Pride and Proposals

by Victoria Kincaid

  Free to love Elizabeth.

  He smiled. Then his smile turned into actual laughter. “I love Elizabeth Bennet,” he said to the empty study. “I love Elizabeth Bennet!” His voice grew louder.

  It was such a relief to say it aloud, a relief to admit it, even if no one else heard.

  He stood abruptly and shouted, “I love Elizabeth Bennet!”

  He heard running feet, and the door was opened by a footman. “Mr. Darcy? I heard some shouting. What did you say?” Thank God he did not understand my words. Darcy actually laughed, and the servant regarded him oddly.

  “Thank you, Prescott.” Darcy sank into his chair, unable to suppress the foolish smile on his lips. “I do not need assistance at this time.” Prescott bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him. No doubt he believes I have been consuming excessive quantities of brandy.

  Thank goodness I need not explain my behavior to the servants.

  He ran both hands through his dark hair, staring down once again at the letter and sobering. Richard did not know how Elizabeth feels about me, he reminded himself. Darcy himself knew even less.

  He was fairly certain she no longer disliked him and no longer feared he disliked her. But there was a large gap between the cessation of animosity and falling in love. She might never feel more than the mild affection of friendship for him. Might never love him as she had loved Richard.

  Richard had always possessed easy manners in company, the ability to charm, and a friendliness that attracted everyone around him. No wonder the men in his command had been loyal to a fault and ready to follow him into battle.

  Compared with his cousin, Darcy was an inarticulate hermit. No, Darcy was only superior in wealth, and that was a mere accident of birth. It also, Darcy was certain, meant absolutely nothing to Elizabeth. Darcy could never be a substitute for his cousin, and it would be the height of arrogance to attempt it.

  A portion of Darcy’s elation trickled away.

  His cousin’s letter might have removed most of his guilt, but being free to love Elizabeth raised a whole new host of anxieties. Ironically, when he had been on the verge of proposing to Elizabeth back at Hunsford, he had been utterly certain of being accepted and had given little thought to her feelings for him. Now that he understood her better, he was far less sanguine about being accepted and far more concerned about his chances of winning her affections. How he had suffered for his earlier arrogant presumption!

  Darcy rested his chin in his palm and rubbed his jaw. Could he discern her feelings from her recent behavior? Unlike other women, she never flirted with him or tried to draw his attention. However, she listened seriously when he spoke and did not seem to shun his company. She had given him the book, but then she had given one to Georgiana as well. On the balcony, he had allowed himself to believe she hoped for his kiss, but he could not trust his judgment since his own desire had clouded his understanding.

  Darcy hoped he could convince Elizabeth to at least accept his assistance, especially given the other unsettling revelation from the letter: Wickham. Darcy had assumed that Lydia’s death had thrust Wickham out of the Bennets’ lives for good. Now he recognized the naïveté of that assumption. Darcy could not blame Richard for paying Wickham to keep his distance. Darcy might have done the same.

  But now that Darcy was aware of the danger, he worried about the possibilities. What if Wickham had already contacted the Bennets—or God forbid—Elizabeth? Wickham was clever; Darcy could think of many stratagems he might use to bleed money from Elizabeth or insinuate his way into her life. He shuddered when he thought of all the ways Wickham could harm Elizabeth. Her pride and desire for privacy might have prevented her from telling Darcy if she had word from Wickham.

  The thought made Darcy want to call for his horse and ride directly for London. But there was no reason to think Wickham represented an immediate danger, and Darcy had only just arrived at Pemberley. He could hardly go haring off to London right away.

  There was also the matter of the almost kiss. Although Richard’s letter had mostly assuaged Darcy’s guilt, he still did not know if she was disgusted or appalled by his actions.

  The question of her feelings had suddenly become vitally important.

  She still mourns Richard, he cautioned himself. She might not be prepared to be courted again. He could wait, but only if he had hope she would let him press his suit eventually.

  For her, he could be patient.

  But he would never learn these answers by hiding at Pemberley.

  Yes, he must return to London. Not tomorrow, but perhaps the day following. London held all the answers.

  Chapter 12

  As Elizabeth’s feet trod the path along the Serpentine, she sorely missed her solitary rambles in Hertfordshire. She visited Hyde Park almost every day, but these walks did not compare to the openness of the environs surrounding Longbourn.

  Mr. Darcy had been away for five days, and Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to him rather more often than she expected. Probably because he was so impossible to understand. He often avoided her company, yet seemed to enjoy her conversation. He sought her out for a dance and then pushed her away. He was happy with his sister’s come out, but he disappeared immediately after. The man was a conundrum.

  Although she still resolved on offering her friendship to Mr. Darcy, he was not making it easy. Particularly when he was not in the same town.

  She had not been lonely during Mr. Darcy’s absence. Richard’s friends had visited frequently, particularly Lord Kirkwood. Elizabeth had visited the Gardiners and Darcy House almost daily. She had accompanied Georgiana to another ball, as well as luncheons and afternoon visits. Although her aunt also attended these events, Georgiana felt more comfortable in Elizabeth’s presence and managed to procure invitations for her friend—no one would turn down a request from Miss Darcy.

  But increasingly, Elizabeth wondered why she remained in London. When she had accompanied Richard, she had felt more at home in these ballrooms and drawing rooms as he introduced her to his acquaintances. However, she no longer felt part of that world, and it held little appeal. Only her loyalty to Georgiana prompted her to attend the events. Sometimes, she caught sharp looks or women muttering behind their fans when she entered. Many women of the ton probably believed she accompanied Georgiana because she was in search of a husband.

  Elizabeth could be a “student of human folly,” as her father would say, or enjoy the occasional witty conversation, but she wearied of the city. She was a perpetual outsider. At least in Hertfordshire, she was at home.

  She missed Jane and worried about her father’s health. Jane’s baby girl, Anna, had been born during the summer, and Elizabeth had enjoyed taking care of her. She longed to see her little niece again. Jane, Charles, and the baby made such a delightful family that Elizabeth had to restrain feelings of envy. She would not begrudge her sister one ounce of happiness; however, she could not help but muse how life would have been different if Richard had lived.

  Yes, she resolved, she would give London another week, and then she would return home.

  Her thoughts and her steps were interrupted by the sound of someone calling her name—her Christian name. Surprised, she turned and beheld Wickham striding up the path toward her.

  He was wearing a fine suit and carried a walking stick, looking every inch the gentlemen he could never be—either by manner or station. His face held an amiable smile. Elizabeth was forced to admire his ability to smile, dissemble, and pretend, no matter what his offenses. In this way, he was the opposite of Darcy, who often scowled even when he was pleased.

  “Sister! We are well met!” She believed neither his smile nor the coincidence of their meeting.

  Elizabeth did not trouble herself to produce a smile for her erstwhile brother. In fact, she would have preferred dinner with Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley over a short conversation with Wickham.

  “Mr. Wickham.” Her voice held little warmth.

  “Come, we are brother a
nd sister! You may, of course, call me George.” His smile was very ingratiating and inviting.

  “You may call me Miss Bennet,” she replied.

  Wickham’s face fell for a moment, but then he pretended not to hear here. “Well, this is a coincidence! I have scarcely been in London one day, and already I encounter you!”

  “Indeed, quite a coincidence,” Elizabeth murmured, certain she could guess the purpose behind this “accidental” meeting.

  There was a pause as Elizabeth watched the sun glittering over the Serpentine. Wickham seemed to expect her to carry on the conversation, but she felt no obligation. While Lydia was alive, Elizabeth had felt a duty to maintain civil relations with her new brother, but with her sister’s death, the obligation had ceased. His last visit to Longbourn had caused difficulties for every member of the Bennet family. She saw no reason to make the conversation easy for him.

  “I heard that Georgiana’s coming out ball was a great success,” Wickham said finally.

  “Yes, Miss Darcy did very well,” Elizabeth replied.

  A slight narrowing of his eyes indicated that Wickham noticed her tacit rebuke.

  “I am very happy for her.” He smiled like a large predatory animal. “I wish I could see her again. We were such good friends as children.” His eyes found hers as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Sister! You see Georgiana frequently; could you arrange a time and place for me to meet her?”

  Elizabeth’s jaw fell open at the sheer audacity of the request. Of course, he had no reason to believe she knew the story of Ramsgate, but—

  “Absolutely not!” Elizabeth cried once she had recovered her voice.

  She turned, not knowing where she would go as long as her path took her away from Wickham. But before she had taken a step, she felt his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. She reached up and forcibly removed it from her shoulder. Before she could leave, Wickham spoke: “If you wish me to avoid Georgiana, you will listen to what I have to say.”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. Keeping Wickham away from Georgiana was of the utmost importance. She turned and regarded him with a stony face.

  Wickham raised an eyebrow, but his smile had no mirth in it. “Your late fiancé and I had an arrangement …”

  “I know,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “You do?” Wickham’s eyes widened in surprise.

  Richard’s solicitor had informed her of the payments to Wickham shortly after her betrothed’s death. She had thought Wickham might give up the arrangement after Richard’s death, but it had been a foolish hope.

  Wickham recovered smoothly. “Well, yes. You know, I was discharged from the army. But the colonel was good enough to help me pay debts stemming from your sister’s illness and funeral.”

  “I did not realize you paid for her funeral with card games,” Elizabeth said.

  Wickham blinked and forged ahead. “I-your sister, God rest her soul, was ill a long time, her entire pregnancy, and I only wanted the best care for her.” Elizabeth wondered if Wickham had even once called the doctor to treat his wife.

  “My sister has been dead for more than a year. Any expenses you incurred would surely have been offset by now, given how much money Richard has already sent you.” Elizabeth struggled to keep her tone even.

  “No, that is not so—” Wickham’s voice was losing some of its smoothness in the face of Elizabeth’s opposition, but he still managed to smile.

  Elizabeth had never experienced an urge to strike another person, but she fantasized about giving Wickham a slap that would knock the smile from his face. Surely no one else had ever acquired so much in such an underserving a manner!

  “The colonel paid you because he feared your presence in my life would cause me undue anxiety. I have no such qualms. You have already received far more from my family than you deserve. I will give you nothing more.”

  Rage granted her energy as she turned on her heel, preparing to leave Wickham far behind. But he grabbed her wrist. “I would advise you to reconsider, Sister. You do not know what I am capable of when provoked!” His voice was no longer charming but rough and low.

  A small part of Elizabeth’s mind warned her to beware of a man who was bigger and stronger, but she was too furious that he dared to threaten her. Wrenching her wrist from his grasp, she brought her other hand up and delivered a resounding smack across Wickham’s face.

  While he was still holding his cheek in shock, she turned and ran up the path, not stopping until she was out of the park and on her own street.

  ***

  The devastation was complete.

  Elizabeth stared at the destruction, while next to her, Gibbs, the gardener, mournfully shook his head. The townhouse did not have the largest garden in London, certainly, but it was a good size for such a house. Like many, it was surrounded by walls on all sides.

  Elizabeth had poured love and energy into the garden. Anticipating that she would one day be mistress of the house, Richard had given her free rein to design plantings and make alterations to the previously neglected plot of land. She had worked with Gibbs to shape the space into a refuge—a place where she could retreat to escape the frantic pace of city living.

  And now it was destroyed.

  During the previous night, someone had climbed the fence and proceeded to butcher the garden. Flower pots were overturned and broken. A trellis was torn down, the vines trampled underfoot. A whole row of rose bushes had been hacked off at the roots, while a small tree had lost most of its branches. Everywhere she looked, vines had been torn out by the roots, leaves had been cut from plants, and bushes had been stripped of branches. Not a single plant had been left unmolested.

  Who would do such a thing?

  Elizabeth blinked back tears. The garden had not been close to finished, nor had it been at its best in January, but it had always reminded her of Richard. He had listened attentively to her plans for the garden, although he could not have been very interested. They had spent some enchanting evenings on the bench in the center of the garden. Now she felt as if she had lost another link to his memory.

  “I am so sorry, ma’am,” Gibbs said softly.

  “I am sorry for you, Gibbs. All of your hard work destroyed through one malicious act. It is criminal!”

  “I am sorry I didn’t hear nothing during the night. You know, my window on the third floor overlooks the garden—”

  “You were asleep. No one posts someone to watch over a garden.” She stooped to pick up a crushed and broken leaf, which had somehow survived the autumn. “Such wanton destruction makes no sense.”

  “No,” Gibbs murmured, running a gnarled hand over his chin. “I canna think of who would do such a thing.”

  “Nor I.” Elizabeth’s eyes traveled over the grounds, determining if anything could be salvaged. “The destruction is so thorough. This is not some random act…It is almost … personal. Designed to cause distress and pain.”

  As she said these words, Elizabeth recognized the truth in them. This was a message. But directed against whom? She could not imagine that Gibbs or any of her other staff had created such a vicious enemy. And they did not own the garden; she did. But how could she have engendered such animosity?

  It made no sense.

  Elizabeth sighed. “Well, see what plants you can rescue, and clear up what you cannot.” She regarded Gibbs’s wrinkled face and contemplated the work necessary to recreate the garden. “You should hire additional help, maybe that boy who helps out in the kitchen sometimes. Have Grayson make a list of the plants we need to replace. We must find a vendor. I suppose most planting must wait until spring.”

  Gibbs scratched behind his ear. “Some we can grow from cuttings. Many of the best plantings started so.”

  She patted his shoulder reassuringly. Those plants had been like his children. “I do not mind buying new if it is easier.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “And, Gibbs, do not work too hard. You are not as young as you once w
ere.”

  He smiled, showing several missing teeth. “Yeah. But that’s true for all of us, ain’t it?”

  Trust Gibbs to try to lighten her burden even under these circumstances. Elizabeth was still smiling at his rejoinder when she entered the house a moment later.

  ***

  Darcy had only been home for ten minutes when his aunt sailed into the drawing room ahead of the footman who had intended to announce her—heedlessly interrupting the new piece Georgiana was playing for him.

  Seeing Georgiana behind the pianoforte, she started speaking before the doors were even closed. “Georgiana, I have just heard the most awful story! Oh, hello, William. I was unaware you had returned from Pemberley.”

  “I only now arrived.” He gestured the countess to a seat. “What is your news?” Darcy had little interest in ton gossip but knew she would not have brought it to Georgiana unless it concerned his sister in some way. However, now his aunt hesitated as if unwilling to share her tidbit with Darcy.

  Darcy grabbed the arms of his chair to control his agitation. Of all the bad luck! If only Aunt Rachel had visited after he left the house. Since he had not seen Elizabeth for nearly a week, his need for her had reached a desperate pitch. Instead of visiting her townhouse, he would be compelled to hear his aunt’s report on the latest rumors or—if he was fortunate— just her schemes for the design of Georgiana’s next dress.

  Finally, Aunt Rachel drew herself straight in her chair. “There are stories of an alarming nature about Georgiana’s friend, Miss Bennet.”

  All of Darcy’s senses immediately went into a state of heightened alert. “What stories?” Darcy asked.

  Lady Matlock lowered her voice, confident she now had their rapt attention. “She has been seen in the company of that man who married her sister—whose father was the steward at Pemberley.”

  “Wickham?” All the breath seemed to leave his lungs. Was he too late? What had the blackguard done to her?

  Sitting beside him, Georgiana flinched at the mention of Wickham’s name, but their aunt was smoothing her skirt and did not notice. Her face creased with disgust. “Yes, that one.”