Chapter 13 #2
Bingley’s expression was uncharacteristically hard. “You are my dearest friend. In the future, I urge you to remember what that means.” Without breaking his gaze, he extended his hand to Darcy.
Awed by his friend’s seemingly endless supply of generosity and immeasurably grateful for his forbearance, Darcy stood at once and clasped Bingley’s outstretched hand tightly.
“Thank you,” he said soberly. “I am aware I do not deserve your forgiveness any more than I do your friendship, but once again I find myself exceedingly thankful for both.”
Bingley withdrew his hand and clasped Darcy’s shoulder firmly—perhaps a bit too firmly—before sinking onto the couch and resting his head against the back of it. “Unless you do something that will infuriate me anew,” he muttered, “you shall always have it.”
Though her night had yielded little rest, the following morning Elizabeth slipped from the house before her family members made an appearance downstairs.
The hour was much later than her regular rising time and she was tired, but her mind and emotions remained in constant upheaval as she meditated, again and again, upon Jane’s betrayal of her trust. When coupled with the very real indignation and pain she knew Darcy must have suffered in the wake of it, Elizabeth did not know if she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs in anger and frustration, or simply break down and cry.
She was standing beside her mother’s hermitage, dangerously close to doing the latter, when a hack chaise made its way down the drive and drew to a stop in front of the house.
While the prospect of facing her family that morning had not appealed to her, the prospect of entertaining company at such an hour appealed to her even less.
Elizabeth hastened towards the woods that bordered her father’s property, where there happened to be a narrow footpath that would aid in her escape.
“Lizzy!”
The familiar, shrill, entirely unexpected voice of her youngest sister carried from the gravel drive all the way across the lawn to where Elizabeth was about to set foot upon the path.
She stopped mid-stride, turned, and gaped as Lydia Wickham, who was headed straight towards her, broke into a spirited run.
“Lydia!” What on earth is she doing here?
Elizabeth wondered, mystified. The possibility that Mr Wickham was able to obtain leave for Jane’s wedding was almost laughable.
He had only joined the regulars a few short months ago.
It was impossible he had been granted time away from his new post so soon.
“Lord, Lizzy!” Lydia laughed once she reached her, bright-eyed and breathless. “Judging by the look on your face, you could not have suspected a thing, I daresay! What a good joke! How do I look?” she demanded as she spun around, her colourful skirts swirling about her ankles.
Lydia’s enthusiasm was much the same as it ever was and, despite her initial shock at her youngest sister’s arrival, Elizabeth felt a sentimental little smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She moved to embrace her. “You look lovely.”
“I do, do I not?” Lydia answered, pecking her elder sister primly on the cheek.
“It is not quite the fashion in London, but it is well enough for Newcastle. Though there are oceans of officers as far as the eye can see, there are hardly ever any parties or assemblies, so it does not signify what one wears most of the time. I was hoping to order some new gowns while we were in town in any case, but Wickham insists we do not have the funds for it. I shall ask Papa for some pin money while I am here, so I can visit a modiste when we return. Surely, he can spare a few hundred pounds. It has been an age since I have had any new things.”
Marriage had apparently done little to curb Lydia’s spendthrift ways. Rather than remark upon it, Elizabeth said, “I take it, then, Mr Wickham is here as well?”
“Of course, he is here! We are husband and wife, you know, and do nearly everything together. Even though he is on important business for Colonel Whittaker, my dear Wickham insisted I accompany him. Is not that sweet? Since we were headed all the way to London anyway, it was practically nothing to travel to Hertfordshire as well, and so here we are!”
Elizabeth frowned. “If Mr Wickham was sent by his colonel on business, is he not expected to complete his assignment and return immediately to his post?”
Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, la, Lizzy. A few extra days will hardly matter. The journey between Newcastle and London is so long and tedious that no one in the entire regiment will be any the wiser. Besides, I told Wickham I should break my heart if I missed Jane’s wedding.
I could not bear the idea of all of you having such a merry time without me, so of course, we came to Longbourn. He is the best husband, is he not?”
“Has Mamma seen you yet, Lydia?”
“Lord, no, for we have only just arrived. Wickham spotted you as soon as we turned into the drive, and I was determined to catch you before you disappeared into the woods, or else we would have never laid eyes on you again until supper.”
Lydia linked her arm with Elizabeth’s as they began to walk towards the house.
“Wickham can hardly wait to see all of you. Out of all my sisters, I believe you are his favourite. By the by, do not think that means anything. Even though he did pay you a bit of attention in the beginning, in the end he wanted to marry me above everyone.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Of course,” she replied tersely. “How could any of us possibly forget?”
George Wickham was as charming and eager to please as Elizabeth remembered him. She said as much to her Aunt Gardiner, who shook her head in wonderment as she claimed a seat beside her niece in Mrs Bennet’s front parlour and took up her embroidery.
Though his appearance was little altered, and his regimentals flattered his figure, Elizabeth no longer thought Mr Wickham handsome.
Perhaps it was the way he pandered incessantly to her mother, or gratified Kitty’s vanity, or sought to ingratiate himself with her aunt that made Elizabeth see him as less.
Or perhaps it was simply the fact that no matter how outwardly attractive a person appeared to the world, an ugly character once revealed would ultimately render its possessor ugly as well.
“I say, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr Ellis as he commandeered the vacant chair beside her.
“Your brother-in-law gives all the appearance of being a respectable gentleman.” He had arrived with his cousin Maria as the breakfast table was being cleared, and though Mr Bennet had extended an invitation to join Mr Gardiner and himself in Longbourn’s library, Mr Ellis had declined.
Instead, he chose to join the ladies and Mr Wickham, upon whom Elizabeth’s father had not bestowed such a pointed mark of favouritism.
Elizabeth looked up from her fine work to observe her brother-in-law laughing pleasantly with her mother, sisters, and Maria Lucas on the other side of the parlour.
He was all ease and friendliness, compliments, and smiles, and all the ladies, save for Mary, appeared enthralled.
Elizabeth could not imagine why. Mr Wickham’s very presence only served to vex her.
She was desperate for a distraction but more than that, desperate to get away.
“You are a man of the world,” she replied. “You ought to know that appearances can oftentimes be deceiving.”
He regarded her with a raised brow but said nothing in response.
Across the room, the ladies tittered amusedly while Lydia erupted into laughter.
“La, Wickham!” she cried. “You are too entertaining by half!
I daresay all my sisters must envy me—even you, Jane.
Though your Mr Bingley does have five thousand a year, he is not half so much fun, nor so handsome as my husband.
“How grand it would be if someone were to give me five thousand pounds! What pin money and gowns I would have, and what jewels! Mr Bingley will likely buy you half of London, Jane. You are too lucky by far.”
Mrs Gardiner glanced at Elizabeth. “I would have thought,” she remarked, “that Lydia would have learnt restraint once she settled into married life. I am very sorry to see that is not the case.” There was no mistaking the disapproval in her tone.
“You deceive yourself, Aunt,” Elizabeth replied coolly. “Lydia, you see, employs restraint to the same effect that her husband employs candour and economy.”
Mr Ellis’s lips twitched. “You do not like him,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “That much is obvious to me, though I cannot say that I blame you. He is as smooth as butter. I suppose he will be dining with us at Netherfield this evening, for your mother will undoubtedly want to show him off.”
Mr Ellis had no sooner mentioned Netherfield than Elizabeth felt the colour drain from her face.
She was horrified to think of Darcy meeting with Mr Wickham; moreover, she was horrified by what Darcy would likely feel during such a meeting.
Being in the same room would be painful enough, but to have such a wretched association thrust upon him without warning would undoubtedly be worse.
“Oh, Mr Wickham!” Mrs Bennet declared. “You are charity itself for coming all this way! You must stay for a fortnight at least. I could not bear to part with you and Lydia sooner.”