Chapter 23 Returning to Meryton #2
They twice took tea at Lady Matlock’s home, and each evening dined together, whether at Darcy House or at the Gardiners’ in Gracechurch Street, for neither gentleman seemed inclined to forgo even a single meal in the ladies’ company.
Dinner at Darcy House, though conducted with formality, soon gave way to easier conversation once the servants withdrew.
“You appear less formidable on your own ground,” Elizabeth remarked lightly.
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
“You may,” she replied. “It is one.”
Elizabeth felt the days press upon her with scarcely a moment left unclaimed, every hour accounted for by calls, fittings, or society.
These invitations, along with further excursions to the shops at Lady Matlock’s insistence, extended their stay by several days.
Instead of remaining a se’nnight, they would stay in London for ten days, returning to Hertfordshire on Saturday—just in time for the first reading of the banns on Sunday.
On one such occasion, Elizabeth, Darcy, and Mrs Gardiner joined one of his friends for dinner—an engagement that arose with surprising swiftness.
No sooner had they encountered the Whitmores at the theatre on Saturday evening than Mrs Whitmore, with unaffected warmth, had exclaimed, “You must dine with us, Mr Darcy—on Tuesday, if you are free. We have already planned a small party, but there is always room for friends.”
Elizabeth felt a quiet flutter of pleasure at the invitation. That it had been offered without any prior knowledge of Darcy’s presence in Town seemed a happy omen; she would enter her new life as Mrs Darcy not as a stranger, but already welcomed into his wider circle.
At dinner, Mrs Whitmore addressed her with an ease that put Elizabeth instantly at her comfort. “I hope London has not overwhelmed you yet,” she said with a smile. “It does its best to impress, but one soon learns which parts may be safely ignored.”
Elizabeth laughed, feeling herself more at ease than she had expected. If this was a sample of Darcy’s friends, she thought, then perhaps London might yet be navigated without losing herself in the process.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had also been present at several dinners hosted either at Darcy House or at the Gardiners’ home on Gracechurch Street, and Elizabeth had quickly come to regard him as a cousin.
It was plain he was her intended’s closest friend, and she was glad for his support during this busy period.
The day before the Bennets were to leave London, Colonel Fitzwilliam had come to Darcy House while the ladies were taking tea and asked to speak with his cousin privately.
Elizabeth, noting the gravity of his tone, requested to join them, believing the topic of the conversation likely to be Wickham since she knew what Fitzwilliam had spoken to his cousin about previously.
Darcy immediately agreed to her inclusion, his glance warm and steady, but the colonel hesitated, his expression betraying some doubt as to whether her presence would be appropriate.
Elizabeth met that look without flinching.
“If the matter concerns a certain individual in the militia presently quartered in Meryton, I believe I may offer some insight,” she said calmly as she entered the study.
“I have lived among those people all my life and know their minds better than either of you.”
Darcy’s lips curved in the faintest smile, but he held his tongue. At length, Fitzwilliam gave a curt nod of agreement and, ceasing his restless pacing, dropped into a chair.
When they were all settled before the fire, the colonel began to outline the difficulties in removing Wickham as he had originally planned.
He described how the man had continued to spread his tales regarding the denied living with such practiced ease that even officers and shopkeepers who ought to have known better had begun to repeat them.
“The mischief lies not only in what he says, but in how readily people wish to believe him,” Fitzwilliam admitted with a weary sigh.
“The tide has turned in his favour, and many would now claim you are tormenting him by pressing his debts. If he dares speak of Georgiana, I fear his stories may be credited, for he has cast you so firmly as the villain. Truly, cousin, what did you do to the people of that town to make them hate you?”
Darcy coloured at the bluntness of the question, his jaw tightening.
The colonel’s words struck uncomfortably near the truth.
He had done little to merit the good opinion of Meryton’s inhabitants—when he first entered their society he had held himself aloof, spoke little, and judged much—and afterwards had been entirely preoccupied with Elizabeth.
He had made some effort to amend his behaviour, but ought he to have done more?
Was it any wonder they had embraced Wickham’s easy charm over his own reserve?
Shame pricked at him; he could not deny that his pride had helped prepare the soil for Wickham’s lies to take root.
He had believed he had redeemed himself somewhat once he began courting Elizabeth, but now saw that even then he had been far more focused on winning her than in doing anything to reveal his true character to the people of Meryton.
Before he could frame a reply, Elizabeth leant forward, her hands clasped in her lap, her voice steady.
“Then we must do more than simply contradict his lies. We must show Wickham for the cad he is. He has debts in Meryton, does he not? Debts so numerous he cannot hope to pay them on his salary alone. Surely the people must see that such conduct is not the mark of an honourable man.”
Her eyes shone with conviction as she continued.
“Colonel, it will not be enough simply to deny Mr Wickham’s falsehoods while proclaiming Mr Darcy’s goodness.
The townspeople must be given a better account to believe.
The proof of his debts is substantial, and surely that must count for something in revealing him as less than he pretends.
My guess is that Mr Wickham has grown far too sure of himself, and there must be a way to force him into exposing his true character. ”
Elizabeth then turned to her intended. “When we return to Meryton, you must go out of your way to appear open and friendly to everyone. I will be by your side and do all I can to aid you. My neighbours will, I hope, value my words in your favour, and I will vouch for you wherever I can. If anyone dares mention Mr Wickham’s fabrications, a brief denial from you will suffice—and together we can make it known that he never graduated from university, never took orders, and never sought the responsibilities he claimed were denied him.
If Mr Collins could obtain a living, surely Mr Wickham might have done so had he ever truly applied himself.
We can cast doubt on Mr Wickham’s stories.
That he has only now, at nearly twenty-eight years of age, joined the militia as a lieutenant ought to speak volumes. ”
Turning back to Richard, Elizabeth continued, “It will not be easy. My neighbours will not like to think themselves deceived, and their pride will smart to discover it. But if we give them just cause to change their opinion—show them by your improved conduct and by fact that they have been misled—they will be eager to embrace the truth.”
Richard studied her sharply, as though surprised she should speak so plainly. After a moment, his stern features softened into reluctant amusement. “You may be right, Miss Bennet. It seems my cousin has chosen a wife with more sense than both of us together.”
Darcy did not answer aloud, but, not for the first time in recent days, his chest swelled with pride.
Elizabeth’s words struck him with their simple truth: she understood instinctively how to reach people, to turn their affections and opinions with warmth and reason.
It was a gift he had never possessed; his bluntness had cost him dearly while her candour was tempered with a grace that won rather than alienated.
Before, he might have considered himself to be the one who must protect his wife, but in this—winning the hearts of her neighbours—he recognised she would be his greatest strength.
Elizabeth caught the pride in his eyes as he glanced at her, and the warmth of that look carried her through the remainder of the interview. By the time the colonel took his leave, even he conceded that her counsel was shrewd—and that without her, their plan would have been the poorer.
Saturday morning dawned bright and brisk, a faint mist clinging to the fields as the Bennet sisters boarded Darcy’s carriage for the journey back to Longbourn.
A second conveyance—Bingley’s own, arranged so that the gentlemen might travel with greater convenience, particularly now that Darcy’s marriage to Miss Elizabeth was so near—followed close behind, laden with trunks and bandboxes.
It carried not only the ladies’ many London purchases but also the two gentlemen’s valets.
The day promised fair weather, cool but clear, and Darcy had declared it ideal for riding, particularly since they had decided to take the journey slowly, leaving town after ten, stopping at an inn for lunch, and timing their arrival at Longbourn for early afternoon.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was accompanying them part of the way on business of his own, readily agreed, and Bingley—grateful for the chance to order his thoughts—was quick to join them.