Chapter Ten #2
I winced. “I’m aware of that, actually.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Well, under the circumstances, it seems I do her less evil to compel her into a marriage that saves her reputation and her family’s future than I do to leave her be and let these rumors run roughshod over the countryside.”
He only considered me.
“You do not agree, I suppose. You do not wish me to marry her?”
“Lizzy is not easily pleased, you see. And she is a bit fanciful, though she would deny she is. She has a bit of a poet’s soul, I’m afraid, but she also has enough intelligence and practicality to understand that poets often starve.
She is doing this for the reasons you say, to mitigate damages from these rumors, but I think she will ultimately regret it.
I have experience being married to a woman who wishes she’d married someone who isn’t you, I must say. I cannot recommend it.”
“I’m certain Mrs. Bennet—”
“Oh, believe me, I know what I am saying. You’re the sort of man who could have a wife who would be slavishly grateful to be your wife, the sort of woman who would wake up every day and count herself lucky and blessed to be Mrs. Darcy.
My daughter will never, ever be that, and I’m not sure if you quite understand what it is you are giving up. ”
“Perhaps I don’t wish to marry a woman who counts herself so poorly made as to think that I am doing her a favor by marrying her.”
“You are doing Lizzy a favor, though, are you not?”
“I…” I squared my shoulders. “She doesn’t like me, sir, but I like her.”
He laughed. “Oho. Even worse, I should think.” He rubbed his chin.
“The rumor will fade. Rumors always do. If you wished to make amends, somehow, though I read your letter and I have spoken to Lizzy, and none of this seems to be your fault, and so it is therefore not your responsibility. But if you did wish to make some kind of amends, there are easier ways. For a man like yourself, adding to her dowry would be nothing to you and would make all the difference to her. In the long run, I can tell you, it would be cheaper than having a wife.” He smirked.
“She’s funny like you are,” I said. “That must be where she gets it.”
“You do like her,” he said.
I was embarrassed. “If you do not wish to give us your blessing, sir—”
“I have not said that,” he said. “Of course I do. I shall not stand in Lizzy’s way. There is no point in such a thing, anyway. She always finds a way through, or around, you see.”
If the circumstances had been different, Elizabeth and I might have gone on walks together, to get better acquainted and to discuss our life together.
But she was too hurt to walk. I could have taken her on carriage rides, but that would have necessitated a chaperone, and that would have meant we were not alone, and besides, I did not know who I should ask besides Louisa Hurst, and so we did not go on carriage rides.
I had expected some kind of reaction from Caroline Bingley when she discovered I was marrying Elizabeth, but she steadfastly ignored me, her expression blank, her features drawn into a haughty mask.
She spoke to essentially no one, and she engaged in very little, though Mr. Hurst was able to pull her into a few games of cards here and there.
I supposed there was no reason to speak of it, truly. It would have been mortifying for her, and she saw the way of things now, saw the truth.
Indeed, her behavior made it easier for me. If she had been open and easy, showing her pain to me, I should have felt guiltier. But the more she withdrew and made faces that indicated her disdain, the easier it was for me not to feel badly for her at all.
The ball at Netherfield was at the end of the week.
Elizabeth attended, but spent her time seated on the outskirts.
I attended her, though she told me often to go and dance on my own.
But I had no desire to go and dance with strangers, I had to say, so I stayed close to her.
We had awkward conversations in which there were long silences and she said things to me like, “Now, it is your turn to talk, Mr. Darcy. You could comment on the size of the room or the number of couples or the various kinds of punch or whether this white soup that Mr. Bingley speaks of is any good if you have tried it.”
“I know how to have conversation, Miss Bennet,” I said. “I do not need to speak by rule.”
“One wonders if that is true, sir,” she said. “One wonders indeed.”
“We have had much conversation between us, in fact,” I said. “We spoke at length about a number of subjects when we were trapped together.”
“Yes, we did,” she said, “but I would not call our conversations pleasant on the whole. Nor would I say that your skill at conversing was anything to be complimented.”
I grimaced.
“You do not like it when I speak to you this way, I suppose, but you are the one who spent quite a lot of effort trying to convince me to marry you, so I suppose you will need to get used to it.”
“I suppose,” I said. “Will it be torture for you, Miss Bennet? Your father seems to think it will.”
“My father?” she said. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think your father likes me for you,” I said. “I don’t think he wishes me to marry you.”
“Well, that is foolish,” she muttered. “If we were not engaged, I doubt anyone should even be at this ball. I had heard whispers of such things. Why, we had a dinner at my aunt’s house in town. Their name is Philips, I know not if you have knowledge of them.”
The attorney uncle! I made a face. “I do.”
She snickered. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, how you have lowered yourself, aligning with such a one as me. I must have very fine eyes, I suppose.”
I turned to her. “You do.”
She bit down on her bottom lip again, and a blush stained her cheeks. She was smiling. “I suppose I should not do that, should not trick you into complimenting me.”
“Oh,” I said. “You like that, then, you like being told you are breathtaking?” My voice had warmth to it now.
Her smile widened, and she laughed, and she was blushing more fiercely. “No, I could not give a bit of a care, of course, sir.”
Well, this seemed a positive portent. “I shall be quite happy to compliment you often, you know. I shan’t need to be tricked into it.”
“Stop it,” she said, but she didn’t sound as though she meant it.
She ducked down her face. “Anyway, at that dinner, it was sparsely attended, and I heard from a man that I met there, one who did not know about the rumors, or at least not the content, being new in town, that he had heard people saying that the Bennet family was not one to be associated with.”
“Dreadful,” I said.
“Yes, he knew you,” she said. “I meant to ask you about him, because he told me things, and I was not certain how to take them. I suppose it does not matter. I knew what sort of man you were when I agreed to marry you, but I do wonder if there is some way I could prevail upon you, with my fine eyes, to be a bit more charitable towards him.”
“Who is this man?” I said, because I had to admit I did not entirely like the way she was going on about him.
“His name is Mr. Wickham,” she said.
I shot to my feet.
She, of course, could not stand, and so she stayed where she was, staring up at me in surprise.
I took several deep breaths and then I forced myself to sit back down.
“Well, he is known to you,” she said.
“He is the man,” I said in a low and tight voice. “The man who tried to elope with Georgiana.”
“Georgiana?” She was confused.
“My sister,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, understanding coming over her. “Oh, my. I see. But… he said he was the son of your steward.”
“Yes,” I said tightly.
“Oh,” she said in another voice. “Yes, well, I see how that is worse, in many ways. Oh, dear, yes, if that came out, for her, for your sister…” She hunched up her shoulders. “Well, I suppose he did it out of revenge, but that is not an excuse, not at all.”
“Revenge,” I muttered. “He considers himself wronged, I suppose.”
“He does,” she said. “I must say, your family is not one for having anything written down as a formal agreement in writing, are they? No betrothal between you and your cousin, and no provision for his taking over the rectory in Derbyshire.”
“What?” I said, eyeing her. “That living? Well, he could not make his mind up about wanting that, anyway!”
“Oh,” she said, nodding. “Yes, he must have told me falsehoods. I suppose he does not seem entirely trustworthy, given that he hid all of that, with your sister, from me, did not mention it at all. He said, in fact, your sister was exceedingly proud. That she would not deign to pay him mind.”
“Oh, is that what he said?” I seethed.
“Let us leave this,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “I did not mean to remind you of it. It is my error.”
“No, you did not know,” I said.
“I know now,” she said. “We shall not speak of him.”
I let out a breath. “I am grateful for that.”
“Of course,” she said. “And I suppose we must turn our thoughts to whatever we can do to make sure that your sister’s secrets are never discovered. Perhaps this, with me, it will be a bit of a distraction from your sister. Shall I be a bit of a scandal, Mr. Darcy?” Her eyes twinkled at me.
“You seem a bit warmed at the prospect,” I said, amused.
“Do you like me because I’m a scandal?” She waggled her eyebrows at me.
It was my turn to blush.
She chuckled under her breath. “What’s more scandalous than a frightfully short engagement?”
I turned to her. “What are you saying?”
“Well, this is all for your sister, is it not?” she said. “You do what is expected of you and you take care of your obligations. So, that would be rather convenient, I suppose, for you, to have eclipsed any discussion of your sister’s improprieties by replacing it with talk of your own.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re not… improper, Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, we scarce have a conversation in which you do not remind me of how very improper I am,” she said archly.
“I do not mean to—”
“No, it’s all right,” she said. “I understand it now, you see. I understand you, and I understand this, and it is all absolutely fine.”