
“I am certain. Thank you, for your information and your kindness. I will not forget it.”
He bowed deeply before her and watched her walk away, glad that she seemed to be mostly recovered, and relieved she had accepted his offer of friendship.