“I have made my choice,” she said, but her voice was shaking.
“So, unmake it,” said Wickham. “Listen, help me get that money, and it will be enough to set us both up. We shall run away and elope, and we shall be together.”
Her lips parted.
Wickham’s voice dropped and grew low and melodious. “Elizabeth. I know you want me. I can see it all over you when we speak. And I want you too. I have wanted you since the moment I saw you.”
She shook her head. “This… is… wrong. You cannot say such things to me.” She was backing away from him.
He pursued her, reaching out for her. “It cannot be wrong when our feelings are so great. Elizabeth, I love you. We are meant to be together.”
“I am engaged, sir,” she said. “I am engaged!” She turned, picking up her skirts and ran from him, her heart pounding in her chest, gathering speed the more that she ran.
She ran and ran and her heart thudded against her throat, and only after some time, did she look back to see Wickham.
But he was gone.
She got back to Pemberley and ran up to her bedroom and flung herself on her bed. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t find any tears.
“Miss?” said Martha, peering in on her. “Are you feeling well?”
“No, Martha, I’m not,” she said. “Please leave me alone.” She buried her face in a pillow.
* * *
Jane awoke with a start to the low register of her uncle’s voice. He sounded angry.
She looked beside her in bed, only to see that Lydia was not beside her again. Oh, dear. Not again. Jane hurriedly threw on her bed jacket and rushed from the room.
She found Lydia in the hallway, dressed again for a masquerade, only this time she had been discovered by her uncle and aunt.
Her uncle was in the middle of a tirade against Lydia, telling her that she ought to be ashamed of herself, and that she was lucky she had been discovered before she had managed to tarnish her good name and the family’s with it.
If Jane had been getting that sort of a tongue lashing, she would have been in tears. But Lydia was bearing it all with a lifted chin and a smirk on her face. She didn’t seem the least bit affected.
That was only serving to anger her uncle more. “What do you think you will become if you go out by yourself like that with no chaperone, girl?” he roared. “A common tart?”
“Mr. Gardiner,” said her aunt in a quiet voice. “Perhaps we should discuss this in the morning, after you have had a bit of time to, er, breathe.”
“I don’t need to breathe. I need my niece to behave properly!”
“She has always been wild,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “And she has been through an awful ordeal. We must expect—”
“You’re not staying in London,” said Mr. Gardiner, pointing at her. “I won’t have you corrupting my young daughters. We will send you to live with my sister.”
“No!” said Lydia, horrified.
“Jane,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Take Lydia to bed, will you not?”
Jane put her arm around Lydia and steered her back through the hallway.
Back in the room, Lydia stomped around and threw her clothes this way and that, but she got back in bed. “If only there were more balls in the summer, I might have managed to actually get out of this house!”
“Thank heavens you have not,” said Jane. “Our uncle is right, you know. You mustn’t stay here. You are more than any of us can handle.”
“Oh, I won’t be sent off to Aunt Philips,” said Lydia. “If you try, I shall run away. I shall join a troupe of traveling performers and learn to play the lute.”
“The lute?” Jane stifled a laugh.
“I am serious. I shall bring so much trouble down on the head of this family—”
“Why, Lydia? Why are you determined to destroy yourself and everyone who loves you?”
“I don’t know,” said Lydia.
It was quiet.
Lydia rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. “Maybe because it’s the only time I feel anything at all.”
“Oh, Lydia.” Jane rubbed her sister’s back.
Lydia started to cry. “Jane, why did it happen? Why did we lose Mama? I miss her so much.”
Jane started to cry too. “There was no reason, darling. That’s the way of things sometimes. You know, if Mary were still with us, she would tell us it was a trial sent by God to strengthen us.”
“If God did it on purpose, I hate him. What need does he have for our Mama, hmm? His is already dead and with him in heaven. He could have left us ours.”
Jane wrapped her arms around her sister, and they both cried quietly for a while.
Finally, Lydia sniffed. “I shan’t go to Aunt Philips.”
“Well, you can’t stay here. What if I went with you?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Lydia. “I won’t go.”
“You’ll have to go somewhere.”
“To Lizzy, then. I should like to go to Mr. Darcy’s grand estate in Derbyshire. Will you write to her?”
Jane sighed. “She is engaged, Lydia. I don’t think she’ll want you in the way of her and Mr. Darcy.”
“Please?”
“All right. All right. I’ll try.”
CHAPTER NINE
Elizabeth did not go walking the next day, or the day after. The third day, she began to hope that she had made herself plain to Wickham and that he would not be coming. But then, that afternoon, Wickham came to the door and was admitted by the butler, who showed him to the sitting room where she and Miss Thackerey were listening to Georgiana play on the piano.
It was a piece that Georgiana had just learned to play, and she was making a few mistakes, but they had stopped pointing them out, because Georgiana was very sensitive about it, and knew that she was making the mistakes. Having her failings pointed out was too much for the poor girl to bear, so they left her to sort out how to rectify the mistakes herself.
The butler opened the door and announced Mr. Wickham.
Georgiana, who had stopped playing when the butler entered, stood up at the piano, looking like a frightened deer with nowhere to run.
Wickham entered the room just behind the butler, and his gaze swept the assembly and settled on Georgiana.
Georgiana started to shake.
Wickham looked away, and something flickered over his face that Elizabeth did not think she’d ever seen before. Regret? Shame? What was that all about?
She got to her feet as well and she hurried over to the doorway. In a low voice, she said, “I don’t think it is a good time for a visit, sir. I am dreadfully sorry, but perhaps another day.”
Wickham looked at her. “Certainly. I have something that I have left in the study that was gifted to me by the late Mr. Darcy. Perhaps you would not mind escorting me—”
“I hardly think so,” said Elizabeth. She had not wrested with this decision at all. She had made it immediately, the day that he had spoken to her out on the grounds, and she had not reconsidered it. Still, the exchange haunted her. She could not deny that she responded to Mr. Wickham in an awful way. But she was beginning to see that Mr. Wickham was not the man he portrayed himself to be.
It was more than just the fact that his story about Miss Younge did not add up. It was the way he had continued to make love to her when he knew that she was spoken for, and the way he had asked her to become complicit in theft and to elope of all things. She was beginning to think that Mr. Wickham held money in a regard so high that he was willing to compromise his morality for it, and that she didn’t hold with.
This realization had broken something in her. She had held Mr. Wickham in high regard, and she had even nurtured tender feelings for him. But, in truth, she did not know him, and she was hurt and angry with him. What sort of man he was, she did not know, but she wished she had let Mr. Darcy’s edict to bar him from the house stand. In fact, she was going to tell the butler that as soon as she got rid of him.
“
It won’t be but a minute, Miss Bennet,” said Wickham tersely.
Suddenly, Elizabeth felt a small hand on her arm, tugging her out of the way. Swiftly, she was replaced by Georgiana, who now glared up at Wickham. Elizabeth had never seen Georgiana look so fierce.
Wickham took a step backwards. “Georgiana, how pleasant to see you again.”
“You may address me as Miss Darcy,” said Georgiana in a cold, clear voice.
Wickham licked his lips. “Listen, I know that things between us there at the end went a bit badly—”
“Oh?” said Georgiana. “Is that what you would say? The night you were drunk and you… you put your hands—”
“Miss Darcy, please.” A note of panic crept into Mr. Wickham’s voice.
“You said it was okay because you were going to marry me. But it hurt.”
Mr. Wickham swallowed hard. His voice lowered. “I never thought it through, Georgiana.”
“Miss Darcy!” Georgiana shrieked.
“I never think anything through,” said Wickham with a bitter laugh. “I am sorry.”
Georgiana’s nostrils flared. “My brother said I would never have to see you again. What are you doing in my house?”
“Leaving,” said Elizabeth, coming up behind Georgiana. “Leaving now, you awful liar.”
Wickham raised both of his hands. “Now, now, there’s no need for name calling.”
“You wicked villain!” said Georgiana. “You blackguard.”
“Yes, yes,” said Wickham. “All right, I am leaving.”
“We shall see you out,” said Elizabeth, giving him a shove.
He stumbled, and then righted himself. Smoothing his jacket, he gave her a look, almost frightened. And then he started toward the door. Elizabeth and Georgiana pursued him to the door.
“What’s this?” said the butler.
“Show him out,” said Elizabeth. “And it should be as Mr. Darcy has said. Mr. Wickham should never gain entrance to Pemberley again.”
“Yes, madam,” said the butler, bowing and taking Mr. Wickham by the arm. He reached out to open the door.
But just then, the door opened of its own accord, and Mr. Darcy was standing there.
“Master!” said the butler. “What are you doing here, unannounced, no warning?”
Darcy stared at Mr. Wickham, his body going tense. “I rode back on horseback this last leg of the journey. I suppose I got ahead of my letter home,” he murmured.
“Just escorting this one out,” said the butler.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, Wickham?”
“Oh, you know,” said Wickham. “Arranging secret rendezvous with your fiancee, convincing her to help me get what is my due from you, that sort of thing. Apparently, the sight of me terrorizes your sister. Which I’m not proud of. I just… you know…” He sighed. “I’m leaving,” he muttered.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth, and the full force of his fury seemed to cut through her.
She shrank from it.
“Oh, don’t worry, your Miss Bennet would not help me get the funds I need, more’s the pity. More talk than action, that one.”
Elizabeth looked away, her body flooded with hot shame.
Darcy grabbed the lapels of Wickham’s jacket. “Give me a reason not to get satisfaction from you,” he said, his voice icy.
“Satisfaction? You mean…” Wickham cleared his throat. “You mean satisfaction. Well… well, I’m a rotten shot, Darcy, and it wouldn’t be fair. Utterly unsportsmanlike to duel me. And besides which I don’t have a second, and—”
“Shut up,” said Darcy. “You’re not worth a bullet, Wickham.” He turned to the butler. “Open the door.”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler.
Darcy hurled Wickham out.
Wickham landed on his backside and tumbled down the steps, crying out in pain.
Darcy nodded at the butler.
He shut the door on Wickham.
Darcy ran a hand through his hair.
There was a noise of footsteps, echoing through the massive entrance hall.
They all turned to see Miss Thackerey approaching. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, you’re back,” she said in a high, false voice.
He turned to her sharply. “Miss Thackerey, did I not instruct you about Mr. Wickham?”
“No, sir,” said Miss Thackerey. “Once, someone mentioned him and you said never to say his name aloud.”
Darcy curled his hands into fists. “Blast.”
“Fitz?” said Georgiana, whose lower lip was trembling.
He seized her, crushing her against his chest.
She clung to him, and she started to sob.
Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth over his sister’s head. “It seems we have things to discuss, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth felt ill.
* * *
Mr. Darcy did not speak to her that night. He ordered dinner abolished and everyone was served a light supper in their rooms, much like the first night that Elizabeth had stayed in Pemberley.
She did not sleep well. She lay awake, tossing and turning. She was rather sure that her engagement with Mr. Darcy was over. He was well within his rights to end things with her.
It would look bad for her, though. A man only broke an engagement if a woman had been unfaithful to him. She would be as good as ruined.
She knew she had to plead for him to forgive her, but she could think of no reason why he should. Everything she had done had been dreadful.
And now, she knew that Mr. Wickham had been lying about everything. There had been no story from Miss Younge. He had done something awful to Georgiana, and she gathered he had promised to marry her.
She was not sure if Georgiana’s virtue had been assaulted. She hoped it was a less serious offense than that. But whatever he’d done, it had been physical, it had been harmful, and it had been at least somewhat intimate, if Wickham had excused it by the idea that they were engaged.
She was ill over that.
Georgiana was young, and whenever this had taken place between them, she would have been younger still. And though Georgiana was of the same age as Lydia, she was not nearly as self-assured and worldly as Elizabeth’s younger sister. To take advantage of that poor girl was the worst thing that Elizabeth could think of.
And she well knew Mr. Wickham’s motive. It was the same in all things. Money. He was a wretch.
She’d been taken in by him, to be sure, but she had done her share of things that were wrong. Whether or not Mr. Wickham had been a bad man or not, she should not have met with him alone. And given what Darcy knew about Wickham’s willingness to cross lines with young women, he would be well within his rights to cast aspersion on Elizabeth’s virtue.
When morning came, Elizabeth felt as though she had not slept at all.
She was terrified to go down to breakfast, but when she did, no one was there. She nibbled on a few things, and had a bit of chocolate.
As she was finishing up, Mr. Darcy appeared in the doorway to the dining room. He looked at her.
She looked back, quavering.
“Stop looking at me that way, Miss Bennet,” he snapped. “I am not going to strike you.”
“I… I didn’t think…” She hung her head.
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready to speak with you about all this, but we are both here, so…” He looked over his shoulder. “Perhaps we ought to go to my study, away from the prying ears of servants.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Very well.” He nodded once and turned and walked away.
She hesitated for a moment, and then hurried after him.
He walked with long strides through the house. Though he looked back to see if she was coming, he never slowed down for her. Eventually, they reached the study, and he held the door open for her and then shut it behind her after she had entered.
Elizabeth stood just inside the door.
He was standing next to her. They were close, only a f
ew feet between them, and she could smell him.
She had not realized it before, but she knew his smell. She had smelled it when they had traveled together, shut up together in a carriage. She liked his smell. It comforted her in some strange way. But there was nothing comforting about this situation. Her stomach turned over.
Mr. Darcy regarded the floor. His voice was dull. “In many ways, I blame myself. I never told you of Wickham’s many sins. I did not speak to anyone about them. This was because I did not wish to damage my sister’s reputation and also because I was angry with myself for not protecting her. I was angry with myself that it had happened in the first place. I knew that Wickham was a wretched person. I did not realize how wretched. He had burned through every bit of money I or my father had ever given him—including the value of a living that had been promised him.”
“So, you didn’t refuse him that!” Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “Imagine that. He lied to me about that as well.”
“He excels at lying, madam,” said Mr. Darcy. “I did not equip you with that knowledge. I held my tongue, and he came here and preyed on you. I knew that you were acquainted with him. I should have imagined that he might come here, and that you would…”
They were quiet.
“You needn’t worry,” said Darcy, scuffing his foot against the floor. “I don’t believe those things he said about you. He said it to make me angry. You don’t have to protest that it never happened.”
Her lips parted. Oh, well, she had not thought that he would say such a thing. The intelligent thing would be to leave it be, to let it go, and let the matter pass. But if she lied to Mr. Darcy, she would be as bad as Mr. Wickham. “Well, actually—”
“Miss Bennet,” he cut her off.
She stared at him.
He rubbed his chin and stared at her. Oddly, she was struck by the notion that he looked rather sad, not angry. As if he might be a bit heartbroken, in fact. “Why did you agree to marry me?”
She didn’t know what to say. “Well… you asked, and it seemed…”
“Seemed what?”
“Well, to refuse would have been folly, all things considered.”
“Indeed.” His voice wasn’t strong. He crossed the room and went to the window of the study. He gazed out at the grounds. “So, it was the practical choice, then.”
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