Author's note: Well, NaNoWriMo did NOT go how I'd hoped - just too many sick kids back to back to back. But hopefully everyone is on the mend, and I can get back to this story. Enjoy!

Chapter 14

Wickham sat back and shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know all the details, so anything I say might be more akin to gossip than anything else."

"Oh, yes, of course," she said as she sat back as well, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Although, I was witness to some of it first-hand. It may not be fit for a gentlewoman's ears, however, so perhaps it's best I not say anything at all. After all, the world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, and anything I might say against him would not necessarily be well-received."

How unfair it was of the major to say something like this without actually revealing any information! Propriety demanded she not push any further, but Elizabeth's curiosity burned deep inside of her. Carefully, she said, "I cannot speak for the entire world, but Mr. Darcy is not at all liked here in Hertfordshire. Everyone is quite disgusted with his pride."

Wickham nodded, but then he began to speak on more general topics: Meryton, the neighborhood, and the society. He appeared highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and he spoke of the latter, especially, with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.

"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society which was my chief inducement to be transferred to Hertfordshire from the regulars. I was injured quite badly in the Siege of Almeida -"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "I remembering reading about that battle in the papers. Were you near where the explosion occurred?"

Wickham grimaced. "I was just to the south of the magazine that blew. Fortunately, I only took shrapnel in the arm. It was enough to send me home for good, but I was still strong enough to pull several men to safely, including many of my commanding officers. We were then able to hide before the fortress was surrendered to the French."

"How brave you were!"

"Well, it allowed me to keep my field promotions, for which I am very grateful. You know, I wouldn't have even been there if it hadn't been for the Darcys."

"Really?" Elizabeth did her best to mask her interest.

"Indeed. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have made it necessary. The church ought to have been my profession - it was what I was brought up for. I was promised a valuable living, but that promise was broken by the late Mr. Darcy."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, he was my godfather, and he was excessively attached to me. Fitzwilliam and I were born just a few months apart in the same parish, within the same park even! The greatest part of our youth was passed together: inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. We were practically raised in the same nursery, spending endless days together in fun and amusement."

"But -"

"You never would have guessed, given the cold manner of greeting?"

Elizabeth shook her head, and Wickham gave her a sad smile. "My father began life with the same profession as your uncle, Mr. Philips. He gave everything up, however, to be the steward to the late Mr. Darcy. He devoted all of his time to the care of Pemberley, and he was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy as a most intimate, confidential friend."

"Then why -"

"When Fitzwilliam and I were about twelve years of age, Lady Anne Darcy - Fitzwilliam's mother - gave birth to a child. This where I am unsure of the particulars, other than Lady Anne was confined to her chambers after the birth and my father was accused of being the child's natural parent."

Elizabeth gasped, and her hands flew to her face. Her cheeks burned underneath the palms of her hands as she whispered, "How terrible!"

"None of it was true, but Mr. Darcy sent my father away without a recommendation. As my father had given up all of his clients in order to serve the Pemberley estate - and the accusations made us unwelcome in the whole of Derbyshire - we were forced to relocate to another county. Without references, or even a quarter's pay, we were reduced to quite an appalling state of poverty that I, a youth just becoming a man, had little experience with."

"How abominable! Was there no recourse?"

Wickham shook his head. "I pleaded with Fitzwilliam to reason with his father, but our friendship apparently not as resilient as I had believed it to be. The affection, it seemed, was all on my side. Later, I heard my parents discussing a letter they had received from a friend in Lambton - that's the small village near Pemberley, much like Meryton, in fact. Apparently, Lady Anne was never seen in public again."

"What, never?"

"She died a year later, from what little I know. My own excellent father died not long thereafter, as did my mother. All that was left for me was to sign up as a drummer until I could enlist in the Regulars. It was that or the sea, and I do not much care for water."

"This is all quite shocking!" declared Elizabeth furiously. "The late Mr. Darcy deserves to be publicly disgraced!"

"Some time or another he will be, but it shall not be by me Until I can forget his kindness to me as a boy, I can never expose it. All I can think is that some terrible tragedy must have occurred to make his lose his mind."

Elizabeth honored him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.

"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive? what can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"

"I often wondered if the reason Fitzwilliam did not stand up for me to his father were because he was jealous of the attention and affection I received from him, and he told him tales about my father and his mother in order to drive a wedge between our families."

"Why in heaven's name would he have done that?"

"A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me. He, who was allowed everything he ever desired, was jealous of my easiness with his father, and he sought to punish me for it."

"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him—I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!"

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "For the late Mr. Darcy to treat his godson in such an infamous manner! For his son to be so vicious towards his friend!"

She could have added, "A young man, too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable." But she contented herself with, "And one, too, who had probably been his own companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner."

There was a pause, then Elizabeth said, "I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley. How can Mr. Bingley, who seems good-humor itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

"Not at all."

"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man; at least, from all appearances, he is. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is."

"Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be an amiable companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honorable, and, perhaps, agreeable,—allowing something for fortune and figure."

At that point, a table of whist broke up, and the players began to move about the room. Charlotte Lucas came over to greet Elizabeth and be introduced to Wickham, whose flattery put the elder girl to the blush.

The three continued talking together with mutual satisfaction until another round of cards put an end to the tete a tete, and the rest of the ladies demanded their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions. There could be no more private conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips's party, but his manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, was done gracefully.

When the evening came to a close, Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way to Netherfield.

It wasn't until she came around the last bend that it occurred to her to be more concerned about Jane in Darcy's company rather than Bingley's. After all, a man who would lie about his own mother's good name wouldn't hesitate to lie about his friend's.

She began to tap her toes anxiously in the carriage, mentally urging the coachman forward. With each sound of the horse's hooves on the gravel, she pleaded with them to move faster. Those entreaties were intermingled with prayers to the Almighty to keep her sister safe from harm.

Each jostle of the carriage seemed to echo the tumult of her thoughts, her anxiety intensifying with the increasing distance from the revelry of the party, which now felt trivial in comparison to her sister's health. The night outside was dark and still, a stark contrast to the storm of concern raging within her. Her hands, usually so steady, were clasped tightly in her lap, the knuckles white, as if by sheer will she could ensure Jane's safety.

Every moment away from Jane seemed an eternity, and Elizabeth's heart ached with the fear of what she might find upon her arrival. The uncertainty was the worst part, the not knowing if Jane's condition had worsened in her absence, and it gnawed at her with unrelenting persistence, leaving her feeling helpless and desperate to be by her sister's side.

It was all Elizabeth could do to wait for the footman to open the door to the carriage and hand her out, as opposed to her flinging the door open herself and racing for the front door.

She forced herself to moderate her steps and gracefully walk up the path. When the door opened and she saw Grantham's face, she whispered, "How is she?"

Remaining stoic, he gave her a small wink and nod, then gestured towards the stairs with a quick tilt of his head. Elizabeth released the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. "Thank you, Grantham."

In the bright candlelight of the front entryway, her fears were wiped away. She gave a little laugh and shook her head at the ridiculousness of her thoughts.

The wine and Major Wickham's stories have not done my imagination any favors tonight, she thought with a rueful smile.

"Your aunt's party seems to have had its intended effect."

Elizabeth's smile widened at Mrs. Hurst's words and made her way down the hall towards the drawing room, where Mrs. Hurst stood in the door frame, waving a beckoning hand in a come-hither motion.

She entered the room and found Bingley and Darcy engrossed in a chess game, while Hurst snored on a settee in the corner. The gentlemen - those who were awake - stood upon her arrival and bowed.

"I need not ask if you enjoyed yourself," Bingley remarked with a beaming grin before retaking his seat.

"Your sister said nearly the same thing," Elizabeth said with a small laugh. "Time with family and friends was quite pleasant, thank you. How is Jane?"

"Your sister is doing quite well," Mrs. Hurst responded. "She spent a pleasant hour playing spillikins with us, and then I escorted her to her rooms when she began to show signs of fatigue. I believe your manservant is outside her chambers even now."

"I am amazed you were all able to tolerate the game for as long as an hour! It is Jane's favorite game, but I confess that my family tires of it easily at Longbourn."

"Darcy had never played before," Bingley said. "We offered to teach him, but he chose to read a book, instead."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and turned an astonished gaze at the tall gentleman. "You never played spillikins as a child, Mr. Darcy?"

To her surprise, his face flushed slightly. His voice was stiff as he said, "My nurse felt it important to focus on my studies, and then I was sent to school. There were few opportunities to play."

Her brow furrowed at this contrasting description to what Major Wickham had told her earlier. "I had understood from a childhood friend of yours that your youth was filled with… I believe his exact words were 'fun and amusement'."

The pink tinge in Darcy's face faded to white. After several long moments of silence, he replied in a strangled voice, "Mr. Wickham's memories of our childhood may be somewhat altered by the lens of prejudice and strong emotions, like resentment."

"Are you certain that resentment is all on his side?" The challenge in Elizabeth's voice was unmistakable, and the air fairly crackled with electricity as the two stared into one another's eyes.

"Would it not be advisable to hear all of the facts before determining who carries more resentment?"

"By all means," cried Bingley, "let us hear all of the particulars! Please do not forget to include each party's height and size, for that will factor in most in the argument! Miss Elizabeth, I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow in comparison with myself, I would not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do.""

With the tension thus broken, the room dissolved into quite laughter. Even Darcy smiled, but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended.

"I see your design, Bingley," Darcy said. "You dislike an argument, and wish to silence this conversation."

"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me."

"That is no sacrifice on my part," Elizabeth replied with a smile, "as it is past time for me to turn in for the night. I am glad to hear that Jane felt well enough to be belowstairs for as long as she was."

"It was truly a joy to spend time in her company," Bingley said, rising to his feet when Elizabeth stood to leave the room. "I hope it to be the first evening of many spent together."

Elizabeth acknowledged his statement with a nod, then bid them all a good night. As she left the room, she resisted the urge to remain in the hall and eavesdrop on the conversation. While it might reveal more of their true natures, thinking her gone, it would also be most unbecoming and unladylike of her to listen at the doorknob. Instead, she decided to go upstairs and relieve Jamie of his duties for the night.

The young man was sitting on a comfortable-looking chair outside of Jane's room, his arms crossed awkwardly across his chest. Though his eyes were closed in an appearance of sleep, they immediately flew open upon hearing her footsteps approach, and his relaxed frame was instantly alert.

"That was kind of Mr. Bingley to have a chair brought for you," she remarked.

He shook his head. "The footman said it was Mr. Darcy who ordered it."

Her eyebrows raised high on her brow. "Was it indeed?"

She filed this new information away with all of the other tidbits she had learned about the enigmatic man from Derbyshire. She was hearing so many varying accounts of him as to confuse her exceedingly, but she knew her present exhaustion would do her no good in reconciling each of his many facets.

Elizabeth bid Jamie a good night, then went in to check on Jane. A maid sat in the corner, working on some mending. At Elizabeth's look of surprise, the girl said, "Mr. Bingley wishes someone to be available at all times, in case Miss Bennet is needing anything."

"But when will you sleep?"

"Oh, he has hired more servants to tend to the daytime duties."

Her heart warmed at this further evidence of Bingley's genuine nature. If he were playing a role, he was doing a very thorough job.

While Jane's features were still pale with blue-tinged lips, she was sleeping soundly. Elizabeth finally felt enough at ease to fall into sleep.

Later, in the cozy drawing room of Netherfield, Elizabeth, Bingley, and Mrs. Hurst were gathered around a table set for a game of spillikins. Darcy stood by, observing the setup with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

Bingley, ever the enthusiast, was the first to break the silence. "Darcy, you must join us for a game of spillikins. It's quite diverting!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with the prospect of the challenge.

Darcy raised an eyebrow, his usual composure unshaken. "Spillikins? I confess I am not acquainted with this game," he admitted, a hint of intrigue in his voice.

Elizabeth, smiling, took it upon herself to explain. "It is quite simple, Mr. Darcy," she said. "See, here are the spillikins, a collection of small sticks, scattered on the table."

Mrs. Hurst, gracefully picking up a tweezers, added, "The aim is to remove a spillikin from the heap without disturbing any of the others. It requires a steady hand." Her tone was light, inviting Darcy to join in the amusement.

"And how does one win this game?" Darcy inquired, his curiosity now clearly piqued.

"The person who collects the most spillikins without causing any movement among the others is declared the winner," Bingley replied, chuckling. "It's not as easy as it looks!"

Elizabeth's eyes twinkled as she watched Darcy contemplate the game. "Indeed, it requires patience and a delicate touch. It is a test of dexterity," she remarked, her tone playful yet encouraging.

Darcy finally allowed a slight smile to cross his face. "A delicate touch? I will leave it to you, Miss Bennet, to determine just how…. delicate my touch can be."

His dark eyes bored into hers as he spoke, and she felt a warm tingling sensation spread from the pit of her stomach throughout her body. She glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice the deliberate emphasis with which he caressed the words.

Mrs. Hurst handed him the tweezers with a flourish. "We use these tweezers to pick up the spillikins. Here, Mr. Darcy, you may try first," she offered, gesturing towards the scattered sticks.

Taking the tweezers in hand, Darcy leaned over the table, his concentration evident as he made his first attempt. The others watched with a mix of amusement and anticipation. He deftly reached forward and gently removed a stick from the pile.

As he slowly withdrew the spilikin, he lifted his eyes to hers once more. Her breath caught as he slid the stick out from the pile ever so slowly. She licked her lips, her mouth having gone dry, and his eyes darkened into a bottomless pit. She was falling, falling, falling…

Elizabeth sat up, gasping for breath. She looked wildly around, then realized she was in her chambers at Netherfield. The sun was only barely beginning to peek through the curtains.

It had all been a dream. Pressing her hands up to cool her heated cheeks, she shook her head to clear away the lingering yearnings that remained.

Why on earth would she dream something so wanton… especially about Mr. Darcy, of all people?

It was not to be borne!