Chapter 9: Awaiting the Ball

The next day after the Miss Bennets left Netherfield and departed for their home, Bingley was most eager to go call upon them. He announced at breakfast, "It is my duty to make sure Miss Bennet did not suffer any ill effects in her removal from my home." Then looking about at me and his sisters he asked, "Will you not join me?"

I both wanted to accompany him and to decline. But before I could answer Miss Bingley responded, "Charles, calling on them the very next day would be unseemly. Let them have a chance to get settled back in their home. There can be no reason to call now."

Bingley did not look very happy with this answer but must have seen the wisdom in it as he said nothing further.

I am not sure when I made up my mind to accompany him when he next proposed to call, but the following day when Bingley declared to me at breakfast, "I am most determined that we shall call on the Bennets today. I will and must inquire as to Miss Bennet's health," I knew I would be going with him.

Bingley kept tugging at his carefully arranged cravat and swiping at his hair, making both somewhat unruly as fiddled with the eggs that remained on his plate, apparently wanting the time to go faster until it would be an acceptable time to call.

I proposed, "Perhaps we can take a ride first and then briefly pay our respects." He was quick to agree. He paced as he waited for our horses to be saddled.

Accordingly, once we mounted, we rode here and there to occupy our time. Bingley frequently pulled his horse up (forcing me to do likewise), to check his pocket watch. I found it disconcerting to see Bingley be so obsessive about something. I was not sure why it bothered me until in an epiphany, I realized he was acting somewhat like me in doing something repeatedly (though having a good sense of time I would not have checked my pocket watch repeatedly, but chosen something else).

We were just riding through Meryton when Bingley drew a little ahead of me toward a knot of people. We pulled up beside them and dismounted. Bingley lost no time in greeting the Bennets and addressing Miss Bennet. "Good morning Miss Bennet, we were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you."

I gave a slight bow as it was easier to do this then to speak. I could see that Miss Elizabeth was just next to her elder sister and in that moment wanted to do nothing other than look at her, but I was also scared to be caught up again in her eyes and stare.

I distantly heard Bingley continue, "I was hoping to learn that you were much improved, but I dare say you must most certainly be, or you should not be out walking with your sisters."

In avoiding her gaze, I happened to glance slightly to the side of Miss Elizabeth and noticed to my great horror the George Wickham stood near her.

A sudden anger swept through me and I greatly desired to pull Miss Elizabeth away from George and strike him. George must have seen something of what I was feeling as he turned white and took a slight step away from Miss Elizabeth.

I stood rooted to my spot, trying to make sense of how George could be here. In that moment, I knew that coming to visit Bingley at Netherfield was a grave mistake.

George touched his hat to acknowledge me and I did likewise without much thought. Now that I had enough control over myself to not hit him, all I desired was to get away from him. He must have somehow perceived this, too, as he pointedly turned back to Miss Elizabeth and began to converse with her and her sisters.

As soon as Bingley finished his pleasantries and moved to mount back up, I did likewise. I did not want to leave Miss Elizabeth and the other Miss Bennets in the company of such a man, but I did not trust myself to be able to maintain any dignity if I confronted him now.

Furthermore, as much as I desired to remove the Miss Bennets from his company, I had no right to tell them what to do. After all, who was I to the Miss Bennets? I was not father, brother or husband. While I suppose I could have encouraged them to leave his company, how could I do so without telling them at least some of the sordid business? I feared, rightly or wrongly, that one disclosure might lead to another and imperil my sister's reputation.

George and I had come to a sort of truce after I came to Ramsgate, learned from Georgiana about her intended and intervened. He was to say nothing, and I was to take no notice of him, good or bad.

As I rode away with Bingley, bound once more for Netherfield, my thoughts were not on the street and the path before me. It was most fortunate that Bingley already knew his way around well, because I was not leading on my mount. Fortunately, my horse was happy enough to accompany his stable-mate home with very little direction from me.

I could not think of anything save an arresting image of that day in Ramsgate. It was of Georgiana's tear-streaked face after I declared to her, "You cannot marry George Wickham. I forbid it."

"But he loves me," she protested, "and he is practically family. Father would have approved."

"No," I shook my head vigorously for emphasis, "no, he would not have. And this is beside the point. I do not approve and never shall. George may have the appearance of goodness, but he only seeks his own happiness and not yours."

"But you were friends, should still be friends. George told me you simply had a misunderstanding, took something he said wrong. It is not so surprising; you often do not fully understand other people."

"Just what I am supposed to have misunderstood?" I asked her. "Did I misunderstand all his vicious proclivities at school? Did I imagine the liaison he had with his bedmaker or his bragging about all the women he had? Did I simply imagine how he tormented me for years for his own amusement?"

Still, she was not convinced. "It is a woman's duty to be pure for her husband. A man has no such duty. I may wish he had not done so, but he has loved none but me."

"Whatever he may have said, he does not love you." I held out a handkerchief to her. As I held it out, I realized it was one that she had embroidered for me with my initials in blue.

"What do you know about love, Brother?" She asked me, sitting up taller. She ignored the proffered handkerchief, instead rubbing her face dry on her sleeve. "You do not know the first thing about it. How could you? being as you are."

Her words made me feel horrible. I felt all my brokenness and self-doubt, pushing down on me like a physical weight. Georgiana was usually so kind and understanding of all my deficits, but today it was all stripped away. I felt there was some truth in what she said.

Perhaps Georgiana saw something of how I was feeling then as she added, "I did not mean that you cannot love. I know you love me and loved our parents . . . but how can you understand what is between me and George?" After she said that, she stroked her bottom lip a bit with her finger.

Whether or not I really understood about love, I resolved that I must tell her about what I suspected was George's motivation, as I could not, would not believe that he loved my sister. It had taken me years of contemplation to work out based on examining his actions alone, divorced from the pretty words he told Father, what made George what he was. I knew it would hurt her, but I believed it was necessary, nonetheless.

"George only cares about George; he only cares about his own happiness and will do anything he needs to do to get what he wants. He wants your dowry, but it would not last long in his hands. I wish I could believe that he cared for you, but for him you are simply a means to an end."

"That cannot be so; he told me that he loves me!" Tears swelled at the edges of her eyes again, but did not fall.

I wondered if anything could convince her. I had little skill in convincing other people of things. All I could think to do was to offer her the truth.

"Do you know how Father intended he have that living in the church?"

She nodded, "I do not understand why you did not give it to him. It was terribly unfair of you, wrong of you."

"Georgiana, I do not know what he told you, but it was a lie. I though George cared about Father, even if he did not care about me, but I was disabused about that notion after Father died."

I raised my hand to bid her to remain silent as her mouth opened as if she would speak. "I know he wrote condolences to you, which at the time I felt was sufficient; the lack of love between us might excuse him not writing similarly to me. When Mr. Wickham died soon after, I felt duty bound to express my condolences to George. Soon after received a letter in return. Before I opened it, I expected that perhaps he would thank me for my letter, or perhaps muse about how these two losses impacted us both, but instead he wrote to ask me for money."

I could see the scene right before me as I cracked the wax seal and read his missive. I still felt weighed down with grief, hollowed out, though months had passed since my own father's death. George's letter was simple and quickly came to the point. After his salutation, in the first sentence he wrote, "I cannot live upon the paltry sum that Mr. Darcy left me. More is due me."

I told Georgiana, "George had already received the thousand-pound bequest from Father, but he told me that the interest of one thousand pounds would be insufficient to support him. He brought up the matter of the living that Father told him would someday be his. I wrote him back to explain to him that the living was not yet available as its current occupant was of an advanced age but still in good health. I suggested that he might take his orders and apply to be a curate elsewhere while awaiting the living."

I did not mention to Georgiana how everything in me had cried out against giving him such a living and my hope that he might find another occupation far away. I did not want him to have the living, but it was what Father wanted and Father deserved for me to carry out his wishes.

"George wrote back telling me that having finally resolved against taking orders and that he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He explained that he wished to study the law instead and must have something to support himself in the meantime."

This was my sanitized version of what he wrote, which was more appropriate for my sister's ears than how George had worded the matter, saying "I need the occupation of the living about as much as a Drury Lane vestal needs crinkums. If you do not want everyone to know about your ailment, you would do well to make sure we come to a satisfactory arrangement." I felt again the relief that coursed through me then, that I would not have to endure him living near Pemberley, charged with ministering to our souls, that money would be enough to satisfy him.

"I hoped George was sincere in his intent to study the law but suspected that instead he had run through the thousand pounds in less than a year. However, knowing as I did that he ought not to be a clergyman, I offered him a more than fair sum for the value of the living, three thousand pounds, in exchange for him resigning all claims to it."

The living was not worth that much, but I wanted him to be satisfied and to simply leave me be. I had enough problems to contend with, without George being another one.

"However, when the living became vacant three years later, he wrote to me demanding it and telling me that he would be ordained as soon as the living was his. He asserted, 'Fitz, you have cheated me out of my inheritance by demanding that I resign my claim to the living. It was worth ten times what you paid me for it. I will take orders as soon as you present it to me or if you would rather, you can pay me thirty thousand pounds for it.' Naturally, I refused for I had already paid him amply for a living worth two hundred pounds per annum that came with a myriad of responsibilities."

I omitted from her what George had added after that. He told me, "Your father's true son deserves to live well. If I am dissatisfied with the arrangement we come to, I have it in my power to sink your reputation when I reveal your defect to everyone and show them what an imbecile you are."

I was not sure if George was trying to claim he was actually my father's merry begotten son, or simply held the place of a son in my father's heart. I doubted the former as my father always seemed devoted to my mother and Mr. Wickham was not just my father's steward but also his friend, though the latter could be true. As to his threat, I ignored it. I did not think he would stoop so low. But I wished in that moment I had just paid him, as perhaps he would have left my family alone.

While I was talking to Georgiana, I saw her face slowly droop, like a wilting flower. I did not want to do what I did next, but I felt it was absolutely necessary.

"Now tell me, Georgiana, in your interactions with George, do you have any reason to believe he is studying the law or has any sort of employment?"

She shook her head slowly and whispered, "No."

"So how do you think he is supporting himself?"

She paused again before mumbling, "Off of the money he received for the living."

"And how do you think he was planning to support himself after that ran out?"

Her voice was even fainter as she said, "I suppose on my dowry." Her face had become pale, her lips a dull color, and the expression on her face resembled nothing so closely as the one she had borne a day or so after mother had died, when the reality of the situation fully sunk in.

Her next words seemed more for herself than for me. "After all, it is not as if he could care for me for myself. You must think your sister a fool, to have been taken in by one such as him."

Something in my sister seemed to break that day. While after mother died, Georgiana played mournful tunes, after Ramsgate she did not even wish to open up the pianoforte. Instead, she hid herself away from everyone. She was not even willing to help me decipher Bingley's letters. I knew not what to do.

After George received funds in exchange for the living, I refused his second appeal for the living and additional funds, and I interrupted his attempt to elope with Georgiana, I thought, naively I suppose, that I would never see him again. Yet here he was intruding again in Meryton. Close as he stood to Miss Elizabeth, I could imagine him being quick to poison her against me.

When we returned to Netherfield, Bingley must have seen that something was wrong, for he asked me, in front of his sisters, "Why are you out of spirits, Darcy?"

I asked him, "Did you not observe George Wickham, who attended Cambridge with us, talking with Miss Elizabeth when we met the Bennet sisters in Meryton?"

Bingley shook his head. "No, I did not." I was not too surprised for he had eyes for no one but Miss Bennet.

Then he confessed, "I feel that I should know him, but cannot recall exactly why."

I told him very little of the matter, only sharing, "Do you remember all the trials I had at university? Well George Wickham, my father's steward's son, was responsible for many and if I had never seen him again until my dying day, that would have been too soon."

Miss Bingley asked a few questions about him, but I did not want to share anything that might possibly lead back to the impugning of my sister's reputation and did my best to curtail any additional conversation by saying in a cross voice, "I cannot bear to talk about Mr. Wickham any longer."

Over the next few days nothing much occurred of note until Thursday when we dined with the officers. As was my usual practice, I brought a goodly amount of fine wine and spirits, for I have found that libations are all that is needed to create a favorable impression with most military men. Most abhorrently, George was present at the dinner, but fortunately we were seated far enough apart that we were not expected to talk to one another. However, I heard him loudly declare, "The Bennet sisters are most lovely; I admit I am surprised that none have married yet."

Captain Carter opined (perhaps his tongue was loosened by the copious amounts of Madera he had consumed), "They may be lovely, but they have hardly any dowry to their names. Is that not right, Colonel Forster?"

Denny chimed in, "Yes, Mrs. Forster is bushel bubby to be sure—"

"Hold your tongue about Mrs. Forster," her husband declared.

Denny continued on, "—but so are most of the Miss Bennets. They have a real handful." He held his hands out, fingers spread, and then mimed a squeezing motion. "I wager the Colonel was swayed by the ample—" Colonel Forster was glaring at him by this time,"—purse that came with her. And after all, who would want Mrs. Bennet as a mother?"

"I would be willing to put up with Mrs. Bennet," George opined, "if they had more scratch. I spent some time with Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia at the Philips's card party. Miss Elizabeth is a good listener." He looked right in my direction and grinned before saying, "As it is, given their situation, they would not be good for more than a—" I saw Mr. Denny elbow him and he fell silent. I suspected the word he would have said was "tumble."

Soon after that we departed. That night sleep evaded me until the wee hours of the morning. I kept hearing George talking about Miss Elizabeth and imagining him imposing on her. I tried to tell myself I did not care, but I could not fool myself.

I woke up the next morning, Friday, to rain. Over the next few days the rain kept falling and there was nothing much for any of us to do, but to hear Miss Bingley talk on and on about all her preparations for the ball. I had my books but they did not provide a good distraction to my spinning thoughts. I wished I could have ridden my horse and had that way to calm myself. I suppose I could have ridden him anyway, the groom did some to keep him exercised, but I knew Miss Bingley would react poorly if I brought mud into Netherfield. I could not help but wish for the rain to cease.

I kept imagining what would happen if the rain stopped: Would Miss Elizabeth take to traipsing over the fields and getting mud on her petticoats again? Could I meet her on such a walk? It was a pleasing image. Unfortunately, there was no sickly sister at Netherfield to beckon her hither. I wished I, too, could flout social conventions for her sake.

Although I had not talked to Miss Elizabeth much while she was staying at Netherfield, I felt pulled toward her and a desire to be in her presence, no matter how uncomfortable it might be for me. I asked myself, could this be love? I had no answer. I kept hearing Georgiana telling me that I did not know what love was. It could be that she was right.

As the rain prevented me from being able to attempt to encounter Miss Elizabeth in Meryton again, I knew I had to wait for the ball. I both anticipated and dreaded it, but I knew that this time I could not haunt the periphery of the ballroom. I resolved that at the Netherfield Ball, I must ask her for a dance and warn her about George.