Chapter V
Before their evening at Longbourn, Darcy knew he needed to speak to his sister.
Though Georgiana had recovered from the previous summer, the possibility of the youngest Bennet sisters speaking of George Wickham was not negligible, and he did not wish for his sister to learn of the scoundrel’s presence through such unrestrained means.
Thus, when they retired to their chambers to prepare for the evening to come, Darcy asked his sister for a moment of her time in the sitting-room.
Georgiana consented, though her curiosity was evident.
“I have something to tell you, Georgiana, and I fear it will not be pleasant.”
Now confused, Georgiana exclaimed: “What do you mean?”
There was no way to soften it. “George Wickham is in Meryton.”
Had he not been paying attention, he might have mistaken the subtle reaction, the slight lessening of color in her cheeks, or the widening of her eyes. It was less than he had feared, however, which was reassuring.
“Mr. Wickham,” said she. “Whatever can he be doing here?”
“There is a regiment of militia quartered in Meryton—Wickham has accepted a commission, a lieutenancy, if you can believe it.”
Appearing a little affronted, Georgiana said: “Our cousin Anthony would laugh.”
Darcy smiled at his sister, encouraged by her composure. “He would claim that there is no man more ill-suited for the discipline of military life, and he would be correct.”
Georgiana appeared to consider this. “Do you suppose he followed you here for some reason of his own? To make trouble, perhaps?”
“Nothing Wickham dares would surprise me, but in this instance, I do not think he did—it was misfortune and nothing more. When I saw him on the street, I caught the exact moment he noticed my presence. Though Wickham pretends to be the consummate gentleman, he has ever been an open book to me. Wickham did not expect to find me here.”
“You should do something about him,” said Georgiana quietly.
There was some sense in what Georgiana said, though Darcy was loath to acknowledge it.
Disgusted with the man’s habits and weary of cleaning up after him, Darcy had paid Wickham the sum stipulated in his father’s will and much more to induce him to give up all claim to the Kympton living, intending to wash his hands of the man forever.
Then Wickham had intruded on his life again with his attempt on Georgiana’s dowry, and this latest encounter in Meryton.
What stayed Darcy’s hand was not any residual loyalty to his one-time friend or what Fitzwilliam would call his nostalgia or respect for his father’s favorite.
Rather, it was a profound exhaustion of spirit, the desire to be free of George Wickham’s machinations forever.
Wickham was someone else’s responsibility—Darcy would no longer deal with him.
“The burden of dealing with Wickham’s excesses is no longer mine, Georgiana,” he told his sister, not unkindly. “It is enough if he keeps his distance.”
Georgiana did not appear convinced. “And if he makes a nuisance of himself or approaches me?”
“Then I will deal with him decisively. I still have his debt receipts and may use them at any time.”
“Very well, Brother,” replied Georgiana. “You need not concern yourself with me—I have learned my lesson and will never allow Mr. Wickham to charm me again.”
Pleased, Darcy touched her cheek. “That is good to know, Georgiana. Our mother would be proud of you, for you have become quite the young lady.”
Georgiana blushed at the praise and gave him a shy smile.
As it was time to depart, Darcy rose and offered his arm to his sister, guiding her to the entrance where Bingley was waiting.
It occurred to Darcy that his sister had matured these past months, perhaps forced to it by the actions of George Wickham.
Given their destination that night, she might need all the maturity she could muster.
BY THE TIME MR. BINGLEY and the Darcys arrived that evening, Elizabeth had all but convinced herself that she would meet a female version of Mr. Darcy—proud and satirical.
Elizabeth tried to remind herself not to judge the girl sight unseen, but her opinion of Mr. Darcy was akin to an immovable object.
A man such as he must have passed some of his tendencies down to a much younger sister.
Elizabeth’s instincts were proven correct—when the party arrived, Miss Darcy held back beside her brother, her manner closed and uncommunicative.
Mr. Darcy was not much better, for he watched the Bennets as if he thought them entirely unsuitable acquaintances for his dear sister.
Elizabeth was much more confident in this assessment than in the other, for all that Miss Darcy seemed like an impossibly proud creature.
“Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley upon gaining the room. “Please allow me to introduce my friend’s sister to your acquaintance.”
“Of course, Mr. Bingley,” said Mrs. Bennet, her tone approaching pleasure, “we should be happy to accept.”
The introductions proceeded, and the Bennets welcomed their visitors, and for a time, little else passed between them.
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her welcome, and Kitty and Lydia, curious about this girl their age who had appeared in their midst, did their best to draw her out.
Their manners were, of course, boisterous, showing little restraint.
Miss Darcy was shocked by their entreaties, but she showed little other reaction.
She also responded with nothing more than monosyllabic answers.
Then Mrs. Bennet took charge of the situation. “Miss Darcy,” said she, clucking like a mother hen, “you must come and sit next to me, my dear, for I am eager to come to know you. Come, my dear.”
Though Miss Darcy shot a pleading look at her brother, she acquiesced and allowed Mrs. Bennet to lead her away.
It was fortunate that Mrs. Bennet did not require a response, for Miss Darcy did not offer one.
The conversation existed entirely on Mrs. Bennet’s side for a time.
This was when Elizabeth noted some softening of Miss Darcy’s manners.
“I have been in London of late,” said Miss Darcy in answer to Mrs. Bennet’s persistent questions. “Usually, my brother and I return to his estate in Derbyshire after the season, and sometimes we do not return to town until the following season.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes found Mr. Darcy, who was watching the interaction closely. “This year, Mr. Darcy attended Mr. Bingley at Netherfield.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Darcy.
“And where is your brother’s estate?” asked Mrs. Bennet. “I have never been to the north, but surely there are some landmarks that will place it.”
“It is east of the peaks,” replied Miss Darcy. “Near the market town of Lambton.”
“Lambton,” said Mrs. Bennet, as if testing the sound of it on her tongue. “Lizzy, is Lambton not the name of the town your aunt talks about?”
Surprised, Elizabeth nodded. “I believe it is.”
Miss Darcy regarded them curiously—her brother appeared suspicious. “Your aunt lives in Lambton?”
“No, Aunt Gardiner lives in London,” replied Elizabeth. “When she was a girl, she lived in Lambton, but she has not returned in many years.”
“Then perhaps we have mutual acquaintances living there,” said Georgiana, looking to her brother.
“It is possible,” conceded Mr. Darcy, though Elizabeth did not think he said it with any enthusiasm.
“Then perhaps you may judge for yourself,” said Mrs. Bennet. “My brother and sister join us for Christmas every year. If you remain through the season, you shall make their acquaintance.”
That Mr. Darcy was not eager to be introduced to a tradesman and his wife was not hidden from anyone who cared to look. Miss Darcy chose that moment to retreat into silence, further proving the supposition that she liked the notion no better than her brother.
Mrs. Bennet continued to prattle on, drawing only murmurs from Miss Darcy when she answered at all.
Elizabeth could not make the girl out at all.
On the one hand, she had this picture in her mind, the one Mr. Wickham had offered, of Miss Darcy as a haughty, proud sort of girl.
But Miss Darcy displayed no haughtiness that Elizabeth could detect, only a reserve that hinted at discomfort, but for what, Elizabeth could not fathom.
When Kitty and Lydia drew near, Miss Darcy grew even more withdrawn if that was even possible, rarely offering even the slightest hint of an answer.
Lydia grew tired of this after a time, and Elizabeth thought she was on the verge of delivering some caustic comment.
A warning look from her mother made Lydia reconsider whatever she was about to say.
Thereafter, the girls sat close together whispering, though their usual giggles were absent.
There was something about Miss Darcy that suggested she was ill at ease, though Elizabeth could not divine any reason for it.
Mrs. Bennet spoke to her, and though Miss Darcy’s responses were brief, she was paying attention, even allowing a slight smile to grace her features on occasion.
Elizabeth could not quite make her out. It was this, as much as anything else, that prompted her to speak to the girl when the opportunity arose.
“It is good to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy,” said she to the girl, offering a warm smile and wondering how she would respond. “Having heard so much of you, I almost feel like I know you.”
Miss Darcy’s responding gaze was uncertain. “William does speak of me—we are the closest of siblings.”
Eyes finding Mr. Darcy, noting how he watched them, Elizabeth turned back to Miss Darcy. “Your brother spoke of you once or twice. But Miss Bingley had much to say in praise of your abilities.”
The slight moue of distaste was unmistakable. “Yes, I can imagine what Miss Bingley had to say.”