Unless he had been completely deceived in her character. If that were the case, all of Darcy’s efforts were for naught.
No, he would not venture down that road.
However, Wickham might have guessed Darcy’s interest in Meryton, and Elizabeth might have dropped some inadvertent hints. It was possible that Wickham might make Elizabeth an offer purely to thwart Darcy. Despite the warmth in the room, Darcy shivered as he realized he had a bigger dilemma than he had initially thought.
How could he prevent it?
Darcy emitted a mirthless chuckle. At Rosings, he would have assumed that the obvious solution was to propose himself since he was presumably a more palatable alternative than Wickham. In the days since the Hunsford disaster, Darcy had gradually realized how little he had considered or attempted to understand Elizabeth’s feelings. Assuming she was in love with him, Darcy had believed his fortune would overcome whatever reservations she might experience about the match.
The irony did not escape him. For years he had fled fortune hunters, and yet he had expected his fortune to be the primary enticement for matrimony.
Still, there was only one way to prevent her from marrying Wickham: marry her himself.
He could not help picturing the Netherfield drawing room and hearing Bingley’s voice asking if Darcy had ever wooed a lady. He had never considered it to be an ability he should develop, but suddenly Elizabeth’s future happiness depended upon it.
Perhaps he could begin their renewed acquaintance with an apology. Yes, here was a sound strategy. If she believed in his contrition, she might grant Darcy an opportunity to court her. Given the chance, he might convince her how deeply he cared about her.
But how? She did not even like him.
Blast and damnation! This love business was so much more complicated than he had anticipated. How did other men go about winning wives?
They wooed them. They courted them. They gave them flowers and flirted and paid compliments about their hair and gowns. Darcy had believed he was above such foolishness, but Elizabeth had shown him that his sense of superiority was precisely the problem.
Darcy stopped pacing, staring at the egregious still life on the far wall. What would happen if I did court Elizabeth? I could flirt, dance with her, bring her flowers, and offer compliments. I could woo her away from Wickham.
But what did he know about courting a woman? His one attempt had ended with the woman declaring he was the last man she would ever marry. His courtship efforts could only be counted as an abject failure.
He had believed she was flirting with him when, in fact, she had hated him. If her future happiness depended on Darcy’s ability to woo her effectively, she was surely doomed.
It seemed such a hopeless case that he might as well give up now, but his stomach knotted with tension at that thought. There was no alternative; he must draw her away from Wickham. If Darcy did not court Elizabeth, she might be shackled to a worthless blackguard for the rest of her life. He could not allow that to happen.
Perhaps I am inept at courtship, but surely I may learn. I am clever; I may show her I have attended to her reproaches and corrected my behavior. My understanding of Elizabeth has improved as well. He could woo her more effectively now—could he not?
He also possessed one great advantage over Wickham: he actually loved Elizabeth. When she compared the two men, hopefully she would perceive the sincerity of Darcy’s sentiments.
Further, wealth was an advantage in courtship. He could give her gifts, take her for carriage rides, show her sights—woo her in ways Wickham could not manage. It would scarcely be a hardship to spend more time with her. Perhaps he could manage to improve her opinion of him. Maybe even make her fall in love with him…
No, that was too much to hope.
Still, some of her dislike was based on misapprehension and mistake. He could demonstrate that he was not always proud and difficult. He could exert himself to be charming and have pleasing manners. Even if he could not win her hand, he would be in a better position to thwart Wickham’s influence and prevent—God forbid—an elopement.
Of course, if he failed, he might drive her straight into Wickham’s arms. Best not to think about that.
Chapter Five
Perhaps I should consider a career on the stage once my life as a spy comes to an end, Elizabeth thought. Apparently, Mr. Wickham was wholly convinced of her infatuation with him even though every flicker of his smile caused her stomach to clench with dread.
How did I ever find his manners pleasing? Why did I believe him to be amiable and honorable?
She was ashamed at her own lack of perspicacity. Now armed with superior knowledge of the man, she scrutinized his every gesture and statement. His air of casual charm was the result of elaborate effort, and he probably uttered fewer than ten sincere words in a day.
Knowing he had no honor, Elizabeth found it almost painful to watch him ingratiate himself—and to witness others respond in good faith. A thousand small clues now became apparent. He acted self-effacing yet somehow always managed to get his own way. He claimed not to wish to speak ill of anyone yet was one of the most vicious gossipmongers she had ever met.
It shook her to think how readily she had been deceived, recalling how she had taken Mr. Wickham’s part with Mr. Darcy. After he had declared his love, she had vilified the man’s character based on lies this scoundrel had told her. How she had wronged him! He was indeed proud and difficult but had always behaved honorably.
With these thoughts swirling through her head, Elizabeth found it difficult to even manage a smile for Mr. Wickham as he oozed his way through the crush of people at Lord and Lady Cavendish’s ball. Everyone succumbed to the Wickham mystique. They smiled as he passed and readily gave way. The men grasped him by the arm to speak with him while women—even those who were married—simpered and fluttered their lashes. Indeed, he was handsome, but could nobody guess what a rogue he was? Enjoying the attention, Mr. Wickham smiled and laughed freely. Why would he not? Everyone in Brighton loved him.
In Elizabeth’s mind, the necessity of behaving as one of his admirers compounded the evil of his deception. As she laughed at his jokes and fluttered her eyelashes at him, she felt complicit with his deceit.
Despite Elizabeth’s admonishments, Lydia was firmly among Mr. Wickham’s many admirers. When the gentleman showed a marked preference for Elizabeth’s company, Lydia complained, pouted, or flirted more outrageously. In company, she passed nearly as much time glaring at Elizabeth as she did admiring the officer. If only she knew how little Elizabeth enjoyed his attentions!
At least if he focuses his attentions on me, he pays less heed to Lydia and decreases the risk he might damage her reputation. The possible damage to Elizabeth’s reputation, however, was best not dwelt upon.
Her smile was firmly in place by the time Mr. Wickham reached her side. They had already danced one set, and she gritted her teeth knowing she must acquiesce to a second. He executed a small bow. “Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of another—?”
“There you are, Lizzy!” Lydia, boisterous and possibly foxed, burst upon them and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm as though they had not seen one another for a fortnight. Then she affected to notice the officer. “Here you are, Wicky! I believe you promised me a dance!”
Elizabeth turned a laugh into a cough; a blind man would have noticed the transparency of her sister’s maneuver.
“Did I?” Mr. Wickham smirked.
“Indeed, and it would be quite a scandal if you did not keep your word!” Lydia peeked coyly from under her lashes.
I hope nobody is observing this exchange. Lydia was too forward; a woman never asked a gentleman to dance, and such behavior would do her reputation no good. “Mr. Wickham requested the next set with me,” Elizabeth informed Lydia. It was not quite true, but he certainly had been about to make the request.
Mr. Wickham did not dispute the assertion but held out his arm for her. Elizabeth managed not to shrin
k away in disgust as she took it.
Lydia pouted charmingly. “But Lizzy already danced with you.” She turned a far less charming expression on her sister. “Let me have my turn.” Lydia looped her arm through the man’s other arm, taking possession of his left while Elizabeth had his right.
“Come, Wicky!” Lydia said brightly, tugging him toward the dance floor.
Loath to encourage such forwardness, Elizabeth ground her teeth and tugged him in the opposite direction. “You may dance with him later,” she told Lydia.
Such feminine attention delighted Mr. Wickham. “Ladies, ladies, there is enough of me to share!” he declared as he scanned the room to see who noticed this evidence of his desirability.
“You had a turn with him!” Lydia declared to her sister, jerking the man toward her and causing his head to snap to one side.
The commotion was attracting attention, and Elizabeth was tempted to relinquish a prize she truly did not desire. But her charade necessitated that she maintain a pretense of infatuation with the officer. The things I do for my country.
Tugging on the gentleman’s other arm, she murmured, “Lydia, you are making a spectacle!”
Lydia yanked in the opposite direction, causing the man’s head to wobble back and forth like a doll’s. Mr. Denny approached with a tentative expression on his face. A fellow officer and friend of Mr. Wickham’s, Mr. Denny was young and eager to please.
“Might I be of service?” he asked with a shy smile. “Miss Lydia, I would be honored if you danced with me.” But Lydia ignored him.
“Be reasonable,” Elizabeth pleaded with her sister.
Lydia sneered. “Why must I always be the reasonable one? Perhaps you could be ‘reasonable’ for once!”
Apparently weary of the tug-of-Wickham, the officer finally pulled his arm from Lydia’s grasp. “I am honored to have caught the eye of two such beautiful women,” he said, preening, “but Miss Lydia, I have promised this set to your sister. I would be honored to dance the next set with you.”
Lydia stamped her foot and scowled. “Very well! I am certain Denny will be happy to dance this set with me.” Flouncing over to the other officer, she practically thrust her hand into his. More than a little besotted with Lydia, Denny beamed at her drunkenly until she sighed in exasperation and pulled him toward the dancers.
“I apologize for Lydia’s inappropriate behavior,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Wickham, not needing to feign her embarrassment.
The man straightened the cuff of his coat. “That is quite all right.” He flashed her a grin full of white teeth. His obvious enjoyment of the spectacle made Elizabeth feel a little queasy. “Shall we join the set?”
As he led her to the dance floor, Elizabeth reflected that never before had she won a contest when she had so little desire for the prize.
***
An hour later, Elizabeth had finished the second of her two obligatory dance sets with Mr. Wickham—devoutly wishing she could also be relieved of the burden of pretending an interest in his company. She had paced the edges of the ballroom while he danced with Lydia, unable to leave her sister unsupervised. When Elizabeth joined the pair immediately after the conclusion of the set, Lydia pouted. Elizabeth feared the onset of another tug-of-Wickham, but upon discovering a tear in one of her flounces, Lydia hastened to the ladies’ retiring room.
Expressing an interest in lemonade won her a brief reprieve from Mr. Wickham’s presence, but he reappeared all too soon, deftly juggling two full glasses. He handed one to her with a smile that was no doubt intended to be alluring. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”
“You are all that is gracious,” Elizabeth responded, avoiding any touch of his fingers as she took her glass.
His smile transformed into a smirk. “Would that I could have another dance with you.”
She tried to appear coy. “That would occasion too much talk.”
He took a step toward her, standing closer than was entirely appropriate. “Let them talk about us.” His breath ghosted over her face, and she closed her eyes lest her disgust register on her countenance.
Remember your mission. If she was forced to spend time with the man, at least she could ensure that it was valuable. Casting a demure glance at the floor, Elizabeth stepped away from the officer. “I would prefer not to be the subject of gossip, but perhaps we might take a turn about the room?”
“Capital idea!” After transferring their lemonade glasses to a passing servant, Wickham offered his arm and led her on a stately stroll around the perimeter of the ballroom.
Elizabeth broke the silence first. “Do you have a wide acquaintance in Brighton, sir?”
Mr. Wickham flashed a smile. “Of course! I have friends wherever I go. There is my friend, Henry Knox, from my days at Cambridge. He’s hereabouts somewhere.” The officer made a vague gesture. “And Edward Plummer. I know him from Derbyshire. He and his wife were invited but could not attend.” Elizabeth tried to memorize these names. “Lord Cavendish is a friend as well.”
Elizabeth bounced on her toes. “If they are as pleasant as you, I would love to meet some of your friends!”
“No one is as pleasant as I am,” Mr. Wickham said with a devilish grin.
“To be sure.” Elizabeth laughed. “But you always discover the most amiable and amusing people wherever you are.”
The officer puffed out his chest. “Have you been introduced to Lord Cavendish?”
“A real lord?” she echoed breathlessly. “No, but I would find it most agreeable.”
Mr. Wickham’s grin was as condescending as Elizabeth could expect. “We are quite well acquainted already, having met over several games of cards.”
“I would be honored,” she breathed. Abandoning the perimeter, Mr. Wickham led her across the ballroom to the entrance where Lord and Lady Cavendish greeted new arrivals. Their guests were a varied lot, including many men in red uniforms as well as members of the local gentry and prosperous merchants. Mr. Wickham wove them through the throng until they stood at Lord Cavendish’s elbow.
“Lord Cavendish, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
The lord eyed her like something he had found on the sole of his shoe. When his eyes drifted over Mr. Wickham, his face displayed only a vague recognition. Elizabeth hid a smirk.
“We met over cards two days ago,” Mr. Wickham prompted.
“Ah, yes, Wyndham.” Somehow the lord managed to speak while barely moving his lips, as if they were barely worth the effort of speech. Well, at least the lord was not one of Mr. Wickham’s co-conspirators.
The officer maintained his amiable smile. “Wickham.”
The lord nodded absently as his attention was drawn to the door. “If you will forgive me, I must greet my guests.” He took a step forward, smiling at the man entering the room. “Darcy, I am so pleased you could come!”
Startled, Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham simultaneously turned toward Fitzwilliam Darcy as he strolled into the ballroom, effortlessly elegant in an impeccably tailored suit of blue and gold. While the master of Pemberley exchanged pleasantries with their host, his eyes ranged over Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham, narrowing slightly when he noticed their linked arms. But he betrayed no surprise. Did he know I would be here with Mr. Wickham?
It seemed unlikely. How could he? No, his presence must be a coincidence.
Mr. Darcy was the last person she would have expected to encounter in Brighton; she had fully expected never to see him again. Growing hot beneath his scrutiny, she fought the impulse to avert her eyes from the man. What must he think of her?
Baring his soul to her, Mr. Darcy had revealed Mr. Wickham’s responsibility for his sister’s near disgrace. Now he found her on that man’s arm! He must think her the world’s greatest simpleton—or a woman without any moral qualms whatsoever.
Mr. Darcy stared at her as if the rest of the room had ceased to exist; the intensity of his gaze could almost burn a hole in her skull. Noting the sudden unease in the air, Lord Cavendish stepp
ed back and gestured to them awkwardly. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Wyndham and Miss—”
Mr. Darcy stepped forward and bowed. “Bennet,” he finished. “A pleasure, as always.” He did not smile, but his gaze would not leave her face. He had not even acknowledged Mr. Wickham.
“You are acquainted?” The lord seemed a bit surprised that Mr. Darcy would have such low connections.
“Indeed,” Mr. Darcy said smoothly. “Miss Bennet and I encountered each other not long ago when I was visiting my aunt in Kent.” Although he was responding to their host’s question, his words were aimed at Mr. Wickham, who stiffened and frowned at this information.
As an awkward silence settled over the group, Elizabeth felt compelled to address Mr. Darcy. “I did not know you had plans to visit Brighton.”
“I had no such plans in April, but recently I had a sudden urge to enjoy some sea bathing while the water is still warm.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth responded automatically, although she did not believe this explanation. Mr. Darcy was not the sort of man to indulge in any sea bathing, let alone to conceive a sudden desire for it.
Mr. Wickham bestowed on Mr. Darcy a smile that was little more than bared teeth. Lord Cavendish had been observing the trio in bemusement but was then summoned away by his wife. Barely acknowledging their host’s departure, Mr. Darcy regarded Elizabeth steadily. “Miss Bennet, I have not had the pleasure of dancing with you since the Netherfield ball. I see a new set is forming. Would you do me the honor?”
“Uh…er…” How had the English language deserted her in her hour of need?
“See here now, Darcy!” Mr. Wickham exclaimed. “She is engaged to dance with me.”
I am caught between two men who hate each other—and I wish to dance with neither. What a disaster. “We have already danced two sets, Mr. Wickham,” she reminded the officer, who glowered while Mr. Darcy raised a triumphant brow.
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