Super long chapter today because I decided not to leave you with a cliffhanger—you're welcome ;) Thanks to everyone who's engaged with the story this week! I really appreciate all the encouragement and various random fixes!
And thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn, who have put in countless hours on this story!
As always, if you notice something inaccurate, please let me know. I really want the story to be as good as it can be :)
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
Elizabeth scanned the room, looking in vain for Mr. Wickham even as her sisters steered her through the ballroom at Netherfield. Six days after her conversation with the man, she still did not know what to make of it, but she was certain she wished to keep an eye on him. And, if possible, she desired to see how he interacted with Mr. Darcy, preferably when they first encountered one another tonight. When they had spoken of the Bingleys' ball, Mr. Wickham had stoutly proclaimed that he would not be chased off by Mr. Darcy, that it was for Mr. Darcy to leave if he felt uncomfortable.
Days of rain had trapped her indoors with her family and Mr. Collins, and only the promise of a ball was enough to prevent her from going quite mad. She desired above all things to have sufficient solitude to quiet her spirit, but such a thing had been impossible as of late. The day after her tête-à-tête with Mr. Wickham at Aunt Phillips's card party, she had related Mr. Wickham's story (and the hints of deception he had let slip) to Jane. Jane, of course, had been unwilling to find fault with Mr. Wickham or with Mr. Darcy.
Her dear, sweet, kind sister truly saw only what was good in the world. And, for the first time, Elizabeth wondered if that was an asset. Despite the potential dangers Mr. Wickham posed, Jane would not have them warn the community lest the accusations prove false or Mr. Wickham be attempting to reform.
"Denny!" Lydia cried, altering the course of their group so as to intercept him.
Mr. Denny at once ceased the conversation he had been engaged in and bowed to the Bennet sisters. Lydia immediately applied for information regarding Mr. Wickham's whereabouts (days without contact had only strengthened the man's good humour and handsome looks).
"I am afraid he was required to go to London on business and has not yet returned," Mr. Denny replied. "He sends his apologies, however."
Lydia pouted.
"I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman," Mr. Denny said with a significant look at Elizabeth.
"I shall just have to dance an extra dance with you then," Lydia replied, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Mr. Denny smiled warmly.
Jane's face lit up, and Elizabeth glanced around to see what had caused her sister's joy; Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were approaching. Mr. Denny excused himself, and Lydia went with him. Kitty trailed behind, looking forlorn, and Elizabeth suddenly recalled that Mr. Denny had been Kitty's favourite and that Lydia had proclaimed Captain Carter to be far superior. Yet here she was monopolising the man. Poor Kitty.
Although they had greeted Mr. Bingley when they had arrived, he bowed over Jane's hand once more as Mr. Darcy bowed.
"Miss Elizabeth. How are you this evening?" Mr. Darcy asked.
"Quite well, Mr. Darcy. And you?"
"I am well also."
Elizabeth's lips curved up. "I must say that I am surprised to hear you profess any degree of contentment when dancing is the primary object of this evening."
"You do not believe that I can dance?" Mr. Darcy asked, blinking at her.
"I believe that you can dance, however, I am familiar with your distaste for the occupation."
Mr. Bingley turned to Elizabeth. "I have already told Darcy he cannot spend the evening glowering in a corner." He smiled. "May I say that you look very lovely tonight, Miss Elizabeth?"
"Thank you, Mr. Bingley. You are too kind."
"Not at all. Beauty appears to run in the Bennet family," he said, casting a calf-eyed look at Jane.
Elizabeth suppressed a chuckle. Though she had not yet determined what to do about Mr. Bingley's admiration for Jane, she could not help but laugh at his transparent nature.
She was turning back to Mr. Darcy who seemed about to say something when, out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noted that Mr. Collins had at last finished his lengthy greeting to Miss Bingley and was now searching the crowd. Her stomach dropped, and Elizabeth hurriedly excused herself, ducking behind a nearby portly gentleman and then slipping away.
Mr. Collins had taken every opportunity to pay her attention, scarcely leaving her side from morning until night. Once she had realised that he intended to make her an offer, she had spent a nearly sleepless night considering whether she ought to accept—it would provide a safe haven for her sisters and mother upon her father's death; however, she could not stomach the living death of marrying him. It would be one thing if he were tolerable or even if he allowed for solitude, but as it was, she would rather go into service than be forced to marry such a person.
Positions could be changed. Marriages could not, and she refused to chain herself to anyone for whom she did not feel the deepest love.
Unfortunately, as he was not privy to her thoughts, her soul-searching had not made the slightest impact on Mr. Collins's behaviour. A stray comment about the ball had also caused the man to request the first set—something that Mrs. Bennet had enthusiastically supported. Elizabeth, unwilling to sit out for the entirety of the night, had agreed. However, she refused to spend the time until the first set listening to Mr. Collins compare Netherfield to Rosings or whatever ridiculous topic he chose to expand endlessly upon. For someone who composed his small talk ahead of time, the man was verbose in the extreme.
Catching sight of Charlotte, she wound her way in that direction.
So Mr. Wickham had been "called away on business" rather than face Mr. Darcy. That certainly boded ill in support of his story. If he had done no wrong, why would he fear facing Mr. Darcy?
Not that she had expected much less. If even half of the Letter-writer's accusations were true, the man was lucky to be alive and free.
Elizabeth spoke briefly to several of her neighbours and at length to Charlotte before the musicians sounded the call to the dance. Regretfully, she made her way to the dance floor, hoping desperately that Mr. Collins was not as inept at dancing as he was at conversation.
A vain hope, she realised not five minutes into the dance. In addition to maintaining a monologue peppered with apologies, he stumbled through the steps with less grace than a lame drunk. Thus, less than halfway through the dance, her feet already ached more than the time she'd danced with Mr. Thorne and the rest of the dancers had collected a plethora of minor injuries as Mr. Collins turned one wrong direction after another, bumping into those around him and generally disrupting the dance. Elizabeth wished the floor would open up and swallow her. At least then she would not have to endure the continued stares from all in the room.
Darcy stood with his back to a wall as he watched the dancers. Miss Elizabeth was currently the picture of misery, her cheeks flaming and discomfort in every taut line of her expression. There was naught he could do to assist, but he wished that he could step in and rescue her.
A glower crossed his features—he was no knight in shining armour out to rescue any damsel in distress, even Miss Elizabeth. She was not his, he reminded himself. She could never be his. Regardless of her apparent attraction to him, and his hidden attraction to her, he could not lower himself by pursuing her. He could just imagine his father ranting about the pollution of Pemberley that would result from such a marriage.
No, he must remain firm.
Miss Elizabeth winced—probably from having her foot trod upon again.
He still wished to alleviate her distress. If only she had been born into the first circles.
Finally, finally! the dance ended, and Elizabeth was able to escape the dance floor. Mr. Collins escorted her back to where she had been standing, attending her with a constant stream of nothings about how kind everyone had been and how, despite his lack of proficiency, he intended to dance with all his fair cousins.
"I would not desert you for anything, Miss Elizabeth, however, as you are aware, Miss Bennet has promised to dance the second set with me and I should not wish to be tardy."
"By all means," Elizabeth said, suppressing a sigh of relief that at least her aching ears would get a rest even if she could not rest her feet.
As Mr. Collins scurried away, Mr. Denny approached her. Elizabeth glanced around for her two youngest sisters and noted them happily occupied in conversation with two other officers, Lydia gesticulating wildly .
"Miss Elizabeth, I have been charged by our mutual friend to dance at least one dance with you. May I have the honour of this dance?"
Elizabeth studied him. Had Mr. Wickham already managed to fool the entire regiment? Although perhaps it was not odd; it was through Mr. Denny's friendship that Mr. Wickham had joined the regiment. She smiled at him. "Of course, Mr. Denny. You are too kind."
"Not at all. Serving a friend is no hardship at all, especially when it is such pleasant service."
"And have you been friends with Mr. Wickham for long?"
"Some months." He smiled. "I am happy to have convinced such an enjoyable companion to join me in Meryton."
As Mr. Denny steered her to the dance floor and escorted her through the dance, he continued to praise Mr. Wickham. When she asked how exactly they met, Mr. Denny only replied that they had encountered one another through a mutual friend and that they had immediately sensed a commonality of character and formed a fast friendship.
After the dance, Elizabeth returned to Charlotte where they spoke of the dance and Mr. Collins.
"—a more mortifying event I cannot imagine," Elizabeth was saying when Charlotte cleared her throat and flicked her eyes behind Elizabeth.
Elizabeth turned abruptly. Mr. Darcy stood just behind her. She only hoped he had not overheard her complaints about dancing with Mr. Collins—the man had far too many examples of her family's wretched behaviour; she did not need to arm him with another.
"May I request the honour of the next set, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked gravely.
Elizabeth's eyes went wide and her thoughts stuttered to a halt. Charlotte nudged her.
"You may," she said.
Mr. Darcy inclined his head and returned to a nearby wall.
Elizabeth turned to Charlotte. "I did not just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy, did I?"
"The substance of the conversation was an agreement, I believe," she said with a smile.
"Charlotte!" Elizabeth hissed. "This is not a teasing matter. I do not wish to dance with him." While he had the capacity for kindness, his pride so often prevented it from being used; she had no desire to endure two dances with a silent partner while everyone around her twittered about them. Especially not having just escaped a most mortifying dance.
"I dare say you will find him very agreeable."
Elizabeth did not reply. She highly doubted he would be agreeable.
But perhaps he could be useful.
If she spoke to him of Wickham, she might be able to ascertain whether the man was truly as much of a threat as the Letter-writer made him seem. Perhaps she could even begin to puzzle out whether Mr. Darcy and the Letter-writer were truly the same man, and, if so, how and why the extraordinary document had come to be on Oakham Mount on that September day.
Darcy cursed himself a thousand times as he and Miss Elizabeth joined the other dancers. A moment's loss of control had led him to ask Miss Elizabeth for a dance. She was so beautiful that he could not help himself, and before he knew it, he had been standing in front of her, offering that which he had avoided giving to anyone save those to whom propriety required it. And now the entire room was abuzz with whispers and stares. He could hardly look at his partner, distracted and embarrassed as he was by the eyes of the room.
"This is one of my favourite dances," Miss Elizabeth said after several moments of silence.
Darcy nodded. He did not prefer any dance over another; dances were equally wretched as he had no idea what to say to his partner and generally spent the entirety of the activity avoiding the huntress's arrows.
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy—I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
"Do you talk as a rule?"
"One must. It would be so uncomfortable to spend an entire half hour in silence, do you not agree? Besides, how may one grow one's understanding of others without conversation?"
"And do you often grow your understanding with others on the dance floor? It seems like a difficult place to broach any serious topics."
A smile peeped out from Miss Elizabeth's eyes. "I believe it merely depends upon the partner. After all, friendships are often built from countless small nothings that grow into somethings, are they not?"
"Perhaps."
"In fact, we were forming a new acquaintance when you met us in Meryton last week."
Darcy's thoughts swirled, and his expression hardened. He had rejoiced in Wickham's absence from the ball (though it had not been a surprise). To have the man's existence flung in his face by this woman was more than he could handle. What tales had the blackguard told her?
Despite his distaste for speaking of the man, he could not allow her to continue in ignorance, blissful or not. "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain," he said, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her.
"I am not surprised given his penchant for lies."
Darcy's eyes flew to hers. "His penchant for lies?"
Miss Elizabeth shrugged. "I found him less than truthful, but perhaps my lack of experience with the man has caused me to see what is not there. Do you believe him to be a truthful individual?"
"Not at all."
Elizabeth frowned. "Do you believe him to be a danger to those around him?"
"Perhaps."
Her frown deepened, and she speared him with a glare. "You do not believe he will—injure anyone while the regiment is stationed at Meryton?"
"I cannot say," Darcy said tersely, his thoughts racing. Had Wickham confided an imaginary tale of woe, or had Miss Elizabeth somehow learned of Georgiana's experience with the man?
Elizabeth could only rejoice that the dance separated them for several moments while she regained control of her temper. That the man could refuse to protect innocents, could instead continue to protect Mr. Wickham through silence, left her near speechless with rage. Although Mr. Wickham was unlikely to pose a threat to the near penniless Bennets, she did not desire for anyone to suffer at his hands if it could be helped.
"So you would be perfectly content to allow him access to everyone in your estates and the nearby towns?" Elizabeth prodded as she returned to his side.
"Of course not," Mr. Darcy snapped. He took a deep breath. "I do not believe in allowing anyone with a dubious history unlimited access to those under my care." He took another deep breath. "However, this topic seems hardly suited to a ballroom. Perhaps you would care to talk of books."
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but at that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, apparently intending to pass through the set to the other side of the room.
He stopped at once and bowed to Mr. Darcy with inflated courtesy. "I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley) shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy—but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me," Sir William said with a chuckle.
Elizabeth was indeed glaring at the man. Not only had he interrupted their conversation, but he had also spoken of that which she least desired Mr. Darcy to contemplate. Mr. Bingley would likely face his trial by fire soon, but Mr. Wickham would remain. She needed Mr. Darcy's information on the man before he fled Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley in tow.
Was this "Sir William's accidental information" of which the Letter-writer had written? Elizabeth stumbled slightly as a wave of cold washed through her bones.
Mr. Darcy at once turned his attention to Mr. Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. His gaze lingered and a small crease appeared on his forehead before he turned back to Elizabeth. "Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of."
"We were debating the fitness of certain subjects for a ball."
"I believe we were speaking of books," Darcy said, his expression firm.
Elizabeth forced a smile. "Which is a subject I believe unfit for a ball. Once can hardly devote the attention necessary to such a topic while dancing." She hesitated as she considered how best to obtain the answers she required. If Mr. Wickham was truly a danger to the community . . . she needed to find out before he hurt someone and before Netherfield's inhabitants decamped. Though unsure what she could do to protect her neighbours, she could not allow them to suffer the consequences of welcoming such a cad. And if Mr. Darcy refused to step in . . . .
Elizabeth pursed her lips. She had limited time before he returned to London. As inappropriate as it was, perhaps the man would be more amenable to speaking plainly of Mr. Wickham in private?
"Are you in the habit of going for a morning ride, Mr. Darcy?"
Mr. Darcy blinked at her. "A morning ride?"
"Yes. Local sights are an acceptable topic for a ballroom, are they not?"
Mr. Darcy nodded once, though he still appeared puzzled.
"If you are in the habit of going for a morning ride, may I ask where all you have ridden? There are several lovely paths hereabouts that I would recommend if you have not yet explored them."
"As I am here to evaluate Netherfield, I have kept to Netherfield's grounds."
Elizabeth pasted on a look of concern. "Then you have not been to Oakham Mount? The view from there is breathtaking, particularly in the morning, and the path to reach it is quite close to Netherfield. Any groom could direct you."
"I am afraid I have missed that sight," he said shortly.
Elizabeth smiled. "Though the view cannot compare to your northern peaks and mountains, it is lovely to those of us who reside nearby. Perhaps such a view might alleviate any homesickness you are experiencing."
Darcy stared at her. "I am not experiencing homesickness." Though he was by no means an expert on the subject of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, something seemed off about her manner.
"I beg your pardon. I ought not to have assumed that you miss the peaks."
"I do miss them, but I would not qualify it as 'homesickness.'"
"Well, then perhaps you would enjoy riding up Oakham Mount as a preventative measure," Miss Elizabeth said, a twinkle in her eye.
"Perhaps I would," Darcy said slowly.
"I myself find it a lovely walk even this time of year."
Darcy nodded, hoping that she might get to the point.
Miss Elizabeth, however, turned the conversation to what he thought of the peaks as compared to Hertfordshire.
Darcy was not sure what he said in response. Too enamoured with her beauty and entangled in confusion over her cryptic conversation, he was unable to think beyond those things. As the dance ended, he held out an arm to escort her back to her family and Miss Elizabeth took it.
"Perhaps we might speak further on the subject of the dangers Mr. Wickham might present," Miss Elizabeth murmured. "I intend to visit Oakham Mount tomorrow morning."
Only through the strictest self-possession was Darcy able to avoid coming to an abrupt halt. Miss Elizabeth wished to know the details of Wickham's misdeeds? He suppressed a frown. Or did she already know them and intend to utilise that information somehow? Dare he meet her somewhere alone?
Rather than answer, he merely nodded to Miss Elizabeth and turned away.
Elizabeth suppressed the urge to scream. The night had been one disaster after another. In hindsight, she had realised that suggesting a meeting with Mr. Darcy was not the best way to prove the Bennets were not vulgar gold diggers. Unfortunately, her desire for information and her determination to save her neighbours had overcome her common sense and now she was unsure how to resolve the situation without further detriment.
As if that were not enough, her family appeared to have conspired together to ensure they put on the largest spectacle possible, each one parading their worst behaviour before Mr. Darcy and the Bingleys one after another.
Throughout the evening, the Letter-writer's stinging indictment of her family's impropriety echoed in her ears, and her mortification had left her unable to enjoy even the smallest part of the ball. Mr. Darcy had not even looked at her since supper—which, although it was somewhat of a relief, left her even more distressed as she could not gauge his reaction to the spectacle or to her suggestion.
And, to cap the night off, she was standing in the entryway at Netherfield with her family and their hosts while their carriage was every so slowly fetched. Her mother had somehow manoeuvred things so that they would have to wait even after all the other guests had gone. Neither Mrs. Hurst nor Miss Bingley bothered to disguise their fatigue, and the silence was relieved only by Mr. Collins's prattling over the elegance of the ball and the hospitality and politeness of the hosts.
In all, she could not imagine a worse night.
Darcy stood in the entryway at Netherfield, no longer attempting to keep the distaste from his features; after Mrs. Bennet's loud proclamations at dinner, he did not believe he could be surprised by the woman's vulgarity—he was wrong. Not only was she obnoxiously unaware of how rude her exclamations had been, but she lacked basic politeness. The woman had clearly engineered a delay in their carriage, and so both parties were kept standing long after everyone else had taken their leave.
His eyes flicked from where Bingley and Miss Bennet spoke in hushed voices, so engrossed in each other that they stood in a room by themselves, to Mrs. Bennet, who smirked at the scene like a tabby who had just captured a fat mouse. Separating Bingley from this gold digger was imperative.
He shifted his attention to Miss Elizabeth, his thoughts momentarily getting caught by her beauty. Though she seemed somewhat wilted, she was still radiant to him. Were it not for their conversation over dancing, he would have dragged his friend back to London first thing tomorrow morning.
But if Miss Elizabeth knew something of Georgiana's entanglement . . . .
No, he would have to deal with her first and then they could all escape back to London.
Darcy hesitated as he reached the turnoff for Oakham Mount. If this were a trap of Wickham's making . . . but no, he was being ridiculous. Miss Elizabeth was concerned about the dangers Wickham posed to her neighbours. And they cared for her—if she were someone who would conspire with Wickham, she would not have such an excellent reputation. Mrs. Younge had succeeded on falsified references and Darcy's inattention. He had studied Miss Elizabeth himself and had come to his own conclusions about her, and he would not be inattentive today.
Darcy turned Caesar and rode forward up the path.
Elizabeth paced back and forth across the top of the mount. Despite attempting to wrap herself in the morning's calm, she could not settle. What if Mr. Darcy did not come? What if he did?
After glancing around to ensure her solitude, she removed the Letter from her pocket. Scanning it for the thousandth time, she reminded herself of the particulars regarding Mr. Wickham as though they were not engraved on her mind. A tendril of thought once more poked its way to the surface of her mind: should she give Mr. Darcy the Letter? From everything she had learned, it likely belonged to him . . . .
Hoofbeats sounded from the forest below, and Elizabeth hurried to hide the Letter. She would cross that bridge when she came to it. Her heart pounded as Mr. Darcy rode into the clearing, his expression stony. He dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree.
He gave a small bow. "Miss Elizabeth."
Elizabeth curtsied. "Mr. Darcy. Thank you for coming," she said breathlessly.
Mr. Darcy nodded once, and Elizabeth waited only a moment before plunging into the topic at hand.
"As I said, Mr. Wickham appears to be less than trustworthy." She hesitated, again considering whether Mr. Darcy ought to know what was being said about him. "I am afraid he has begun spreading tales that you refused to give him the living your father left him. It was clear to me that he was not speaking the truth—or at least not the entirety of it."
Mr. Darcy froze. "It was clear?"
Elizabeth frowned. "It certainly appeared clear, unless I have judged him wrongly and you did refuse him a living?"
"I did. Because he had already received pecuniary remuneration in exchange for renouncing all claims to it."
"I thought he looked taken aback when I suggested that you ought to have at least compensated him for the living."
Mr. Darcy stared at her. "What caused you to question his story?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Would you tell such an intimate tale to a stranger?"
"I would not, but I have never been able to account for the choices of others."
"I doubt anyone would," Elizabeth continued, "unless they are attempting to manipulate the situation in some fashion or lacking in propriety. Mr. Wickham does not seem to lack manners; ergo, it seemed likely he had an ulterior motive in telling it."
Mr. Darcy seemed unable to argue with her statement despite feelings to the contrary. He hesitated, then continued, sounding wary. "Did Mr. Wickham confide anything else?"
"Other than that he appears to have wasted the past few years of his life? And that he did not gain the requisite education for a position in the church?"
Mr. Darcy stiffened. "Did he speak poorly of any members of my family?"
Now was the moment when she could introduce Miss Darcy, but would she obtain the requisite information about Mr. Wickham if she did so? Then again, if Mr. Darcy confirmed the information in the Letter (even inadvertently, since she doubted he would do so openly), that would be sufficient grounds to warn others, though the lack of details would not be ideal. For the first time it struck her how very much he must have cared for the Letter's recipient and trusted her. The risk he had taken . . . .
"He was not very complimentary towards Miss Darcy," she said carefully. "But as I have never met her, I cannot say which was truth and which the lie. I would assume most was as much a lie as the rest of his tale."
Mr. Darcy paled. "What—what did he say?"
"Only that she cared a great deal for him in her youth but has grown proud and disagreeable since."
Mr. Darcy sagged for a brief moment before straightening. "That is a lie in its entirety as Georgiana, though shy, is one of the sweetest young women I know. One might wish a little more pride in her character—not less. I appreciate your intelligence that he has begun to spread lies, but I fail to see how this is your concern."
"I would wish to be apprised if someone was spreading rumours that could blight my reputation, as Mr. Wickham seems determined to do to you. However, I must confess that my motive is primarily to ascertain whether Mr. Wickham is a danger to Meryton or Longbourn's tenants. I do not wish to see anyone come to harm—particularly since the man appears to be extremely apt at presenting lies as truth. If I had not suspected something, I should not have caught his subtle manipulations."
"You suspected him?"
Elizabeth cursed her tongue and thought furiously what truth could best obscure the reality. "After witnessing your meeting with him, I suspected he was not what he seemed."
Mr. Darcy studied her skeptically.
"I am something of a people watcher, sir," she added quickly. "As I have told you, I enjoy studying others' characters."
He only continued to examine her as though measuring her character in return. Elizabeth held his gaze, attempting to prove that he need not question her word. If he did . . . her fingers trembled. The question of whether she had any right to keep the Letter again intruded. Particularly now when they were without witnesses and returning it would merely affect her own feelings, rather than either of their reputations. But to show him would be an exercise in acutest mortification, and what if he did not believe her tale of finding it?
"I can assure you, sir, that I am only concerned that Mr. Wickham may leave a trail of destruction behind him and I do not wish to be responsible for that."
"Responsible?"
"If I know of his character and yet allow him free rein, am I not somewhat responsible?" she asked pointedly.
Unlike Mr. Darcy, who had known of the man's misdeeds and failed to lift a finger in service to anyone but his sister, she would not allow Mr. Wickham to sow destruction throughout the neighborhood.
"Mr. Wickham is responsible for his own behaviour," Mr. Darcy said coldly.
"So if you knew he would hurt someone dear to you, you would leave him to it?"
Mr. Darcy glowered. "I cannot control his actions."
"No, but you can prevent his lies from taking hold," Elizabeth said, her hands balling into fists. This man was more infuriating than any she had ever met!
"You would have me follow him around like a town crier?"
"Not at all. If you do not possess the leverage to place the man in debtor's prison, I would have you warn those who are vulnerable."
"I cannot," Mr. Darcy said firmly.
"Rather, you will not. But I can and will if you will tell me of Mr. Wickham's typical behavior and whether my concerns are valid."
"It is not my place to do so."
Elizabeth huffed. "It is precisely your place as Mr. Wickham is using the county's dislike of you to give credibility to his lies."
Darcy ground his teeth. Wickham had been in Meryton a mere week and had already turned the county against him? "It is not my fault if others are more willing to believe a blaggard like him than a well-respected gentleman."
Miss Elizabeth scoffed. "You, sir, have not positioned yourself as a well-respected gentleman, and Mr. Wickham has. I realise you are only trying to protect—"
Darcy's blood ran cold. She knew.
"—and I do not intend to spread any sensitive information you share with me, but I must have some validation of the man's character. I need specifics, Mr. Darcy. Is Mr. Wickham a thief, a murderer, a philanderer? Or just a spendthrift who will never pay the local merchants? Will he—injure young women or merely break their hearts?"
"What do you know?" Darcy demanded.
"Pardon?"
"You are obviously familiar with Mr. Wickham's tendencies as well as his actions with regards to my family, so I ask again, what do you know?" he ground out.
Miss Elizabeth's eyes widened as though she had not intended to reveal any such thing. Darcy's frustration grew—he had experienced enough false friendliness to last a lifetime.
"I—Mr. Wickham informed me that he was the son of your father's steward and well-liked by your father, that your father recommended he be given a valuable family living, and that you refused to give him said living," she said with forced brusqueness.
"And?"
"I am afraid I did not memorise the particulars of my conversation with him. As I said, it was clear to me that he was lying."
Darcy shook his head. "It is never clear to those whom he intends to charm." He had seen Wickham charm countless others. Even Miss Elizabeth was likely to succumb—though he would have been disappointed to see it.
"Perhaps he merely chooses victims who are of a less suspicious nature," she suggested, "which is why I require your assistance in this matter."
"No. I will not help you unless you are honest about your information and its source."
Elizabeth stilled. She was furious with Mr. Darcy and his wretched lack of compassion for those around him, but she did understand his desire to protect his sister—just so would she have protected Jane. The Letter most likely belonged to him; if she returned it, perhaps he would be more open as well as explain how it had gotten here.
"When you said you had not visited Oakham Mount, I was quite surprised," she said, her heart racing but her tone much more even than she had expected. "For it was here that I found this Letter."
Mr. Darcy's brows furrowed. "A letter?"
Elizabeth removed the Letter from her pocket and held it out with trembling fingers. If Mr. Darcy did not believe her . . . but she had to try. To her knowledge, Mr. Wickham had not yet caused problems, and she preferred it to stay that way. She had no intention of explaining the particulars, but in the long weeks of studying the Letter, it had come to her that some gossip would not go amiss and might rescue at least a few merchants or protect a few hearts.
If she were to start such a thing on the basis of a Letter apparently from the future and Mr. Wickham was not as the Letter-writer had believed or was attempting to change his ways (which seemed highly unlikely given her conversation with him), she would never forgive herself, not to mention that any claims would need supported with specific examples. Her aunt had yet to reply; therefore, Mr. Darcy was her only source of information—as long as he remained at Netherfield.
Mr. Darcy took the Letter and opened it.
Elizabeth turned to stare out at the view, only watching Mr. Darcy's reactions out of the corner of her eye. The paper was no longer crisp, the folds now weakened from the countless times she had read it. The Letter was just as worn from constant perusal as her soul felt from the constant torment of puzzling over it and the new awareness of her family's improprieties.
His frown grew. Upon finishing it, he folded it back up precisely, his fingers tense. "What is this?" he snapped.
"The Letter which I found some weeks ago."
Mr. Darcy took a step back. "Weeks ago?" He shook his head and gave a bitter chuckle. "Do you not mean the letter which you and Wickham contrived some days ago? Wickham was not content with Georgiana's dowry and decided to go after my wealth? Well, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, let me tell you that your ploy has failed. I will not be forced into a marriage, and I will not be blackmailed. If you attempt to prove a correspondence between us, I will deny it and only your reputation will suffer."
Elizabeth turned to face him squarely. "Force you?" she asked incredulously. "If I were attempting to compel a proposal, I would not have given you the Letter, sir." She took a deep breath, recalling how unlikely the whole thing seemed. "I take it that you did not write—"
"It is a passable facsimile of my handwriting, and, after this, I certainly intend to see Bingley safe from your family's clutches—"
"Mr. Darcy, I did not write that Letter; I only found it, and I brought it home because I had not yet even heard of you or Mr. Bingley and I believed the information, if it were true, was too sensitive to leave lying about."
"If you believed that, you would have kept it to yourself."
"And so I would have, except that I thought perhaps you had a right to it as it is your letter and you demanded to know how I knew about Mr. Wickham."
Mr. Darcy scoffed. "You should have attempted another stratagem, ma'am. I may have indulged your flirtation, but I would never marry you—not with the inferiority of your connections and your family's multitude of improprieties, and certainly not given your association with Wickham. Your pretense of caring for your neighbours would have been very convincing had you not brought marriage into it."
Elizabeth ground her teeth, her hands fisting at her sides. "I have never flirted with you, Mr. Darcy, and I have no desire to marry you. From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form a groundwork of disapprobation; I have known you hardly more than a month and yet I feel that you are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."
Mr. Darcy paled.
"I am truly only interested in protecting my neighbours from Mr. Wickham. I had hoped that your concern for others might cause you to assist me, particularly as it requires very little effort on your part, but once again your compassion is waylaid by your pride and selfishness. I have no intention of making your sister's situation public—I do not even know that this Letter contains true events—"
"You may lie as much as you choose, Miss Elizabeth, but I am done listening to you. I bid you a good day, little though you deserve it." With that, he whirled around and rode away.
Elizabeth stared after him, shaking in rage. That—that idiot! Yes, the Letter was fantastical, but she had been telling the truth. And never had she flirted with him! The man must be daft to believe she would do so.
She sagged as the words she had just spoken came back to her—she had always tried to be sensible and kind, yet, in her determination to declare her unwillingness to marry Mr. Darcy, she had spoken more harshly than was wise or even true. Mr. Darcy was not always disdainful of others' feelings—he had been kind to her in moments at Netherfield. Granted, she had not seen that kindness evident anywhere else; perhaps it had merely been part of his "indulging her flirtation"?
No, he was kind to his sister and he had risked damage to his reputation in staying with Mr. Bingley and helping him. Mr. Darcy could be kind and compassionate—it was as she had said, his pride stifled those impulses. In fact, were it not for his wretched pride, she might have found him a very likeable sort of person. He had a mind and a will to improve. He cared about his people's well-being—or at least so it had seemed from the little she had overheard.
She slumped against a tree. She had failed. Mr. Darcy had not provided any information about Mr. Wickham, and in the end, it was she herself who had driven him to "rescue" Mr. Bingley from Jane.
Darcy urged Caesar to descend Oakham Mount as quickly as possible. If Wickham was making his move, he needed to leave before Miss Elizabeth could report back to him. And he needed to remove his friend from Netherfield immediately.
How had he so misjudged yet another person? Wickham seemed destined to destroy every good thing in Darcy's life—first the man had strained his relationship with Georgiana and now he had ensured that the first woman to hold Darcy's interest was turned against him. How long had Miss Elizabeth known Wickham? How long had he been a fool?
The reins creaked under Darcy's clenched hands. He ought to have realised that Wickham was up to something the moment he had arrived. But Wickham had seemed so startled by his presence . . . .
Miss Elizabeth's words rang through his thoughts. Her opinion of him was lower and more venomous than he would ever have dreamt.
Or had that been merely a ruse designed to keep him from following up on Wickham's treachery? He had been too upset to stay and demand answers—perhaps that had been her intent.
He signalled Caesar to a walk, half considering returning and demanding those answers now. But no, if Miss Elizabeth intended to contrive a compromise, he would only be playing into her hands. How had he so misjudged her? Miss Bingley seemed more likely to enact a compromise than ever Miss Elizabeth had! After all, she had had plenty of opportunity while nursing her sister under the same roof as him.
Unless she had not met Wickham until after leaving Netherfield. But she did not appear to hold any fondness for the man . . . .
Darcy shook the thoughts away. Regardless of her motives, Miss Elizabeth had proven the necessity of fleeing Hertfordshire immediately.