Elizabeth gazed at her sister Jane, who sat across from her in the carriage, with a soft smile and delighted countenance.
All the Bennet women were dressed in their best finery for the ball at Netherfield, and Jane was clearly looking forward to dancing with Mr. Bingley, the young gentleman who had won her heart.
Dear Jane. She was so kind, so gentle, so pleased to look for the best in everyone and everything. She deserved every good fortune, and Elizabeth hoped that very soon she would receive her reward in the hand of Mr. Bingley in marriage.
Besides the obvious advantage that Mr. Bingley and Jane were well matched, there was the additional reality that the former was a wealthy man. While Elizabeth and Jane were determined to marry for love, both were also practical enough to realize that they and their hypothetical children must live on something.
Outside the carriage, the skies were finally clearing away after three monotonous days of rain. Elizabeth's temper had grown thin indeed these last days as Mr. Collins droned on and on about nothing in particular, Lydia and Kitty complained about the weather, and no one arrived with further news about Mr. Wickham's condition. Colonel Forster had said that he hoped that Wickham would recover, but still – Elizabeth knew that injuries were a serious business. It was possible that Mr. Wickham would develop a dangerous infection and lose his eyesight permanently.
It was all so unfair! If only Mr. Darcy had done his duty and given Mr. Wickham his rightful living as a clergyman! If he had, the lieutenant would have been safely ensconced in a comfortable parsonage in Derbyshire, not lying injured in Aunt Phillips's front bedroom.
Admittedly, Elizabeth would have never met the charming man if he had stayed in Derbyshire, but far better to have never known Mr. Wickham than to have him wounded through accident and deprived by Mr. Darcy's cruelty.
She closed her eyes and quieted her soul. She needed to calm herself before alighting at Netherfield, which could be seen in the distance now, its windows aglow. She was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, and she would behave like a gentleman's daughter.
At any rate, it was quite unlikely that Mr. Darcy would be in her orbit tonight sufficiently to provoke her to additional ire. The man had made it quite clear at their first meeting that he found her only tolerably good looking. Ever since then, he had stared at her with disapproval when they were in company together. Given that Pemberley's master apparently disliked balls and dancing, he would probably stand up with his hostess and her sister and spend the remainder of the evening skulking in the corners or hiding in his room.
/
Elizabeth took her position opposite Darcy on the dance floor in disbelief. She had been speaking with her close friend Charlotte Lucas near the punch table when Mr. Darcy himself had approached her and asked her to dance. She had been so startled and taken aback that she agreed. Now, as they stood opposite one another, her indignation resulted in a flushed countenance and sparkling eyes which made her, if she only knew, even more attractive to Pemberley's master.
For the first minutes of the dance, she focused on controlling her outrage with the arrogant man. For all her indignation, she would not lay aside the tenets of ladylike behavior instilled in her from her birth.
"I trust you are well, Mr. Darcy?" she finally asked.
"Indeed, I am, Miss Elizabeth. Are you and your family well?"
"My family is indeed well," she replied. She hesitated and then decided she could not keep silent about Mr. Wickham.
"However, I confess to substantial dismay that a new friend of our mutual acquaintance is injured."
Darcy frowned in confusion, "A mutual friend? I do not understand."
"I believe you no longer count him your friend, Mr. Darcy, though I accept him as mine. Mr. Wickham."
Darcy froze briefly, causing him to fall out of sync with the other dancers. He moved hastily to find the rhythm of the dance, his mind a whirl of anger and confusion. Anger because George Wickham, formerly his friend, had betrayed him by attempting to elope with Georgiana, Darcy's much younger sister. Confusion because ...
"Injured?" he asked.
"Yes," Elizabeth continued coldly, maintaining her position in the dance. "I daresay you are above any concerns about Mr. Wickham, but our family is most distressed on his behalf. He was injured in a training exercise on Saturday."
Darcy stared at the woman, noting her narrowed eyes and resentful tone. She was, he realized with confusion, upset with him.
"Was he badly wounded?" he demanded. Surely not. Wickham always slithered out of serious damage no matter what the situation. No doubt he was milking this situation for all it was worth.
"His face and eyes were burned," Elizabeth stated grimly. "He is currently blind."
This time Darcy stopped completely, staring at her with incredulous horror. Wickham, blind? Surely not.
"Please, Miss Elizabeth," he forced himself to say. "May we retreat from the dance floor to discuss this in more detail? I am shocked at this news."
Elizabeth acceded with some confusion. Mr. Darcy truly looked distressed. Perhaps he was not quite as bad as she thought? Perhaps there was some hope that Mr. Wickham would gain deserved support from his childhood friend?
"Please tell me more about Mr. Wickham's situation," Darcy entreated when they had found a suitably quiet corner.
She did so, succinctly and clearly, describing the limited news passed on by Colonel Forster about the damage to Wickham's face and eyes and the fears for his sight.
Darcy stared at her intensely, biting his lip.
"What a tragedy," he murmured.
"Indeed it is, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth agreed, her chin lifted. "It is most regrettable that his life circumstances brought him to this place."
Darcy gazed at the woman gravely, "Given your tone, Miss Elizabeth, I venture to suggest that you think I am in some way responsible for Mr. Wickham's current plight?"
Elizabeth took a startled breath. She and Mr. Darcy had previously avoided direct confrontation, but it seemed that she must speak clearly for the sake of Mr. Wickham.
"I do, Mr. Darcy," she averred. "I understand from Mr. Wickham that you denied him a valuable living in your mutual home county of Derbyshire. He would not have been engaged in a dangerous profession in the military if you had provided him the living as desired by your honorable father."
Darcy's nostrils flared open and his cheeks whitened in rage. Elizabeth, eyes wide, took a slight step backward. The man forced his hands open and swallowed his fury. It was not Miss Elizabeth's fault that she was unaware of the truth. Wickham had obviously been spreading his lies.
"Mr. Wickham rejected the living, Miss Bennet," he explained.
Elizabeth had been waiting with some trepidation, but this caused her brow to lift incredulously, "Mr. Wickham rejected a valuable living, Mr. Darcy? That seems most unlikely."
"Nevertheless, after the death of my father, he approached me and asked for money in exchange for giving up all rights to the living. I provided him 3000 pounds for the living, in addition to the 1000 pounds left to him directly in my father's will. He informed me that he wished to study the law instead of becoming a clergyman."
Elizabeth stared at the tall Mr. Darcy, suddenly dizzy. This could not be, could it?
"Mr. Wickham told me that you rejected his request for the living," she murmured numbly.
"He returned several years after accepting the money when the living fell vacant. I was confident he would not be a good clergyman, nor had he taken orders. Therefore, yes, I denied him the living, but he had already received the money."
Elizabeth shook her head, trying to clear it, "But he is a lawyer, then?"
"He informed me that he found the study of law unprofitable, so no, Miss Elizabeth."
The woman stared at Darcy, her chest heaving. If Mr. Darcy spoke honestly, all she believed about the handsome Mr. Wickham was called into question. But was Mr. Darcy telling the truth? Standing in front of her was the arrogant, proud, rude man who had insulted her the first time he saw her. Lying injured in a bed in town was a handsome, charming man who admired her. What were the actual facts of the matter? She needed to think!
"Please, Mr. Darcy, excuse me," she murmured, turning and hurrying away.
Darcy watched her go with distress on his countenance.