Chapter Thirty-Three
New Discoveries
Mr. Darcy! He was the last person Elizabeth had expected to see. She had thought his role finished, his desire never to see Meryton or its inhabitants again.
The three young officers flitting about her like moths at a flame seemed to dissolve into the air.
All she could see was him, standing so tall and stiff by the door, uncertain whether to enter this hive of military men, looking down upon his own dark green coat as if the colour were an insult to the red-coated men whose powerful presence filled the compact space.
He had not seen her yet; her three prospective suitors yet provided camouflage as she sat in the low chair at the distant end of the room.
Was this how he had felt at that very first assembly, when he had insulted her so?
Had he been suffering both from his physical wounds, as well as from some deep sense of not belonging?
She had long since forgiven the insult; perhaps now she understood his mind a little better as well, and she watched him as he struggled with himself, forcing one foot and then the other to carry him into the sitting room.
His eyes darted around the space, landing frequently upon his cousin, his one known anchor, and then upon Hastings, whom she knew he had come to consider a friend.
Then they flicked in her direction, and she knew exactly when he saw her, for he stood as still as if he were carved in marble and his eyes moved around the room no more.
He stopped as if struck and his eyes held hers and did not falter.
She knew not what to do, how to act! His appearance was as unexpected to her as hers was to him.
He could not be pleased to see her here, not in this military camp, not in this room full of men.
Surely he had not wished ever to meet her again, after his hurried departure on the night of Lydia’s elopement.
He had given no indication of his regard at that moment but had simply left.
Neither had he written, not to her—which would be tantamount to announcing an engagement—or to her father, which would be more acceptable.
She wished to hide, to melt into the exotic fabrics and painted icons that decorated the walls, but it was too late to escape.
There was no avoiding the encounter now.
One emotion after another dashed across his handsome features, none remaining long enough to discern.
Was he embarrassed? Angry? Scornful? He began to move in her direction, his mouth starting to move, when Colonel Hastings boomed, “Good, good! Fitzwilliam and Darcy have arrived. Excellent! Shall we move in to dinner? I shall inform Cook that we are ready. We are equal actors in our recent success; there shall be no distinction of rank at the table this evening. Please select your own seats.”
Before the colonel could disappear through the back door to alert his cook, Mr. Darcy was at Elizabeth’s side.
One fierce look sent the three young officers scurrying, and he held out his hand to help her to rise.
“Allow me?” There was nothing angry in his voice, nor any note of scorn.
“If you will condescend to sit by me, perhaps you will permit me to explain...” He looked down.
“I cannot expect you to forgive me, and yet I hope with every ounce of my being that you might.”
How ought she to respond? She hardly knew, but out of long-drilled politeness she gave him a curtsey and accepted his elbow and followed him into the dining room.
The conversation at the table was pleasant and there were few enough that all were included. It was, therefore, not until after the soup course had been cleared away that Elizabeth had the opportunity to speak privately with her neighbour.
“I had not thought to see you again—” she began, as he whispered, “What must you think of me?”
She waited, and after a moment, he cleared his throat and gestured for her to speak first.
“That evening, when we learned that Lydia had run off, and with such a man as Mr. Wickham, you departed so quickly and without a word, I could only believe you wished nothing to do with any of us again. In truth, I could not blame you, for from everything you had confided to me, I could only believe him to be the worst sort of a man. And if your suppositions about him being one of Lord Stanton’s associates were true, his character becomes even blacker!
I could not fault you for wishing never to have to hear his vile name again; I certainly could not blame you for hoping to escape any sort of more formal connection.
” She blushed a painful violet. She had mentioned the interview he had requested but not granted; she had intimated that she knew his purpose.
Would he chastise her and scorn her anew?
To her surprise, she felt his hand brush over her own. “No, Elizabeth, do not believe me so changeable. I—”
His utterance was interrupted by the arrival of the second course. “After dinner, if we have time, I wish to explain myself fully. If not tonight, I shall call upon you tomorrow, by your leave.”
She nodded quietly before returning to the main discussion that the new course of food brought with it.
The rest of the meal was most enjoyable if unremarkable, and the conversation such that there was no more opportunity for private conversation.
After dinner was concluded, Colonel Hastings suggested that the men forego their cigars in favour of a more businesslike meeting in the sitting room.
The company filed out to find that whilst they had been dining, the chairs had been arranged in a circle around the sitting room, rather than in the smaller groupings that had been present before.
Now, instead of twelve chairs, however, there were fourteen.
“You will pardon my flair for the dramatic,” the colonel announced as the party seated themselves around the circle.
“I have two more guests whom I would like to introduce to you, although I believe they are known to many of you already. I had expected them somewhat earlier, but my batman here tells me their carriage has only now arrived from London. Ah, I believe they are here.”
He rose, as did all the company, and he crossed the space to open the door in two long steps. If Elizabeth had been surprised before to see Mr. Darcy, how much greater was her shock when, through the door walked none other than her sister Lydia and Mr. Wickham!
So flustered was Elizabeth’s mind that she could hardly account for what was happening around her. The soldiers, it seemed, were unsurprised by this arrival, but her Papa staggered backwards and almost fell into his chair. “Lydia!” He cried out his daughter’s name, and she rushed into his arms.
At the same time, Mr. Darcy leapt forward, a most terrifying look upon his face.
“Wickham! You bastard!” Elizabeth gasped at the oath.
Never had she heard such language, even from the roughest workers at the village stables.
She had no time to consider where Mr. Darcy had learned it when he pulled back his arm, clearly intending to strike Wickham in the face.
Mr. Wickham, for his part, looked at first smug, then surprised, and then—when faced with Mr. Darcy’s fist—quite alarmed. His handsome features were spared when, as Darcy was about to release his punch, Colonel Hastings pulled him backwards and stayed the blow.
“Not yet, Darcy,” the colonel growled. “Hear us out. Afterwards, if you still wish to strike him, I shall not stop you.”
“What is that man doing here? I have been following him around London, buying up his debts and putting to right all the affairs he has left in shambles. I could tell you tales of the lives he has destroyed, of the girls he has shamed and ruined, but I would not bring them greater shame than they already feel for having been misled by such a blackguard! What possible cause can you have to invite him into your rooms?”
Never had Elizabeth heard such anger pour from Mr. Darcy’s mouth; she was at once proud of him, and slightly afraid. And yet, after his initial instinct he had held his fists and had intimated no more violence.
“Sit, Darcy, you too Wickham, Lydia. Wickham, would you care to explain yourself?” The colonel’s words were an invitation; his tone was a command.
“Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet, a pleasure to see you again,” Mr. Wickham purred. He glanced up to see Hastings’ scowling eyebrows and squirmed in his chair. “Yes, very well.”
Before he could speak, Mr. Darcy interrupted. “Were you not the man Stanton had situated within Colonel Forster’s soldiers? Stanton led me to believe...”
“Easy, Darcy. I know the truth does not always fall readily from these lips, but this time I promise you honesty. I have several incentives,” he looked around at the nine uniformed officers who surrounded him, “not to lie. May I be so rude as to request a drink? The road is dry and dusty, and speaking provokes thirst. Ah, thank you.”
He took a large gulp from the wine he had been given and began to explain.
“I was, in part, Stanton’s man. He approached me many months ago, closer to a year now, promising to pay me handsomely in exchange for information about, well, about you.
You had just foiled my wedding plans to a delightfully wealthy young woman”—this must be Miss Darcy, Elizabeth considered—“and I was angry and impoverished.
It seemed an easy way to line my pockets, and so I told him everything he wished to know.