Chapter 4 #2
She stepped back and said in quiet, coquettish tones, “Mr. Wickham! How dare you take such liberties?”
“Forgive me, dear lady. Your beauty makes me forget myself.”
She gave him a haughty glare, accompanied by a teasing smile. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
He quirked a brow, an unspoken promise that it would most definitely happen again.
∞∞∞
Darcy wandered the grounds of Netherfield, past the garden to the woodland beyond. He paid little heed to the path he took. He couldn’t escape his fevered thoughts.
His mind travelled back to the previous summer. He felt as trapped now as he had then. He couldn’t expose Wickham without risking his sister’s reputation. Wickham’s plan to elope with Georgiana had nearly ruined her.
Anger and frustration simmered in Darcy’s blood. In a country the size of England, could he not live free of that one man?
This sojourn in Hertfordshire was proving a disaster. It wasn’t just Wickham. The presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet at Netherfield irritated him as nothing else. Her very nearness was a torment. Even in her absence, knowing he could come upon her at any moment kept him on edge.
Indeed, she spent most of her time in the sickroom. But just a glimpse of her, the soft sound of her footfall, a faint whiff of her sweet violet perfume… They sent a thrill through his blood, made his senses come alive. He ached. The constant awareness was driving him to distraction.
He’d never been one to fall prey to lust or other excesses. He took pride in his restraint. Yet this woman made him feel things more powerfully than ever before. He couldn’t put a name to the sensations, but the intensity was unbearable.
His perambulations led him back towards the house. Fallen leaves carpeted the ground in shades of amber and burgundy. As he neared a gazebo by the formal garden, he stopped short. Elizabeth stood opposite him, approaching the structure from the other direction.
A powerful wave of desire flooded him. Her tempestuous beauty and sumptuous curves were pure torture. A wicked half-smile adorned her lips, and it nearly undid him.
Remembering himself, he bowed. “Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.” She curtseyed. Her expression showed none of the turmoil he felt. Instead, she eyed him quizzically, as if trying to puzzle him out.
It was unnerving to have such scrutiny levelled at him. Behind those enchanting eyes, her analytical mind was working—and her thoughts were directed towards him. Her look was not one of admiration. Did she find him wanting somehow?
He stepped up into the gazebo, and she did the same. A round table with four chairs stood between them. “How is your sister?” he asked.
“Improving,” she said with a smile that lit her face.
He couldn’t help matching her happy expression. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“I expect we’ll be able to leave Netherfield tomorrow.”
Why did he feel a pang of loss at those words? It would be better once Elizabeth was gone, once the temptation of her was removed. He enjoyed her company more than he ought.
“Our society will suffer from your absence,” he said at last.
“Will it?” Her voice was doubtful.
His heart turned leaden. “Do you question my sincerity?”
“I think you will be happily rid of me.”
Heat washed over him. Did she believe he thought so little of her? Or perhaps she sensed his mixed emotions. “Only a fool would wish himself free of your beauty and wit.”
A blush rose in her cheeks. “You didn’t always view me that way. The night we met, you did not find me handsome enough to tempt you to dance.”
Mortification gripped his belly. Her words sounded remarkably like his own. Had she overheard him? No wonder she thought he wanted rid of her.
“I behaved like an abominable fool that night,” he said earnestly. “I’m not fond of dancing, but I should have been more gracious.”
“Yes, you should. But I suppose I must forgive you, since you didn’t wish to create expectations.”
He stiffened. “You’re mocking me.”
“Not mocking. Teasing. As I warned you I would, if we became friends.”
He eyed her intensely. He approached her, the magnetic pull of her growing stronger the closer he got. “Is that what we are?”
She stepped towards him. “I have no objection, if you don’t.”
He wanted to touch her. Wanted…wanted…
He settled for offering his arm. She accepted it, and they took a path that encircled the formal garden. Their feet crunched on gravel as they wound along the beds of yellow chrysanthemums and purple Michaelmas daisies.
The garden stretched before them in elegant symmetry, with box hedges trimmed into precise geometric patterns, their dark green foliage forming intricate knots.
Statuary dotted the landscape—classical figures of shepherdesses and Roman gods, their marble surfaces gleaming white in the afternoon sun.
“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth observed, “though perhaps a bit too orderly for my taste.”
Darcy glanced at her. “You prefer the wilderness, I take it?”
“I do. There’s something about untamed nature that speaks to the soul.” She gestured to the manicured beds. “All this is lovely, but it lacks the spontaneity that makes a landscape truly alive.”
“I agree,” he said.
She startled at that. “Do you?”
“At heart, I’m a gentleman farmer. I spend the season in London because my uncle’s parliamentary duties require him there. I’d rather be in town with my family than snowed in alone at Pemberley. But I suspect I enjoy the unbound countryside as much as you do.”
A smile spread across her features, one that spoke of admiration and sympathy of understanding.
His heart reached out to her, wanting to confess all he felt in that moment. He searched for a subject to distract him from the longing rising in his chest. He recalled Caroline’s words from earlier in the day, and his jaw tightened.
“Since we are friends now,” he said, “allow me to advise you. A new officer, an acquaintance of Mr. Denny, has joined the militia. George Wickham is his name. Your younger sisters associate with Mr. Denny—you should know that Wickham is the basest sort of villain.”
Elizabeth’s brows arched. “Why Mr Darcy, I’m surprised. How would someone of your upright character know such a man?”
She was teasing again. He found he didn’t mind. “Accident of birth. His father was my father’s steward. We grew up together.”
“I see.” She nodded pensively. “I wonder if he goes about warning young ladies to beware of you.”
He turned to her in shock. How could she suggest such a thing? “I beg your pardon?”
“If you were boys together, perhaps there was some rivalry between you,” she joked. “Every story has two sides.”
Confounding woman! Of course there had been a rivalry. But that wasn’t what motivated Darcy now.
He tamped down the brew of emotions stirring inside him. “I confess, my father was fond of George Wickham. Wanted to see him well settled. But at university, Wickham turned into a reprobate. My father never learnt of that, thankfully. He went to his grave thinking the man destined for the church.”
She gave Darcy a knowing smile. “For which Mr. Wickham was ill suited, by the sound of it.”
“Yes. In lieu of the living my father wished for him, I gave Wickham a lump sum to study law. I hoped I’d never see him again. Apparently he squandered those funds, because now he’s seeking more.”
Elizabeth nodded and eyed him assessingly.
“You don’t believe me?” Darcy asked, stunned that she might doubt him.
“Oh, I believe you. The trouble is, you’re a man of high standards. So I can’t know whether Mr. Wickham is truly bad, or just falls short of your expectations.”
“It’s not a matter of high expectations,” he assured her. “The man would not hesitate to compromise a young lady for her dowry.”
Her lips parted. She turned pensive again. “If that’s true, then he’s a rogue indeed. Has Mr. Wickham done such a thing?”
Bitterness rose in Darcy’s throat as he thought of Georgiana. The path wound towards the outer edge of the garden, bounded by tall brick walls. “He has tried.”
That, at last, seemed to satisfy her. “Then I’ll take your warning to heart. I fear it won’t be easy to keep Lydia and Kitty away from Mr. Denny, or any friend of his.”
The youngest of the Bennet girls were given over to frivolity. They took after their mother in that regard, from Darcy’s observations. Their negligible dowries were unlikely to attract Wickham’s interest. But that might not stop him from meddling with them.
A hint of ripe sweetness wafted through the air. Espaliered fruit trees were trained against the wall, their branches spread in fan-like patterns. A few late pears hung heavily on the boughs.
“Would you like me to speak to your father about Mr. Wickham?” Darcy asked.
That seemed to surprise her. She tilted her head a moment, then said, “That’s unnecessary—I’ll advise him. Thank you for your concern.”
He gave a brief nod.
After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Were you and Mr. Wickham ever friends?”
The words pierced his heart like a stiletto. “Growing up, we were the best of friends.”
“That might explain why your nature is guarded now.”
He startled at that. “I wouldn’t describe myself as guarded. Careful, perhaps.”
She smiled coyly. “Is there a difference?”
He drew his brow. “Guarded suggests a general lack of trust. Careful suggests that trust has not yet been won. I’m not suspicious by nature. But trust must be earned.”
She gave him a sideways look.
“You don’t approve,” he said.
“I think it must be difficult to go through life that way. But that might be a difference between a small town and a city like London. I’ve been acquainted with most Meryton residents or their families all my life. They’re a known quantity. In London, that’s not the case.”
The pathway curved back towards the garden’s centre, and they passed under a wooden arbour where late-blooming roses climbed. White and crimson petals released a heady fragrance into the autumn air.
“Have you spent much time in London?” he asked.