Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Frerichs

Cross-posted on elizabethfrerichs dot com and wattpad

Elizabeth slumped in relief as she reached her room and closed the door. Between Lydia's recitation of the fish she had won and the fish she had lost and Mr. Collins's recounting of his gaming experience tonight and his astonishment at her aunt's hospitality, her ears were nigh on to bleeding.

The day had left her nearly wrung out as it was. Watching events unfold almost precisely the way they had in her visions left her even more bewildered than she had been this morning. Visions were—confusing, but not impossible. Dreams were unlikely, but still not entirely improbable. However, when Mr. Wickham had sat down next to her tonight, she had been able to mentally recite his telling of how Mr. Darcy had wronged him, nearly word for word.

Why did she know the story so well?

And why was Mr. Wickham telling it to her?

He had professed a wish not to sully the Darcy name in any way, yet the story he had shared to a perfect stranger seemed more detrimental to the Darcy name than anything else she had heard. Something seemed off. Although perhaps that was merely because she was so familiar with the story once he had begun telling it. For every sentence he had spoken, the following one had appeared in her memory. The foreknowledge had left her questioning if such a thing was even possible from a dream or vision. Her experience yesterday still felt too substantial to be mere dream or vision.

And, as if these repetitions were not enough, her mother was behaving oddly towards Mr. Collins. Even after his profession of "extending an olive branch" in his letter, Mrs. Bennet had not viewed his visit with any sort of equanimity. Rather, she had continued to rant about how wretched it was of him to come inspect Longbourn, presumably to inventory what would eventually be his and to lord his status over them.

Today, however, she had apparently spoken of Elizabeth's morning rambles to the man in such a way that he viewed them favourably, and she had pushed them to walk together to Meryton, unwilling to allow Elizabeth to simply remain at home. Even at breakfast, she had seated Elizabeth across from Mr. Collins.

The only thing that could put Mr. Collins in her good graces would be marrying one of her daughters, and Elizabeth suspected that her mother had chosen her least favourite daughter for the task. Hopefully, Papa would gainsay such a marriage or she could hint Mr. Collins in a different direction before the man actually proposed. Elizabeth pulled her nightgown on and sat in bed, under the blankets, awaiting her sister.

Jane's knock sounded on the door, and she called for her to enter. They had exchanged astonished glances when Mr. Wickham had been introduced, but had been unable to speak privately about Elizabeth's dream since.

Elizabeth fully expected her sister to bring up the matter, but she was no nearer any answers.

"Lizzy, I was never so surprised in my life as when Mr. Denny introduced Mr. Wickham."

"That makes two of us." Or, well, Elizabeth had not been precisely surprised since she had recognised the man on sight, but discovering that her recollections from yesterday had been so exact had given her a start. "What do you think it was, Jane? My dream, I mean?"

Jane frowned. "I do not know. I have not heard of anything of the sort—save in fairy tales."

Fairy tales. The words triggered another recollection. Mr. Darcy had said something about time behaving in a nonlinear fashion. What had that been?

Come to think of it, why had Mr. Darcy left the group to go speak to that old woman? He and Mr. Bingley had not returned to receive Mrs. Phillips's invitation, but she clearly recalled them attending the party the night before.

"Did you not say that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy attended Aunt's Phillips's party?" Jane asked.

"I did—though in my visions, they did not always attend, but I have no idea why that should change." Unless . . . . Goose-flesh rippled up her arms. Was Mr. Darcy also experiencing this repetition?

Jane clasped her shawl tighter around herself. "I wonder how long this phenomenon will continue—will you have a vision of tomorrow also? Or was there something important about today?"

Elizabeth shrugged helplessly. She had asked herself the same questions and had not yet come to any answers. "I do not know. The only unusual things about today were spending time with Mr. Collins and meeting Mr. Wickham."

The furrow in Jane's brow deepened. "It might not even become significant until some later date."

"What do you think of Mr. Wickham?"

Jane smiled. "He seems most congenial."

"He does, yes." Elizabeth hesitated. "But is he?"

"What do you mean?"

Elizabeth drew her knees up, hugging them to herself. "He told me of his connection with Mr. Darcy tonight."

"I thought it seemed as though they knew each other," Jane said.

Elizabeth barked a laugh. "They certainly had strong reactions, did they not? Mr. Wickham went positively whey-faced, and Mr. Darcy glared at him before immediately leaving and speaking to that old woman."

"What old woman?" Jane asked curiously.

"The woman down the street—she was nearly bent double and appeared to be lacking necessary resources. I wonder where she is staying. None of our tenants would be so obviously experiencing privation this early in the season."

Jane shook her head. "There was no old woman, Lizzy."

"Of course there was. Who did you think Mr. Darcy was speaking to?"

"He appeared to be talking to himself—I assumed he was overly distraught after encountering Mr. Wickham."

Elizabeth stilled. "You truly did not see her?"

Jane shook her head wordlessly.

Icy pricks trickled up Elizabeth's spine. Mr. Darcy had clearly been interacting with the woman. He had taken her arm and escorted her down the street. True, she had not seen the woman leave, but she had assumed that she had simply missed her departure and arrival. Concentrating on the face of the woman, she was able to bring up the flashes of visions that pertained to her; Mr. Darcy had several times gone to speak to her or helped her up when she stumbled.

But, just as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were not always in Meryton, the old woman was not always present either.

Why? Were Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and this woman all experiencing the same phenomenon as her?

"Well," she cleared her throat, "Mr. Wickham confided that he is the son of the late Mr. Darcy's steward and that he has been connected to the Darcys since his infancy. The most shocking thing though, if it is true: Mr. Darcy denied Mr. Wickham his inheritance."

Jane's brow creased. "I cannot imagine Mr. Darcy doing such a thing. There must have been some miscommunication between them."

"Mr. Wickham said that Mr. Darcy's father promised a valuable family living to him and that when the living fell vacant, Mr. Darcy refused to give it to him. It seems fairly clear-cut . . . except . . . ."

"Except what?"

"Perhaps I am simply too cynical for my own good, but when I asked why he had not sought legal redress, he said that out of his love for the father, he could never sully the Darcy name. If that were true, however, why was he telling such a damaging tale to one who is little more than a stranger? He does not know whether I will spread the tale all over Hertfordshire." She bit her lip. "I do not like Mr. Darcy, but I am not sure that he is as bad as all that." Yesterday, when she had spent the afternoon in bed, she could not help but question her own perceptions of the man. He was serious, dour even—and yet, she had clear memories of a brilliant smile on his face.

"It does seem odd," Jane agreed. "But I doubt he had any malicious intent—it probably shows what an excellent judge of character he is that he recognised a safe confidant in you."

Elizabeth suppressed a groan. Jane always saw the best in others, but it made it difficult to determine whether her concerns were reasonable. "I suppose that may be true. We shall simply have to spend more time with him to see whether he is trustworthy or not."

Jane smiled at her. "I doubt that would be a hardship. There were a great many disappointed young ladies when he chose to sit next to you."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes in thought. Why had Mr. Wickham chosen to sit next to her? Lydia and Kitty had showered him with attention when they met, and both girls had saved open seats next to them in hopes of being the favoured. "I certainly did not attempt to draw him in."

"You smiled at him. That was likely sufficient."

Elizabeth snorted delicately. "It was likely that he simply saw someone with whom he was already acquainted. One often gravitates towards a friendly face when one is in a new environment."

"Then why did he not simply accompany Mr. Denny to sit by Lydia and Kitty?"

"I do not know." The man bore watching.

"And what of Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked her sister after a few moments of discussing the party itself.

"What of Mr. Darcy? He did not attend."

"What do you think of him? We have seen him in close contact at Netherfield now, and I am curious to hear if your opinions have at all changed."

Jane gave her a bewildered look. "You spent far more time with him than I did. My opinions of him are the same as they have been for quite some time: he is shy and perhaps a bit proud, but not unkind."

Elizabeth nearly reminded her sister of the man's initial insult—she would not have considered such a comment to be "kind." However, Jane had already decided that Mr. Darcy had simply been having a bad evening that night; Mr. Bingley's dearest friend could not be wanting.

"What do you think of him?" Jane asked.

"I do not know," Elizabeth admitted. "If I had spoken to Mr. Wickham before my visions, I would have thought him to be proud indeed—" Disgust and anger filled her as a memory of the same conversation rose up within her. She had indeed thought Mr. Darcy a man of the worst sort in some of her visions. But . . . . "He is—I cannot make him out. I have seen him solicitous of others. Yet, I have also seen his pride."

"Perhaps he is merely aware of his status and family name," Jane suggested.

Elizabeth gave her a look. "His status and family name do not at all excuse the way that he struts around Hertfordshire, refusing to speak to anyone he deigns beneath his notice," she said firmly.

Why had Mr. Darcy stopped to speak to a beggar woman, had in fact left his friend to speak to her? Was it merely to escape Mr. Wickham? But why not simply ride away—no one would fault him for not stopping. Well, they might fault him, but no one would expect anything different.

And why had he spoken to her yesterday? He had intentionally sought her out and seemed concerned about her headache. Why?

Did he believe she was now more tolerable? Or perhaps he simply enjoyed plaguing her. His smile flashed through her mind's eye. It was entirely genuine. He did not seem like the sort of gentleman to do anything he did not enjoy.

After all, he had no difficulty avoiding dancing when he lacked a suitable partner.

"I am certain that further acquaintance with him will lead to a clearer view of his character," Jane said.

"I doubt it," Elizabeth replied. "Frankly, I am surprised he has spent as much time in Hertfordshire as he has. After his obvious distaste with the inhabitants—"

"You mean his shyness," Jane said firmly. "Mr. Bingley says that his friend is not comfortable in social situations but is quite congenial when he is surrounded by friends and family."

Elizabeth nearly protested out of habit. "Still, even if it is distaste for the situation and not for those who are present, he does not need to act as though he is better than everyone."

Jane clasped her hands in front of her on the bed. "I do not think he is acting as though he is better; I believe Mr. Darcy is just so uncomfortable that he avoids speaking to anyone. Perhaps he is used to others taking advantage of his wealth and connections."

For a moment, Elizabeth tried to put herself in his shoes. The man had inherited his estate at a young age; perhaps some had thought that his youth would leave him unwary to various schemes . . . had he fallen prey to unscrupulous persons? And only his dour mien had prevented her own mother from hunting him like a wolf after a sick elk.

From what little she had observed at her uncle's emporium, the ton was—rather shallow. Women like Miss Bingley likely plagued Mr. Darcy.

If she were in his position, she too might be a bit wary and standoff-ish. Perhaps Mr. Darcy could never relax simply because he never knew who might attempt to take advantage of the momentary lapse.

What a wretched way to live!

But no one hereabouts would try to take advantage of him; no one would wish to risk losing a new, wealthy resident. Mr. Bingley's more easy-going nature left him open to manipulation (and he was probably manipulated by his friend and his sisters if her observations at Netherfield had been accurate), but Mr. Darcy was made of sterner stuff.

"I shall take your suggestion under advisement," Elizabeth promised.

Jane smiled. "Do try not to judge him too harshly. Mr. Bingley likes him quite a lot."

"And you would not wish me to be at odds with his dearest friend lest it affect your marriage prospects," Elizabeth teased.

Jane looked down modestly. "I do like Mr. Bingley—he is kind and generous and truly cares about others."

"Do not worry, Jane. I shall not do anything to annoy Mr. Darcy any more than he has annoyed me."

Jane gave her a stern look, and Elizabeth laughed.

A/N: I'm still sick, so posting may still be a bit wonky this week. Thanks for reading and engaging! I love hearing what you guys think about this story :)

And thanks to Emme for beta-ing this chapter!