All this time she had hated him. How had he so misunderstood her manner?
The skin around Darcy's eyes was tight, and his chest reverberated with resentment. Maybe he hadn't always behaved as a gentleman ought. Maybe he had rudely insulted her and her family, but he cared less and less. It was impossible to relax into the velvet cushions of his carriage. He had almost decided to marry that girl. And she — she hated him. She really hated him.
She was a fool, a damned fool. She would never know what she lost due to her… stupidity. Her stupidity had destroyed his regard. Elizabeth Bennet was stupid. She was a foolish girl, solely controlled by her own vanity and not worth thinking upon.
Darcy looked out the windows at the passing timber framed buildings of a small market town.
It was breeding. He had thought Elizabeth Bennet was better than the rest of her awful family. Well, breeding would show true.
He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, heir to one of the best names in the country. It had been beneath him, far beneath him, to ever consider the impoverished daughter of a minor country squire. He should only regret the weakness that allowed the idea to take hold.
Flat icy fields and a succession of hedges went speedily by the window. The interior of the carriage was paneled in mahogany and kept pleasant and warm by expensive contrivances. The springs were the absolute best money could purchase. He was comfortable and happy and enjoyed luxuries Elizabeth Bennet would never know.
They overtook a farmer walking along the road. He respectfully doffed his cap to mark the passage of one of his betters.
How dare she! How could she think so little of him? He was not selfish, he was not dishonorable, and he always acted in a gentlemanlike manner. He was in every way superior to her and her family. She was unladylike. No true lady would have spoken so. She was gullible and vain.
She had called him selfish. Did she know nothing of the ways that he had protected Bingley's interests? How he always sought to be fair to others, even if it meant he suffered losses? Why, he had spent more than twelve hundred pounds the previous year on charitable causes. And that did not include the poor rates.
Selfish? Ha! He was the very opposite of selfish.
Yes, he had maintained distance from those in Meryton. But that was his proper right as a gentleman of great consequence. He had not shown contempt for the neighborhood.
Darcy winced; his inner judge refused to let the untruth pass. He had disdained their country manners and entertainments. Maybe he had felt some contempt.
Well, the neighborhood had deserved it. Elizabeth proved that. He had never behaved in an ungentlemanlike manner. Only a vain, angry girl could think he had.
Darcy's townhouse was a large modern building in Grosvenor Square. Darcy entered the vestibule and leaned his forehead against the wall. How had he been so wrong about what she thought? How had he been so wrong about her character? His judgement and perceptions were clearly faulty.
As Darcy walked towards the stairs, so he could reach his private apartments, Georgiana ran to greet him. "Fitzwilliam, I had not expected you to return for several hours more." She stumbled to a stop and asked, "Are you well? Did something ill occur at Bingley's wedding? What is the matter?"
Darcy forced himself to smile for Georgiana. "Nothing important went amiss. And the wedding itself, it was beautiful. Bingley smiled the entire time, and Miss Bennet was radiant. I said to myself, as the carriage took them away, that they appeared to be the happiest of couples. It was as perfect as a wedding could be." From Georgiana's worried expression his words were unconvincing. Darcy added, "I am well. But I do need to rest. I promise you, I shall tell you everything about the event tonight."
Darcy calmed once he entered his room. It was decorated precisely to his taste. The heavy bookshelves were packed with agricultural treatises, works of history, Latin and Greek classics, and volumes of poetry. A miniature of his father and mother, painted when they were a young couple, sat on the desk.
Darcy stared at the faces of his parents before he selected a collection of Cicero's letters from his shelf and sat down. Perhaps the wisdom of the great orator would calm and settle his mind. Darcy leaned back in the chair and poured himself a double full tumbler of brandy. With a smile, he opened his drawer and pulled out a bag of expensive chocolates. He popped one into his mouth and chewed slowly.
For half an hour Darcy worked through the passages of Latin. He had grown a little out of practice since leaving university to take on the management of Pemberley, and it was not so easy to interpret the meaning of each sentence as it had been years earlier.
Elizabeth's accusations intruded: Your cruel, unfeeling, and — and selfish disposition. I only returned contempt where contempt was given. He pushed the memories away.
Damn! It was impossible to focus. Try as he might to calm himself, he was still most unhappy about the conversation with Elizabeth.
Was he ungentlemanly? Had he really given offense? It was certainly true he had not cared whether he did. He had been above his company. Now safe in his room and partially relaxed, Darcy could acknowledge that his behavior had lacked something.
He winced with embarrassment as the assembly ball flashed clearly into his mind. He saw himself insult her. He'd caught Elizabeth's eye — though she was not Elizabeth to him yet — his words had been something like: "I will admit she is not plain, but she is hardly handsome enough to please me."
He knew she could hear. He had wished to give offense due to his ill mood that evening — it had been the first time he was properly in company since Ramsgate. Had he really wished to insult Elizabeth?
He had not acted as he ought. That was clear. It had been ungentlemanly to say that. He had behaved in an ungentlemanly manner the first time they interacted. It had been selfish to peevishly injure the feelings of an unknown lady due to a poor mood.
Darcy rubbed his forehead and looked out the window. Despite the lateness of the season and hour, a few persons walked vigorously along the road, and a man and woman decked in heavy coats meandered arm in arm through the garden in the center of the square.
He had behaved poorly. Darcy finished his brandy and poured another into the fine crystal glass. He would not drink much, but he needed to mellow himself if he was not to be a bear when entertaining Georgiana later.
There was a lesson: Never insult a lady's appearance when she might hear it. See, Elizabeth, I can admit my behavior was not perfect.
She'd hated him. Every time Elizabeth spoke with that arch smile and her sparkling eyes she had thought, "This man does not think I am handsome, so I shall be as disagreeable as I can."
The situation was absurd. It was ridiculous. The woman he'd formed an infatuation towards had hated him because she thought he found her ugly. Well, it had been foolish of her to pay no attention to his later behavior and manner.
Darcy grimaced and slid down in his chair. That gave himself too much credit and Elizabeth too little. She'd accused him of showing contempt to the neighborhood. He'd felt contempt. Perhaps his icy politeness was proper, but it was no surprise she did not like him. He'd not like someone who openly showed a disdain for his friends and family.
Before it had all gone wrong, when he tried to hint he wanted to marry her, he'd talked about how poor the manners of her family were.
What had Elizabeth said? Unpleasant truths that are known by all should not be shared. Elizabeth had, from his behavior after he'd insulted her beauty, perfectly good reason to dislike him.
Well, she was still a fool. She admitted that herself.
She probably behaved like every other foolish girl with a man she liked. No doubt, when she was with Wickham, she acted the way Miss Bingley did with a rich man. She probably fawned over him, laughed at his empty nothings, and agreed with everything he said, no matter how silly she thought it.
Worse, maybe she found Wickham's inanity clever: Oh, Wickham, tell me more about how that mean Mr. Darcy stole from you! I am wild about you, even though you are not as tall and rich as he!
That was not fair. Darcy finished his brandy. The woman who shouted at him this morning might have been Wickham's dupe, but he could not imagine her slobbering over him like a dog. He had observed enough of her behavior with others to know her manners were always light and playful. She may not have flirted with him, but her charming manner was not solely due to dislike.
She was a fool, but he was a worse one.
I only returned contempt where contempt was given. He had thought meanly of Elizabeth, of her family, and of her friends. He had held her in contempt.
He had fallen short of his own ideals.
Elizabeth's forthright anger taught a valuable lesson, and he should thank her for it. In the future he would strive to think more kindly of all persons and less highly of himself.
Beyond that, he was done with her. He had hesitated for the wrong reasons. He did not need money, and if he were happy in Pemberley, it could make little difference to him what they did in Meryton. How could it actually matter if he called a tradesman uncle?
But Elizabeth loathed him, and he no longer thought her a flawless creature. It had been blockheaded to fancy himself in love. He had not known her well enough to enter marriage.
He only hoped they could meet civilly when he encountered her as Bingley's sister.
Darcy pulled out the watch he always kept inside his desk. Dinner was in only another hour. It was time to bathe.
Georgiana was eager to hear about the wedding, and as soon as they both sat in the drawing room after dinner, she asked, "What did the bride wear? You promised you would give me a detailed description of the wedding."
Darcy had made such a promise before he set off for Hertfordshire and had tried to impress details of the ceremony onto his mind, so he could relate them to Georgiana. "Miss Bennet wore a silvery silk dress. It was most elegant. Her shawl was white with this embroidered flower design. The flowers were made with yellow thread. Miss Bennet wore the shawl like so," Darcy gestured with his fingers trying to produce a picture while Georgiana laughed.
Darcy added, "She wore a cap, which I thought pretty. The cap was more gray than white, and it had a great deal of lace — you shall have to meet a lady who was present to get a proper description of the lace, it's amount, and type."
"No, do not disparage yourself." Georgiana immediately reassured her brother, "You are an exemplary describer. What did Mr. Bingley wear?"
Darcy frowned and looked to the side. Elizabeth's face and figure had been so pretty she near glowed in his eyes. Their gaze had met many times. Her eyes had been intense. He had been sure it meant she desired him. He had wondered what she would look on their wedding day.
It was odd. This morning he had seriously contemplated marriage, and now he felt nothing of the sort. What did she think about their argument?
Georgiana jostled his arm. "So Mr. Bingley was nondescript? I begin to fear I will need to ask Miss Bingley."
"No — my mind had wandered, Bingley wore a black coat with long tails. Bingley's pantaloons were white as well. With a hint of yellow. And, of course, he wore a white cravat. He'd had his hair cut the day before and forced me to join him."
"It is a handsome look."
"What about Miss Bennet's — I mean Mrs. Bingley — what about her sister? Wasn't it Miss Elizabeth who was her bridesmaid? The one who walked three miles in the mud to care for Mrs. Bingley when she fell sick?"
Darcy stomach twisted. He saw her blazing eyes as she spoke: Had you acted in a more gentlemanlike manner.
"She wore a blue dress, her hair was arranged in curls that fell around her face. She had done something with her eyebrows to make them thinner… Some pink rouge was rubbed into her cheeks."
Georgiana looked curious — perhaps his detailed description of Elizabeth's face gave her ideas that would have been true this morning. "It was a beautiful ceremony; the parson had been at Longbourn since before Miss Bennet was born, and it clearly pleased him to see the girl well-settled."
Georgiana asked more questions about the ceremony and afterwards. Darcy's replies became vaguer as his thoughts refused to abandon the argument with Elizabeth.
"Georgiana, what do you think of Miss Bingley?" Darcy spoke abruptly, ignoring the preceding topic.
Georgiana looked at him with a deep frown and in an endearing gesture bit her finger as she thought. If Mrs. Annesley was present, she would have attempted to break his sister of the habit. Darcy only smiled.
"She is a fine lady," Georgiana began cautiously. "She always praises me and is most attentive." Georgiana ended in a rush, "You are far better than me at judging people's intentions. You would never make such mistakes as I have." Georgiana frowned. "I mean I shall think as you do of her."
"What do you believe I think of her?" Darcy held up his hand as Georgiana opened her mouth. "I can tell you do not like her; that is good. I wish you to be cautious in her presence. She wishes to marry me, and I have learned she will lie in the pursuit of her goal."
Georgiana gasped. "You mean she is like Wickham!"
Darcy opened his mouth to deny that claim. Miss Bingley was a well-educated lady with a large dowry. Simply because she wished to marry well…. Miss Bingley had lied in the most ridiculous manner for the cause. Maybe the comparison was apt.
"I should not have said that. She is the sister of a friend and a real lady, unlike me."
"What? You are a real lady. A far better one, I daresay, than Miss Bingley – her behavior is similar to his. I do not think we shall be at home for her in the future."
"You need not coddle me Fitzwilliam. I know how you see me — I know that you expect me to misbehave if ever given an opportunity. And you are right — I should never have let that horrid, horrid scoundrel — I can't believe I was so foolish, and naïve, and bad —"
Georgiana began to cry, as Darcy asked in surprise and confusion, "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"It's why you would not let me be in a crowd for Bingley's wedding. You are afraid of what I might do if people who are not our intimate acquaintances could see me. I know you've been kind by keeping me with you and spending so much time with me since it happened — but you need not pretend you trust me. I know I deserve your scrutiny, but you'll see. I will never do anything wrong again. You'll see."
He had been remarkably foolish. Darcy pulled his crying sister into his arms and stroked her hair as he tried to figure out what to say to undo the damage he had — stupidly — done to her. He had believed he knew what she thought and then proceeded to make a mess of things.
He'd also believed he knew what Jane and Elizabeth thought. He always was mistaken when he interpreted a woman's thoughts. Much as Elizabeth's rejection hurt, Georgiana's well-being was his responsibility, and he'd failed her once already. He couldn't allow that to happen again.
"I do not think that Georgie," Darcy said when she ceased to sob. "I am proud of you, you are becoming more elegant and pretty every day. I know you would not behave so foolishly again — you know what is right, and I trust you to do it. The fault was mine, and Wickham's — and I suppose Mrs. Younge's. Not yours. I don't blame you at all."
"You should. I was foolish: He told me I was pretty and mature and clever — and I believed him. I knew all along an elopement was wrong — but I would have done it."
Darcy sighed. "He deceived our father as well. You were fifteen; you do not realize how very young that is. I will give you leave to think you ought to have behaved a little better, but not to think you should behaved perfectly."
Georgiana sat up so she could look at his face, and Darcy flicked her nose. "Why do you think you had a companion and were not yet out? It is because fifteen-year-olds cannot be trusted to make serious decisions. You behaved no worse, and perhaps a little better, than most girls your age would when their appointed guardian had been subverted."
"If you are not scared I would embarrass you, why did you not let me go to Bingley's wedding?"
Darcy still worried about what might happen if he discussed Wickham with Georgiana. "Perhaps I made a mistake. I did not wish to remind you." His face went stiff, and he said in a cold voice, "Mr. Wickham is in Hertfordshire. He enrolled as an officer in the militia regiment stationed in Meryton. I had not wished to risk you meeting him."
"Oh." Georgiana asked in a small voice, "You thought he might convince me to run off with him?"
"No!" If he had spoken more with Georgiana and not been so scared to talk about Wickham with her, she would not have developed these ideas. "I did not fear that. I trust you. I know you would act as you ought. I thought you still heartbroken over his betrayal and that it would hurt you were you to see him again."
"No! I hate him — I was naïve and foolish, but it was terribly wrong of him to pretend he loved me. I know it was fictitious. He only wanted my fortune — why else would somebody attempt to gain my affection?"
Darcy missed his parents. Mother would have known what to say to Georgiana.
Georgiana took the way Darcy froze as agreement. "See, you know the only reason a man would wish my affection is due to our wealth. I wish I were penniless."
"Do not be ridiculous. Such a wish is melodramatic and silly. You are a kind, elegant and highly accomplished lady. Only a fool would not see your worth."
Darcy's sister sat tall and pulled away from the arm he had had around her shoulder. "I am backward in company, and besides our family, other girls only seek me out to become closer to you. And Wickham only — if I had no dowry he would not have treated me so."
Georgiana allowed Darcy to pull her close again, and she started to cry. He let out a long breath — Wickham lied to penniless girls all the time. That was a topic impossible to discuss with his little sister.
Darcy murmured comforting nothings to Georgiana. He needed to fix her unhappiness, but could find no words which would work.
His mind drifted back to Elizabeth. Something in her manner when she denied affection for Wickham had convinced him she was sincere. Elizabeth had called him soft. Darcy smiled. She may be his dupe, but she was not his conquest.
He shouldn't care.
When Georgiana stopped crying Darcy asked, "Do you feel better?"
Georgiana nodded her head, and Darcy said, "It is not just our family relationship which makes me think well of you. Were you to act as — as Miss Bingley acts, I would care for you as my sister, but I hardly could approve of you."
Georgiana giggled wetly. "Did she really lie to you?"
"Not to me, but about me." Darcy added, grave and unhappy, "Her lies were believed."
"Oh." Georgiana's voice resonated with a quiet sympathy, and she squeezed Darcy's hand.
The two had been silent awhile when Georgiana suddenly spoke, "Do not think so ill of Miss Bingley's victim. It is often easy to be deceived."
It was partly his fault in any case. He said his general character should have protected him from such stories, but he saw himself during the weeks in Meryton. All he did was stand about the edges of rooms and think upon how great his consequence was. Hertfordshire was far from Derbyshire where his reputation was well-established.
"You are right. I should not."
Darcy yawned. He had been awake quite late the night before, and in a few minutes more he and Georgiana stood to return to their rooms.
As they parted Darcy called out, "Georgie, I know I —"
Darcy swallowed, feeling very uncomfortable. "It is hard for me to say such things, but I — I am glad — most glad, you are my sister. I always have been. And — this is not only my opinion as your brother, but as someone who lives in society and has seen many young women — you are growing into a very fine lady. There is nothing important I would wish changed about you."
Georgiana ran up and gave him a fierce hug that convinced Darcy he somehow had said the right thing.
While Elizabeth managed to avoid company the evening after the wedding, she needed to sit with her family the next morning at breakfast. Lydia laughed at her and exclaimed again and again, "La! What a joke! To quarrel with that dull Mr. Darcy. What a joke."
Mama was worse.
"Lord!" She cried out to Lady Lucas when her friend arrived to commiserate on both losing a daughter so close in time together, "You saw my Lizzy put down that horrid ill-mannered man. Was it not good of her to do it? Miss Bingley said Mr. Darcy tried to keep our Bingley from marrying Jane. Horrid man — Lizzy will not say what they argued about — but he slunk off defeated. I've never seen such an arrogant man give up the ground so."
Elizabeth blushed and blushed at her mother's foolishness. Lady Lucas turned a more critical eye upon her and said, "It was quite the spectacle — nothing of the sort happened after my Charlotte was married. Though — Lizzy, was it wise to argue with him so? I heard from my dear son, Mr. Collins, about how grand his estates are. But nevermind, we all know you never look towards your interest first. It is a virtue, and one all those around you must be pleased at."
Maria Lucas had called at Longbourn with her mother and cried out, "Oh Lizzy, do tell us — please, do tell us! What was it about? I am so terribly curious. Was he so terribly angry about Bingley marrying your sister? I heard you use our dear Wickham's name. Did you rail at him for stealing Wickham's inheritance?"
Elizabeth plastered a fake smile on her face. "Really, Maria, you would hardly wish me to reveal what was said in a private conversation?"
Lydia prevented Maria's answer by exclaiming, "La! I certainly would. It would be such a joke! Besides, your conversation was hardly private — did you declare your undying love for our handsome Wickham, and Darcy stalked away because he realized how despite his ill humor he would not prevent the dashing officer from finding happiness?"
"I do not care a whit for Mr. Wickham. Not a whit."
There was a startled moment of silence. Lydia had a mischievous smile and with a lilting voice said, "La, methinks the lady doth protest —"
"Enough!" Elizabeth stood. "Do not suggest such things. I will have you spread no such stories about. I would suggest you behave more cautiously around your dear Mr. Wickham. I will say this — I have grave reasons to doubt his character."
Elizabeth exited the room with a poor imitation of intact dignity. She heard Lydia's voice cry out, "La, this is such a joke. She likes dull Mr. Darcy now!"
Elizabeth stalked to the side door. She went out, slamming the door shut, without putting on her pelisse and gloves. She passed next to the window of her father's study. Their eyes met, and he raised his eyebrows sardonically and gestured for her to join him. Papa had gone home immediately after the departure of Jane and Bingley's carriage, so at least he'd not seen their argument. But by now he had heard enough of the story to laugh at her.
She did not wish to talk to him. She was already ill tempered, and he would be displeased that his most sensible — ha! — daughter had made a spectacle of herself on such an important occasion. Worse, he would make her an object of sport. Elizabeth entered the study by a side door. It would do no good to put off the interview.
Mr. Bennet smiled jovially and fitted a piece of paper into the book he was reading. He wore the thick woolen cap he preferred during the winter to keep his ears warm and his reddish-brown dressing robe. He waved his hand at the narrow brown sofa kept in the room. "Sit down. Please, sit down."
Her face flaming with embarrassment and anxiety, Elizabeth settled onto the sofa cushions.
Mr. Bennet made a dramatic production of it as he pushed his spectacles down his nose to peer over them at her. "Lizzy, tell me, what horrid crime of Mr. Darcy's led you to quarrel so publicly with Bingley's rich friend?"
Elizabeth scowled. Mr. Bennet smiled. "That is a most ferocious expression. Why, I have been deluged with reports of your behavior. Surely you would expect me to demand explanation of what you were about. Don't be Missish — do tell me."
Elizabeth rubbed her hand back and forth on the couch and examined the pattern in the rug as she decided what to say. "Several sources had informed me that Mr. Darcy had been vocally opposed to the match, so when he commented on how happy Jane and Bingley looked together, I asked him to explain himself."
"Capital! Capital. You decided to confront the rich man with his hypocrisy, and I daresay, since your mother tells me he slunk away in complete defeat, you succeeded at making him appreciate the errors of his way. A good job of it Lizzy, very good. Men of that sort rarely listen. And you would not have been able to pick a more momentous occasion than after your sister's wedding for your triumph over that unpleasant man. Pray, how did Mr. Wickham's name end up mixed in this?"
"Must you make sport of everything?" Elizabeth said in exasperation and began to cry.
Mr. Bennet was startled by her tears and rose from his armchair to sit at Elizabeth's side. "My dear, if it has been that distressing, do tell me what is the matter. Your real unhappiness can never be a matter of fun for me."
"It ought to be — I deserve it to be. You will laugh when you hear how stupid and silly and vain I have been."
"Whether you deserve to be laughed at or not, it will not be by me, not until you can look back on it with amusement yourself." Her father's shoulder smelled comforting, and Elizabeth took a deep breath when Mr. Bennet embraced her. "Now, how were you silly and vain? For I am sure you were far too clever to be stupid."
Elizabeth sighed. "I was not clever when I chose to dislike Mr. Darcy for so slight a cause."
"So slight a cause? Why, you are not the only young lady who would declare eternal enmity over such a serious cause as being declared merely tolerable."
At Elizabeth's forbidding expression, Mr. Bennet apologized, "I had promised not to make fun; my habits have led me astray — it will not occur again."
"He was rude, but — that would not have bothered me had he not injured my vanity. Then everything, every interaction, I used to justify my dislike of him. It did not matter what he did — he was that hateful, odious man. And I believed those awful stories about his behavior and character from Miss Bingley and Mr. Wickham."
Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows. "Miss Bingley? I knew that Mr. Wickham wished to blacken Darcy's character, but I imagined Miss Bingley to be quite, ah, intentioned towards him."
When Elizabeth made no immediate reply, Mr. Bennet said, "So you chose to think the absolute worst of Mr. Darcy, encouraged by a woman who hopes to marry him and the son of his father's steward. And you did not have any thought these stories might be false, as you knew him to be the most horrid sort of person — proven by his having declared you not handsome enough to tempt him. Lizzy, you view yourself rather more the fool than you are."
"You do not understand — he did not dislike me!"
All of Elizabeth's self-recriminations poured out suddenly. "He admired me. That was why Miss Bingley told me that ridiculous story, and his feelings are obvious now that I know. That was why he always watched me and sought conversation — it was not to look for imperfections, but because he liked my company. I think he wished to marry me."
Elizabeth's misery returned. "And now he must hate me. I called him selfish and cruel and insulted him horribly. It was cruel of me — I saw how much it hurt him. He looked so shocked. Now he knows what a petty, vain fool I am. And I realize I liked him very much. He is not a horrid man; his only failing is that he is too quiet among strangers and has too low an opinion of those whose status is lower than his."
"Wait —" Mr. Bennet blinked at her. "You mean to say that, after insulting Mr. Darcy horribly to his face, you decided you had an affection for him."
"No! Perhaps." Elizabeth wailed, "I don't know."
Mr. Bennet wore the solemn face he showed when he was amused but did not wish to reveal it to the object of his amusement. She pointed and accused him, "You said you would not laugh."
Her father pressed his lips tightly together and looked away. "You are right. This is not a matter of sport because you are distraught and confused. It would be unfatherly to think it amusing while seated next to you. Perhaps I can help you see what you feel. I can hardly understand your claim to like him, for as everyone knows, he is a proud, unpleasant sort of man — a point you admitted yourself merely a minute ago — so why do you nonetheless like him?"
Elizabeth cried out, "I was such a fool! Now that I know he spoke out of friendship and even admiration, I realize that when we conversed, he was perfectly amiable. Amongst those he likes he is a pleasant, if disputatious, man. I thought he was rude, but I relished our conversations about the difference between country and city or how desirable it is to be easily persuaded by friends. He is proud, that is true, but he has great reasons for pride."
"Besides, he is so tall, and his face so very handsome, and I want him to —" Elizabeth's cheeks flamed hot as a fire, and she stumbled to a halt. She absolutely would not describe to her father how Mr. Darcy's presence made it impossible for her to turn her eyes away from him, how simply touching his arm would give nervous jitters in her stomach, and how she had dreamt for the past month more nights than not of him touching her intimately.
The way Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows and peered at her made her suspect that he knew exactly what was in her mind. She looked down to avoid his gaze. Her blush creeped down her neck and onto her chest. This was the most awkward moment, including after the argument yesterday, in her entire life.
"Well," Mr. Bennet drawled out the word very slowly. "I have solved the mystery of why you like him. And why you took his insult so much to heart."
It was impossible for Elizabeth to feel more embarrassed, so Mr. Bennet's suggestion that she only took Mr. Darcy's indifference to heart because she had been attracted to him improved her mood. She had behaved like the fox with the grapes in Aesop's fables, disdaining what she could not have. It was a common, ordinary failing. She may be as much a fool as every other girl, but she was not more foolish.
Elizabeth frowned at her father with mock annoyance. "You had promised not to make sport of me. I believe you just did."
"It did cheer you — why then are you not sure you like him?"
"Oh, I do like Mr. Darcy, but not enough to regret him. He is too arrogant — I could never marry a man who disdained my family and birth, no matter how much I may appreciate his virtues. He should not have insulted Mama and Lydia; he thinks the marriage between those of unequal stations is always an evil. He would never make an offer to a creature with so disreputable a family as to have relatives in trade and a vulgar mother."
"He insulted your mother during your conversation?" Mr. Bennet asked with a smile. "That was quite rude of him. You have less to be ashamed of than you imagine, for a man who would openly insult you and your relations has no right to complain when insulted in turn."
Elizabeth felt a flare of anger at Darcy suddenly. She clenched her fist. That was right. He no doubt thought she was a fool, and she was, but he probably believed he'd never behaved ill. And he had. He didn't have a right to hold her in contempt. She needed to feel angry, otherwise she would cry again.
Was their argument the worst mistake of her life?
Mr. Bennet embraced her. "Don't look like that Lizzy. It feels awful, but things turned out for the best. I recall how your Mr. Darcy appeared when you two danced at Netherfield, at the end of November. He might have asked you despite believing it to be a mistake."
The humor normally in her father's eyes was absent, "Youthful passion drives men to act against their better judgement and contrary to their normal character. But those feelings rarely last, and when they are gone, what is left is regret. It is a poor basis to build a life together. I beg you never to enter marriage under such circumstances. I would not wish to see you made unhappy for life with a husband who resented the marriage."
Elizabeth remembered a snatch of the conversation. An unequal marriage always is an evil. Her father was right. She didn't want to marry a man who thought himself so far above her that their connection must be a mistake.
"Mr. Darcy used almost those very words!" Elizabeth flushed. "It was when he insulted Mama — he claimed that a connection to us would be against the better judgment of any sensible man and that only the strongest passion could overcome those objections." Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth. "He actually would have asked me, and I would have needed to refuse him. And perhaps I wouldn't have. Maybe it is for the best. I only wish I'd not given him good reason to despise me."
She had acted inappropriately and been a fool. But at least as she had not destroyed her best hope for a happy marriage. She could not have married Darcy anyways. "I acted a fool, but it really was for the best. I shall take the lesson and never judge so quickly in the future. But I have no cause for prolonged unhappiness."
Mr. Bennet smiled at her. "I am relieved to see your reaction is so sensible."
Elizabeth embraced him. "Thank you Papa."
He patted her shoulder a bit uncomfortably and smiled. "There, there sweet girl." At last Elizabeth released him, and with an affectionate look in his eyes, he left the sofa to return to his chair and book.
Elizabeth smiled at the middle aged figure of her father. He was a little short and had put on weight over the years. He tended to smell of port and tobacco; he was indolent and should manage her sisters and mother better. Darcy was correct that he should have accumulated a dowry for them. He wasn't perfect, but she loved him.
Colonel Forster greeted Elizabeth when they sat next to each other at a dinner party, "I hear you defended the honor of one of my officers the other day Miss Bennet."
This was the worst part. They all thought she was in love with Wickham and had done something wonderful. Except Lydia who, more perceptively, teased her about being in love with that awful mean Darcy.
The gossip and market town foolishness of Meryton had always been so amusing. This was not amusing. Not at all. Maybe it would be funny if it happened to someone else. Papa found it hilarious, though he never teased her about it.
Even if it was funny, must they think she was in love with Wickham? Would it cause so very much difficulty to speak kindly of Darcy? His pride did not make him dishonorable, and much of his rudeness was discomfort in company.
Oh! If only she had not insulted his character herself. Then she could properly despise the neighborhood. But she was no better than any of them.
"Colonel Forster, I assure you I did nothing praiseworthy."
He responded as Elizabeth expected him to, as everyone had, "You are far too modest. Lieutenant Wickham is a good man, and he was cruelly wronged by Mr. Darcy. Few persons would challenge a man with Darcy's consequence for the sake of one with as little material worth as Lieutenant Wickham."
Wickham had used her. He was as petty and miserable in character as she had imagined Darcy to be. He deserved to have his true nature made known, and he deserved to be disliked by everyone. However, Elizabeth did not dare repeat Darcy's accusations. It would be the absent and disliked Darcy's word against that of the present, handsome, and charming Mr. Wickham.
Besides, she was too embarrassed. She could not say it straight to all of her friends and acquaintances that she had been a vain fool and was wrong about both Darcy and Wickham. She ought to but had not yet found the nerve to do it. If she did, they would all know she was a nitwit. Her vanity still refused that.
Elizabeth had the perfect idea. She turned to the Colonel with sparkling eyes and said, "You will not believe what stories Mr. Darcy told about our dear Wickham. They were horrid. Why, Darcy claimed he had paid out to Wickham an inheritance of four thousand pounds and that Wickham spent the entire sum in a few years. And — if you believe it — he accused Mr. Wickham of spending extravagantly everywhere he went and leaving behind large debts to tradespeople."
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head with an exaggerated expression of disgust. "Darcy even, and I only tell you this because your own observation of Wickham's character will absolve him from the accusation — Darcy claimed Wickham would gamble to excess and not always pay his debts of honor. Surely, you see why I had no choice but to defend our dear Wickham's honor. Any person would have spoken under such provocation."
Colonel Forster had a troubled expression, and Elizabeth asked sweetly, "What bothers you? Surely you have not seen anything in Wickham's behavior to justify Darcy's accusations?"
"Of course not — only —" Colonel Forster pursed his lips than shook his head. "I'm certain it is nothing. Wickham does enjoy a good game of cards, but there's nothing amiss in that."
"Certainly not. Certainly. And I'm certain that a man of Wickham's talent, drive, and indefatigable application will quickly rise in the service. You have watched him perform even the smallest task you give with a relentless desire to do well. Small extravagances now are likely to be paid back out of his future fortunes. He shall have many opportunities to distinguish himself."
Colonel Forster half smiled at Elizabeth, "You mistake us. We down twenty lines wake up are the militia, not the regulars. Unless Boney should land on the shores of our merry England — and let us all pray to God that he does not — there are few opportunities for finding distinction or advancement in our ranks."
From his manner, it was evident that she had unsettled Colonel Forster. Elizabeth smiled with better cheer than she had felt in days. "I am certain you do yourself a disservice. I would never doubt the bravery of those who stand and wait for the attack of the French. Should the worst befall us, it will be your efforts that save us from rapine and pillage."
Now it was Colonel Forster who flushed with embarrassment, and with a vindictive glee Elizabeth spent the remainder of her conversation exaggerating the risks and bravery of the militia.
Over the next days Elizabeth had enormous fun spreading the story of how Darcy had paid out a large inheritance to Wickham, which he spent and gambled away. She pretended to disbelieve the story entirely, and she always added that she was certain her hearer could refute it by their own observation of Wickham's virtues. It was pleasurably dishonest to attack Wickham in this manner.
Soon Wickham himself approached Elizabeth, at another card party given by her aunt Phillips, and begged her to stop. Elizabeth pretended to be pleased when he came to sit next to her, but the sight of his smirking handsome features made her gut clench with anger. He had taken and used her vanity and foolishness to further his own ends. She deserved every censure for her failings, but he was the liar.
"My dear Miss Bennet — by the way, have you enjoyed the added distinction of being the Miss Bennet? I know it can be so pleasant to be the first among anything."
Elizabeth returned a fake tight smile. "I have enjoyed it — my dear Jane likely is less thrilled when called Mrs. Bingley than I am when called Miss Bennet."
Though his smile did not waver, Mr. Wickham was taken aback by Elizabeth's sharp tone. At first they talked about the weather, and Wickham politely asked questions about the wedding. Elizabeth mostly restrained herself, but her anger towards Wickham showed in her manner.
At last Wickham reached his point. "I was most pleased to hear you defended me in conversation with a certain gentleman. I salute you for your forwardness in doing so."
"Of course I did." Elizabeth forced a smile. "We are friends, are we not?"
"We are friends. Very good friends I believe, and I understand your desire to see that certain gentleman be shamed. He did fill your ears with a shocking deception. However, perhaps it might be best to be silent on the matter. When people hear such stories secondhand, they can be easily misinterpreted. Reputation is such a fragile thing."
"I do sense your meaning. Had I thought you anything to fear, I would never have spoken. Your goodness, which shines forth from your face and manner, and the general upright mode of your life must be applied to any accusations against you. Those who know you, your friends, will always see the truth in your behavior."
Mr. Wickham smiled and inclined his head at Elizabeth's praise. "I thank you for those kind words, and you are far too kind to think otherwise. However, I have learned through hard experience that wealth often speaks louder than goodness, and one has few true friends when poor."
"I, Mr. Wickham, am I not your true friend? Is not Captain Denny? And has not Colonel Forster become your true friend? Are we not all your friends here in Hertfordshire? I will not have you speak such calumnies — unintended though they were — against this neighborhood or yourself. Your happy manners will gain you friends wherever you go, and your virtues will keep them. You have nothing to fear here."
Wickham's face spasmed with frustration as she spoke. It quickly cleared and was replaced by his habitual easy smile. "You are far, far too kind, Miss Bennet. I —" He turned slightly away and wiped at his eyes, "I am brought to tears to know I have such friends as you. It — I do love this neighborhood and its society, and I acknowledge your virtues." He brushed at his eyes. "I have never had such good friends as I have found here. Except for" — Wickham gave a long sigh — "except for my very dearest friend, my first patron and my Godfather, Mr. Darcy's father."
Wickham seized Elizabeth's hand and said, "I misled you when I suggested it was my reputation for which I worried. Mr. Darcy is my dear benefactor's son. It is for him that I worry. No matter how he may hurt me, I can never forget the beloved memory of his father. I feared, given your rightful anger against Mr. Darcy, that your sympathies could be better aroused if you believed I worried for myself, and not him. I know your kindness will not take offense at this."
Elizabeth drew her hand from Wickham's and brought it to her mouth to cover her smile. To use that argument. And after he had defamed Mr. Darcy himself. Mr. Wickham was a marvel. "I can take no offense at that, for your reticence was generated by the highest and most selfless of motives. I do understand, and I salute your desire to protect Mr. Darcy from the consequences of his actions. The love you hold for his father is a model. However, I cannot do as you wish."
Mr. Wickham's smile became chagrined as Elizabeth continued, "A man who deceives a gentlewoman, out of a desire to gain revenge against a man he ought to treat as a brother, ought to be punished. The love you bear for your Godfather binds your tongue. I know I shall never hear you speak against Mr. Darcy in any way — that love does not bind mine. An attempt was made to use my vanity to turn me into fool. Surely you see why I must spread the story about?"
"I understand you perfectly." Mr. Wickham's smile was fixed, but his manners did not fail him, and he showed Elizabeth a broad bow before he sought a new conversational partner, "Your goodness is remarkable and a model to us all. I shall speak no more on the subject."
Following this Wickham showed a marked disinclination for Elizabeth's company. He also ceased to acquire new clothing and the quality of his table deteriorated markedly.
Happy 2016 everyone!