One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (22 page)

In town, all five sisters successfully acquired ribbons, lace and other notions to embellish their gowns and hair for the Netherfield Ball. Mr. Collins elected to visit the bookstore during the lady's foray into the various shops, which, although of great interest to the feminine gender, were not particularly appealing to the parson.

The walk back to Longbourn posed additional opportunity for discourse between Mary and Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth was pleased with the small progress they were making. She was certain that Mr. Collins had warmed in his attitude toward the one Bennet sister who wished for his attentions.

At length, when the conversation waned, Elizabeth broached a topic that had been on her mind since the previous evening.

“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth opened, “am I correct in recalling that your patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was on an errand of great import?
 
She was serving the needs of a relation who was in some peril was she not?”

“My dear Cousin Elizabeth! Your compassion in recalling the tender mercies that great lady has bestowed upon her nephew does you credit! Indeed, you are correct, for nearly the moment she learned of the dire circumstances her nephew has found himself in, she was most determined to come to his aid and intervene with all the power of her position and status in society to bring an end to the hazard he was in, with all haste.”

“This nephew—is he in mortal danger?” Elizabeth inquired with concern.

“I cannot say, dear cousin, for I do not know the particulars. Her Ladyship is, among her many other estimable qualities, the very soul of discretion,” Mr. Collins answered. “Indeed, my understanding of the situation is perhaps less extensive than I had believed, for it was my impression that the nephew she was to rescue was the very master of Pemberley, the illustrious Mr. Darcy. Since the man is at present in residence in this neighborhood, and as I have seen with my own eyes that no distress imperils him, I must conclude that the nephew of her benevolent errand must be one of the sons of her brother, the esteemed Earl of Matlock.”

“Her Ladyship is Mr. Darcy's aunt?” Elizabeth confirmed the detail she had overheard the previous evening.

“Oh yes, indeed, and soon to be his own mother, for her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, the heiress of Rosings, is affianced to Mr. Darcy, and although the date of their nuptials is not at the present time set, it cannot fail to be soon.” Mr. Collins beamed.

“Mr. Darcy is engaged ... to Miss de Bourgh?” Elizabeth breathed out in astonishment. “Upon my word, I had never imagined such a thing!”

“Indeed, when that day comes that they are joined in the bonds of holy matrimony, the great estates of Pemberley and Rosings shall be joined with them.” Mr. Collins exclaimed enthusiastically. “The annals of history will most certainly extol the marriage as one of the spectacular matches of our age!”

“I am sure that they shall, Mr. Collins.” Elizabeth said softly, with a weak smile. “I am sure that they shall.”

~*~

The promise of the militia at Aunt Phillips' house assured the punctuality of the Bennet family, and the five sisters and their cousin were transported by carriage at the appropriate hour to the Phillips' home. There they found, to the delight of some, that a number of the officers were already assembled.

Mr. Collins resumed his praise of Mrs. Phillips' house and the society therein as soon as they arrived. Four of his cousins, who had tired of hearing him, quickly left him conversing with Mary and Mrs. Phillips, who was enamored with hearing her house compared favorably with the great estate of Rosings, once she understood the grandeur of it.

Elizabeth, upon seeing Mr. Wickham in the midst of the gentlemen, had much the same reaction as she had the first time they had met, on the street in Meryton. She was struck with the handsomeness of his face and figure and had to secretly agree with Lydia that the red coat improved him beyond measure. His smile, which preceded him in his approach, was all that was charming, and his address to her so genuinely easy that she fell quickly into conversation with him as though they had long been friends. She was very inclined to find him amiable and had very nearly forgotten Mr. Darcy's caution about Mr. Wickham altogether.

Elizabeth, in comparing Mr. Wickham to the other gentlemen in the room, found that he exceeded the best of the others put together in conversation, in humor, in countenance and even in the air with which he carried himself. He was, although a lowly officer in the militia, the very personification of a gentlemanly person and superior to the others, she was sure. She was also sure that every female eye in the room was upon him, and she was exceedingly pleased when, after he had attended to the obligatory social greetings owed to the room, he declined to play cards and seated himself next to her away from the tables.

Elizabeth, being of a curious nature, had given much thought to the scene that had unfolded on the street between Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy and wanted nothing more than to understand it. She did not dare broach the topic directly, however, but determined that she would attempt to get to know Mr. Wickham better and see if she might find an opening.

“Mr. Wickham,” she said, after the initial pleasantries had passed, “I understand from Mr. Darcy that you are of long acquaintance, having grown up together.”

“That is very true.” Wickham replied genially. “My father was the steward of the Darcy estate when I was young.”

“Oh yes.” Elizabeth paused. “You father is no longer in service there?”

“He died when I was still a lad,” Mr. Wickham said with a warm smile. “It was old Mr. Darcy who saved me then. He did not turn me out of the house, instead treating me as though I were his own son. I had a wonderful youth and love Pemberley as my own home.”

“Pemberley—is it a large estate?” Elizabeth inquired.

“It is a fair prospect, indeed, Miss Bennet. It is stately and grand and is accompanied by the most beautiful grounds and property I have ever seen.” Mr. Wickham had a faraway look, and Elizabeth waited a moment before she spoke.

“You said that old Mr. Darcy treated you as a son...?”

“Ah,” Mr. Wickham said with a laugh, “you are recalling, no doubt, that my greeting from Mr. Darcy yesterday was not so very fraternal.” Mr. Wickham sighed. “We were indeed like brothers once, Miss Bennet, but that has come to an end. Tell me—how long have you been acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

“About a month. He is here with his friend, Mr. Bingley.” Elizabeth replied.

“And how do you like him?” Mr. Wickham probed. “What are your impressions of the man?”

“It is certain that he is very proud...,” Elizabeth started, “... and vain to be sure. But such an attitude is the purview of the rich, I suppose.” She paused thoughtfully. “He has, in truth, been very kind to me, in spite of his haughty demeanor. If I had known him longer, I may even be inclined to call him a friend. I spent above four days in company with him at Netherfield, and he was very gentlemanly, even though my presence was an imposition to the household.”

“Indeed?” Mr. Wickham weighed her words. “And how do the people of Meryton like him?”

Elizabeth laughed. “He is a proud, disagreeable man, as you well know. That is plain to be seen by anyone. He has generously patronized several of the local businesses, however, and that may have improved opinions generally. Now that you have broached the subject, I suppose I should ask—how do
 
you
 
like him, Mr. Wickham?”

“It would not truly be fair for me to give my opinion of him. Mr. Wickham said. “I have known him too long and too much has passed between us—I cannot be impartial. I loved his father though, as the very best of men, and his passing was a tremendous loss for me in countless ways. Do you know how long Mr. Darcy is to remain in Hertfordshire?”

“His friend Mr. Bingley has declared himself in courtship with? my sister Jane, and we expect that
 
he
 
will remain for some duration. Mr. Darcy's plans I do not know, but I have not heard of any intention to quit the county soon,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh.” Mr. Wickham had a look of consternation. “Mr. Darcy and I are not on the best of terms. It shall not be pleasant to have him in residence while I am quartered here, but if he is distressed by it, he must go, not I.”

“I did observe the manner of your greeting one another yesterday. What could he have meant by what he said to you?” Elizabeth flushed slightly at her boldness in asking.

“I am sure I do not know,” Mr. Wickham said. “His address astonished me greatly. I did perceive some great resentment in what he spoke, the cause of which I am at a loss to identify. If anyone has a cause for hostility, it is I, not he.
 
Mr. Darcy has greatly wronged me.”

Elizabeth's curiosity was piqued, and yet she knew that pressing the matter was an affront to delicacy. Mr. Darcy's cautionary words of the evening before now returned in her mind to disquiet her, and she mentally rehearsed his plea that she not involve herself with the man or give him consequence. It was not just this that worried her, for she then recalled his caution against sketching a man's character on impressions. It had been of himself he spoke at the time. However, upon consideration, it seemed applicable in the case before her as well. She certainly had good impressions of George Wickham, despite having known him for only a very short time. She was unsettled and unsure now. Mr. Darcy had obviously been communicating a specific message to Mr. Wickham in Meryton, and while his words had not been specific, he had clearly sent a potent message of distrust to Mr. Wickham. She looked nervously at the charming officer by her side and found herself set upon a most unlikely course.

“Mr. Wickham, I am sorry for you if you are at odds with Mr. Darcy, but I am certain that he is a good and fair man. I know not what wrong you claim against him, but if there was some illegality, you should seek redress in the law. If it is something else, amends may always be made. Please do not burden me with your argument tonight, or put me in a position between you, for I am disposed to like you both.”

Mr. Wickham's cheerful façade failed him, but he rallied quickly. “Miss Bennet, I am sorry. I should not have darkened this lovely evening with my woes. You are perfectly right in what you say. I shall consider your counsel, and perhaps in due course, amends shall be made.”

Their conversation continued for but a few more minutes before Mr. Wickham excused himself to play at cards with the company.

Chapter Twenty-Three

An Inadvertent Design

E
lizabeth lay silent and warm in her bed. The soft patter of a gentle rain striking the glass of her window was the only sound to hear in the darkness. The house was still: it was too early to rise. The fragments of her dream floated elusively in her misty consciousness, beyond recall, but near enough that the essence remained, taunting her to make meaning of it.

Mr. Wickham had been in the dream, like the sun, sparkling, cheery and warm. He beckoned, and she had felt herself drawn to him She remembered that much. There had been another presence though—darker, brooding and powerful enough to pull her, as if with some invisible force, into his orbit. She closed her eyes again, wishing the act could return her to the place where it had seemed real. It had not been a nightmare, or even an unpleasant dream. It
 
had
 
been confusing, but it had also been thrilling, like standing on the edge of a precipice in the wind.

She felt her heartbeat quicken and her breathing become shallow as a pair of eyes came into focus in her mind. The eyes she knew well, for they had stalked her relentlessly whenever Mr. Darcy had been in company with her. In her dream, she remembered with a degree of clarity, his eyes had mesmerized her, locked onto her and whispered to her. It was so strange. His lips moved not, his stance remained proud and haughty, but his eyes
 
did speak
 
to her. They had glistened with meaning; they had called her name. Elizabeth.

She tried to rouse herself, to break free of the half-dream she had fallen back into, but although her mind was seemingly alert, her body was unresponsive to any attempt at movement. Mr. Darcy's eyes drew closer. Elizabeth had no recourse as his relentless gaze bore into her. She could do nothing but match the intensity of his stare. There was nothing else to look at, nothing else to do. His eyes were then seemingly joined by the rest of the handsome face, so close she could feel his breath play in her hair like a breeze. His countenance had transformed from the familiar aloof mask into a visage filled with tenderness and longing. She felt her own expression change to mirror his as her resistance to the image in her mind melted away. She could feel his strength, and his passion too, for it burned in his eyes like a flame. How long they looked at each other this way, she could not tell—time in a dream is fluid—it had seemed an eternity.