Chapter 2
“Wake up, you bloody sod.”
George Wickham roused to the sound of his friend Denny’s voice and the vibration of a stiff kick to the bedframe. He squinted at the light streaming in through the crack between the drawn curtains.
“What time is it?” he asked, sitting up.
“Nearly noon. I rode here all the way from Hertfordshire this morning, whilst you’re still abed.”
“I had a late night.”
“I can see that.” Denny picked up an empty gin bottle from atop a rickety table—the only piece of furniture in the room other than the bed, a chair, and a chest of drawers.
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”
Denny eyed the cramped quarters in disgust. “You can expect rats if you keep living in this pigsty. And the landlord will let any bugger who puts a coin in his palm into your room. Fortunately, I’ve a solution to your problem.”
Wickham pulled his trousers on. “And what would that be?”
Denny shot him a broad smile. “An heiress.”
That cleared the muddle in Wickham’s brain. “I’m listening.”
“Her name is Jane Bennet. As pretty a woman as ever I saw. From what I can tell, her dowry is five thousand, and she stands to inherit an estate worth two thousand a year. She’s innocent and gullible—just the way you like them.”
Wickham looked at him sideways. It sounded too good to be true. “If she’s such a paragon, then why don’t you marry her?”
“Because soon I’ll have my pick of debutantes. The old viscount can’t last much longer. He can cut off my allowance because he doesn’t like the way I live—but he can’t stop me from inheriting.”
Wickham considered a moment. He needed to get out of London. He’d racked up too many debts, and the widow he was bedding had cut him off.
“I haven’t any blunt to set myself up in Hertfordshire,” he said, his mind busy weighing his options.
“My militia regiment is looking for officers. The pay is shite, but the barracks are better than this hovel. Besides, women love a man in uniform.”
The militia! Wickham had no intention of fighting the French. “You’re overlooking one important fact. What if Boney invades?”
“If he does, it won’t be until spring at least. You can resign as soon as you convince the heiress to marry you. No need to worry about getting shot protecting the fatherland.”
“Isn’t a militia officer required to own land?” Wickham asked.
“Normally. But this is wartime. Any educated man will do. They’ll even give you a signing bonus. All you need is a uniform,”
Wickham brushed his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t even got the blunt for that.”
“What about your latest patroness?”
Wickham cocked his head. The widow had her sights set on a baron just out of mourning. She might refuse to cover Wickham’s gaming debts, but perhaps she’d pay to be rid of him for good.
“That could work.” A smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. He’d never spent much time in Hertfordshire. His reputation wouldn’t follow him there.
It was a good plan. If Jane Bennet was as innocent as Denny said, she didn’t stand a chance against Wickham.
∞∞∞
That afternoon, Lizzy strode into the library at Netherfield. Her arms were laden with books. She stopped short at the sight of Darcy standing at the window wearing a haughty expression. She hesitated a moment, wishing to avoid him.
But the books were heavy. Perhaps she should simply rid herself of them and be on her way.
“I beg your pardon,” she said as she stepped inside. “I didn’t realise the room was occupied.”
In a moment he was at her elbow, relieving her of her burden. “Allow me.”
Her pulse jumped at his closeness as he took the books from her arms. His clean scent washed over her, wool and sandalwood and man. Tension coiled in her belly.
She hated the way her body reacted to him. Were it not for his inexcusable pride, Darcy would be a fine gentleman. He boasted a noble lineage and a grand estate in Derbyshire. That ought to make him the object of every marriageable young lady in Hertfordshire.
As it stood, his aloof nature and condescending air warned them all away.
Darcy set the books atop the broad table sitting in the middle of the room. The library was lined with windows on the two outer walls, and shelves on the inner. It was a bright, pleasant space.
“Is this what Miss Bennet has been reading?” Darcy asked quizzically. “A farmer’s almanac, Fordyce’s sermons, Newton’s Principia?”
Lizzy couldn’t keep a grin from stealing across her face. “This is what a maid brought her. The poor thing probably can’t read herself. Perhaps she chose books based on how pretty their spines are.”
Darcy chuckled. “They do have handsome spines.”
Their eyes met a moment, the mirth in his expression matching her own.
She warned herself not to let down her defences. This man had insulted her the night they met. He considered himself above her. No friendship could exist between them.
Composing herself, she said, “I planned to get Jane some novels or poetry. But look at this vast collection! Did the books come with the house, or did Mr. Bingley bring his own?”
“Both,” Darcy explained. “Bingley’s are all marked with his book-plate, and kept on these shelves.” Darcy motioned towards the ones nearest the door.
“Ah. That’s convenient.” She turned to peruse Bingley’s collection. It likely held the most recent selections.
She expected that Darcy, given his taciturn disposition, would leave her to her task. Instead, he asked, “Is your sister resting?”
“She is. She tires easily.”
His features softened in concern. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Lizzy’s heart gave a little squeeze at his solicitude. It was difficult to stay annoyed with someone who showed kindness towards Jane. But of course, he was simply being polite. It meant nothing.
“She isn’t feverish, at least,” Lizzy said. “I expect the illness will pass soon.”
“I’ll pray for her quick recovery.”
“Thank you.” She arched her brows. “Eager to be rid of us?”
His jaw fell, but he quickly regained his composure. “Not at all. Our little group here could benefit from some variety.”
“That’s gracious of you.” She eyed him curiously. “Do you miss London society?”
He scowled, as if it seemed a strange question. “I miss my uncle’s family. Since Parliament has adjourned, they’re all back in Derbyshire. And I miss the plays and concerts. Not the balls and soirées.”
Lizzy wondered why that was. “You don’t enjoy dancing?”
“No.”
She choked back a laugh. “That’s a definitive answer.”
He hesitated a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I take no pleasure in small talk with strangers. And asking a lady to dance is often viewed as a prelude to courtship. It can create false expectations. I don’t wish to mislead anyone.”
She bit back a smile. The man was so serious! What must it be like to imagine his every action infused with such gravity?
“What flights of fancy you imagine in my sex,” she teased. “Usually, a dance is just a dance.”
“I wish that were so.” His mouth set into a hard line.
Annoyance bloomed in her chest at his easy dismissal. “A woman may dance with a dozen men in an evening. Surely she doesn’t think all of them intend to offer for her.”
“You’re exaggerating my words,” he said with some heat, “to make me sound ridiculous.”
There was the disagreeable Mr. Darcy she knew. She straightened her posture. “That’s not my intention, sir.”
“Then what is your intention? You mock my situation when you know nothing about it.”
“I may not know you, but I know a woman’s heart. We’re not so silly as to think that every man who speaks to us is falling in love.”
His dark eyes flashed. “I said nothing about love. I spoke of expectations. Those are entirely different things.”
She struggled to keep her tone light and teasing. “Goodness, what a high opinion you have of yourself! You think that just by condescending to dance with a woman, you create expectations?”
“In some cases, yes.”
Lizzy couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I beg your pardon. I assure you, I don’t mean to mock you.” But she did mean to mock him. Of course she did. How could she respond otherwise?
Darcy’s colour rose. “Through an accident of birth, I’m one of the wealthiest men in England.
Though I have no title, I come from a noble family.
I’m in good health and of a marriageable age.
All of that makes me a catch, Miss Bennet.
In London, I’m not allowed to forget it.
So forgive me if attending balls makes me feel like a fox with the hounds on his heels. ”
Lizzy stared. His unmitigated pride left her too astonished to speak.
The ire on his face did not abate. He looked away a moment, then said, “Allow me to fetch Bingley. He can find more appropriate reading material for your sister.” Darcy bowed and quickly departed.
Seething, Lizzy watched him go. She breathed as if she’d just run the three miles from Longbourn. Each moment, her humiliation at his words grew.
She already knew he despised her. So why did his rebuke leave her feeling so chastened?
Her throat thickened. Did he think she was after his fortune? Was he warning her off? If so, he wouldn’t have to do it twice.
A man who held women in such contempt was of no interest to her. She better understood his aloof manner now—but still, his arrogance was insufferable. She wanted nothing to do with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
∞∞∞
After sending Bingley to the library, Darcy stomped out to the garden and into the wilderness beyond. What had just happened? He never exposed his emotions to strangers, and especially not to innocent young women.
The truth was, Elizabeth didn’t seem like a stranger. He felt an odd connection between them. As if he could say anything to her. As if she were the one person on earth who would understand.
But that was rubbish. She spoke only to mock. He must rid himself of the idea he could confide in her.