Thank you for reading! The reviews have been so lovely to read, especially this weekend as the weather has turned very cold and I've been huddled up in a giant cardigan at my computer for warmth. It's nice to know there are other people out there doing the same thing! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter!
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"Engaged!"
As they alighted from the carriage on the way back from the Assembly Rooms, Elizabeth let slip to her mother that her father might reasonably expect a call the next morning. Her conversation with Mr. Wickham had been very pleasing indeed. While Elizabeth was cautious about his fortune, he assured her that he was more than halfway to a good living – a fact reinforced by his commanding officer, who seemed surprised at the question but did not counter Mr. Wickham's assertion.
With the candlelight so low, and the gentleman so charming, Elizabeth did not discourage him when he suggested calling on her family the next morning – and made his intentions in doing so clear indeed. He bowed low over her hand as the Bennets departed, and Mrs. Phillips gave them a knowing look and turned to speak to Lady Lucas.
As Elizabeth had half dreaded, half anticipated, the very suggestion sent her mother into a flurry. She wanted to be half out the door to call on Sir William and Lady Lucas now, to rub their faces in her daughter's success – not only to be married, but to a soldier! And such a fine and handsome soldier at that! A parson was nothing to such a soldier! – but Elizabeth gently pointed out that it was nearly one o'clock, that the gentleman had not yet come to call, and accounting for the time it would take to ready the carriage and water the horses and drive to Lucas Lodge, the family would be no doubt asleep or nearly so.
Mrs. Bennet looked as if she would like to rouse them anyway, but Elizabeth steered her mother toward conversation about the church, the date, and the likelihood of inviting many of Wickham's fellow officers, who would look so well in their red coats, and Mrs. Bennet was soon allayed.
The younger girls were up for an hour, demanding all the details, especially of the third dance, and their low conversation in the card room – and Lizzy finally had to shoo them to bed, and untie her green ribbon, and unpin her silk flowers, and shake out her hair. Yet somehow, as she closed her eyes to sleep, it was not Mr. Wickham's face that kept her company, but Mr. Bingley's sour friend Mr. Darcy. It was the most vexing thing.
Elizabeth woke up the next morning with a drop in the pit of her stomach. This was curious, but it was only to be expected for a nearly-engaged woman.
She brushed Jane's hair, and handed her the brush to return the favour.
"Mr. Wickham is very well mannered," Jane said. She paused; the brush stopped in Elizabeth's hair. "Do you know his family?"
"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth said, teasing. "Not every family can be a fine one from the north of England." Jane's correspondence with Caroline Bingley and by proxy her brother was going well, and Jane had even received a note the previous night apologising for their absence at the Meryton dance; Elizabeth's mark hit home, and Jane flushed and continued to brush her hair, perhaps even a little too vigorously.
Mr. Wickham came to call early, and the happy occasion agreed promptly; he did not stay for breakfast, as he had business in town. He had brought Elizabeth a bouquet of fresh picked flowers, which she took great pleasure in arranging on the table. They were simple buttercups and violets, picked from the fields between Meryton and Longbourn; Elizabeth could not help feeling it might have been nicer to have received a more lavish engagement present, but reminded herself that his new promised position had not yet come through, and there was no shame in being a little spare until that time.
Mr. Bennet was silent all through breakfast, and had to be prompted by Mary to pass the toast.
"I do hope you will not live too far," he said suddenly. "Is he to remain in town? Where do his people live?"
What was this mass obsession with Mr. Wickham's family? "We shall have a good living, he said he has been promised," Elizabeth said, mildly annoyed. "I shall visit often."
"The post, sir," Sarah said, presenting the tray with a curtsey.
"Heavens! A letter from Netherfield!" Mrs. Bennet recognised the crest on the embossed paper immediately. She looked up at Jane with undisguised glee. "Dare I hope – two of my girls in one week – "
"It is only an invitation to a ball," Mr. Bennet said, who had torn it open and read it quickly, then thrown it carelessly onto the table. "I cannot imagine why these young men have nothing more to do, other than give balls. Why, there was one at Netherfield only last month."
"Papa!" Lydia exclaimed. "It was all the way back in November."
Mr. Bennet did not see that this was such a great gap that needed remedying; he doubted the substance of such a man, who could afford to spend so much time planning dinner menus and, judging by the frequency of their need, employing musicians on salary rather than ad hoc; and that he certainly hoped Jane was not taken in by these peacock displays. This last was said with a slanted look towards Elizabeth, but no more.
Elizabeth finished her breakfast hurriedly. When he departed that morning, she and Mr. Wickham made plans to walk in town that day, and she was eager to see him outside the company of her family. She pulled on her walking boots, and half-ran the way to Meryton, where they were to meet at the inn.
Mr. Wickham was already chatting with the bar maid, and pulled back as Elizabeth arrived.
They strolled arm-in-arm down the high street. Elizabeth could not think of much to say, so it was just as well that Mr. Wickham was content to talk. He talked of his prospects in the Army, over and above the new position that he promised her was just around the corner; he talked of his preferences at dinner, and his favourite kind of port; he spoke of what their home might be like, when they were married. He pictured a small house, but cosy. Elizabeth said she pictured just the same.
"And yet with a very large library," she said dreamily. How many books she should have when she was married!
"Y-yes," Mr. Wickham said. They walked in silence for a few moments. "Although, my dear Lizzy – do you think we shall have the space? Books are rather expensive, you know – and they take up so much room…"
Elizabeth demurred on this point. She did not find books took up so much room as all that, in particular compared with the hours of pleasure they gave – but she did not want to argue with her new fiancé, so soon after their engagement.
She felt Mr. Wickham's arm tense under her hand, and looked up to see what had caused it.
"Oh, bother," she said fervently.
Mr. Darcy's tall dark form was stalking across the street before them. He did not look up, or over – indeed he did not seem to see them. Mr. Wickham made as if to move away, and avoid him; but Elizabeth was determined not to look as if she was running away, and continued walking straight ahead, with her chin lifted high. If anyone was to back down, it would be Mr. Darcy. Ahead of them, Mr. Darcy sensed an obstacle in his path, and looked up. Like Mr. Wickham, he twitched as if to leave; but visibly overcame himself, and bowed to Elizabeth.
"A good day to you," Mr. Darcy said.
"And to you, sir," Mr. Wickham said.
All her bravado melted away and Elizabeth was suddenly anxious to leave. She felt inexplicably agitated in Mr. Darcy's company, a feeling she attributed to worry that he would again say something rude or cutting – and on this, her day of celebration. What right had he to step in her way and trample all over her happiness with his arrogant and aloof ways? Elizabeth lifted her chin.
"You must congratulate Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy," she said casually.
Mr. Darcy looked down his nose at Mr. Wickham. How proud he was! "On what occasion," he said; despite the phrasing, it was hardly a question. "Have you found gainful employment at last?"
"I am to be married," Mr. Wickham said. He placed his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders; she, taken aback at the forthrightness of the gesture in public, stood stock still. "Miss Bennet has agreed to be my wife."
Mr. Darcy coloured, and started back. "You!" he exclaimed.
"Me," Elizabeth said brightly, assuming the word was meant for her. In truth she was even more annoyed at Mr. Wickham's possessive gestures than Mr. Darcy's obvious disdain. "I am not too small a match for an officer, I hope you will agree."
"Indeed, madam, the inadequacy is on one side only," he said coldly. Mr. Wickham's arm tensed around Elizabeth; but she rested a calming palm over his hand on her shoulder, and he relaxed back onto his heels. Mr. Darcy took in the gesture with a look of disgust.
"I take it you will not be dancing at our wedding breakfast?" she said.
"I find I have business elsewhere," he said, and strode off, not even stopping to doff his hat.
"What a disagreeable man," Elizabeth said, and Mr. Wickham fervently agreed.
She was so annoyed that she could not stop thinking about Mr. Darcy all through the rest of their walk, and took her leave of her fiancé early, returning home to Longbourn in a foul mood.
"Did you have a pleasant walk?" Mrs. Bennet said knowingly.
"Impossible man!" Elizabeth said, throwing her bonnet aside and stomping upstairs.
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Oh Lizzy, listen to yourself! I realised as I wrote this chapter that I've accidentally based Wickham a little bit on an old boyfriend. Some people (especially some men) really know how to turn on the charm and it takes a little while to see through them… but the time is coming soon! Promises are one thing but actions always speak for themselves…