by Jann Rowland
“Lizzy! Jane!” Her screeches the moment they entered the door almost caused both girls to cringe. “What news from London? I am sure I have rarely seen such contempt for my nerves! Have you seen Mr. Bingley? And Lizzy, have you returned with a young man in tow?”
By silent agreement, Jane was the one who spoke for them both, as Mrs. Bennet was much more accustomed to listening to Jane, than she was to Elizabeth.
“I did not see Mr. Bingley, Mama. And Lizzy and I are as we ever were.”
“You did not attract the attention of some man of society?” Mrs. Bennet collapsed in her chair and fanned herself furiously. “Whatever shall we do? I had expected you girls would be married by now, and yet you spend months in London with nary a beau to show for it!”
“Mama!” said Jane. “We did not go to London for such a purpose.”
Mrs. Bennet looked at Jane as if she were somehow deficient. “You went for Mr. Bingley, I am certain of it! How can he have used you so? What is to become of us all?”
In the end, there was nothing left to say, and so neither Jane nor Elizabeth took it upon themselves to direct platitudes toward their mother when she was determined to be ill-used. Soon Mrs. Bennet felt her nerves unequal to the task of being in company with her two—still single—daughters, and she was helped to her room by Longbourn’s longsuffering housekeeper to lament their poor fortune in solitude.
“I am happy you are both returned,” said their father as he watched as his wife was led from the room. “Perhaps sense will reside in my house again, at least until you both feel the need to travel somewhere else again.”
“I think I would be quite happy to stay at Longbourn for some time,” said Jane.
Elizabeth’s heart went out to her sister; Jane was not one to complain about her lot, but she had suffered a vast deal since the autumn.
“I am happy to hear it,” said Mr. Bennet, before he turned his attention on Elizabeth. “And I have heard that your uncle has cancelled your amusement this summer, Lizzy. I suppose you shall have to content yourself with Hertfordshire too.”
“Indeed, Papa,” said Elizabeth, “I feel no need to travel at present.”
“That is good to hear.”
Rising, Mr. Bennet pressed a kiss to each of his eldest daughters’ foreheads and excused himself from the room.
“We have such news for you!” said Lydia, the moment her father was gone. She had been bursting with the need to speak since Elizabeth had entered the room, and Elizabeth was almost surprised her sister had been able to refrain from interrupting.
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth without much interest. Lydia could gossip all day long, if given the opportunity, but Elizabeth, not wishing to indulge, hoped that if she showed her indifference that Lydia might be induced to cease speaking.
“It seems like Mr. Wickham is not to marry Mary King after all.”
That bit of news did prick Elizabeth’s attention. “He is not?”
“No,” replied Kitty, stepping in to relate their story. “Her uncle arrived in Meryton to meet with Mr. Wickham, and he left soon after, taking Mary King back to Liverpool. Mr. Wickham followed them there, but it seems he was denied, for he returned to Meryton, and it soon became known that there was no engagement.”
“But I am sure his heart must not be broken,” interjected Lydia with a sniff. “I cannot imagine Mr. Wickham having any true affection for her.”
“Has Mr. Wickham said anything of the matter?” asked Elizabeth.
“No, but he has asked after you,” said Kitty in a singsong voice.
“Me?” asked Elizabeth, perplexed.
“Several times in fact,” said Kitty. Lydia just looked on and huffed her displeasure, no doubt because she wished for the man’s attention for herself. “Just two days ago I saw him in Meryton, and he particularly asked after you, wishing to know when you would return from Kent.”
“I am certain I do not know why,” said Elizabeth, wondering what the man was about. “I have not seen hide nor hair of Mr. Wickham since he started pursuing Miss King, except for the visit he paid just before I went into Kent.”
“Why must Mr. Wickham ask after you?” asked Lydia, her question coming out as a whine.
“I cannot account for it,” said Elizabeth. “I am certain he is nothing to me, nor I to him.”
“Then perhaps you will leave his attention for us,” said Lydia, brightening considerably. “Although we shall not have it for much longer, anyway.”
This time it was Jane who responded. “Is Mr. Wickham to leave the militia?”
“No,” replied Lydia, her voice thick with disgust. “Rather, the militia is to leave Meryton to encamp at Brighton for the summer. Whatever shall we do?”
Though her tone was dramatic, Elizabeth could not help the feeling of satisfaction which welled up within her. She was friendly with several the officers, it was true, but for the sake of her family’s respectability, she could not but be happy that the officers were soon to depart. Lydia and Kitty’s behavior had begun to border on indecent in the company of the men, and that was before Elizabeth had ever left to go to Kent. She could not imagine how they acted now!
“We have tried to induce Papa to take us all to Brighton for the summer,” said Kitty. “But he only laughs at us and tells us that we would not like sea bathing.”
“I am sure I would love to try sea bathing!” cried Lydia.
“Perhaps you should focus your attention on other, more ladylike pursuits,” said Mary.
“There is nothing wrong with sea bathing!” snapped Lydia, glaring at Mary. “Many people do it, especially those of high society.”
“I dare say you will need to become accustomed to the notion that we will not go to Brighton,” said Mary. “I do not think Papa means to be persuaded.”
“Then Lizzy will need to speak to him.” Lydia turned her beseeching eyes upon Elizabeth. “Papa listens to you, Lizzy. I am certain you could convince him.”
Elizabeth only shook her head. “You know how much Papa hates to travel. I suspect that in this instance, your wishes are in vain, Lydia.”
Her younger sister made a sour face, but she did not attempt to importune Elizabeth again. She gathered up her older sister, and she and Kitty flounced from the room, and Elizabeth soon heard them leaving Longbourn. No doubt they intended to go to Meryton to see if they could meet any of the officers.
Fatigued from the journey from London, Elizabeth and Jane both excused themselves from the room, wishing to rest before dinner. The sisters exchanged a few words, intending to once again gather once they had refreshed themselves, and they went their separate ways.
But Elizabeth, though she lay down for a time, did not find sleep. She still did not know anything of the matter of Mr. Wickham, but she remembered his words about Georgiana, and thought about her sure knowledge of how mistaken he had been. The more she thought about the man, the more she wondered about him. For Mr. Wickham to chase Miss King all the way to Liverpool meant that he was either deeply in love with her, or he had been truly attached to her money.
Though Elizabeth could not know for certain, she knew that he had only focused on Mary King when her inheritance had become known. Before that he had paid her no more attention than he had to any other young lady, Elizabeth was certain. Elizabeth was reluctant to brand the man a mercenary, though she was beginning to wonder if that was not exactly what he was.
How does a man forget a woman, one who has become as essential to him as breathing? Darcy knew he had no answer to the question, but he heartily wished to be free of all recollection of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
That was the dilemma Darcy faced. Though he hardly knew when Miss Elizabeth had become so necessary to his healthy state of mind, he was now so deep into it that he did not think his feelings for her would ever fade. She had invaded his mind, staked her claim to his soul, and the fact that she could not stand the sight of him was a dagger buried in his heart. He did not know what to do.
Of course, h
is cousins and his sister did not help matters. Georgiana was unassuming as usual, and given her character, it was unsurprising that she did not voice her displeasure. But it was clear that she was disappointed, though whether it was due to the situation or to Darcy’s behavior, he could not quite determine.
“I truly do esteem Miss Elizabeth,” said she, one evening after dinner when they were sitting together.
It was the only time that she had spoken up without either of her cousins present, and her words caught Darcy by surprise, immersed, as he was, in his own recollections of Miss Elizabeth.
“She is so . . . confident and certain in her opinions. I believe I would benefit a great deal if I was given a measure of her assertiveness.”
“I hardly think you need Miss Elizabeth’s confidence. You merely need to develop your own.”
“I found in the short days I knew her that her example was quite beneficial, Brother. I would not wish to lose it.
Her meaning was not lost on Darcy, and he knew the underlying meaning in her statement was that she wished for Miss Elizabeth as a sister. But as he considered that now impossible, he put it from his mind.
“She also does not possess the fashionable manners of most of society. In fact, she is far more opinionated than most young women her age, and such forwardness would not be looked upon with favor.”
Georgiana raised a brow in his direction, and Darcy could not help but wonder if she had practiced it with the object of his affections, so reminiscent of her it was.
“Oh, so now you prefer the manners of most ladies of society? Perhaps I should inform Miss Bingley that her fawning will now be appreciated. I do not doubt she would think Pemberley hers for the taking; why, she might think she will be installed before Michaelmas.”
Shock was not a strong enough word to define how Darcy felt at hearing his angelic younger sister speak in such a manner.
“I think perhaps Miss Elizabeth has imparted a little too much of her impertinence to you. You should not speak of an acquaintance of ours in such a manner.”
But Georgiana only huffed and glared at him. “It is nothing more than you have said of her, for all that Mr. Bingley is your best friend.”
“Mayhap I have. But that does not give you leave to speak so.”
“Then I will rethink my friendships, and perhaps I will attempt to emulate Miss Bingley, instead of Miss Elizabeth.”
“I would rather you find your own path,” said Darcy.
“And I hope I shall. But I do not think it unreasonable to hope for the standard of a friend to assist me to gain in confidence.”
Darcy was once again surprised at his sister’s boldness. For her to behave in such a way, to be so firm in her opinions and to state them with such force, suggested that her attachment to Miss Elizabeth was stronger than Darcy would have thought possible after so short an acquaintance.
“I believe I shall retire, brother,” said she, rising to her feet. But before she departed, she turned to him and fixed him with a look which seemed to pierce right through him. “I only wish you to remember and understand what you will have lost if you do not make the effort to pursue her.”
But pursuing her was not an option. Miss Elizabeth had made it very clear that she did not wish to receive his attentions, and a gentleman, once the lady had indicated her lack of interest, did not persist in burdening her with them.
Besides, he was a Darcy of Pemberley, not some love-struck shopkeeper’s son. He would not go chasing after a woman, when it should be she who strove to gain his attention. He had his pride, his position in society, the honor of his ancient and respected name to consider. How would society view it if he, the scion of an old and powerful house, were to chase after a young country girl of whom no one had ever heard? It was unfathomable.
But Darcy was afforded little peace. Though Georgiana had spoken on the matter only that once, her disapproving sadness was plain to see, and while Anne similarly said little, her own disappointment was not in question. But Fitzwilliam was a never-ending thorn in his side, who seemed determined to have his say, and to say it with great frequency. Darcy attempted to immerse himself in his work, to lock himself in his study, but when he did that, his thoughts preyed on him. And when he was not alone, Fitzwilliam proved himself to be a great predator in his own right.
Finally, in desperation, and having an excess of nervous energy built up, Darcy decided to take himself to his fencing club to work it off. He did not tell Georgiana where he was going—he could not be certain she would not inform their cousin, and Fitzwilliam would no doubt consider it his duty to badger Darcy on the subject. On a day when Anne was visiting, and the two girls were together in the music room, Georgiana teaching Anne some simple songs on the pianoforte, Darcy slipped from the house.
But there he was destined to be disappointed too, for when he stepped into the building and had removed his waistcoat and coat in preparation for the activity, he saw the countenance of his cousin grinning at him. Darcy cursed his poor fortune—why Fitzwilliam had chosen now, of all times, to visit the fencing club was beyond Darcy’s ability to understand.
“I was wondering when you would make your way here, old boy,” said Fitzwilliam in that irreverent manner of his. “Do you care to be skewered by your cousin?”
In truth, Darcy would like nothing more than to silence his overly verbose cousin, so he allowed a curt nod and swished his foil through the air. Fitzwilliam only grinned and donned his protective vest, delivering a mocking salute to Darcy. And then they began.
On a normal day, Darcy and Fitzwilliam were evenly matched opponents. On this day, however, Darcy pressed forward as soon as they started, and Fitzwilliam found himself on the defensive. Darcy easily won the first two points before his cousin began to fight back. And yet, the grin on his face never wavered as they fought on.
“It seems as if something has inspired you today, Cousin,” said Fitzwilliam, as he countered one of Darcy’s thrusts and pressed an attack of his own. “I would ask the meaning of your sudden aggression, if I did not already know.”
Irritated with his cousin’s needling all over again, Darcy parried, and then stepped forward, his foil slipping through Fitzwilliam’s defenses to strike him in the chest.
“Oh ho!’ cried Fitzwilliam. “It seems I have touched a nerve.”
“You have only just discovered that now?” muttered Darcy under his breath.
But Fitzwilliam seemed oblivious. Or at least, if he had heard Darcy speak, it only served to fuel his amusement.
“Tell me, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, as he took his place once again, “what will it take to induce you to let go your pride?”
“My pride is under good regulation, I thank you,” said Darcy.
He stepped forward, lunging wildly at his cousin, but Fitzwilliam only smirked, stepped aside, and used Darcy’s lack of balance to gain a touch of his own.
“Very well, then,” replied Fitzwilliam. “What will it take to induce you to remember what a jewel you have found?”
“I have no need to be reminded of that,” replied Darcy, as they once again engaged. “I have never forgotten it. She simply will not have me.”
“You did not even ask her!”
“No, but she made it clear without my ever coming to that point.”
Fitzwilliam dodged, and his foil whipped out with blinding speed, only diverted at the last second when Darcy pushed it aside with his own.
“You are a fool if you let her go.”
Punctuating his statement with an aggressive thrust that clipped Darcy on his side, Fitzwilliam stepped away and bowed. “Do not allow it, Darcy. Fight for her, for I cannot but think she is worth it.”
And then Fitzwilliam walked away, leaving Darcy to think on what he had said. It was some time before Darcy moved.
Chapter XV
Given the talk at Longbourn often dwelt upon the nearby company of militia, Elizabeth was not eager to see the men herself. There had been many occasions in the past
months since their arrival for her to be in their company, and though she enjoyed speaking with some of them, she found that she had had quite her fill of their society. In particular, her ambivalent feelings about one of them rendered her unable to be in his company with any sanguinity. It was better to simply avoid them.
Of course, her determination was nothing compared to her mother and younger sisters’ resolve to meet with them as much as possible. Kitty and Lydia would walk to Meryton almost every day, and their intention to discover as many officers as possible was not hidden. Thus, it was not long before they brought a group of the officers back to Longbourn when they returned, and it was no surprise when Mrs. Bennet welcomed them, her effusions on their coming more commonly seen in a girl of sixteen, rather than a matron of more than forty years. And unfortunately for Elizabeth’s peace of mind, George Wickham was among the company.
At first, it seemed like Mr. Wickham had no desire to put himself forward to Elizabeth’s notice. Elizabeth struck up a conversation with Captain Carter, whom she knew possessed a little more intelligence and good sense than most of them, and as Mr. Wickham’s attention was claimed by Lydia, all seemed well. The first fifteen minutes of the officers’ visit passed in this pleasurable way.
When Lydia turned her attention to Mr. Denny, however, Mr. Wickham’s roving eyes immediately sought out Elizabeth, who had moved to the table to help her mother with the tea service. The wide grin which appeared on his face, and the way he sauntered over to her raised Elizabeth’s ire, though she managed to hide it from him.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he with a deep bow. “I am happy to see that you have returned from Kent. We have all been bereft since you went away.”
“Well it appears like you must be bereft again, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth.
The man’s face screwed up in a frown. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Only that the regiment is to go to Brighton for the summer.” Elizabeth regarded him, displaying an earnest innocence. “Or have my youngest sisters been misled?”