Chapter 10
Ten
The first sighs of spring could be felt in the breeze at Elizabeth’s back as she enjoyed a long stroll through the small park near her uncle’s house.
Every morning prior had been frosty and unpleasantly damp, but Mother Nature was at last rousing from her hibernation, and the flora and fauna of the world was answering her sleepy call.
The birds were chirping, the trees unfurling new leaves, and inaugural flowers of the new year sprouted along the lane, basking in the intermittent sunlight.
Mr Bingley’s insistence on walking out had paid off handsomely.
And yet, the eagerly awaited signs of forthcoming warmer weather did not hold her attention as they should.
As they strode down the tree-lined avenue arm in arm, Elizabeth could not help stealing a few glances at the gentleman by her side, surreptitiously viewing him around the rim of her bonnet.
What was it about Mr Darcy that made him so intriguing to her?
The obvious answer would be his looks, for he was as handsome a man as any she had seen in her lifetime, and a great deal more attractive to the female eye than most. Indeed, he was very nearly perfect.
He was tall, his form upright and strong, his shoulders broad, and his profile distinguished.
More than that, his jaw cut a sharp angle that seemed capable of slicing through any substance.
Even his teeth were admirably straight, something she had recently learnt when she had unexpectedly induced him to laugh at one of her quips.
The only trait he bore that was less than symmetrical was his wildly curly hair, and this only made him yet more alluring by softening his otherwise immaculate composition.
If not his handsome visage—for Elizabeth would hate to consider herself so abominably shallow—her interest might lie in his intelligence, which was somehow more impressive than his figure.
Although most gentlemen, by dint of their superior education, could claim some general familiarity with literature and the sciences, rarely were they well versed in these subjects.
Mr Darcy, had he not been the scion of a great estate, well might have pursued a career teaching at either of the universities in England.
And yet, he did not speak down to her or attempt to explain the simplest concepts as if Elizabeth were merely an ignorant female.
On the contrary, he solicited her opinions and teased out the nuances of them, seeking to understand her point of view.
They often agreed, but even when they did not, they were sure to canvass the reasons why; he had convinced her over to his way of thinking a few times, she had successfully wooed him over to hers more than once, and they were even able to agree to disagree on occasion.
Never had she indulged in such free-flowing conversation with a man—not even her father, who was prone to turning their discourse into a joke when he could not defend his position, belittling their argument with his jocular manner.
She supposed this was a father’s prerogative when debating his child, but it wounded her pride all the same.
Mr Darcy had laughed alongside her on occasion, but never at her.
There was also his compassion, which she had previously not given him due credit for.
Certainly, there was his great deed in service of Mr Bingley and Jane, who walked behind them at a discreet distance, but it was not only this that drew Elizabeth’s admiration.
Given his penchant for pride, she would have expected Mr Darcy to speak to servants with impatience whenever he deigned to speak to them at all.
This was what she had come to expect from Miss Bingley, and she had previously believed them of a similar ilk.
Instead, Mr Darcy was courteous, understanding, and never cruel to those in his service.
When Elizabeth thought back, she realised he had behaved the same way in Hertfordshire, even when his mask of forbearance slipped around those closer to his station.
She could not condone how he had disdained her neighbours, but she supposed that they had not treated him with any great deal of deference, either.
More than likely, it was a combination of all these things that had tugged at her fascination since Mr Darcy had begun to court her, though she could not but suspect another intangible…
something that maintained it. She could not put her finger on it, but he continued to draw her eye long past the point she had usually completed her character sketch and moved on to another. What is it?
“You appear thoughtful.”
Elizabeth started and hastily withdrew her gaze, but not before discerning the telltale curve of a smirk along Mr Darcy’s mouth. Her cheeks tingled at being caught staring. “I am merely trying to make out your character, sir. You continue to puzzle me exceedingly.”
“Do I?” There was the rumble of a chuckle in his voice. “I should think I have become an open book to you. If you require any clarification on my finer points, I shall be happy to elucidate.”
She was about to bashfully decline his offer when struck by a conundrum that had always plagued her. She ought to treat the subject delicately, for she knew it was one he disliked. Did she dare?
Looking to him again, this time with open scrutiny, Elizabeth searched his face for any trace of polite insincerity. Mr Darcy submitted readily to her examination, awaiting her pleasure. “I do have an enquiry, but I daresay it will not be to your liking.”
Mr Darcy’s features tightened, his cordiality dimming, yet he did not withdraw. “I suspect I know what you mean to ask, and I assure you that my invitation still stands. Ask me anything and I shall reply honestly.”
“Very well. What is your history with Mr Wickham?”
Mr Darcy appeared struck by her query, though not in the way she had expected. If she were not mistaken, there was flicker of surprise in his countenance rather than the anticipated resignation. “Mr Wickham?”
“Yes. Back in the autumn, he told me of your longstanding connexion, as well as the nature of its dissolution. Since coming to know you better, I find myself less inclined to believe all his assertions unequivocally, for they do not seem to suit your character. I should like to know the truth of the matter, though I feel impertinent in asking.”
He was quiet a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. Elizabeth allowed this without complaint, knowing that her request must be a painful one to him. He and Mr Wickham had supposedly been friends once, and the break would necessarily have been difficult for them both.
At length, Mr Darcy began, “Of what he has particularly accused me of, I am ignorant, but I suspect he has swindled you with partial truths. I can only refute his calumny by relating to you the whole of it, as witnessed by more than one person of undoubted veracity. You see, Mr Wickham is the son of a very respectable man…”
As Mr Darcy’s tale unfolded, Elizabeth’s mouth slowly widened in incremental horror.
It seemed that, far from Mr Wickham’s previous claims of ill-use, he was a knave of the first order.
Not only had he willingly declined the living he alleged to have been wantonly denied him, but he had asked for and been granted a good deal of money to resign all assistance in the church by the Darcy family thereafter.
Three thousand pounds—in addition to the one thousand the elder Mr Darcy had bequeathed him outright—was a princely sum, nearly twice Longbourn’s annual income.
By his former friend’s report, he had spent every penny in only three years and returned with his hand out for more.
This information was more than enough to blacken him in Elizabeth’s books forever, but Mr Darcy was far from finished with his narrative.
After rightfully being denied additional remuneration, Mr Wickham had turned his sights to a new victim—Mr Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister.
Having been on the receiving end of Mr Wickham’s flattery herself, Elizabeth could easily imagine how Miss Darcy had been taken in by his golden looks and easy charm.
Had her brother not arrived in Ramsgate just in time to prevent the elopement, there was little doubt that the poor girl would have been ruined forever.
“Oh, Mr Darcy.” His name escaped her on a quivering breath. “I am so sorry for what you have endured from that…that…”
He placed his hand atop hers where it rested on his forearm and squeezed. “Whatever invective you are considering, no matter how foul, it suits him. You need not apologise on his behalf, however, for he does not deserve even that much clemency.”
“I am sure you are right, but it does not prevent me from being indignant on your behalf for suffering the betrayal of a false friend. Worse, he proceeds to spread lies about you that I shamefully believed! I shall not speak on his behalf, but I do hope that you can forgive me for ever giving credence to that lout’s slander. ”
Mr Darcy’s countenance softened as undeserved magnanimity spilled from his lips. “I readily forgive you, of course, for you could not have known his true nature. As I mentioned to you once before, Mr Wickham is eminently capable of making friends, even if he has difficulty retaining them for long.”
“He has certainly lost my friendship in a way that can never be regained,” she replied hotly, burning with outraged indignation. “I despise liars!”
Mr Darcy’s face paled, and he swallowed hard. “Ahem, as to that, I have been meaning to speak to you about—”
“Yes! Yes, of course I shall marry you!”
Whatever Mr Darcy had been about to say was cut short by a jubilant cry that arose from behind them.
They both turned to find Jane sobbing into her cupped hands while Mr Bingley beamed beside her.
In a moment she was in her newly betrothed’s arms while a small gaggle of others in the park lightly clapped at the spectacle.
Elizabeth, caught up in the resplendent joy of the moment, released her escort’s arm and hurried to congratulate her sister.
As delighted as he was for Bingley in obtaining his heart’s desire, Darcy’s pleasure was tainted by a stab of irritation at his friend’s unfortunate timing.
He had been meaning to tell Elizabeth of his former plot to keep the happy couple apart for the past three weeks, but there had never seemed to be a good time.
Now, just as he had plucked up the courage to unburden his soul to her, he was thwarted at the worst possible moment by Bingley’s proposal.
Well, that was not entirely true, he supposed. There had been several chances for him to do what needs must, but Darcy had baulked at every one for fear of ruining the progress he had made in attaining her affections.
And progress there had been, he was reasonably certain.
While Elizabeth had used to pepper him with snide quips—ones he had mistakenly taken as flirtation on her part in the autumn—at every given opportunity, now she engaged him with enquiries over his reading practices and begged him to recommend his favourite poets.
Her saucy smiles were no less frequent than before but now lacked the edge that, in retrospect, ought to have warned him that she meant to be cutting.
Most promising of all was the glimmer in her fine eyes whenever he entered her aunt’s parlour, a clear spark of eagerness for his company that verily made her glow like some ethereal creature.
He was more in love with her than ever, and he dared to hope that she might return his feelings in some small measure.
The only thing that tainted his optimism was the knowledge that Elizabeth did not yet know of his previous treachery.
Would she feel differently about him once she knew?
He both did and did not wish to unburden himself to her, plagued by the horrible supposition that this confession would destroy the fragile understanding they had come to.
It would be even worse to live with such guilt constantly weighing upon his conscience, so of course he must tell her.
Her heart was only worth obtaining if she handed it over to him with perfect honesty between them.
Alas, he was doomed to wait for another day.