Elizabeth Bennet's Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

by Regina Jeffers

  “Perhaps the first time one views it,” Harville continued his taunt. “Or even the first hour upon occasion.”

  “I am not obsessed,” Wentworth protested good-naturedly.

  “Mayhap on another day, Captain,” Elizabeth suggested, “you might show me the works.”

  “You will regret your choice, Mrs. Bryland,” Harville protested with a hand to his heart in a mocked wounding. “Wentworth is a thinking man and a man who enjoys history. Trust me, the captain will shower you with the dimension and armaments of every ship in port.”

  Elizabeth smiled at the easy camaraderie between the men.

  “I can think of more miserable ways to spend an afternoon. I once listened to a particular young lady extol the qualities of a truly accomplished woman. Surely Captain Wentworth’s vast knowledge of ship will be more interesting than the insipidity of the perfect lady.”

  “And what are the characteristics of a truly accomplished woman?” Mrs. Harville asked with a mischievous smile.

  Elizabeth laughed lightly.

  “Permit me to quote the lady.”

  She assumed the same stance as had Caroline Bingley when Miss Bingley attempted to entice Mr. Darcy.

  “No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with.”

  Elizabeth mimicked Miss Bingley’s toplofty intonation.

  “A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word: and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or they will be but half-deserved.”

  Elizabeth and the others burst into laughter when she finished.

  “You are correct, Mrs. Bryland,” Harville declared with another chuckle. “Wentworth’s descriptions of the ships are preferable.”

  Mrs. Harville wiped at the happy tears blearing her eyes.

  “And this advice came from a princess or a duchess or a countess?”

  Elizabeth returned her hand to Wentworth’s arm.

  “Someone even better.”

  She beamed with satisfaction.

  “The daughter of a wealthy tradesman who had her sights set upon a landed gentleman with a vast fortune.”

  “I am much impressed with your connections, Mrs. Bryland,” Mrs. Harville said in her best aristocratic tones before bursting into laughter again.

  “And why were you not among the landed gentleman’s choices?” Commander Harville asked in earnest. “It would seem to me you would be the superior choice for a man of the gentry. Or were you attached to Mr. Bryland at the time?”

  “I held no connections to Mr. Bryland when this encounter occurred,” Elizabeth said softly in remembrance of her foolish deception. If she only recognized Mr. Darcy’s intent at Netherfield perhaps she would not be seeking her last opportunity for enjoyment.

  “The gentleman contradicted the woman’s definition of accomplishments by adding his desire for a woman who improved her mind by extensive reading.”

  A secret smile claimed Elizabeth’s lips: Mr. Darcy described her.

  With a sigh of resignation, she added, “The gentleman in question also objected to my connections. My father is a country squire, but my mother’s family is also in trade. So you see, the gentleman could not seriously consider claiming my hand.”

  * * *

  They called in at every possible abode in which Miss Elizabeth could claim rooms, as well as at many establishments well below a woman of Elizabeth’s ilk, but there were no sightings of the woman. Darcy’s frustrations rose incrementally higher with each denial.

  “Where in bloody hell could she be?” he grumbled as he and Fitzwilliam took a late afternoon meal. “I was so certain Elizabeth was in Brighton. I possess no idea where to look next.”

  Fitzwilliam studied Darcy’s expression before offering a carefully worded suggestion.

  “If the lady does not wish to be found, perhaps you should return to London and your life. Miss Elizabeth is only one of many comely females.”

  Darcy squeezed his eyes shut to ward off his cousin’s best intentions.

  “How do I explain?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Loving Elizabeth Bennet is the most gut-wrenching act I ever practiced. It is the most exquisite form of self-destruction.”

  Darcy looked again upon his cousin.

  “But even if the lady never holds affection for me, I cannot abandon my need for Miss Elizabeth in my life; for although my love for Elizabeth sometimes brings me pain, it is also the most beautiful emotion I ever knew. It fills me. It completes me.”

  Fitzwilliam did not respond for several elongated moments.

  “I did not realize.”

  Darcy chuckled in irony.

  “Neither did I until it was too late to mend my bridges, but there is the hope… If I can only claim the lady…”

  He could not express what was essentially a foreign emotion for Darcy.

  “If Elizabeth becomes my life partner, then perhaps my love will be enough for both of us.”

  “What will you do?”

  Darcy sighed heavily: Inevitability claimed his demeanor.

  “Return to Longbourn and beg Mr. Bennet to disclose Elizabeth’s whereabouts.”

  Visibly uncomfortable with Darcy’s confession, Fitzwilliam busied himself with refilling his plate a third time from the offerings on the table.

  At length, his cousin spoke again.

  “It seems to me that before you go racing off after your lady love, we should address Mr. Wickham’s latest offense to the man himself.”

  Wickham was the least of Darcy’s worries at the moment, but he knew the colonel correct. If Darcy did not act against his long-time enemy, Wickham’s next offense would be worse.

  “Can you bring Wickham here tomorrow? I do not wish to confront him before the officers from Meryton with whom I dined often while residing with Bingley at Netherfield. Moreover, rumors of my missing the wedding are likely well known among Colonel Forster’s men.”

  “I will call upon Forster in the morning,” Fitzwilliam assured. “Wickham will not be happy to see me, but I will take delight in renewing our acquaintance.”

  * * *

  “I should have known,” Wickham said as he shrugged off Fitzwilliam’s hand from his shoulder. “Only the Master of Pemberley could entice an earl’s son to play the role of henchman.”

  “Trust me, Wickham, any retribution I exact upon your being has nothing to do with your offenses against Darcy,” Fitzwilliam growled. “Instead of offering my cousin one of your caustic barbs, you should show your gratitude to Darcy. If not for the Master of Pemberley, I would have run you through long ago. For my opinion, the world would be a better place without you in it.”

  With the heel of his boot, the colonel dragged a straight-legged chair close.

  “Now sit, and if I were you, I would consider speaking the truth for a change. Darcy and I are well aware of your latest maneuvers to dodge your creditors.”

  Darcy wished he possessed Fitzwilliam’s indifference when it came to Wickham, but every time Darcy looked upon the companion of his youth, he experienced a pang of regret at Wickham’s continued betrayal and Darcy’s failure in intervening in Wickham’s life before Mr. Wickham’s fall into depravity. It would grieve Darcy’s father to observe his godson’s path.

  “What do you wish, Darcy?” Wickham asked in what sounded of insolence.

  Darcy shrugged his shoulders in resignation. How often had he and Wickham sat as such? How many confrontations would it take to remove Wickham from his life?

  “Mr. Sloane and his associates paid a call upon my person,” Darcy said with false calmness.

  It amazed Darcy how Wickham did not portray any sign of guilt. What became of that youth who wished to conquer the world? Whose eyes shined with excitement when he discovered a line of slate in the rock formations surrounding the estate? Who defended Darcy when
the locals meant to tease Darcy for being the “young master”?

  There was no raised eyebrow. No twitch of a muscle in Wickham’s cheek. No flinch or a flexing of a fist. No hint of culpability or of satisfaction in Wickham’s tone when he responded in denial. No humanity.

  “I fear I know no man by the name of ‘Sloane.’”

  Darcy nodded his new understanding.

  “Then it is Miss Sloane with whom you hold an acquaintance?” he charged.

  Wickham’s smile widened with taunting admiration.

  “I must remember to guard my words with you, Darcy. It slipped my mind how you are not only the ‘master’ of Pemberley, but also of the double entendre.”

  Darcy schooled his expression.

  “You avoid my question, Mr. Wickham.”

  “Why is it, Darcy, that you never call me ‘Wickham’? Surely our lengthy acquaintance indicates a more familiar form of address.”

  Darcy long ago dropped the informal manner of speaking to George Wickham. In Darcy’s estimation, “Mister” kept Wickham at arm’s length; their dealings remained purely business. None of what they shared previously involved their transactions.

  “It is what I prefer,” Darcy responded evenly. “Now, speak to me of Miss Sloane.”

  “I assure you, Darcy, I hold no acquaintance by that name.”

  Wickham smiled wryly, indicating Darcy’s former friend would disclose nothing of interest in that particular vein.

  Darcy’s brows drew together.

  “If there is no Miss Sloane, then you provided the directions to Darcy House to strangers to disguise your lack of funds,” Darcy accused.

  Wickham heaved a disappointed sigh.

  “You place unjust blame upon my shoulders,” Wickham asserted. “You offer me another offense. If not for my affection for the former Mr. Darcy, I…”

  Darcy’s patience snapped.

  “If not for my affect for my most excellent father, you would be in debtor’s prison. Because of you, I was left to die in the woods outside of the Capital. I will tolerate no more of your perfidy, Mr. Wickham!”

  “So what Captain Denny and the others shared is true,” Wickham gloated. “You did not appear at the wedding ceremony to exchange vows with Miss Elizabeth.”

  The muscles of Darcy’s jaw knotted as fury claimed him, but Wickham took no notice.

  “I am glad to learn that you did not dampen Miss Elizabeth’s exuberance. The lady deserves better than the likes of you. Even being the Mistress of Pemberley could never earn the lady’s heart.”

  Wickham spoke to Darcy’s greatest fear: Elizabeth would reject him. His absence from the wedding doomed Elizabeth to more censure than the rumor of her accepting an intimate letter from him would have done. Elizabeth Bennet could now deny an alliance she never sought.

  “Miss Elizabeth may deserve better, but she will be Mrs. Darcy soon,” Darcy hissed.

  Fitzwilliam stepped between Darcy and Wickham.

  “We waste our time with these games,” the colonel insisted. “Know this, Wickham. Your days are numbered. We have yet to inform Sloane of your whereabouts, but your lack of cooperation and your conceit names your days. Sloane’s men will not be fooled a second time. When you encounter Sloane again, the man will turn your clock to midnight.

  Darcy stood and turned his back on the pair.

  “I will not pay your debts again, Wickham. Your latest offense against my family is your last. Whatever path you carve is yours alone. I wash my hands of you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Wickham departed in a huff, and Darcy knew the weariness of a never-ending loss.

  “What if it is as Mr. Wickham says?” Darcy asked on a sigh of defeat.

  He knew his cousin studied him, but Darcy did not turn about. He had yet to regain his resolve.

  “Surely Miss Elizabeth recognizes the advantage of an alliance to the Darcy name. Your marriage would elevate her sisters’ standings in Society, as well as secure the future of her widowed mother.”

  Darcy said dryly, “Mr. Bingley will provide for Mrs. Bennet.”

  He did not address the prospects of the other Bennet sisters, for in truth, Darcy paid them little attention except to find fault. As sad as it was to acknowledge, he thought only of his and Elizabeth’s future. If Elizabeth Bennet accepted his hand, Darcy would take a greater role in her sisters’ lives. He would actively search out appropriate matches for the girls.

  “I suppose,” Fitzwilliam said in what sounded of frustration.

  A long pause followed.

  “I am confused, Darcy. Last evening you spoke eloquently of your affections for Miss Elizabeth. Today, you permit Wickham to be the voice in your head. Are you now of the mind to abandon the lady?”

  Darcy did not respond–could not admit he was at a loss as to how to approach Elizabeth.

  “Wickham spoke the truth,” he said, at length. “I assumed my position in Society would blind Miss Elizabeth to my faults. I took her agreement for granted. I never thought to woo the woman. Thinking my opinions superior, I permitted Elizabeth to overhear my disparagements of her and of her family. Then I expected the lady to overlook my shortcomings just because it is what others would do.

  “Miss Elizabeth is likely one of the few women in England who does not accept the fact that I am considered a viable choice as a husband. I am not the prize the lady desires.”

  Darcy turned to encounter his cousin’s stunned look.

  “You did not respond to my earlier question. Will you leave Miss Elizabeth to her own devices?”

  Darcy shook off his cousin’s suggestion.

  “I cannot.”

  Darcy made a silent vow that when he discovered Elizabeth’s location he would spend time courting her. Somehow, he would convince Elizabeth that he was the only man who could make her happy.

  “Even if pursuing another would prove just as well,” Darcy declared, “I mean to make Miss Elizabeth Bennet my wife. I will have no other.”

  Surprisingly, Fitzwilliam put up no objections.

  “Then let us be about discovering your lady love. I possess a suggestion if you care to hear it.”

  “I am all ears,” Darcy said with a twitch of bemusement.

  “When I called upon Colonel Forster to seek out Wickham an idea occurred to me. The steward’s son often uses names not his own when he avoids his latest round of creditors. What if Miss Elizabeth used an assumed name in securing quarters? I do not imagine the lady would wish to bring more shame to the family name, and by her father’s admission, Mr. Bennet believes his second daughter resides with the Gardiners in London.”

  “If Miss Elizabeth uses a name not hers, how will we discover her?” Darcy questioned, but his mind was already searching for possible names.

  Fitzwilliam’s anticipation rose quickly.

  “Even a woman of Miss Elizabeth’s intelligence would use a name with which she was familiar.”

  “Collins or Lucas or Bingley,” Darcy suggested.

  His cousin added, “Gardiner, Fitzwilliam, De Bourgh, Forster, Denny, or Darcy.”

  Darcy would relish the idea that Elizabeth would choose to use his name in her deception, but then another name crept in to spoil the moment.

  “Or Wickham,” Darcy said in disgust.

  Thankfully, Fitzwilliam ignored Darcy’s bit of pity.

  “What of the other woman at the coaching inn?” the colonel suggested. “If the woman and your betrothed exchanged pleasantries at the inn, Miss Elizabeth might consider a name of which none of us are aware. Do you recall the woman’s name? Did the innkeeper mention the woman’s identity?”

  Darcy’s brow tightened in deep lines of concentration.

  “Butler? No.”

  He searched for the name.

  “Landon?” No.”

  Again, Darcy paused to look off, searching for something not quite apparent.

  “Definitely began with a ‘B.’”

  He replayed the conversation in his head.
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  “Boland. Borland. Something similar. I cannot be certain.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded his understanding.

  “It is enough, Darcy. We will revisit each establishment and ask after anyone with the names we listed. We might also offer a description of Miss Elizabeth. No possibility will be ignored.”

  * * *

  “We called upon two days prior in search of a young lady,” Darcy encouraged as he spoke to the innkeeper.

  They had yet to discover a connection to Elizabeth, but his heart encouraged him to persevere.

  “I’s recall,” the man said suspiciously, “but there be no females stayin’ alone in me establishment. I’s dinnae let to women less they be with family.”

  Darcy assured, “I did not think otherwise. Yet, as the lady’s family worries for her safety, I must ask if you have anyone by the mane of Collins or Darcy or Bingley?”

  The man shook his head in the negative to each of Darcy’s suggestions.

  “What of Boland?” Fitzwilliam interjected.

  The innkeeper’s lips turned down in a scowl.

  “There be a Mr. and Mrs. Bylane, but the woman be no young miss. She be a mother with two wee ones. The gent jist arrived on a ship.”

  Darcy’s heart leapt with anticipation. The innkeeper’s story paralleled the one he learned in Watford.

  “Would it be possible to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Bylane?”

  Darcy slid a coin across the grimy bar.

  “Tell Mr. Bylane there is a like coin awaiting him if he will give me five minutes of his time.”

  “I doubt the gent be cordial.” The innkeeper pocketed the coin. “But I’s ask.”

  Within a quarter hour, a burly man of short stature appeared at the table Darcy and the colonel shared.

  “Ye wished to speak to me,” the man mumbled.

  Darcy gestured to an empty chair.

  “Please join us,” he commanded.

  Darcy placed the promised coin upon the table.

  “I possess a few questions, which I believe you hold answers. I offer you no trouble beyond those strictures.”

  The man whose face spoke of the years at sea, scowled deeply.

  “I’ll listen to yer tale, but I make no promises.”