20. A Vile Nature Indeed
A Vile Nature Indeed
Elizabeth slowed her step as her mind raced.
Mr Darcy had seen her in company with only a handful of men in Meryton—neighbours she had danced with or talked to while he had stood, staring, in the shadows.
He would know nothing of those men—had he even bothered to learn their names?
—and would not insult them. Perhaps he referred to Colonel Fitzwilliam?
His low, sombre voice broke into her thoughts. “George Wickham is not a good man.”
“He has said nothing kind of you either, sir.”
“Yes, he is loquacious about my ‘vile nature’. What he said, was it unprompted, and in company?”
“Yes.” Thus sowing my doubts about his honesty and veracity.
“I imagine he claimed that I refused to honour the promises made to him by my excellent father and it is my doing that he is in his current straits—a man of twenty-six years, new to the militia.”
She could not deny she had thought it odd at the time.
“The four thousand pounds he has been given since my father died five years ago are gone—spent and wasted on drink and gambling and lord knows what else. He is as careless with other men’s wallets as he is with servant girls and the daughters of innkeepers.
” Mr Darcy was nearly shaking with anger as he spoke, but her shocked gasp seemed to prompt the return of his composure.
“I apologise for my frankness. The pertinent detail is that he went through it all rather than pursuing a profession for which he had been provided the funds. Please, do not trust him.”
“I did not—I do not. I should trust you?”
Her words, foolishly phrased to sound doubtful even to her own ears, had an immediate effect. The earnestness Mr Darcy had just displayed vanished.
The coolness of his reply revealed he was affronted. “I should hope you have no reason not to trust me. I have told you all I know of Bingley and the maid and the truth about his penchant to fall in love.”
“Yes, I appreciate your honesty, and I believe what you say of Mr Wickham and Mr Bingley. Truly.” Elizabeth’s lips rose in a small smile and, appearing content, he returned it.
Her heart flipped a little, and in a voice she hoped conveyed mirth, she added, “We are standing in a maze that, however dilapidated, would be difficult for me to escape without you as my guide, so yes, Mr Darcy, I do trust you.”
His smile grew. “Then I must be honest. I owe you a confession. Bingley learnt from Netherfield’s housekeeper that you and Miss Bennet had left Longbourn, but it was in a chance encounter I had with Sir William Lucas, at an inn on my journey south from Pemberley, that I learnt you were in Kent.
” He shrugged. “I should have mentioned it when my cousin and I called at the parsonage, as Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas will undoubtedly hear of it in a letter from their mother or father.”
At that, Elizabeth’s astonishment turned to laughter. “Yes, I am certain word will reach us soon.”
Shaking his head a little, Mr Darcy gestured towards the path, and they resumed their journey. “You mentioned Miss Bingley assuring you that her brother was presently pursuing another lady, planning an alliance even while calling on your sister in Meryton?”
Elizabeth cursed herself for having raised the issue.
Evidently, what Miss Bingley had said was a falsity, a means of dissuading Jane from her interest in Mr Bingley, who either was less in love with Jane than he had appeared or more easily persuaded away from her than one would hope.
But explain she must, for Mr Darcy had been honest and open with her.
“In her letters to Jane, Miss Bingley claims, quite boldly, that her family and yours anticipated an even closer alliance.”
Mr Darcy stopped and turned towards her. “Pardon?”
“Not between the two of you,” she assured him, seeing his expression ease in the moment before she added, reluctantly, “Miss Darcy and Mr Bingley.”
At this, his face flushed. “She wrote this, in a letter to your sister?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“She put words to paper, that my sister…”
“Has a growing connexion to Mr Bingley.”
For an instant Mr Darcy simply stared at her. Then, as though the meaning had struck all at once, his expression hardened into a deep, controlled indignation that seemed to lock his whole frame into stillness.
“My sister,” he said very quietly, “and Bingley?” The dryness of his tone would have withered any woman less conceited than Caroline Bingley.
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered, studying him closely. “Miss Bingley wrote as though it were settled. I believe she meant Jane to believe Mr Bingley’s affections were entirely fixed elsewhere.”
A muscle tightened in Mr Darcy’s jaw. “She wrote this to Miss Bennet?”
In other circumstances, Elizabeth would have been amused to see him so dumbfounded, so in need of repetitive pronouncements.
But she understood his unconscious obstinacy.
Such a revelation about the actions of a ‘friend’ was shocking.
“There were two letters, the first announcing your party would not return to Netherfield and the second in reply to my sister’s missive.
In her own hand, Miss Bingley avowed that she, her sister, and her brother were eager to meet Miss Darcy again.
After praising your sister for her elegance and accomplishments, Miss Bingley wrote that her and Mrs Hurst’s affection for her was so great, they had hopes of her soon being their sister. ”
“Hopes? Foolish expectations are nothing to truth.”
His voice held more disgust than anger, and Elizabeth realised she must be clearer.
“I believed it a falsehood, meant only to ensure Jane abandoned her hopes for Mr Bingley, but as my own thoughts at the time were not sympathetic towards him, I found it difficult to defend his behaviour towards my sister.
“They were hurtful letters for Jane to read. I took them away so she would not dwell on their words excessively. I, however, dwelt on them, and I cannot forget what Miss Bingley wrote about Miss Darcy. She claimed that… ‘My brother admires her greatly already, he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing,’ and”—she glanced at Mr Darcy as she concluded—“and that ‘her relations all wish the connexion as much as his own’.”
“How dare she!”
His expression was dark, frightening in its fury. Though Elizabeth knew she should not question him on the veracity of Miss Bingley’s assertions, the words were out before she could stop herself.
“So there is no truth to it?”
“Of course not. My sister is but just turned sixteen years old. Her temperament is quiet and shy, and she is preoccupied with her studies. She is not out in society, nor would she look upon Bingley as more than the kind friend of her older brother.”
Elizabeth wished for a sudden interruption—the arrival of a rain shower or Colonel Fitzwilliam or a hungry fox.
Having ever thought a girl as young as Miss Darcy was eager for Mr Bingley’s attentions, she felt the injustice and shame of her query, especially when she had said she had not believed the claim.
Is it any wonder Mr Darcy was so repulsed by the Bennets?
His sister is likely the full opposite of Lydia.
“I am sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I have no wish to impugn Miss Darcy’s character.
I could not believe it myself. Miss Bingley’s prevarication is a mark of her own weakness of character.
Her letter assured me I had made the right decision in separating my sister from Mr Bingley.
Even understanding now that he was innocent, if unwise, in speaking to the maid as he did, I do not wish Jane connected to that family. ”
He blinked but did not acknowledge her words, instead demanding, “Where are these letters? With whom have you shared the mistruths contained within them?”
“The letters are locked in my trunk. Only Jane and I have read them.” The scepticism on his countenance led her to make further assurances.
“Truly, my mother knows nothing of what was written beyond the news that the Bingleys would not return to Netherfield. None in my family or the neighbourhood has been informed of our disgust over Mr Bingley’s conduct or his supposed attachment to Miss Darcy.”
Mr Darcy gestured towards the path. Clearly, he wished to be rid of her company, for his gait was no longer leisurely, and Elizabeth found herself hastening to keep pace.
Abruptly, he slowed, turning to peer down at her while still walking.
“I apologise for exhibiting such anger in your presence. You are not the scribe but the messenger, and I should not display my displeasure to you. Rather, I am grateful that you told me. None but a fool would believe it true, but my sister is of a delicate temperament, and I cannot bear to see harm done to her, particularly by someone who claims her friendship.”
He drew back, appearing astonished, angry, and something more subtle—ashamed, perhaps, that such mischief had come from a woman so closely connected through his friend and whose waspish tendencies had been openly displayed while at Netherfield.
He stared into the distance, his brows knitted, as though he was calculating the full extent of the injury.
“To invoke my young sister’s name and reputation in such deception, to distress your sister, to manipulate her feelings through a falsehood concerning my own—this goes beyond Miss Bingley’s usual presumption. ”
Elizabeth could not disagree.
He turned back to face her, and now she saw not only offence but earnest sorrow—protective, almost tender—on behalf of his sister and even, she thought, Jane.
“I knew Miss Bingley was eager for her brother to form an advantageous connexion, but my sister’s name will not be employed as the instrument of any woman’s jealous design,” he said. “I am deeply sorry that Miss Bennet has been subjected to this scheme. Truly.”
Elizabeth, moved by the sincerity of his regret, answered softly, “Jane does not blame Miss Darcy, nor Mr Bingley. She was disappointed that Mr Bingley’s affections were not equal to her own, but her spirits have been restored in town.”
Her own spirits rose when his expression softened briefly. A moment later, he turned away, his hands fisted, and quietly cursed.