by Jann Rowland
Darcy’s words moved Lady Catherine, for he could see it in the deflation of all her anger. Swiping a hand over her face, she appeared like an old, tired woman rather than the force of nature she had seemed all his life.
“I am willing to allow Anne to live, Darcy. But what of Wickham? Do you believe her beyond his reach?”
“It seems to me that Anne understands what he is, and she claims she will not allow him to charm her. I will not let down my guard if that is what you ask. At present, however, it may be best to watch and wait, for she will not respond well if we further importune her on the subject.”
“Then I will rely on you to safeguard her, Darcy. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall find my daughter for a long-overdue conversation. It seems we must decide what we are to do now; I would not make any plans without discovering her wishes.”
As Lady Catherine left the room, Darcy reflected on the good that had come of their discussion that morning. Though he was yet unconvinced of Wickham’s inability to harm his cousin, Darcy thought Anne had a greater chance of happiness now than she had at any time in the past.
“It seems to me we have had this conversation before, Colonel,” said Wickham as he walked into Colonel Fitzwilliam’s office. “Or, at least what I expect this conversation will be.”
“Close the door, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam, setting his pen in the holder and looking up at his officer.
Wickham complied without comment, easing himself into the indicated chair like a boy being brought before the headmaster. Fitzwilliam regarded his officer, wondering at his game, for it was not the Wickham he knew. And Fitzwilliam did not like it. In any other man, he might have thought he was intent on not provoking a superior officer. In Wickham, Fitzwilliam suspected it was nothing more than an act, a show to prove he was not the danger Fitzwilliam knew him to be.
“Since you have already divined the reason I summoned you, perhaps you would explain your actions.”
When Wickham did not respond at once, Fitzwilliam watched him, alert for any deception. The only thing he could glean from Wickham’s behavior was uncertainty. What that might portend, Fitzwilliam did not know, but it did not make him trust the man any further.
“I know why you suspect me, Colonel,” said he, opting for the safety of formality. “I have not always behaved the best in my dealings with your family.”
“That, Wickham, is perhaps the understatement of the century.”
Though the man attempted a hesitant smile, it fell away from his face when Fitzwilliam did not respond to it. Now nervous, Wickham nodded, a little jerky, but he did not speak again.
“I am still waiting for an explanation, Wickham.”
“Do you consider me witless?” asked Wickham, a little of his courage returning. “I am not ignorant of the power you hold over me, and I know Darcy can have me put into prison on a moment’s notice. Why should I risk that?”
“Then you were not attempting to charm my cousin.”
“We were both attending an assembly. Though I have attempted to keep my distance from G . . . Miss Darcy when I have been in company with her, I know of no reason I should refrain from speaking with Miss de Bourgh. Our conversation lasted only a few moments; you may ask her if you doubt me.”
Fitzwilliam considered Wickham, leaning back in his chair to give him more time to think without responding. “Then you deny having any designs on my cousin.”
“I believe I am allowed the ambition to improve my lot in life,” growled Wickham, showing a little spirit.
“Do you believe we—her family—will have nothing to say of that?”
“With all due respect, Miss de Bourgh is of age and may make her own choices.”
Fitzwilliam snorted. “You say that, knowing her mother?”
Wickham shook his head. “If Lady Catherine allowed Miss de Bourgh to go her own way, she may surprise you all. Regardless, if I was interested in her as a potential wife, it is her choice whether to allow me to make my case or send me away. I have no intention of attempting to spirit her away and provoking your vengeance.”
“So you deny any interest in Anne.”
The grin with which Wickham regarded him was unfeigned, as far as Fitzwilliam could determine. “Her situation is an excellent lure, as you know, but her mother is the trump card which prevents any contemplation of her as a bride.”
A barked laugh was Fitzwilliam’s response; well did he know it!
“And what of Miss Bingley?”
Again, Wickham’s manner became colder. “That lady is none of your concern, Fitzwilliam. As I told you, I have no desire to provoke you or your cousin to act against me. If I woo Miss Bingley, if I resolve on proposing to her, it is none of your concern. Perhaps she will accept, though I suspect otherwise. Either way, it is my concern, as long as I do nothing underhanded.”
“You understand I will not relax my vigilance.”
“I did not expect you would. My only request is that you do not interfere.”
“Then you may go,” said Fitzwilliam.
Nodding, Wickham rose and departed from the room, leaving Fitzwilliam alone with his thoughts. The man was a slippery one and no mistake. While Fitzwilliam had attempted to watch him to determine if he was lying, it was unclear. Though he had always considered himself a good judge of such things, Wickham was a man for whom lying was as natural as breathing.
He was also correct. If Wickham did nothing objectionable, there was nothing Fitzwilliam could do to stop him from paying his addresses to Miss Bingley. That did not mean he would cease watching him. Further vigilance was required, for Wickham was too much of a known quantity for that.
Elizabeth was aware of the concerns of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam the previous evening, for Mr. Darcy had informed her of what he saw. A part of Elizabeth thought the gentlemen were overreacting, for she saw no sign of Miss de Bourgh’s imminent infatuation with the officer. However, she understood their history with him and knowing much of it herself, Elizabeth could not say they were not right to worry.
The pledge she had given to watch Wickham herself whenever required had earned her a tender smile and a heartfelt thanks from the gentleman. There was little desire in Elizabeth to see Miss de Bourgh hurt or married to a man who wished to have her for nothing more than her inheritance. Though Mr. Darcy would not say much of the matter, Elizabeth suspected she had been the victim of an overbearing mother all her life. What Miss de Bourgh needed was love and support, the devotion of a husband when the time came, a man who would treat her as a woman ought to be treated. Until that happened, Elizabeth meant to offer her whatever friendship and support she could.
The morning after the assembly, the youngest Bennets were restless in a manner Elizabeth had rarely seen. Georgiana, sweet girl that she was, had provided a distraction for them the previous evening, for which Elizabeth—and the rest of her family—were grateful. After she departed, however, Lydia’s mood grew restive again.
“Oh, how this house is dreary!” groused Lydia for perhaps the fifth time. “How I long to leave it for a time.”
Lydia looked to Kitty as if demanding her support. “Do you not wish to go out?”
“I would not be opposed to it,” was Kitty’s diplomatic response.
Though Lydia scowled at her sister, she turned to Elizabeth, hope shining in her countenance—so much so it was almost pathetic. “We have not walked into Meryton for a time. Shall we not go there today?”
“Have you completed your studies?” asked Mr. Bennet.
“Before luncheon,” replied Kitty to Lydia’s enthusiastic nod.
“Perhaps it would be acceptable to go to Meryton today,” mused Elizabeth. “It is a fine day, and the exercise would be beneficial.”
“If you are to go,” said Mrs. Bennet, “Cook mentioned something of wishing to restock some of her spices from Mr. Hodge.”
“Then let us go!” exclaimed Lydia.
Elizabeth exchanged a shrug with Jane and agreed to the outing, much to Lydia
’s excitement. Kitty, given the praise she had received the previous day, exhibited a demure pose of a girl of seventeen, though Elizabeth could see she was also excited. They rose from the room, gathering spensers and bonnets, gloves and instructions from Longbourn’s cook, and then set out for the town little more than a mile distant.
What Lydia found so exciting about Meryton, Elizabeth could not say. Though she had always thought it a fine town, more so because of its friendly inhabitants than its physical beauty, there was nothing special about it. Lydia, if her sisters allowed it, could walk the length of its principal street from sunup until sundown and never grow tired. While the shops were quaint, like old friends Elizabeth had known all her life, they were small and often dingy and did not contain the treasures one could find on Bond Street, or even those in Luton or Stevenage.
It was not long before the reason for Lydia’s current fascination with Meryton became clear, though Elizabeth thought she should have guessed. For here and there along the street, they could see the red coats of the officers, their bright attire marking them without the possibility for error against the drab background of fading paint and cloudy windows.
And those dashing fellows were not reluctant to stop and flirt with young ladies of the neighborhood either. Here and there, all over the town, they stood in groups of two or three, with young ladies speaking with eager anticipation. It was thus that Lydia’s wishes were revealed, for while the girl remained composed, the first pair of officers to greet them—Lieutenants Denny and Sanderson—received an excited greeting as they stopped to talk to them.
The officers of the militia, Elizabeth knew, were a reflection on their commander, who was such an upstanding man himself. Of the Bennet sisters, they knew little and had spoken even less, for none of the eldest, though they would speak if the occasion demanded it, were enamored of their bright coats or eager to hear the stories laced with exaggeration and outright falsehoods which fell from their lips. The lieutenants, therefore, were impressed by the youngest, who gave them much more consequence than the elder, and soon the flirting became more overt and suggestive.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Denny,” said Elizabeth after a moment of this. “I believe it is time we must now depart.”
The look she gave to the officer seemed to remind him of the proprieties of the situation, not to mention with whom he spoke. Both bowed, spoke of their pleasure, hoping with little disguise that the acknowledged future fiancée of their commander’s close cousin would not bring this minor lapse to the colonel’s attention, and departed.
“Lizzy!” hissed Lydia as they were leaving. “Why did you chase them away? Do you mean to keep every officer to yourself?”
“I mean to keep none to myself,” snapped Elizabeth, hitting Lydia with a sharp gaze, the kind which informed her sister of her displeasure and warned her to refrain from any further protest. “You should remember, Lydia, that you are not yet out. If you persist in flirting with every officer we meet on the street, it will be longer before Papa will allow you the freedom you so desperately crave.”
Though Lydia muttered, Jane, ever the diplomat, interjected: “Let us visit a merchant or two. The milliner and the haberdasher, perhaps?”
Brightening at the promise of ribbons and bonnets, Lydia agreed, and they all turned to make their way down the street. It seemed to Elizabeth that word had spread, or they had been observed, for though they came across other officers, most offered a polite word of greeting and a bow, and continued on their way, much to Lydia’s disgust.
At length, Elizabeth decided she would take the purchase of Cook’s spices upon herself, knowing Lydia would not have the patience for it. After a quick word with Jane, she left them and visited Mr. Hodge’s shop, acquiring the necessary items, before making her way outside again. There, the most unwelcome sight of Mr. Wickham standing speaking to her sisters greeted her.
“Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth as she strode to the small party.
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth,” replied the gentleman with a bow. “How do you do?”
“Very well, sir. I see you are taking advantage of the fine weather we have been having.”
The lieutenant seemed to understand Elizabeth’s reason for choosing the weather as a subject, for he gave her an easy and knowing smile. “It is a benefit we must take when we can, for winter will soon be upon us and such opportunities will be lost. I understand you are of a like mind in this opinion.”
“Perhaps,” replied Elizabeth.
Though Mr. Wickham understood her succinct reply, he remained undaunted, turning his attention back to her youngest sisters. There was something flirtatious in his manner, his vanity stoked by adolescent girls hanging off his words. As his manners did not go beyond that which was proper, Elizabeth allowed them to speak without interrupting, considering the man before her.
Mr. Darcy’s words had taught her to be cautious against him, and Elizabeth did not think it was unwarranted. Mr. Wickham was all ease in company, his charm on display for all to see. While he might appear to be a true and jovial man, Elizabeth thought she understood something about him, for while he wore his civility like a well-worn glove, it seemed it was an act he put on to impress others. Even the comments exchanged with Kitty and Lydia were peppered with little compliments such as would impress an unwary and inexperienced girl, practiced, though delivered with a casual ease which bespoke true confidence.
Was there anyone in the world who knew the measure of this man? Elizabeth doubted it. In fact, she doubted that Mr. Wickham possessed much self-awareness, for the façade he put up for the world was so tight about him as to be a second skin, one which had been there for so long that it was now unnoticed. When Elizabeth compared his affable manners with Mr. Darcy’s fervent reticence, one man appeared to have all the substance, while the other was in possession of it. How fortunate she had been that Mr. Darcy had shown her his very soul and exposed this man in the process! Mr. Wickham might have duped her, the same as her younger sisters.
Soon, another pair of officers joined them, and Lydia, being eager to make the acquaintance of them all, began speaking to them, though Elizabeth appreciated she had waited for the introductions. This left Mr. Wickham displaced by the newcomers, a circumstance which he seemed to accept with good humor. Why he spoke to Elizabeth she could not know, though she wondered if it were some notion of portraying himself to the best advantage to the woman he was certain his former friend would soon connect himself.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he. “I thank you for bringing your sisters to town today, for I have not had the opportunity to speak with them.”
“That is no surprise,” replied Elizabeth, “for they are not yet out.”
“Yes, I gathered that much. Still, they appear to be wonderful girls, and with such excellent examples as you and Miss Bennet, I cannot imagine they will be anything but poised and confident when they come out.”
Elizabeth returned a faint smile at the man’s praise. “Thank you, sir. I confess I have high hopes for them myself.”
What followed was a stilted conversation, for Elizabeth did not wish to speak with the man, and he could not seem to find anything to say. There was not much of consequence of which she wished to speak to him, as most topics seemed fraught with danger or off-limits altogether. This all changed when Mr. Wickham made some slight comment of the Netherfield party.
“And how is it, to meet again with those whom you must not have seen in years?”
“Agreeable, indeed,” replied Mr. Wickham with what Elizabeth saw as a false smile. “I have missed Pemberley, for it is a lovely estate.”
“So Miss Darcy has informed me.”
The mention of Georgiana was deliberate, for Elizabeth wished to know if he would betray any remorse over how he had misused the girl. There was nothing for her to see in his reaction, however, for he smiled and nodded.
“Yes, the Darcys are proud of their estate, and one cannot blame them. Should you ever see it, I am convinced you will co
unt it the most beautiful of estates in the most beautiful of counties.”
“That is what my aunt says,” replied Elizabeth. “She is from Lambton, which I understand is near Pemberley.”
“Very near,” replied Mr. Wickham. “Why, Darcy and I used to go there every day in the summer. Perhaps I have met your aunt.”
“It is possible,” was Elizabeth’s noncommittal reply. “Then you must have known Lady Catherine also, for her sister was Mr. Darcy’s mother, I understand.”
Mr. Wickham made a face. “Lady Catherine is not a woman one could forget, and her sister was much like her in essentials.”
Not knowing enough about Lady Anne Darcy to know if that was true, Elizabeth agreed with respect to Lady Catherine and changed the topic. “It is interesting that Miss de Bourgh is so unlike her mother, given their close connection. I count it fortunate that I have made her acquaintance.”
“Oh, Miss de Bourgh is a good enough girl,” replied Mr. Wickham, his mask slipping just a little in the moue of distaste which hovered about his mouth. “It is unfortunate that she is been so sickly. It has left her wallowing in insipidity and left her uninteresting in most respects.”
“Except in her inheritance?” demanded Elizabeth, feeling offended for her new friend.
Mr. Wickham attempted to correct his mistake, but Elizabeth was in no mood to hear it. After a moment, he gave up attempting to explain himself.
“It is not my purpose to judge you, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, “but I must speak as I find. It seems to me that you have lived your life in such a way that you have become jaded. Is it proper to see those around you as nothing more than pawns you can use to benefit your own selfish desires? People do not live their lives to benefit you, sir. Anne is an excellent young woman, and I should tell you that I now consider her to be a friend, one whose society I hope to have for many years to come.
“I cannot tell you how to live your life,” continued Elizabeth, raking a disdainful glare over his form. “What I can tell you is that selfish people rarely find happiness, for genuine happiness is in giving of yourself as much as receiving from others. All your desires and lusts can never make you happy. They will only make you lonely.”