Chapter 6 #2
“Lydia,” Mr Bennet interjected, “if I hear another word from you or Kitty about the officers over the following days, neither of you will attend the party. Take this as a fair warning, and no, I shall not change my mind.”
Strong opposition began, to which Mr Bennet only repeated his warning. He then turned to Mr Collins and said, “Sir, it seems the weather will be fairly good tomorrow. Prepare yourself for a long ride after breakfast. We might not see the entire property in one day, but certainly most of it.”
“That would be excellent, sir. What a good day I had today, sir—”
“Mr Collins, I am sure Mrs Bennet would like to hear about it. I shall be in my library till dinner. Resting. Alone.”
***
“We are so happy to be able to enjoy your company at dinner again, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley said. “You have been missed.”
“Thank you. You are very kind. I am pleased to be here.”
“Is your ankle still hurting?”
“Too little to be mentioned.”
“We were talking to Charles about our plans. He has had the dreadful idea of spending Christmas here, in this wild corner of the country,” Mrs Hurst said.
“I should like to return to London,” Hurst added. “Life is terribly dull here, as good as the food and the drink might be.”
“What do you think, Mr Darcy?” Miss Bingley insisted.
“I can only speak for myself, Miss Bingley. I shall stay for the dinner party, out of consideration for Bingley, and afterwards will return to London to be with my sister. I shall spend Christmas with her and some other relatives.”
Indeed, he had decided to leave, precisely because he was very tempted to stay. For too many days he had thought of little else but the charming Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and his thoughts tormented him day and night.
How had that young woman succeeded in charming him so deeply, when they had only met a few times? It was a mystery that bothered him tremendously. The intensity of his feelings was something new to him, and he felt a complete loss of control of his body and mind.
He had not contemplated any further development of their relationship yet; in truth, there was no real relationship between them. He was uncertain of his feelings and doubted his judgment; for the first time ever, his heart spoke louder than his reason, and his wishes were stronger than his duty.
If he examined Miss Elizabeth’s situation in life and her connections, she was by no means suited to be considered a possible wife for him. But when he thought of her, when he recollected their brief yet intense discussions, he knew, he felt, she would be perfect to complete his life.
However, there was still a long journey before he could be sure of his true feelings and wishes.
First, he had to be certain that he was not simply infatuated, as Bingley had been many times.
He had to carefully question his heart and his mind, and he assumed he would be better situated to do so if he was away from her.
That is why he planned to return to London at the first opportunity.
“You may all keep to your own plans. I have decided to spend the winter here, since I have rented this place,” Bingley declared firmly.
“But what will you do here alone?” Miss Bingley insisted.
“I have an entire household of servants to take care of me. And Meryton is quite animated, especially with the regiment camped there. Speaking of the officers, Darcy, I met a man today who mentioned that he was acquainted with you and your aunt.”
“My aunt? Which one?” Darcy enquired, stunned.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr Bennet’s cousin, the one who will inherit Longbourn, is apparently your aunt’s clergyman. He was lost in admiration for her, I must say — and for you. When he heard of you staying here, he almost died of joy!” Bingley laughed.
“So, I assume you visited Longbourn again?” Miss Bingley asked sharply.
“Yes, but before that, I met all the Miss Bennets and their cousin Mr Collins in Meryton, and I was introduced to a certain Mr Wickham.”
A sharp pain in his chest took Darcy’s breath away.
“George Wickham?”
“Yes. He claimed to know you, but he was rather mysterious about your connection, and I did not stay long enough to enquire further.”
“Our connection is easy to explain. He was my father’s godson.
His father was the steward of Pemberley.
George Wickham is the lowest scoundrel one could imagine,” he said bitterly.
When he looked around at his companions, he noticed their expressions of puzzlement and curiosity, which he was not willing to indulge.
His appetite was gone, but he forced himself to stay for dinner, to avoid even more enquiries. What on earth was George Wickham doing in Meryton? He was an officer now? Who had he tricked to obtain a commission?
After the scoundrel’s attempted elopement with Georgiana last summer, he had hoped they would never meet again.
Unfortunately, he had encountered some bad luck lately; firstly, he had sprained his ankle, now he was forced to bear further pain — more dreadful and impossible to heal.
He could not remain in the same town as Wickham, so he had to examine the situation and decide accordingly.
Shooting the scoundrel, as Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested, was always something to consider.