Chapter V #2
Darcy did not have equal confidence in her sisters’ boundaries, particularly when they took every opportunity to flirt and carry on with the officers.
The specter of Darcy’s previous thoughts rose in his mind, that Misses Kitty and Lydia Bennet were the natural prey of a man like George Wickham.
Wickham would not even need to understand he had no chance with Miss Elizabeth to turn his attention to them—he was more than capable of pursuing all three at once, of boasting of his conquests should he succeed.
Therefore, that he appeared fixed on Miss Elizabeth at present did not matter so much as the pattern Darcy had observed through many years of acquaintance. The young woman he now courted for her fortune—Miss King—was another matter. The only question was what he should do.
Seeing Wickham alone a moment later presented an opportunity Darcy would not pass up. He moved without thinking. Wickham would not listen—he never did. But he would understand what awaited him if he stepped out of line.
THAT DARCY WOULD APPROACH him was not a surprise to Wickham.
The one thing he could count on was Darcy’s persistent determination to interfere with Wickham’s life, spouting pathetic morals and self-righteous judgments.
For a man like Darcy, who could afford such liberties, it must be easy to hold to his prudish impulses. Wickham was not such a man.
“I see you are making yourself agreeable to the neighborhood, Wickham.”
Unable to resist tweaking Darcy’s nose, Wickham said: “It is a common affliction, Darcy. In polite society, it is customary to conduct oneself with civility, or even to express interest, feigned though it may be.”
“The trouble with you,” said Darcy, “is that your ‘civilities’ are never benign.”
Wickham shook his head. Even indulging in his favorite sport of baiting Darcy was not worth the effort—Wickham had more important matters to attend to. Thus, he confined himself to a simple question.
“What do you want, Darcy?”
“I want you to refrain from your usual behavior and act like a decent man. Since I doubt that is within your capabilities, I shall warn you against pursuing your usual activities.”
Wickham stared at him, unimpressed. “Leave me be, Darcy. I have done nothing wrong.”
“Is that so?” asked Darcy. “Then if I were to canvass the merchants I would find no debts? No investigation into your affairs would leave ruined ladies or blasted lives? Or have you not been in town long enough?”
Stiff with annoyance, Wickham refrained from reacting to Darcy’s charges. “I might wonder why you care. The illustrious Fitzwilliam Darcy has never concerned himself with the doings of lesser people.”
“There you would be wrong,” replied Darcy. “These people are not less, and they do not deserve the treatment you mete out. Take heed, Wickham—if you act in the way you usually do, you will have me to contend with. Stay away from the ladies and do nothing to dishonor anyone in the neighborhood.”
Instinct came to Wickham’s defense—he understood Darcy’s reference at once, though he was amused by it.
Approaching him after Wickham had spoken to Miss Elizabeth was as close to a declaration as Darcy would ever offer, not that he would ever succeed with her.
Wickham had already poisoned that well. Knowing this, he could not resist tweaking Darcy’s nose.
“Then you may rest easy, Darcy, for I have no interest in the ladies here.” Wickham shot him a devilish grin and added: “Though if I wished for a little companionship, Miss Elizabeth would be an excellent choice. She is quite delectable, after all.”
With one final smirk, Wickham stalked away.
Miss Elizabeth was everything he said, and under other circumstances Wickham might pursue her.
At the moment, however, he was focused on another goal—his situation was poor at present and would be greatly enhanced by the infusion of ten thousand pounds.
It was only a third of what he might have had if his pursuit of Georgiana Darcy had been successful, but Wickham was a pragmatic man.
Mary King was not especially handsome or interesting, but the money she possessed was worth far more to him than all Miss Elizabeth’s charms.
WICKHAM’S LAST COMMENT was all the proof Darcy needed of his designs on Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The question was what to do about it. The answer was simple in concept, delicate in execution.
George Wickham was not known for stability, and he had fled more than one place when his behavior caught up to him.
If Wickham saw any sign that the noose was closing around him, he would depart at the first opportunity.
Darcy considered this for some time, watching Wickham and Miss Elizabeth in equal measure.
Wickham was his usual self, spreading his attentions liberally between Mary King and whatever other woman caught his fancy.
By contrast, Miss Elizabeth displayed her usual vivacity, speaking with animation to her friends and family, drawing all to her as if she were a siren.
More important to Darcy’s peace of mind, Wickham did not approach her again except in passing.
That allowed Darcy to think without having to concern himself for whatever devilry Wickham was planning.
Late that evening, Miss Elizabeth approached him, which was something that struck Darcy harder than it ought.
Though he had not considered it before, he could not recall many times when she had put herself in his company.
Most of the previous occasions in which he had spoken to her had come from his initiative.
What that meant, Darcy did not know—he pushed it aside for later contemplation.
“Mr. Darcy,” said she, the smile she offered him reserved, “I hope you are enjoying the gathering tonight.”
There was something in her comment that struck Darcy as odd, but he did not dwell on it. “As you are aware, I am not one for much society, Miss Elizabeth. But I am content tonight.”
She regarded him for several long moments before speaking. “Yes, I understood that much about your character. Tell me, Mr. Darcy—Mr. Bingley once suggested that you are more amiable among those with whom you claim an acquaintance. Did he speak the truth?”
Darcy offered her a lazy smile. “Are we not all more comfortable in such circumstances?”
“I suppose we are,” agreed Miss Elizabeth, but she said nothing more, waiting for him to respond.
“Bingley is correct—I am far more open when I am with friends of longstanding. I am careful about choosing my friends, for I am not eager to endure the company of objectionable persons.”
“That is another point that anyone might make,” said Miss Elizabeth.
“I cannot disagree,” replied Darcy. “Yet I am not a social man. Gatherings are fine, but I will own that I often find them tedious. That is one of the reasons I get on with Bingley so well—he is so engaging that anyone admitted to the pleasure of his company cannot but emulate him to some small degree.”
“That facet of Mr. Bingley’s character is not unknown to me.”
“Of course, it is not,” agreed Darcy, feeling more comfortable conversing with her than anyone else in the neighborhood. “You possess many of the same qualities yourself.”
It appeared he had surprised her, for Miss Elizabeth regarded him with evident curiosity. “Is that how you see me?”
“I cannot imagine anyone seeing you in any other way,” replied Darcy.
Miss Elizabeth looked away, then a moment later she peered back at him. “I am curious, Mr. Darcy. There is something more . . . approachable about you since your return to Hertfordshire. Is that a consequence of comfort in your surroundings here, or is there something else at work?”
Darcy sipped from a cup of punch while watching her over the brim. “It does, I suppose, stem from increased comfort, though I will note that I do not know most of your neighbors at all well. I know they are, in general, well behaved, and that helps.”
“But you must see their behavior as not at all fashionable,” challenged Miss Elizabeth.
“Fashionable, no,” agreed Darcy. “However, I often find fashionable manners a mask for unconcealed haughtiness, baser characters, and traits that are not at all estimable. Genuine people are more to be respected, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy paused, then amended: “So long as their behavior is not objectionable.”
“Do you have any examples of this to share?” asked she.
It was little more than a test, to know what he would say about her neighbors. Darcy decided to confound her.
“At the risk of offending my friend,” said Darcy, “I do have an example.”
Darcy chuckled. “Then again, my friend would agree that his sister requires a certain measure of correction.”
“You speak of Miss Bingley?” asked Miss Elizabeth, eyes wide.
“I do,” replied Darcy, enjoying her surprise. “Come, Miss Elizabeth, you have stayed in the same house as Miss Bingley, and I know you are discerning. You did not misunderstand Miss Bingley’s character.”
“No, I did not,” said Miss Elizabeth, now appearing a little amused. “I did not expect you to speak with such frankness about a woman who is, after all, your friend’s sister.”
“Bingley would not disagree with my assessment,” said Darcy, shrugging with unconcern. “And Mrs. Hurst is much less like her sister than I had ever expected.”
“That much I noticed myself,” replied Miss Elizabeth, her gaze finding Mrs. Hurst.
“Which is why Miss Bingley’s wishes will never be gratified,” said Darcy, drawing her attention back to him.
“I do not wish to enumerate her faults as I perceive them, but I will also not pretend they do not exist. In short, Miss Bingley is the sort of woman I would never offer for, though she will not see it.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed at this. “It seems you have taken her measure, Mr. Darcy.”
“It was not difficult,” replied Darcy. “Even Bingley himself jested that she will not give up her pursuit of me until the ink on the marriage register is dry.”
She offered him an arch look. “Then do you have some woman in mind who will help you escape from her intrigues?”
“I might, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, considering it for the first time. “It would be best to wait and see.
“Now, I have something else to discuss with you, if you will oblige me.”
The amusement ran away from her face, and she watched him, as if understanding what he meant. “Might I suppose you speak of Mr. Wickham?”
“I do,” replied Darcy.
She nodded, though distracted. “When we were speaking, I noticed you watching him. You spoke of his misrepresentation about your father’s wishes when last we spoke—can I suppose that his sins are more extensive than simple lies?”
“Perceptive as always, Miss Elizabeth,” murmured Darcy. “You are correct.”
For a moment, Darcy wondered if she would refuse to listen to him, for her looks were searching, her manner pensive. Then at length she sighed and offered a nod, though he did not think she was eager to hear what he had to say.
“In truth, I now question Mr. Wickham’s character for more than just what you told me, but it would be better if I learned the truth.”
“It most certainly is, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy related the truth of his connection with Wickham.
He spoke of growing up together, playing together as boys, Wickham’s slow drift, his behavior at Eton and then at Cambridge.
Darcy then related what he knew of Wickham’s habits, his lack of care when dealing with the ladies, his propensity to accumulate debt, the gaming, the debauchery.
Though he had not intended it, he also told her the exact amount of money Wickham received.
He said nothing of Ramsgate, for it was not apropos to the situation—everything else was more than sufficient to put her on her guard.
“Four thousand pounds?” echoed Miss Elizabeth when he told her the number.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Darcy. “And he depleted the entire amount within two years of receiving it. I know this because I kept a discreet watch on Wickham’s movements, reports that contained certain details of his exploits.”
“That is shocking, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy followed her gaze, seeing her eyes narrow as she caught sight of him standing by her youngest sister in an attitude of flirtation. Wickham saw them watching him, and he offered a slight smile to Miss Elizabeth, one that spoke volumes to anyone who was at all acquainted with him.
“That is double my father’s income,” continued she. “Papa often complains that we are determined to exceed his income, but I cannot imagine a man spending two years of Longbourn’s profits in that time without considering the expense of an estate.”
“Yet it is true,” said Darcy. “If you wish, I can show you proof of the money he received. His current circumstances should tell the tale of his wasteful dissipation thereafter.”
Miss Elizabeth turned to him, her expression intense. “Then I must assume that he has behaved the same way in Meryton. Even if seduction takes longer, he could obtain debt within a short time of arriving if he is careful.”
“That is almost certainly what has happened, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Darcy. “And do not be too certain that he could not seduce a woman quickly. Wickham’s silver tongue and charm have fooled many a woman.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, but why have you not already denounced him?”
Darcy sighed. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but a lifetime of cleaning up after George Wickham has left me weary and unwilling to continue. That is not an excuse but the truth.
“However,” said Darcy, fixing her with an arched brow and a hard grin, “I do not mean to allow the situation to continue. It is time that I lanced the boil that is George Wickham. You may rest assured that I will not remain passive any longer.”
Miss Elizabeth regarded him, and though her look was not admiration, it was agreement, which was enough for the moment. “Then I anticipate his fall, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy grasped her hand and bowed over it. “We are agreed, Miss Elizabeth. Events will prove the truth of what I have told you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I do not disbelieve your account,” said Elizabeth, bemused by the gesture.
“I appreciate the sentiment.”
Soon after, the party dispersed. Darcy spent the brief journey back to Netherfield planning what he would do. Wickham had always counted on Darcy’s restraint to protect him. Darcy would no longer offer it. Wickham would finally learn what it meant to cross him.