“Indeed. A maiden aunt, one hopes.”
“Ah, once Miss Bennet marries Bingley, no doubt.”
She smiled, contented. “No doubt.”
Mr Williams set his book down on the round table, abandoning any pretense of reading. “You are not afraid of me.”
“Whyever should I be? Mr Bingley recommends you, and that is good enough for me.”
A shadow crossed his face. “Our first meeting was rather unfortunate.”
“You have already explained and apologised.” Elizabeth rose. “But I shan’t disturb you any longer. I find I am tired after all.”
“Elizabeth,” he called her name softly right as she reached the door.
Elizabeth paused with her hand on the knob and glanced over her shoulder to give him a quizzical look. “Yes?”
“I should not think it so great a disaster, a man forced to wed you.”
She took a heartbeat to compose herself, then said, “Well, nothing short of death is truly a disaster, is it?”
He laughed, the sound soft but full. Leaving the library, she shook her head. He was an odd man, to be sure.
Jane and Elizabeth left the following morning after breakfast. The days that came after were almost invariably spent in Bingley’s company.
And Williams’.
“I wonder you escort your friend to every outing he has planned with Jane,” Elizabeth teased Mr Williams one day. “Do you fear for his reputation?”
Adelaide wanted fresh flowers for the table that evening, so the sisters enlisted the help of the gentlemen and off they went, combing the countryside for wildflowers to fill their baskets. Bingley was no fool, however. He had begun carrying a basket of food and wine when he arrived by carriage, knowing the Bennets were usually to be found out of doors.
Williams did not smile, but the gleam in his eyes made up for the lack. Having been in his company several times now, she noticed a marked difference in how he conversed with others in comparison to herself. His manner always cool, though faultlessly polite. Detached and inviting no one to attempt to draw him out. With her, however, he seemed content to argue and needle her to his delight. Slowly he morphed into the man whom she had first invited into her forest sanctuary.
“If I did not accompany him who would entertain you while they stare into each other’s eyes?” Williams asked.
“Ah, so you come along to save me.”
“I do not think you need a saviour for any battle, Miss Elizabeth, but I feel honoured you would think of me as such.” He handed her a flower after bending down to pick it, his fingers brushing hers as she took it from him.
There was something not quite as light-hearted in that response, so she changed the subject.
Having discovered in each other a mutual interest in reading, inevitably many of their conversations devolved to debate over one author or another, one book or another. Williams delighted her, though she kept that feeling to herself lest he think he might use it against her while arguing some philosophical point. She could not recall a time she had enjoyed a man’s company as much. The men she usually conversed with tended to be of Collins’ ilk. Self-satisfied, intellectually lazy and—though she would never be so rude as to say it aloud—not pleasing to one’s eyes to look upon. Which made Williams’ company all the more invigorating. He had beauty as well as brains, and well, why should she not enjoy the glint in his eyes or the fine breadth of his shoulders under his overcoat? The dignified, erect carriage and restrained energy in every step.
“Do you know,” he said to her as they trailed behind Jane and Bingley, “I have never enjoyed arguing with another person so well as I do you.”
“I shall take that as a compliment. Is this the fourth?”
Williams plucked one of the flowers out of the basket hanging over the crook of her elbow. “You may take it however you wish. I despair of convincing you of any conclusion you have not already come to yourself.”
She gasped good-naturedly. “Why, sir, you make me sound stubborn and unwilling to listen to sound argument.”
“Hmm. I have a sister. I know better than to answer that question.”
Elizabeth laughed, loudly enough that Jane glanced over her shoulder. Elizabeth waved at Jane, smiling, and her elder sister turned back to Bingley after a moment. Beginning a response to William’s statement, she paused, startled when he slipped the flower in his hand behind her ear, taking the time to tuck the fragile stem in between the strands of her coiffure so it would stay fixed.
“There,” he said lightly.
“Thank you.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced away. “Shall we?”
“Elizabeth,” Jane called.
Her sister waited for them to catch up, then said, “Mr Bingley says Miss Caroline has a new book on flower arranging.”
“Yes, you must come and give us your opinion on the illustrations,” Bingley urged. “We are not far from Longbourn. If we turn back now, then we will arrive in time for tea.”
And so their days went, though the sisters did not spend every single waking moment with Mr Bingley and Mr Williams. Just enough that the entire family remarked upon it.
“It is almost as if Mr Williams is courting you, Lizzy,” Kitty said in an arch tone, “you sly thing. I knew you would not be content to simply arrange Jane’s marriage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elizabeth said, spreading butter over a slice of bread. She continued to eat, ignoring the teasing.
Collins cleared his throat. He had returned from his parsonage that day and would be in Longbourn for his obligatory monthly fortnight. “Perhaps I should call upon Mr Williams. What do we know about the man, after all?”
Elizabeth set her fork down with a deliberate clink against the plate. “You will do no such thing.”
“It is my duty—”
She glared at him so fiercely he shrank back in his chair. “You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing.”
“Protesteth too much?” Adelaide murmured. “Remember your promise, dear daughter.”
Chapter Fourteen
Remember her promise.
How could she forget? Lydia, however, seemed as determined as always to flout circumspect behaviour. Days later, word of Lydia and Kitty cavorting in town with several of the officers and Mr Wickham made its way to Elizabeth’s ear.
“I only wanted to let you know,” Maria, now Mrs Ainsley, said. “I wish I could stay longer, but I must oversee our packing for the return journey to London.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, setting aside her teacup when Mrs Ainsley rose. She escorted her out of the house, then returned to the drawing room where Jane sat, nibbling on her bottom lip rather than a cake.
“It is a wonder Lydia has not yet ruined herself,” Jane said. “Lizzy, what will we do?”
Elizabeth picked up her shawl. Both Kitty and Lydia had been indulged as girls, and now, as young women, it was nearly too late to course-correct their behaviour. “She is too old to confine to her room. And I cannot force any man to wed her.”
“Perhaps some time with Aunt Gardiner?”
“I do not think Adelaide will allow her to go. She expects me to bend my effort to finding Lydia a husband.”
Jane sighed. “Elizabeth. That bargain was ill struck. You are no fairy, and we have no fairy blood in our veins that I know of. You cannot simply snap your fingers and make a husband appear.”
“One difficulty at a time, my dear. First, I am off to town to embarrass the gentlemen cavorting with our sister. If I cannot shame her, then perhaps the prospect of my tongue on their backsides will act as a deterrent for them.”
For if Wickham ruined Lydia or anyone else, the truce with Adelaide would be off.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham greeted her, not bothering to rise from his lounging position in the grass.
Elizabeth had traversed the length of town before someone was able to tell her that her sisters, Wickham, Denny, and several others in the cohort of young adults had gone
for a picnic. Along the search, two different shopkeepers and one of the town matrons had taken Elizabeth aside to complain about the general rowdy behaviour of ‘that set.’ Evidently, wherever Wickham and Lydia were, there was also loud revelry. The deterioration of Lydia’s reputation was more advanced than Elizabeth had realised.
By the time she scouted three different locations, she was tired, aggravated to the point of anger, and hungry.
“I am not a nursemaid, Lydia,” she snapped.
Big blue eyes blinked up at her, her tawny brown brows furrowing. “I never said you were. Is something amiss?”
Elizabeth glared. Oh, how reasonable Lydia sounded. Ignoring her, she turned to Wickham.
“Your cavorting with my sisters has caused tongues to wag, Mr Wickham.” She pointed. “Not just you, all of you.”
“Ah, and so the dragon swoops down from the skies to rescue the fair damsels.” Golden lashes fluttered as he stared up at her, sun bright in his hair.
“I do not know what sort of mischief you are up to, but you will have to forgo the company of my sisters. If needed, I will speak personally to your superior and lodge a complaint.”
Lydia sat up. “Elizabeth, you are overreacting. I do not know what you have heard—”
“Maria came to me.”
Wickham sneered. Lydia just laughed. “Oh, la! Maria is so boring now that she is married. Constantly fussing over her husband, worried about the wagging tongues of the busybody matrons.”
Elizabeth stared at her sister. “Very well. I shall speak with Wickham’s superior. I shall also make my way to Netherfield to speak to Mr Bingley. Perhaps he can be persuaded to deny invitations to the ball to the regiment. Jane and he are such good friends.”
She turned, satisfied by the general cry of denial from the group, and several boos warmed her cold soul like a hot bowl of soup on a winter night. If these young people refused to conform to responsible conduct in public and cease their constant carousing, then Elizabeth would ensure consequences were meted out.
A hand on her arm jerked her to a halt. “Why be so unpleasant, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth yanked away from Wickham. “Touch me again, and you will lose the hand, sir.” The low, quiet tone of her voice made her words a vow. There was something about this man that whispered to every instinct inside her to avoid him. More than avoid, shun. Never be caught alone with him in a dark room.
How was it her sisters did not possess a similar instinct?
“Lizzy, you always want to ruin everything,” Lydia said. “Why don’t you join us instead? Perhaps a little fun and some wine will calm your nerves. You are under a great deal of stress, caring for the invalid.”
The words were a blow stuck to the chest. “That. . .invalid. . .is our eldest sister.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “You know I mean no ill. But if she chooses to stay shut up, that is no reason why you should.”
Elizabeth took a step away from Wickham. “I will not hear any more of this. Be warned, Lydia. I will put a stop to this behaviour once and for all. There is more than just your reputation at stake.”
Cackles of laughter, mingled with Lydia’s exasperated tones, followed Elizabeth as she hurried away. She could not talk Lydia out of the enchantment Wickham currently had over her, and Elizabeth could not just drag the young woman away. She was an adult.
So it was time to make good on her promise. Time to go to Netherfield. But it was not Bingley’s help she would seek. Netherfield hosted a far more potent ally.
Mr Williams.
Elizabeth paused on the approach to Netherfield, staring at the house as she took her time to compose what she might say to solicit Mr Williams as an ally. He might think it presumptuous of her or even laughable that she would ask him to involve himself in the affairs of women who were not even his neighbours.
“I sense an indolent malice in Mr Wickham which, if left unchecked, may cause grave ill not just to my own family, but to the community as a whole. I beseech you to join forces and work together to solve the problem his odious lack of regard for propriety and responsibility presents. He has, as you have indicated, done you harm. He is well on his way to doing my family harm; we should vanquish this enemy together.”
There. That sounded passionate but also reasonable, spoken in the even-keeled tone of an intelligent woman rather than a hysterical one. Now, all she—
“I agree.”
Elizabeth whirled, hand pressed to her chest before she caught herself and lowered it to her side.
Mr Williams stood several feet away, expression quizzical but not at all mocking or amused. She blinked. Was he wearing a colour other than black? His overcoat was a deep blue and his cravat less immaculately tied than usual. His head was bare, hair tousled by the wind or his fingers. It was almost casual for him, as if he had just returned from a long walk in the woods himself and had not expected to encounter another person.
Belatedly recalling he had overheard her talking to herself, she said, with as much dignity as possible, “Good day, Mr Williams,” and curtsied.
He bowed, and this time, she caught a flash of amusement in his eyes. “What has happened, Miss Elizabeth?”
She smoothed her hands down her dress. “You must think me foolish.”
“I think you sounded like a woman approaching a council of war.”
No mockery in his face or his tone. She searched his eyes. “I fear my sisters, Lydia in particular, have come under Wickham’s spell. I did not like him when I met him; I thought his speech and manner familiar in a way that indicated he was no more a gentleman than forced to be.”
“That is an. . .apt description, Miss Elizabeth.” He approached slowly. “What would you have me do?”
“You know this enemy better than I. What would rout him, once and for all?”
He considered her. “What is your ultimate aim?”
That was a reasonable question. She took her time answering. “I would not deprive any man of his occupation. I merely wish him to avoid my sisters—at all costs.”
“But if they are seeking him out—”
“Once his temptation has been removed, they will turn their attention to other pursuits.”
“Is it not high time they wed, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Oh, indeed, sir. We had planned just this summer to travel to the husband tree and pluck newly ripe groomfruits to take to the altar.”
His lips quirked. “I have heard of this tree, along with the tree that grows fat, unentailed inheritances.”
“Unfortunately, we have had to indefinitely delay our journey to that tree.”
“The roads this season were intolerable.”
“Quite.”
They stared at each other. Elizabeth nearly squinted at him, wondering if this was the same Mr Williams. Not that she doubted his sense of humour when in his own company. . . .
“I am able to help you corral Wickham,” he said. “But I want something in return.”
Ah, the catch. “There is always a price. Go on.”
“As you need my assistance, I need yours.”
That was not what she had expected to hear. What in heaven’s name could he want from her?
“Wickham possesses a family heirloom which I am duty-bound to retrieve.”
That. . .was also not what she had expected to hear. “One wonders how he came into possession of a family heirloom?” Which also indicated a far more close relationship between the two men than Mr Williams had previously let on.
“Through nefarious means, of course.”
“I understand if you are reluctant to divulge details. . . .”
He snorted softly, closed his eyes, and when they reopened, the grim expression on his face had smoothed somewhat. “I was perhaps somewhat lax in my guard. Wickham was raised with my sister and I. His father served mine well for many years.”
My. Her imagination being well developed, she was able to concoct a number of scenarios, all equally foul, offering details to their
falling out. If he had been a childhood friend and retainer, it would make that unknown betrayal all the more bitter.
“How may I assist in the retrieval of this heirloom?” She frowned. “What makes you think he did not merely sell it? I assume it had some value.” Or else why take it?
His smile held no humour. “It is priceless. Should he attempt to sell it on this continent. . .well, he might find a buyer in the east where my reach does not extend. It would be nothing more than a valuable jewel to the buyer, however. Its other properties are useless for any but a member of my family.”
Other properties. Was it enchanted? When one spoke of precious family jewels of great worth with other properties, there were not many other properties besides magical that they might contain.
Who was Mr Williams? He might be rich as Croesus according to speculation, but magical family heirlooms were normally not allowed to any but the scions of the highest-placed families. Most usually royals and their offshoots.
“Again, I ask how might I assist you with its retrieval?”
He gestured towards the house and began walking. “I have not had time to concoct a definite strategy. But several interesting possibilities present themselves with a capable ally at my side. I only need the right opportunity.”
“Do you intend on confronting him?”
“Nothing would please me more, but it might not be in your family’s best interests. And, indeed, I have reasons of my own for wanting to slip away quietly after the retrieval.”
Elizabeth stopped, waiting for him to halt and turn towards her. “I am curious, then, the form your assistance with my dilemma might take if your aim is to slip away quietly.”
“Ah. It seems we have something to negotiate. Come.”
Chapter Fifteen
She should have looked ridiculous, standing there talking to herself with the sunlight shining on her hair. It was dark, like his own, but hinted at the fiery locks of some distant ancestress. Her younger sister, Darcy recalled, had hair more red than brown though it had not interested him before now. What enchantment was this woman laying upon him that he now gave serious thought to determine the exact shade of her hair?
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