She removed her hands from his with a rueful smile. “No, I did not. I do understand the proprieties, and there is nothing Mr. Darcy might have to say to me that I would wish to hear.”
“Still, he must have had a reason to write to you. It would hardly be just to pass the time of day, would it?
And a letter would not disturb you this much. There must be more to this. I beg of you, Miss Elizabeth; tell me what he did. I am imagining the very worst.” His pallor confirmed his words.
She drew as close to him as she dared, until she could practically feel the warmth of him. She lowered her voice. “He made me an offer of marriage. So you see, his cousin is not foremost in his mind.”
His lips pursed in a silent whistle. “Darcy deigned to propose to a lady so far beneath him? Wonders never cease! I knew he admired you, but this! My congratulations, Miss Elizabeth, on a most brilliant catch.”
She gave his arm a slight squeeze accompanied by a teasing smile. “I refused him, of course.”
“You refused?” He seemed even more stunned by this than by the news of Darcy’s proposal.
“Of course I refused. Given how he separated my dearest Jane from Mr. Bingley, not to mention his infamous treatment of you, I had no choice. I could not possibly marry such a man.”
Mr. Wickham shook his head, then eyed her carefully. “He may be an unpleasant fellow, but his estate is a magnificent one. You would never want for anything. You could take your place among the finest in the land.
Just think of the advantages you could bring to your family and friends! You would not need to have much to do with him, after all.”
She could hardly believe his words. Did he think her so mercenary? Of course, he had been prepared to wed Mary King, in whom he had shown no interest until she inherited ten thousand pounds. But Mary King, while no beauty, would make a good wife. She could not imagine Mr. Darcy making a good husband.
“Mr. Wickham, I must thank you for your concern, but you misunderstand my situation. There is nothing that could tempt me to marry Mr. Darcy. I did not like his behavior when he was here last fall, and I liked it even less in Kent,” she said fiercely. “And I did not like him giving me that letter the next day.”
“He wrote to you after you refused him? Then he has not given up on you. I wonder what he wrote.”
She shrugged, not wishing to admit how much time she had spent wondering about what Mr. Darcy’s letter had contained, to the point where she almost wished she had read it just to solve the mystery. “It might have been some sort of justification of the cruel part he played between Jane and Mr. Bingley.”
“Perhaps there are circumstances of which we are ignorant, such as a promise Mr. Bingley had made to another lady.”
“You are suddenly very hot in Mr. Darcy’s defense, sir! I might almost think you wanted me to marry him!”
He took the liberty of touching her cheek with one gloved finger. “You must know that I only have your best interests at heart, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice caressing her as well. “I do not have the power to follow the leadings of my own heart, or I would wish to…. But that is best left unsaid. Since I cannot offer myself as your protection, I will do anything in my power to see you happy. Even if that means you marrying Darcy.”
It was the nearest to a declaration of love she would ever have from him, and she had to blink back tears.
“I am honoured, Mr. Wickham.”
“You must have already known where my heart has long resided, my dear.” His gaze moved down to her lips, then he glanced back over his shoulder. “If we were truly alone, I would tell you as a man should tell a woman.”
“Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said uncomfortably. “I have a reputation to protect.”
He smiled sadly. “You are quite right, Miss Bennet. I must beg your forgiveness for allowing my sentiments more sway than is proper.”
“It is forgotten.” She felt a deep pang of sorrow for his pain, but she knew there was no help for it.
“You are very generous,” he said, and then his eyes took on a faraway look. “Would Darcy renew his addresses if he thought you might have changed your mind? Perhaps we can arrange to throw you in his way, and I have no doubt that a few smiles from you will suffice. He must be quite bewitched by you.”
“I have no desire to see him at all, much less to have him renew his addresses,” said Elizabeth with some exasperation. “I must ask you not to speak of this again.”
For a moment it looked as if he would argue further, but instead he bowed slightly. “Your wish is my command, Miss Elizabeth.”
To Elizabeth’s relief, Lydia and Mr. Denny approached at that moment, sparing her from further conversation. She could not help being aware, though, of Mr. Wickham’s thoughtful eyes upon her for the remainder of their walk.
***
Jane rifled through bunches of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling of the still room. “Is there any more chamomile for mother’s sleeping draught?”
“Here, I already took it down.” Elizabeth placed several sprigs in front of her sister. “Not that it matters; in my opinion the draught only works because our mother believes it will.”
“Then for her to believe that, it must taste as she expects.” Jane began to snap the dried chamomile flowers from the stems. “It is no trouble.”
“I had an unexpected conversation with Mr. Wickham earlier.” Elizabeth’s spirits had been in considerable disarray since, and she was glad of the opportunity to unburden herself to Jane. “He tried to convince me that I should have accepted Mr. Darcy.”
“Truly? Even though he dislikes him so?”
“Apparently he thinks that wealth would compensate for an ill-tempered husband. I hardly knew what to say.”
Jane swept the tiny flowers into a neat pile on the work table. “Perhaps he exaggerated Mr. Darcy’s faults for reasons of his own, and now feels guilty that he may have inadvertently destroyed his happiness.”
“But why would he criticize his patron’s son if it were not true? No, it makes no sense.”
“I cannot say. Mr. Wickham does care for you, you know, and perhaps he is concerned about your future after our father passes. He cannot protect you by marrying you himself, but knows that if you marry Mr. Darcy, you will never want for anything.”
“A strange way to show his caring, I must say.”
“Or it might be something else completely. Mr. Darcy clearly dislikes him. Perhaps Mr. Wickham feared that Mr. Darcy would turn us against him, and tried to forestall it with criticism of his own. After all, he was not known here, and Mr. Darcy could have made his life difficult had he so chosen.”
“But there is truth in his expression, I am sure of it!” Elizabeth began to strip dried peppermint leaves off their stiff stalk.
“Truth may be relative. Mr. Darcy’s manners left much to be desired, but I never saw any evidence of immoral practices in him, and Mr. Bingley spoke so very highly of him. I always had a value for him because of that.” Jane’s hands stilled for a moment, and then she briskly began chopping the dried mint.
“Mr. Bingley could never believe ill of anyone. Mr. Darcy’s pride is unbearable. You did not hear his words when he proposed to me, how he spoke of the degradation that marrying me would bring, of my low connections, even complaining of the behaviour of our family.”
Jane carefully set down her knife. “Did he say anything that was not true?”
Elizabeth turned to stare at her sister. “What do you mean?”
“Mr. Darcy is from a proud lineage and possesses a fine estate. In choosing you, he would be marrying beneath his expectations. Not that I doubt that your sterling qualities would outweigh any other concerns, but financially and in terms of social connections, he could do much better.”
“Perhaps he could, but how can you support his condemnation of our family?” Elizabeth said indignantly.
“I do not support it, but I recognize the truth of it. Our mother and sisters would be an embarrassment t
o him, just as they are to us on occasion, and more so because he spends his time in more elevated circles where they are not known. Here at Longbourn everyone knows our mother has a good heart. Can you imagine, though, how she would be received among the ton?”
Elizabeth’s throat was too tight to speak for a minute. “There was still no reason for him to say such degrading things to me. He claimed to love me, yet he insulted me.”
Jane was silent as she measured a small amount of water into a glass bottle. “Do you think he meant to insult you?” she said in a low voice.
Elizabeth slowly shook her head. “He seemed to think I should be honoured by his frankness, of all things.”
“Perhaps he was trying to tell you of the strength of his devotion, since it would overcome all these obstacles.”
“Either that, or he was making certain that I understood just how much condescension he was showing in making me an offer at all,” said Elizabeth bitterly. Why was everyone suddenly taking Mr. Darcy’s side? Did no one understand how he had offended her? “Would you then have counseled me to accept him?”
“Oh, no, Lizzy; I would never wish you to marry without affection, or to a man whom you do not respect.
He was wrong to speak to you so. But I cannot help comparing…”
“Comparing what?”
“Comparing him to Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know that he never returned to me because of those same reasons Mr. Darcy gave, and I understand why he had to do it. But Mr.
Darcy, who had more to lose, looked at the same situation and chose to overcome it by making you an offer anyway, honestly stating his objections to the match. Mr. Bingley had neither the courage to make an offer to me or to explain why he could not do so. He simply vanished, leaving me forever wondering.” Jane’s voice was calm as always, but a single tear trickled down her cheek.
Elizabeth laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “Perhaps Mr. Bingley did not wish to hurt you.”
Jane turned on her abruptly. “Of course he did not wish to hurt me, but hurt me he did. He did not have the courage of his convictions, and I am the one who has to pay for them. Not only did I lose him, but I was left to face the humiliation of our entire acquaintance as everyone pitied me for being jilted.”
“I am so very sorry, Jane,” Elizabeth said softly. She would have felt the same way, she supposed. There were worse things in the world than honest, albeit hurtful, reservations.
CHAPTER 3
Darcy’s night was proving to be anything but pleasant. He had known it would be, but after weeks of agonizing over Elizabeth’s memory, it was time to move forward. Elizabeth would never be his, no matter how seductively she smiled at him in his dreams. It was time to leave romantic dreams behind and make the marriage he had always known would be his someday. Not to his cousin Anne, of course; he needed a bride healthy enough to produce an heir to Pemberley, but there were more than enough eligible young ladies of the ton who would think it a dream come true to be his wife. Any woman of his acquaintance would be thrilled to marry him – any woman except the only one he wanted.
He had done what was necessary; he had accepted invitations to one of the last balls of the season. He rarely attended balls, and when he did, he preferred to stay in the card room. Now, though, he had a mission.
He scanned the ballroom, trying to ignore the matchmaking mamas who desperately sought to catch his eye, and picked out a young lady almost at random, for no better reason than that her hair reminded him of Elizabeth’s.
Once he was closer to her, he realized his error. The colour was similar,but her hair was thinner and lacked the warm highlights that danced through Elizabeth’s hair. Though disappointed, he requested an introduction. The poor girl’s eyes grew wide when he asked her to dance, but she kept that fashionable look of boredom on her face throughout the set, so unlike Elizabeth who laughed and smiled as she danced. She agreed with every observation he made, and he was bored to death halfway through the set.
The second young lady had been livelier, flirting lightly with him, but he had recognized the hard, mercenary glint in her eyes, and avoided her attempts to lure him out into the gardens. Desperate, he asked a plain-looking wallflower for the next set, but she was so overwhelmed at the opportunity that he could barely get a word out of her. By that time, every lady in the room knew that the elusive Mr. Darcy was finally in the market for a bride. Why else would he have danced three sets? He no longer needed to seek partners; half of the young ladies present had found an excuse to cross his path, hips swaying deliberately and cleavage presented prominently. It was unbearable.
He could not bear another minute in the crowded ballroom, suffering the covetous looks of the matchmaking mothers. Without even making his farewell to his host, Darcy pushed his way through the crush of people until he reached the merciful fresh air outside. He tersely told a footman that he would not be needing his carriage tonight. He needed the walk to clear his head, and in his present mood, he did not care if he was set upon by footpads. They could only rob him and perhaps hurt him. They did not have the power to tear his soul out of his body as Elizabeth had. Mere physical pain would be a relief.
He remembered dancing with Elizabeth at the ball at Netherfield. The delicate touch of her gloved hand on his had been the spark to his tinder. He stood near enough to see the pulse beating in her neck, calling to him, and it had been all he could do not to kiss that tender flesh. In his imagination, she would tip her head back to allow him access, and he would taste each inch of her sensitive skin until her knees would go weak and he would be her only support, drawing her ever closer into his arms. And that was just while they took their place in the line of dancers. Once the dance began, Elizabeth’s sinuous movements electrified him, his eyes eagerly searching out the shape of her legs as her skirt swirled around them. When she began to speak to him, he could hardly comprehend her words, only her musical voice in a siren’s call. How could he possibly converse when in his mind, his hands were slipping the dress from her shoulders? Somehow he managed to make some sort of answer, even though her fine eyes were hypnotizing him. He did not want to remember the cold shock he endured when she dragged him out of his erotic reverie with a mention of Wickham.
Wickham. He should have realized the danger of allowing Elizabeth to listen to Wickham’s seductive lies.
Would she have looked more favourably on his suit if Wickham had not poured his venom into her trusting ears? But no; she had told him at Hunsford that her opinion of him was formed almost immediately.
He could not have Elizabeth, but his letter would have made her safe from Wickham’s wiles. Knowing what Wickham had done to Georgiana, Elizabeth would not trust him for a second. At least he had that for comfort, cold though it might be.
***
The first assembly of the summer in Meryton was both a happy and a sad occasion. Happy, because it was exciting to all gather together once more, and sad, because it was the last assembly the officers would attend before decamping to Brighton the following day. In every corner of the room, it seemed, was a young lady with reddened eyes, talking earnestly to an officer who seemed to hang on her every word. Elizabeth was glad she was still heart-whole – or at least mostly so - and could enjoy the dancing. She had seen Mr. Wickham twice since he had told her of his feelings, both times in company, and there had been no repetition of the near-improprieties of that day, just the usual harmless flirtation they had enjoyed in the past. She was sad that he was departing Meryton, but also somewhat relieved, as she was afraid that if she spent more time in his company, her heart might indeed be in danger.
Mr. Wickham had asked at their last meeting for the first set, a lively pair of dances made more enjoyable by his pleasant company. At the end of the set, he did not give her the formal thanks she had expected, but instead steered her toward the glass doors opening on the balcony, then out into the cool dampness of the evening. Elizabeth averted her eyes from a couple who had been taking
full advantage of the privacy the balcony offered, and set her hands on the carved railing. She hoped Mr. Wickham would not try to steal a kiss.
It would be tempting to allow it, but her better sense would not take the risk to her reputation.
It seemed he did know better, for he merely leaned back against the railing an appropriate distance away from her and commented on how pleasant it was to escape the stifling confines of the assembly room.
“Yes, it was rather warm,” she agreed, “but it is always so at an assembly.”
He tilted his head back as if he were inspecting the stars and the crescent moon above them. “You have been in my thoughts a great deal of late, Miss Elizabeth.”
“You must have been bored indeed to need such relief,” she said archly, half hoping and half fearing what he might say next.
“I am concerned for you, and I fear I have done you a grave disservice.”
Was he speaking about Mary King? She could not imagine anything else he had done that might displease her. “If so, I am quite unaware of it, and there is no need for you to apologize for anything.”
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