Chapter 3
Rosings
The Next Day
Elizabeth lifted the latch of the kitchen door and slipped out into a misty, dreamy morning, the dew still clinging to leaf and twig and grass. Further down the gravel walk, the rotund figure of Mr. Collins bobbed as he tended the kitchen garden, a cheerful whistle on his lips and his back to the parsonage. Elizabeth, in no temper to draw the attention and loquacity of her tiresome cousin, hurried quietly down an adjacent path, tying the strings of her bonnet as she went.
It was a lovely day, and she took a deep breath of the mild air. She had woken but a short time before, feeling claustrophobic and trapped. Even throwing wide the casement of her small guest room had done little to ease this feeling. It was, after all, her own head trapping her, and her legs longed to stretch. At least, she thought, her headache from the evening before had departed.
It had been a truly terrible headache, and Elizabeth had closeted herself into her room to nurse it. She feared she had rather exacerbated it instead, reading through all the letters she had received from Jane of late. Rendered blind by her own contentedness, she had not perceived anything amiss when first she had read them. Now, examining the fine sloping words with a more critical eye, agitation had heightened in her breast. Jane was hallmarked by her serenity, her charity to all, her contentment in her own mind, and the quiet cheerfulness these virtues inevitably instilled. Yet now, these very hallmarks were missing. Not that Jane would ever speak unfavorably of another, but each line, each word, was weighed down now with a pensive melancholy that broke Elizabeth's heart.
She had put the last letter down and looked around the room with a restless grief and anger, her temples throbbing in time with her heaving breaths. But there had been little enough she could do about it that night, and she had felt ill enough, anyway, what with her headache, to even be able to think anything beyond the most condemning imprecations. And so she had gone to bed.
The headache had subsided, but the fury had not, nor the desolate sorrow for poor Jane. Tiny spits of gravel shot from beneath Elizabeth's boot heels as she marched down the path, nervous energy driving her on. She avoided her usual routes, and the paths that she knew Mr. Darcy – or Colonel Fitzwilliam – were wont to use. She had no desire to encounter either man again. Of all the insufferable, arrogant, heartless, unscrupulous ... if she never saw Darcy again, it would be too soon! Nor did she wish to see his cousin, she thought savagely. All relatives of Mr. Darcy, despicable man as he was, were tainted by association. Some rational part of her mind pointed out that she was being unfair, but she squashed it ruthlessly. Was she not, after all, merely using Mr. Darcy's own standards?
But slowly the beauty of her surroundings and the pleasantness of exertion overbore her foul temper. Birds sang above her, in trees that had, day by day, grown more verdant. Squirrels and rabbits rustled through the brush, and a fox peeped through the bushes out at her. Though she had stayed upon the lane, the beauty of Rosings park called to her, and she paused at the gate to admire the lush view within. A small measure of peace crept into Elizabeth’s soul as she gazed at the greensward beyond the wrought iron.
She was about to continue her walk when she heard a male voice call her name, and she turned in surprise, which immediately changed to dismay and anger. Two gentlemen were approaching, the two gentlemen, in fact, whom she least wished to see in all the world. She was tempted to turn on her heel and run away, but she was no coward, and it was not for her to run away, after all. Mr. Darcy, and by extension his cousin, who had the poor taste to be related to the master of Pemberley, were at fault, not she!
“Miss Bennet,” the colonel said a minute later as the two gentlemen came to a halt some six feet away. “We have been walking in the grove for some time, in the hope of meeting you. Darcy?”
Elizabeth turned furious eyes on the gentleman, who bowed deeply and said, “Miss Bennet, I find I must apologize for two things. The first is my stupid and cruel words at the Meryton assembly, when I said that you were not handsome enough to dance with. I was in a bad mood at the time, but that is no excuse. I also ask your forgiveness for my actions regarding my friend Bingley and your sister, the eldest Miss Bennet. I was under the false impression that Miss Bennet did not truly care for Bingley. I acted to separate them because I knew that my friend wished for a union of true affection and believed that he would not achieve such a goal by marrying your sister. I understand, based on what the colonel has told me, that I was entirely wrong in the matter.”
Elizabeth took a few steps forward and tilted her chin up to glower into Mr. Darcy’s face. “Wrong? Wrong ? Indeed, you were wrong. Jane adored ... adores Mr. Bingley. He broke her heart by deserting her in such a way. But I do not know why you are apologizing. You have always disdained the Bennet family and, regardless of Jane’s feelings, doubtless believe that Mr. Bingley is far better off without the inconvenience of such despicable relations by marriage.”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy replied, and to her surprise, there was genuine distress on that handsome face. “I did not realize that you overheard my cruel words at the assembly at Meryton, the evening we first laid eyes on one another. I was in a foul mood and did not even really look at you. Without a doubt, you are exceedingly handsome, and it was my honor to dance with you at the Netherfield ball some weeks later.”
The anger in Elizabeth’s breast cooled briefly at the gentleman’s obvious contrition, only to resurge as another thought came to her mind.
“And what of Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy?” she demanded, inching slightly closer. “On this subject, what can you say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Under what misrepresentation can you impose upon others? How could you have been so cruel…?”
“George Wickham?” the colonel interposed vehemently, causing Elizabeth to turn in surprise. “How on earth has that vile rogue imposed on you, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth could not speak for astonishment, and Mr. Darcy said in response to his cousin, “Wickham is currently serving as a lieutenant in a militia regiment which is stationed in Meryton, the town closest to the Bennet estate of Longbourn.”
The colonel’s mouth opened and closed, and now he looked absolutely furious. “And why did you not tell me this before, Darcy?”
“Because as much as you would like to thrust a sword through the man’s gullet, I do not wish for you to flee for the Continent for murder,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth felt as if someone had doused her with cold water. She knew that Wickham and Darcy disliked one another, but the colonel as well? He had always seemed such an honorable man.
“I would not have killed him,” Richard Fitzwilliam declared in a resentful tone, “and I do not think any reasonable jury would convict me for laming him or something of the sort.”
“What do you have against Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth managed.
The colonel turned such a furious gaze on her that she quailed a little, and Darcy said, “Careful, Richard. Miss Bennet does not know anything about Wickham’s true nature.”
Fury gave way to rueful regret. “My apologies, Miss Bennet. I am well aware that Wickham is a charming man, and it is obvious that Darcy did not see fit to explain the matter to you.”
“What matter?” Elizabeth demanded, now retreating a few steps. Her initial indignation had given way to unease. She liked Mr. Wickham, liked him very much, had even thought she might be a little in love with him. The prospect that there might be something genuinely unpleasant about the handsome lieutenant was frightening.
“He tried to run away with my sister last summer,” Mr. Darcy explained, his patrician face rigid with distress.
Elizabeth retreated another step.
“Miss Darcy?” she breathed.
“Yes,” the colonel continued, his fists clenching dangerously. “Darcy had hired a governess companion named Mrs. Younge for Georgiana, and the lady – no, she is no lady – the woman asked if she and Georgiana could travel to Ramsgate for a holiday. Darcy agreed as he was caught up with business in London, and the city is not the healthiest place in the summer months.”
“I finished my business early,” Darcy continued, picking up the story, “and journeyed to the sea to surprise my sister. I arrived to discover Mr. Wickham ensconced with Georgiana in the parlor of the rental house, with Mrs. Younge looking on with pleasure. My sister was but fifteen at the time and told me that she was in love with Wickham and was planning to elope with him. I discovered, to my horror, that Mrs. Younge and Wickham had been acquainted for some years, and that they had hatched up a plan to convince my sister, who had fond memories of Wickham from her childhood, to wed the man.”
Elizabeth felt as if her heart would beat out of her chest. It was incredible. It was impossible. It was…
She looked at the colonel with mute appeal in her eyes, and he said heavily, “I am sorry, Miss Bennet, as it seems apparent that you care for the scoundrel. Wickham has been a dissolute villain for some years and is a great enemy of Darcy’s. My Uncle Darcy was a wonderful man, but a fool regarding his stepson.”
“Wickham was careful around my father,” Darcy added. “He never displayed his more degenerate behavior in my father’s presence.”
“What of the church living?” Elizabeth whispered.
The Colonel snorted like an angry bull and walked an agitated circle, while Darcy said, “My father was very fond of Wickham, and recommended in his will a valuable church living at Kympton, which is near Pemberley. Fortunately, Wickham informed me that he did not wish to be ordained and asked for three thousand pounds to give up all rights to Kympton. I agreed with alacrity, as I knew Wickham would be a terrible clergyman. He took the money, plus the thousand pounds left to him in my father’s will, and departed for London, where he spent it all in wild living.”
“Like the prodigal son,” Elizabeth said and then realized it was a poor comparison, as the Biblical son had returned to his father, whereas Wickham…
“I am sorry,” she said and suddenly her headache was back a hundred fold. “I had no idea.”
“It is Darcy’s fault for not telling you,” the colonel declared, turning an indignant eye on his cousin. “What were you thinking? Wickham is entirely capable of seducing a half dozen young women in Meryton. You know what he is like!”
“He is a seducer?” Elizabeth demanded in horror.
“Oh yes, very much so. Indeed, Darcy is supporting some three women in Derbyshire who bore his children, and that is to say nothing of unknown women in London!”
“Richard!” Darcy exclaimed.
The colonel winced openly and said, “My apologies, Miss Bennet. I fear my anger caused me to speak intemperately. And Darcy, you are not in the least responsible for Wickham’s crimes, of course.”
Elizabeth felt her eyes fill with tears, and she said, “I am guilty of defending him and was obviously a fool to do so. Would you do me the courtesy of allowing me to think on this alone?”
“Certainly, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said immediately, and the colonel muttered his agreement.
She curtseyed slightly and then turned on her heel and rushed toward the parsonage, unaware of the longing eyes of Mr. Darcy behind her.