Chapter Nine
I had an opportunity to dance; I did not take it, Elizabeth reminded herself as she watched the dancers in front of her. But the reminder that she had declined a dance with Mr. Darcy did little to assuage her usual sense of isolation at gatherings such as this.
Perhaps it was because she usually had her sisters for company, but at today’s event, Jane danced with Mr. Bingley, and her other sisters were accompanied by militia officers. She exchanged pleasantries with some of the local women, but as usual, they kept her at arm’s length.
It hardly signifies. I do not need their friendship, and I am not in a dancing mood. Being near Mr. Darcy only stirred up longing and loss—a bitter reminder that she had not made much progress at falling out of love with him.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth started. Lost in thought, she had not noticed Mr. Wickham. “I beg your pardon!” she stammered. “I was woolgathering.”
“A woman as lovely as yourself need never beg anyone’s pardon,” he said smoothly. Elizabeth knew it was empty flattery but was still grateful he made her feel attractive. He sketched a little bow. “I sought you out in the hopes that you might be amenable to partnering me in the coming dance.”
Why not? The man was charming and graceful. She had no doubt he would be a good partner. “I would be delighted.”
“I am honored.” He held out his hand, and she took it.
She was correct that Mr. Wickham was an elegant dancer. It was a joy to stand up with such a handsome and adept partner. Her curiosity regarding his relationship with Mr. Darcy was rewarded early in the set. “Are you well acquainted with Mr. Darcy?” he asked.
“Not well, no,” Elizabeth responded. Particularly since I only just learned his real name.
Mr. Wickham frowned rather theatrically. “But I heard that he accompanied your family to the assembly ball.”
“He did. But he had only been visiting for a few days. He has a distant connection to my family. When he encountered his friend Mr. Bingley, he immediately removed to Netherfield, and we have seen little of him since then.” This explanation would account for any bitterness Mr. Wickham heard in Elizabeth’s voice.
“That is not particularly friendly of him, but I am not astonished,” Mr. Wickham said sourly. “Did anything about him strike you as unusual?”
Elizabeth was immediately wary; she knew that Mr. Darcy had secrets to hide. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”
“He is an accomplished shadowmancer. I thought he might have demonstrated some tricks.”
“Indeed?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Shadowmancy is so rare. I would be interested in a demonstration.”
“You witnessed nothing unusual around him?”
The man is indeed fishing for information. Does he somehow know about the wight attack?
“He is unusually proud,” she replied.
Wickham chuckled. “He is indeed.” Then the man sobered. “You must be careful of Darcy,” he warned. “He is not all that he pretends.”
“Indeed? He is pleasant enough, although his words are few.”
“I know him better than most,” Mr. Wickham exclaimed. “My father was the late Mr. Darcy’s steward.”
“Really?” Elizabeth was astonished.
“You were surprised at the cold manner of our greeting.”
“I must confess that I was,” Elizabeth replied.
“Darcy and I were raised practically as brothers. His father made a provision for me in his will: a living that was to be mine. But when it fell vacant, Darcy refused to give it to me.”
“That is terrible!” Elizabeth was horrified by the story, and at the same time it did not sound like the Mr. Darcy she knew. He had not been petty. He had lied, but not for personal gain, she was certain about that. Something greater was at stake.
Mr. Wickham practically preened at Elizabeth’s horrified reaction. “His father was a great man. He would deplore what his son has become.”
Elizabeth widened her eyes, acting the gullible country maiden he expected. “What has he become?”
The officer shook his head sadly. “Darcy has grown more and more eccentric. He increasingly eschews society and travels around England on secretive missions pursuing mysterious objects.” He lowered his voice. “Some even say he is practicing dark magic.”
“Merciful heavens!”
Mr. Wickham continued in this vein, fully confident that Elizabeth would believe every word he said about Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth did not dispute with him; indeed she could not, since she did not know the facts of the events he described.
But she believed them to be highly unlikely, and she wondered at the officer’s motives for spreading such disparaging information.
How easy it would have been to believe Mr. Wickham’s story.
It was well-crafted and told with just the right hints of diffidence and bitterness.
How plausible it sounded! Mr. Wickham was quite eager to charm her and spoke of yearning to encounter her again.
She would have been flattered if she did not suspect he had other motives for his apparent attraction to her.
Believing her wide-eyed credulity, Mr. Wickham soon inquired about how Mr. Darcy had come to Longbourn and what he had been doing since his arrival. He was surprisingly confident that she would provide intimate details about Mr. Darcy that she would not ordinarily share with a stranger.
She told him little, implying that she found Mr. Darcy boring and had spent little time with him. While this appeared to gratify Mr. Wickham’s vanity, he grew more and more frustrated that she did not provide him with the information he was seeking.
I must warn the rest of my family to guard their tongues around Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth thought as the dance came to a close. Although she could not know the man’s motivation, he appeared intent on damaging Mr. Darcy’s reputation.
When the dance ended, Mr. Wickham was all gallantry and brought cups of punch to her and Jane. He repeated the same story about Mr. Darcy to Jane, but her response shocked Elizabeth. She gasped. “Thank goodness he no longer resides at Longbourn. We must do our best to avoid him in the future.”
Elizabeth was unsure how to respond. Jane was always determined to think the best of everyone. It was most unlike her to immediately condemn someone, particularly Mr. Darcy, who she had defended to Elizabeth just the day before. “If…you wish,” Elizabeth finally said.
She quickly scanned the ballroom for Mr. Darcy; it would be mortifying if he should come upon them discussing his character. But she saw him slipping out of the French doors to the terrace. That eased her mind a little.
As they continued to talk, Jane instantly believed everything Mr. Wickham said without hesitation.
How odd! When Mr. Denny, Lydia, and Kitty joined the conversation, Mr. Wickham repeated the story to them, and they also believed it without reservation.
Elizabeth said little, but she did intervene to prevent her sisters from revealing much about Mr. Darcy’s stay at Longbourn.
Mr. Wickham did little additional dancing. As he circulated among the guests at the ball, she saw him relate the story to their neighbors. Mr. Darcy’s name was being blackened before her eyes. She was observing a process akin to the spreading of a plague—jumping from person to person.
Elizabeth reached out with her magic to sense any mancy at work. It was so subtle that she noticed nothing at first, but Mr. Wickham exuded a peculiar variety of magical energy that was directed at whoever he was speaking with at the time.
The magic took a shape unlike anything Elizabeth had perceived before, a very subtle and insinuating mancy.
It must be pensimancy, the ability to influence other people’s thoughts.
It was a rare magic and supposedly regulated by the Council, although she doubted the Council even knew of Mr. Wickham’s existence.
If Mr. Wickham was using his magic to turn people against Mr. Darcy, then he was extremely dangerous. Did he simply detest his former friend? Or was he in league with the necromancer who stalked Mr. Darcy? She wished she knew more about the man’s shadowy opponent.
As she watched person after person fall under Wickham’s spell, Elizabeth realized she was the only one who had resisted.
What made her special? She thought it unlikely that vivomancy provided any special protection.
Perhaps she was simply best acquainted with Mr. Darcy’s character, but Jane’s acquaintance with the man had provided no protection at all.
Of course, Jane was not in love with Mr. Darcy.
Oh.
Perhaps that is the difference.
Unfortunately, it was not a protection Elizabeth could easily bestow upon others.
As she was pondering that question, Mr. Wickham requested another dance with her.
Elizabeth was beginning to loathe Mr. Wickham but considered she might gain more information about the man’s motives and methods.
And he was an able dancer who suggested she was desirable when nobody else had asked her to dance. So she smiled and said yes.
***
Darcy should not watch. The sight made his stomach churn sickeningly, and yet he could not tear his eyes away.
He had escaped to the terrace to avoid the sight of Elizabeth and her sisters enjoying an animated discussion with Wickham, but he needed to know what was happening.
The unknown was by far the greater horror, allowing his imagination to prey upon him.
But he had returned to the ballroom to find Elizabeth dancing with Wickham a second time—after refusing to even consider dancing with Darcy.
She was touching Wickham’s hand, laughing at his witticisms, smiling, and tossing her head flirtatiously.
She would probably let him kiss her. And Wickham was in his element; nothing made him happier than charming a vulnerable young woman.
Although Elizabeth was far less empty-headed than his usual fare.
No doubt he had guessed Darcy’s interest in her and decided she was worth pursuing.