So here it is - the last chapter from the previously posted story. Everything from here on out will be brand, spankin' new so there will probably be more time in between updates. Part of why I never continued is because I'm afraid I'll never be able to continue writing with the same quality as I managed in these first 7 chapters. Well, I suppose we will find out! I hope you'll tell me if that is the case, though I hope it won't be.
The Netherfield ball is coming very soon. Yay!
Please review! And thank you for the support.
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A few days after the Bennet sisters returned home, Bingley called at Longbourn, ostensibly to inquire after the elder's recovery. He found Mrs. Bennet and her daughters at home along with a visiting relation whose name he could not remember by the time he had returned to Netherfield.
Though Bingley would have happily dropped by much earlier, the visit was delayed because he was loath to embark on a first visit to his favorite's household without Darcy. Desperate to avoid more contact with Elizabeth though, the latter managed to find a number of excuses to keep from accompanying him until Bingley finally decided to venture forth alone.
Upon receiving reassurances that Miss Bennet was back to her previous health, he was promptly reminded by her mother that the youngest Bennet had been given the right to name the day of the ball. Bingley, who quite wished the promise forgotten, stammered that he supposed he had indeed said that very thing.
When Lydia Bennet proceeded to name a date only a fortnight hence however, Bingley was forced to admit that he had in fact discussed the matter with his sister who insisted she could not possibly be expected to give a ball with less than a full month's planning and preferably more. Though Elizabeth and Jane stated empathy for Miss Bingley's position, their mother and sisters were less accommodating. In the face of the Bennets' collective disappointment, Bingley suggested a compromise.
Thus, it was decided the Netherfield Ball would be in just over three weeks time.
When Bingley returned home, he dutifully endured his sister's wrath with as much dignity as he could muster. Her vociferous displeasure was expressed in her private sitting room where she insisted he return to Longbourn at once to tell the Bennets the ball would be in a month's time and no less. Bingley refused to budge (albeit somewhat meekly), citing a desire for his word to be trusted, particularly since promises had already been made.
Fortunately, he had to dodge only one hairbrush, one vase, and one pillow, all of which were thrown with great enthusiasm (and surprisingly good aim) at his head and all of which he was able to dodge. Upon hearing the disturbance, Darcy approached with caution, waiting a short ways down the hallway for his friend to emerge. He wondered how many injuries (and possibly walls) would need to be patched up when the dust settled. Though Caroline chose to believe otherwise, it was not the first time Darcy had witnessed the secondhand evidence of her tantrums.
After a moment of utter silence, Bingley exited the room, closing the door directly behind himself.
"Caroline is displeased, it seems," he said needlessly, tugging down his coat. Darcy's lips twitched as he visualized the picture of rage now hidden behind the door; perhaps there was even now steam issuing from under the lady's fiery coiffure.
"So I gathered," he agreed, lips twitching. He felt it was the safest response he could possibly make.
Neither of them owned to any great surprise when Miss Bingley declined to be in their company for the rest of the day, citing a headache as the cause for her absence. The gentlemen enjoyed a leisurely meal followed by several games of billiards, never once expressing the tacit shared relief that they would not be forced to endure hostile glances and icy silence from the lady of the house.
When Caroline graced them with her presence the next day, however, she behaved as though the ball was nothing more than the most minor irritant and she had never really been anything but willing to oblige her brother's wishes. No one felt the need to contradict this change of heart, though the truth was common knowledge amongst the staff.
The next weeks were lost to a haze of preparatory activity. Rooms that had thus far been neglected and left shrouded where aired, dusted, cleaned, and the wood oiled until all surfaces shone. In particular, the large dining room, designated to serve as one of two ballrooms, received special attention from Bingley. He enjoyed dancing to an extent unusual even amongst the gentry and wanted to make sure the neighborhood (and thereby, Jane Bennet) had never seen so well appointed a house, so enjoyable an event, or such grand ballrooms.
Still, Bingley's level of anticipatory anxiety was such that Darcy began to heartily wish the idea had never been mentioned by the youngest Bennet who elicited Bingley's promise. At times, he would have cheerfully rewound the clock to the morning of the Bennets' visit and slipped laudanum in Bingley's morning drink simply to keep him from agreeing to any part of the scheme.
Bingley's admiration for the eldest Bennet daughter flagged not a wit in the interim, though circumstances kept them from meeting very often. He spoke of her frequently and when he was not expounding upon her virtues audibly, Darcy could tell she was in his thoughts. He had taken to staring around distractedly and examining love poems, even going so far as to read certain passages aloud, calling for discussion and evaluation of the words. (Usually, Charles did not have the patience to sit and read for any significant stretch of time, but rather had several books in constant progress that even with the best of intentions he nearly always failed to finish.) When applied to for his opinion, Darcy equivocated as much as possible, striving to keep his commentary non-committal. He gave scholarly if not particularly personal judgments on the poetry, feeling much as he had as a student at Cambridge.
Caroline still seemed determined to discourage her brother's preference, but did so as obliquely as possible. She would change the subject whenever that of Jane Bennet arose or attempt to draw her brother into other pursuits, never stating her opinions outright beyond a decided expression of distaste. At such times, she would direct a pointed glance in Darcy's direction, under the apparent assumption that they were once again of one mind that Miss Bennet was not a suitable match for her brother. Darcy chose just as pointedly to leave her assumption unacknowledged for the time being.
Much to Darcy's relief, Bingley's desire to discuss love poetry outstripped his concern for the actual responses received from his companions. His internal musings conveniently occupied the chief of his attention, diverting any concern he might have given to Caroline or Darcy's menial input. It was a pattern Bingley had traced before when smitten with more than one young lady, for his approachable and engaging nature led his affections to be very easily engaged as well. Though his past flirtations tended more toward infatuation than serious design, Darcy continued to worry his friend was forming a far deeper attachment than any he previously entertained. Far more worrisome was the possibility that these feelings might yet prove to be unalterable or one sided.
Despite the initial fit of pique, Caroline soon commandeered by right of her position as hostess a few specific areas of preparation, leaving the mundane practicalities to her brother. Of highest import to her were those aspects whose execution would best reflect her superb sense of refinement, elegance, and style. She wanted no opportunity squandered in which she could impress upon the people of Meryton her superiority of taste and fashion, providing the only true example to which she felt they would ever be able to aspire.
Conveniently, her brother was prepared to cede any personal preference in exactly the same areas in order to keep the tentative peace. (Perhaps this acquiescence was more expressly borne of the desire to avoid more episodes during which nearby objects might be utilized as projectiles aimed at his person.)
Caroline spent hours dithering over various small details of entertainment, décor, and refreshment. She poured over the most current popular music, debating the merits of instrumental combinations; the virtues of string quintets as opposed to quartets or trios. She played with different arrangements of flowers, ribbons, and fabrics. When it came to the choice of punch to be served, she insisted on sampling a variety of concoctions herself. Difficult too was settling upon the manner of dress that ought to be required of attendees. Here, Darcy privately observed, Caroline obsessed for quite some time, vacillating between several aesthetic motifs currently in vogue amongst the ton.
With growing regularity, she presented elaborate pageants in which the servants were sharply directed to parade options before Darcy and Bingley, Caroline all the while claiming she simply couldn't decide by herself which colors, blossoms, flavors, etcetera, to choose for the ball. She would present each choice with such studied indifference that the two gentlemen initially felt safe expressing their preference in no uncertain terms. Imagine their surprise then, to discover nothing so important in their role as audience members than to first discover which option was Caroline's first choice and subsequently to find themselves in praising agreement.
Even after the gentlemen became wise to the nature of the game, Caroline continued in several instances to make noises of severe uncertainty. And so it was, only a week into her fevered planning, she stated the absolute necessity of consulting her equally fashionable friends in London. To this end she used ridiculous amounts of paper to send multiple letters with alarming frequency. The post riders responsible for currying her expresses from London and back were thoroughly sick of seeing the Bingley seal. They felt sure the correspondence must have something to do with a sick relative or some equally serious family circumstance.
All in all, Darcy found Caroline's dramatics of indecision amusing in light of her voluble anger in the beginning.
Ultimately, it was determined that attendees would be asked to adhere to a color theme insomuch as their wardrobes allowed this far from the many fashionable modistes of Town. (Caroline's exact words were 'in this country backwater'—a phrase she shrewdly refrained from repeating in the formal invitations.) Charles hesitantly suggested the theme be kept simple, since there would inevitably be a limited amount of time for their guests to account for unusual requirements. Caroline purposely ignored him, though her hands clenched into ill-tempered little fists at any mention of the abbreviated timetable.
Upon hearing the particulars of this latest idea, Darcy's sense of disquiet grew. More than anything, he had hoped to avoid thoughts of a certain someone until her presence at the ball left him no choice. It occurred to him the chosen theme could end up including any one of a number of colors or combinations thereof that he now associated with her, though the chances of this were admittedly quite slim. Still, foreknowledge of the ladies' attire would undoubtedly allow his newly colorful imagination to continue running wild.
At last, Caroline announced the ladies would be asked to wear white or as pale a color as possible; the gentlemen, excepting the red coats of militia officers, would wear black and white.
Despite the obvious matrimonial implications, the choice seemed innocuous enough and Darcy felt a small measure of cautious relief that proved frustratingly premature. His mind promptly furnished visions of her in various styles of white dress dancing with a parade of faceless young men, her enjoyment no less complete than it had been at the Meryton Assembly.
Preparations for the ball meant he and Charles had spent less and less time in each other's company as the day approached. Occasionally, Charles would ride out with him to get away from the house, but his company was more in body than in spirit, his thoughts even more scattered than usual. Besides his distraction over Miss Bennet, Bingley insisted upon supervising the many renovations or repairs he felt were needed both inside and outside the house, as well as the application of fresh paint to brighten the walls.
Aside from offering occasional advice on matters related to the estate, Darcy found he was far too frequently left to his own devices. Reflections of her cropped up with increasing frequency. He began composing lists in his head as a means of distraction; he listed the monarchs of England and France in order of ascendancy, and then moved on to Roman emperors. He named every tenant at Pemberley he could remember, and went through the sculptures and paintings in the gallery in alphabetical order. When these became tiresome, he sought out his favorite poems and Shakespearean sonnets and endeavored to memorize them taking great care to avoid the subject of love and to imagine the voice reciting them was his aunt Catherine. He even considered brushing up on his knowledge of Latin – anything to keep his thoughts appropriately occupied.
During the day his plan enjoyed relative success. Evening and night were another matter entirely.
After several consecutive nights of still more vivid dreams, he enacted a second part to his plan that had worked while she had stayed at Netherfield. For several evenings in a row, he found various methods to keep awake longer than necessary in the hopes that his mind would be too exhausted to do more than rest. He would walk outside in the garden after dinner until it was too dark to see or practice billiards alone until the hour grew late or copy long letters to Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam in his best penmanship. He would read at least an hour longer than usual, forcing himself to focus intently on the words of books with subjects outside his normal purview, hoping they would therefore sharpen his attention. He would also rise each morning at dawn to ride before breaking his fast with the Bingleys, thereby lengthening his day that much more.
After less than a full week, however, he abandoned this facet of his plan.
One morning at breakfast, which had been a relatively quiet affair since the decampment of the Bennet sisters, Caroline commented loudly and with great concern on the sudden appearance of dark circles under Darcy's eyes. She expressed the erroneous fear that illness had finally seized him, concluding it surely stemmed from the day he'd ridden out in the rain against her express advice. Upon reassurances that he felt hale and whole as always, Caroline suggested he have the servants exchange his current bed with one from another room if it would ease his slumber. Even Bingley roused himself from the ever-present book of love poetry to state his agreement that Darcy did indeed look a bit haggard and drawn.
The revelation that Caroline entertained any thoughts whatsoever about his bed was alarming enough; he possessed a natural inclination to remove himself from anything that gave her further reason to fawn over him. Bingley's agreement with his sister was equally troubling, given his usual inattention to detail and more recent causes for abstraction.
Congruent to his friends' concerns, Darcy began to suspect part of the dreams' continuing influence was the result of his giving them far too much consequence. Why should trifling dreams compromise his rest? Despite his determination to prevent the dreams from dictating his future, he'd allowed them to control his actions in an attempt to avoid them altogether. From that moment on, he resolved to devote his energies to another tack; he would simply act as though the dreams did not exist. Even if he awoke with perfect recall of them in the morning, he would go about his day as though he did not. He would exert a different type of control by undermining the fear of the dreams, giving them no power to continue disrupting his life.
Fortunately, his return to routine did not signify a return of the dreams. If Darcy felt this was a welcome reprieve from the profound confusion and forbidden fascination that marked his prior understanding, it went unappreciated. If he knew any disappointment upon waking that another night had passed without interruption, it was promptly squelched. The dark circles and other signs of sleeplessness disappeared as though they too never existed and the attention of his companions was deflected back to their respective preparations.
A few days before the ball, Caroline's temper had so deteriorated that the men opted to remove themselves from the premises for a time. Though such errands were generally consigned to servants, the two of them offered to undertake a journey into the village for a few last minute purchases. Once again, there was a sense of liberation between them to be away from the increasingly volatile presence of Bingley's sister. Thought Charles was still caught up with nerves himself, he seemed to have come to an unusual acceptance that all he could do had been done to ensure the ball's success. Darcy's feelings on the approaching event were quite mixed. He alternately felt glad it would soon be over and distress that it was still to come; he suspected Bingley's feelings were similar.
When they were but minutes outside the bounds of Netherfield, the mood lifted considerably and they embarked on harmless topics of conversation. In Meryton, they separated briefly, Bingley to buy the items he'd been tasked to acquire, and Darcy to post correspondence. Several times before they quit town, Darcy thought he spied a familiar face amongst the crowd or through the window of a shop but dismissed it as nothing more than the residual strain of having been without social interaction at Netherfield. At one point, he found himself following the footsteps of a woman who bore resemblance to a certain someone in the direction of the milliners before he could knew what he was doing. As she disappeared around a corner, he lost sight of her and shook himself, repeating a harsh litany that had been absent from his internal dialogue for some days.
Soon after gathering their horses, Darcy again took note of that peculiar restlessness in Bingley that usually preceded some kind of disclosure of a nature potentially distasteful to the recipients. Bingley glanced at his friend hesitantly from under the brim of his hat and seemed about to speak, his mouth opening and closing like an absurd fish. Darcy felt shaken and irritable from the disconcerting visit to town and was in no mood to humor his friend's silly reluctance.
"You want to visit Longbourn, don't you?" he stated flatly. His friend's guilty smile was all the confirmation needed. Darcy's shoulders slumped in defeat. It was difficult to determine which of the two he found most objectionable then, returning to the tense environment at Netherfield or the pronounced lack of grace that would be attendant at Longbourn. Despite his recent affirmation regarding the dreams, it was on the tip of his tongue to insist they return to the house lest their presence be missed. He had but a very few number of days, after all, before being forcibly reminded of that which he would rather forget. Before he had to face her.
"Would you mind terribly? I would like to see Miss Bennet before I'm bound to play host at the ball," Bingley said hesitantly. The innocent hopefulness in Bingley's face made Darcy's retort die on his lips. He cast about for sufficient reason to prevent the detour and found nothing. One less day of peace, he admitted grudgingly, was likely a small price to pay since depriving Bingley would only ensure his discourse for the rest of the evening featured nothing but Jane Bennet. He frantically considered leaving Bingley to continue alone again but did not think his friend would appreciate being abandoned yet again.
"Very well Bingley, but we'd best keep it brief," he snapped after a moment. Bingley's grin was blinding as he turned his horse in the direction of Longbourn, completely unaware or choosing to overlook Darcy's rudeness. With a regretful sigh, he followed a few paces behind, wishing not for the first time he could match Bingley's ease and cheerful mood. There was nothing for it now but to pray she was not at home.
The path led them through a small copse of dense trees that opened upon a clearing that paralleled a stream still swollen from the recent rains. Absently, Darcy imagined it must feed into the lake near Longbourn.
Yes, that lake. The lake where you hid from her like a child, he thought sulkily. All the memories and thoughts he'd been methodically turning away were now flashing through his mind like a flock of deranged starlings.
They entered the clearing and had been following the stream for a few minutes when as a group of people came into view on the opposite bank.
"Look, Mr. Bingley!" It was Jane Bennet and several of her sisters who soon drew abreast of her position. At first, Darcy felt a wave of relief. She was not with them.
Then from behind a tree, she emerged. An unwelcome thrill ran through him at the sight of her — immediately he took note that her hair was half down again. Today's dress was unusual and appeared homemade from a light brown fabric that mimicked a man's waistcoat above the skirt; a patterned piece of fabric served as a light shawl. It was several moments before he realized she was not alone, but in the company of a red-coated militia officer. The corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown as he noted their comfortable proximity and her playful expression. The two stood apart from the others and had clearly been cozy in conversation together.
Time began to slow as he shifted his eyes to the man who so blithely held Elizabeth's attention.
Faintly, he was aware of Bingley speaking to them across the water. One of the younger girls began skipping about in the edge of his vision but he was deaf to her folly. A dull roaring filled his head as the officer's face sharpened in cruel recognition. Barbed tendrils of shock made him dizzy and nauseated. Just as suddenly, the use of his ears returned.
"Be sure to invite Mr. Wickham!" Lydia Bennet trilled the name breathlessly, casually. "He's a credit to his profession!" Her verbal praise was cut off as her elder sister furtively said something that brought an end to her silly display. Darcy watched it all as if from a great distance, wondering how they all appeared so calm, as though the man within their group was trustworthy. As though this new acquaintance was anyone other than the man who tried to ruin Darcy's sister. As though he was a delightful new plaything to amuse and flatter and not a heartless rake that preyed on innocent young women, a credit to nothing so much as villainy and sin.
Wickham. The name reverberated through him like a physical blow, mercilessly confirming the dismay growing in his heart. Perverse pleasure stabbed through bitter disappointment at the clear discomfort on the other man's face. A visible pallor washed out his coloring next to the lurid red of his jacket, his skin nearly matching the snowy white of the shirt collar visible above the golden trim of the uniform. It filled Darcy with vindictive triumph that he too was dumbfounded at this intrusive amalgamation of providence. Of all the places in all of England, Wickham was here in Hertfordshire ingratiating himself with the only woman who had ever managed to catch Darcy's attention. A woman whose grip on him rivaled the sirens of Greek mythology.
As their eyes remained heatedly locked, Wickham's expression shifted to one of offense at Darcy's coldness. He inclined his head with narrowed eyes, as timorous an acknowledgement as he dared, extended like a withered olive branch surreptitiously tipped with poison.
Elizabeth's eyes followed their silent exchange with obvious bewilderment as Darcy came to appreciate the awful scope of his predicament. Refusing to recognize Wickham would only strengthen her impression that he was nothing but proud and disagreeable.
Even though he ought not care, the idea that Wickham would be the one to provide reinforcement of her poor opinion seemed almost unspeakably unjust. Her earlier besotted expression left little doubt that Wickham had already worked his charm upon her. What of his lies did she already know? And which lies did she believe? All of them? Or merely the ones that cast him in the worst light? These were, after all, the only lies Wickham ever told.
But Darcy refused to respond in kind; not even for the sake of propriety could he pretend that he did not want the man's head on a pike. He tasted bile in his mouth as he suppressed a savage desire to jump the stream and pummel him. This man of all men least deserved even the most menial gesture of respect, especially from him. If Elizabeth chose to think badly of him for this failing, so be it.
Without a word, he jerked Admiral's reins aside and galloped away, turning his back on them both.