Chapter 10 #2
“I know it must appear that way, but I have long discovered that Darcy’s pretence of honour is only a mask to disguise his true resentful disposition. I am not sure what will happen when we meet again, but I know myself to be less guilty than he is in this matter…”
“Yes, indeed…” she said, distraught and oblivious to Wickham’s last words.
“However, I trust he will not be long in the neighbourhood. From what I know, he is expected to marry his cousin, Anne de Bourgh, soon. I understand your cousin, Mr. Collins, is closely affiliated with Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
A cage of ice trapped Elizabeth’s chest, choking her inside as she had the final confirmation of her fears.
But more than her own disappointment, she was grieved by the disturbing truth about Darcy.
She had never suspected him of such a horrible, vengeful nature.
And to discover such abysmal, dark shades in his character added more bitterness and grief to her already pained heart.
It was yet further evidence of how trusting and silly she had been to allow herself to be enchanted by his slightly improved manners, in only a few days.
“Lizzy, Mr. Wickham, come and dance!” Lydia called out, impetuously grabbing Wickham’s arm. He followed her reluctantly, with a lingering gaze and the same smile towards Elizabeth.
While Lydia tried unsuccessfully to convince Mary to play and the others to dance, Elizabeth fought against the tears that burned her eyes.
Shattered dreams that she did not know existed until that morning, disappointment in him and in herself, pain and sorrow turned into a storm that froze her by the window, lost and lonely in the middle of a loud crowd, praying for the time to pass quickly so she could escape from the cheerfulness, so opposite to her own gloom.
∞∞∞
Darcy rode around Netherfield until his horse showed signs of tiredness.
The amazement of seeing Wickham in Meryton, and in Elizabeth’s close company stunned and alarmed him at the same time.
As always when Wickham was involved, his anger fought with the recollection of his father’s feelings for that scoundrel, impeding his actions and making him question his own judgement.
What was that cheat doing there? Obviously, Lieutenant Denny was the one who introduced him to the Bennet ladies, but what was the purpose of his appearance in Hertfordshire?
Equally tormenting for him was Elizabeth’s strange expression and her reluctance to meet his gaze.
They had separated on such good terms the previous night that he looked forward to the dawn coming and the hours passing until they could call at Longbourn.
Once there, he met Mrs. Bennet’s greeting, which seemed less enthusiastic than before, and the news that the Bennet daughters were in Meryton.
Mrs. Bennet also behaved differently–he thought–but spending only minutes with her, he quickly dismissed that thought.
They hurried to Meryton – and there they were.
Eager to see Elizabeth and speak to her, he felt rejected and hurt by her appearing to intentionally ignore him.
And worried. Until his eyes happened upon the last man in the world he expected to see there.
Had he told Elizabeth his usual falsehoods about their past dealings?
Had Wickham misrepresented him to Elizabeth? Had she so readily believed him?
He was too distraught and trusted his temper too little to remain in that company– so he quickly turned his horse and left.
Afterwards, he felt himself too weak, too cowardly, blaming himself for leaving Elizabeth in Wickham’s company instead of confronting him.
But there were many details behind his history with Wickham that he could not allow to be known, so he chose to avoid the risk of a public disagreement.
Then, once he had arrived at Netherfield, he stopped in the library, musing and considering a return to Lucas Lodge. At least, he would have the opportunity to talk to Elizabeth and find out what was troubling her.
Bingley’s entrance ended Darcy’s reflections and brought him the piece of information he needed.
Tired after the ride, red-faced and restless, Bingley poured himself a glass of wine and stopped, standing in front of his friend.
“Well?” he asked.
“What do you want me to say, Bingley?”
“Anything that could explain your strange behaviour,” Bingley responded. “If you will be so kind as to do me this favour. I was left looking like a fool, trying to explain your refusal to be in those people’s company. That is how they took it.”
“I apologise. It had nothing to do with the company. Except for one person’s. Did you make the acquaintance of a certain Wickham?”
“Mr. Wickham? Yes!”
“What is he doing here?”
“He joined the militia recently. Who is he?”
“My father’s godson and biggest disappointment, a failure of both my father as well as myself.”
Bingley listened dumbfounded, trying to understand the explanation and Darcy’s apparent growing anger.
“I will explain a few things about Wickham, only enough so you understand why I wish to never see him again, or be in his company. I will only refer to the financial arrangements and avoid any reference to personal implications, although those were more grave and more painful.”
Bingley sat in silence, clutching his glass, his stare following Darcy, who started to pace the library while speaking.
For half an hour, Bingley learned about Wickham’s parents, about the support he had been given at school by Mr. Darcy, about his faulty and deceitful character, about his disguise and lies, about his nerve to ask for financial compensation and then return for more, about his tendency to sully Darcy’s name.
While the narration slowly calmed Darcy, it angered Bingley to the point he wished to call Wickham out immediately. It was Darcy’s turn to make him see reason and to decide together the best course of action.
“Is there any chance that he has become an honourable man and wishes an honest living in the militia?” Bingley enquired wistfully.
“We may hope that, but I doubt it very much. However, now that you ask, there could be a small chance. If I expose him now, I could ruin it–as well as his future–forever. And I do not want to carry that burden, unless it is necessary.”
“He did not mention you at all, to me.”
“But did you notice if he spoke to Miss Bennet?” Darcy enquired.
“Which one?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Not at all, at least not while I was there.”
“I see…”
“So, what should we do?” Bingley asked. “About Wickham.”
“I will speak to him tomorrow morning. And then decide upon the proper action to take.”
“As you wish. Darcy?”
“Yes?”
“I intend to propose to Miss Bennet. Miss Jane Bennet,” Bingley added hesitantly. “What do you think?”
“I think you should go to it,” Darcy said readily, his mind travelling between Wickham and Elizabeth without a moment of rest.