Which that Season Brings

by P. O. Dixon

  “Then if I might be so bold as to ask, why did you deny him that which was meant to be his?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He said he had some intention of studying law and that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support for such an endeavor.

  “I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled—he resigned all claim to assistance in the church were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it and accepted, in return, three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved.”

  Wickham’s own testimony had been so contrary to Mr. Darcy’s that Elizabeth knew not how to think or how to feel. She said nothing, encouraging Mr. Darcy to continue his account.

  After further elaborating on the detail of their ensuing estrangement and Wickham’s vicious reaction as a consequence, Darcy went on to say, “His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived, I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.

  “I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said this much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy.”

  Having listened to his account thus far, Elizabeth’s character demanded that she listen to the rest of what Mr. Darcy had to say.

  As though their thoughts were in alignment regarding the servant’s presence, they moved a little closer. Thus assured of Elizabeth’s discretion, Mr. Darcy continued in a hushed tone, “My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself.

  “About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment was formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design, for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived.

  By her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love and to consent to an elopement.”

  Here, Elizabeth gasped aloud. Still, she said nothing. She threw a glance in the servant’s direction and thus assured their conversation had not been overheard, she silently encouraged Mr. Darcy to continue.

  “My sister was fifteen, which must be her excuse. After confessing her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement.

  “Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister’s credit and feelings prevented any public exposure. Suffice it to say, I dealt with Wickham in my own way in private.” Darcy flexed his hand perhaps unconsciously and continued, “Mrs. Younge was, of course, removed from her charge.

  “Mr. Wickham’s chief object was unquestionably my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds. I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.”

  No sooner had Mr. Darcy completed his speech than Elizabeth’s aunt Mrs. Gardiner entered the room. Her cheery expression immediately fell for she no doubt surmised that her entrance had been rather ill-timed. Too sensible to risk making an awkward situation even more so, she said, “Mr. Darcy, my dearest Lizzy, how can I make amends for my lengthy absence? Pray neither of you were terribly inconvenienced.”

  “Not at all,” both Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth uttered in unison, thus introducing a bit of levity in the room that had moments before been filled with somberness and even regret.

  Mr. Darcy said, “It has been a pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.” Bowing, he looked at Mrs. Gardiner, his expression one of gratitude, and then he was gone.

  Chapter 14

  Alone in his apartment at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy had the pleasure of beholding a most magnificent star outside his window as he drifted off to sleep. Thoughts of his time alone with Miss Elizabeth in the east parlor at Longbourn accompanied him. What if he had not happened upon her engaged in conversation with that vile George Wickham when he did? How different would her future have been had Wickham successfully perpetrated whatever despicable scheme he had in mind that evening?

  Fortunately, I was able to intervene on Miss Elizabeth’s behalf when I did—this time. How I wish Miss Elizabeth had never laid eyes on George Wickham from the start.

  With that wish in mind, Darcy fell asleep.

  The thing about wishes, especially wishes made during the Christmas season and most especially under the cover of a long winter’s night slumber and a dazzling star outside one’s window, is they can come true even if only in one’s dreams.

  * * *

  All of his friend’s new neighbors and acquaintances descended upon Netherfield that evening for what promised to be a most festive occasion—the much anticipated Netherfield ball. Darcy was just as eager if not more so than his friend, but his anticipation was well concealed.

  Twice before during his time in Hertfordshire, the opportunity to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet had eluded him. The first by his own contrivance—nay stubbornness. The second by hers.

  Tonight, all such pretensions cease, he silently vowed.

  Darcy watched and waited as Miss Elizabeth first danced with her relation Mr. Collins and next with an officer; the latter whose conversation she, no doubt, found refreshing after what had appeared to be an exhausting affair with the former.

  When those dances were over, Miss Elizabeth returned to her friend Charlotte Lucas. Seeing his chance to address her in application for the next set, Darcy proceeded to do just that, surprising himself as much as her, no doubt, by his eagerness. Having received her acceptance, he walked away again immediately.

  Was she pleased by the distinction he had bestowed onto her? He did not know. He could not know, for he dared not look back. There was something about Miss Elizabeth Bennet that made Darcy forget what he was about—he, a man of sense and education and knowledge of the world and one of the most sought-after gentlemen in all of England.

  Yet, how insufficient are all these things in her eyes.

  What heightened anticipation accompanied him as he waited for the dancing to recommence. Time and again, he consulted his watch. Minutes seemed like hours.

  Finally, it was time, and he approached the ladies again to claim Elizabeth’s hand.

  His calm attitude belied his true sentiments as they took their places. That she had bewitched him like no other woman before her was beyond a shadow of a doubt. He no longer bothered to hide his attraction to her as evidenced by his invitation to her to stand opposite him on the dance floor.

  What did it matter, the looks from his friend’s neighbors and their amazement in beholding the preference he had bestowed on her?

  Let them look. Let them talk if they will. Miss Elizabeth’s opinion is the only one that matters.

  To Darcy’s chagrin, the two of them stood some time without speaking a word. He had just witnessed the liveliness with which Miss Elizabeth had spoken to the officer, and he began to imagine she meant to punish him for some unintended slight on his part by denying him the pleasure of her charming wit and teasing smiles. It would not do, and thus, end th
eir deafening silence he must.

  A fortunate parting in the dance gave him time to fashion his speech. “This is a lovely dance,” he heard himself say when they were reunited by the dance. “It is perhaps one of my favorites.”

  Though his companion uttered not a single word, her expression spoke volumes.

  “You seemed surprised, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Sir, I am indeed surprised to hear you say this is one of your favorite dances. I recall your saying you did not like to dance early on in our acquaintance.”

  “I am afraid I may have said any number of things early on in our acquaintance which belie my true sentiments.”

  “So, you do like to dance?”

  “Very much so, Miss Elizabeth. With the right partner, I would happily dance the night away.”

  “Then, I must consider myself fortunate to enjoy the privilege,” she replied.

  There it was. That hint of playfulness in her eyes that he admired so much.

  Flattery was not his strongest suit, but if such a stratagem was required to undo all the ill-will his prior behavior had borne, then he was not opposed to it at all.

  What great pleasure a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.

  “I consider myself the fortunate one. I only wish that I had enjoyed the honor of standing opposite you sooner.”

  To his delight, Elizabeth acknowledged Darcy’s kindness with kind words of her own, rendering the nature of their intercourse throughout the rest of their dance both pleasing as well as stimulating. Verbal sparring was nothing new to the two of them.

  The ebb and flow of the dance allowed for the topic of the size of the room, the number of couples—even books. Anything to make up for all the times he had done or said anything that might have garnered her ire, was said.

  “You surprise me, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth uttered, at length.

  “Oh? And why is that, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I never supposed you to be such a great talker and certainly not on the dance floor.”

  “Sometimes, one must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together. Besides, I know you well enough to suspect you take great pleasure in engaging conversation, even on the dance floor.”

  “So, you are gratifying my feelings?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Both our feelings, I hope, for I have always enjoyed taking part in stimulating intercourse with you, Miss Elizabeth, even when we are espousing opposing opinions.”

  “Well, sir, if I am to be completely forthcoming I must confess that I have often gone out of my way to challenge you even to the point of expressing opinions that are not always my own.”

  “So, you are confessing to enjoying such sport.”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip, thus sending a surge of longing throughout his body. She nodded. “I am guilty as charged.”

  “You are pardoned, Miss Elizabeth. Challenge me at will, for I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.” Their hands joined in the dance, he held on a second or two longer than was necessary. He smiled. “I am your humble servant.”

  The two of them went down the other dance in much the same fashion as the first. Each revealing a bit more of their individual characters to the other than either had ever allowed before. At length the dance was over, compelling Darcy and Elizabeth, albeit reluctantly, to part.

  They turned in the usual way and exited the dance floor. Darcy hoped that, at last, things had changed between them, and that he was well on his way to gaining her good opinion—perhaps even more.

  This time, he did look back at her. He watched as she drifted across the crowded room.

  Look at me, Miss Elizabeth. Look back at me.

  Chapter 15

  Three miles away, the curtains in Elizabeth’s bedroom were not drawn, which were just as they ought to be on such a night, for what a shame it would have been not to admire the beautiful stars glowing so brightly in the sky. Lying in her soft warm bed with her hands behind her head atop a fluffy white pillow, the events of the evening danced through her busy mind.

  Her puzzling encounter with Mr. Wickham which she now deemed somewhat akin to stalking. Her time alone in the east parlor with Mr. Darcy, listening to his account of his family’s history with the former, which she now considered faithful. Her long-held belief that the first gentleman was good, and the latter was bad, and her ensuing disappointment in herself that she had been so terribly wrong on both counts.

  How foolish I have been, she thought to herself. Pleased with the preference of one and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.

  Her sleepy eyes fixed on an unusually bright star, Elizabeth sighed. How I wish I never met Mr. Wickham. How different my opinion of Mr. Darcy, even my opinion of myself, might then be.

  A cold winter’s night, stars brightly shining in the sky, a cozy warm bed. All the makings of wishes coming true being in her favor, Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  The moment Elizabeth laid eyes on Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, she thought he was a handsome man. A proud man indeed, but who in his situation would not be? If only she had not overheard the gentleman tell his friend Charles Bingley that he considered her to be merely tolerable—not handsome enough to tempt him.

  From that moment on, Elizabeth’s wounded vanity served as her compass, at least with respect to the haughty gentleman from Derbyshire. His every word, she considered a rebuke. His every look—merely a means of finding fault in her.

  As she was not the sort of female who was easily intimidated, she acted towards him in kind. Elizabeth’s intimate friend Charlotte Lucas posited Mr. Darcy’s actions were merely a mask for his increasing admiration toward Elizabeth, but what did Charlotte know? She had no more experience in the ways of the opposite persuasion than her friend, or such was Elizabeth’s consolation.

  On the other hand, there Elizabeth now stood, having taken her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbors’ looks, their equal amazement in beholding it.

  Elizabeth knew Mr. Darcy well enough to know that he was a rather taciturn man by nature, and if she did not say something the silence between them might last through the two dances. Not that she would have minded, except she dearly loved to dance, for one, and experience had taught her that talking while dancing made the excursion so much more enjoyable. Talk to Mr. Darcy she must, and thus she resolved to oblige him to say something if necessary.

  When they were separated by the dance, she searched her mind for a topic that was sure to draw him out.

  “This is a lovely dance,” she heard him say when they were reunited. “It is perhaps one of my favorites.”

  Her astonishment in hearing this, she could not repress. This was precisely what she had planned to say for indeed this was one of her favorite dances as well.

  Do I dare parrot his declaration? He would think me a simpleton? She said nothing.

  “You seemed surprised, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Sir, I am indeed surprised to hear you say this is one of your favorite dances. I recall your saying early on in our acquaintance that you did not like to dance.”

  “I am afraid I may have said any number of things early on in our acquaintance which belie my true sentiments.”

  “So, you do like to dance?”

  “Very much so. With the right partner, I would happily dance the night away.”

  Quicker than she might have expected, her spirits rose to playfulness. “Then I must consider myself fortunate to enjoy the privilege.”

  “I consider myself the fortunate one. I only wish that I had enjoyed the honor of standing opposite you sooner.”

  Playfulness turned to puzzlement as once again, Elizabeth parted from her dance partner. Can this be Mr.
Darcy?

  When they were reunited by the dance, Mr. Darcy said, “I suppose now the proper thing for me to do is to make some remark on the size of the room or the number of couples. In truth, I would hardly do any such discourse justice.”

  “Pray, why is that, sir?”

  “How can I speak of other things … other occupants in the room, when I only have eyes for you?”

  No, this is most certainly not Mr. Darcy. It is one thing to ask me to dance, but to express sentiments akin to admiration. Surely I must be dreaming.

  Just in case she was not dreaming, Elizabeth said, “In such a case as this, I would be entirely remiss were I to allow such a generous remark to go unacknowledged, sir.” Smiling, she thanked him. Seconds later, she thanked the heavens above when they were parted once more by the dance.

  His words affected her more than she wished. She had taught herself to be utterly immune to this man as a consequence of his insult she overheard him share with his friend Mr. Bingley at the Meryton assembly—that she was merely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him. Now was no time to let her guard down.

  Desirous of changing the subject when the dance again brought them together, Elizabeth said, “What think you of books, sir?”

  “Books?”

  “Yes, books. I am sure we never read the same books, or at least not with the same feelings.”

  “I am sorry you think so, Miss Elizabeth. But if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”

  “As I dearly love to read, I would be remiss were I to fail to accept such a challenge, would I not, sir?”

  “Indeed, but as we are currently so agreeably engaged, I would ask you if we might defer such stimulating intercourse until we find ourselves in a more intimate setting.”