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"Miss G, what do you think you're doing?"
Georgiana hurriedly turned from her station by the bedroom window as Martha appeared in the doorway, arms folded and looking very cross.
"You should be in your nice warm bed, not standing before that drafty window!" the housekeeper scolded. "I'll not have you make yourself even more ill."
"Martha..."
"Don't you Martha' me!" She waggled her finger at the girl. "Get you back in bed where you belong. I'll bring up some hot coals and a cup of chocolate."
Georgiana, not feeling up to an argument, meekly crawled back under the covers. The minute she touched the ticking, she felt utterly exhausted. The cold she was fighting was more draining than she had supposed. Martha built up the fire, smoothed the sheets, and plumped the pillows, chiding her all the while.
"Why, your brother will have fits if he finds out that you were risking your health in such a manner. I can't imagine why you'd sacrifice the comfort of this bed to look out the window in the first place. Tis not as if the scenery changed overnight."
Georgiana only smiled and let the housekeeper vent. There was something very pleasing about being fussed over this way like something her own mother might have once done. It made her feel strangely at home.
Or perhaps she was home. As Martha left to fetch the chocolate, still mumbling under her breath about reckless girls with bad chills, Georgiana realized that she now couldn't imagine returning to Derbyshire, no matter how much she loved it. Her place was here, in Hertfordshire, with her brother and Martha and Dr. Lawrence. They were her family, and wherever they were, she wanted to be too. If Reverend Fallows were only here with them, everything would be perfect.
Well, maybe not only Reverend Fallows. Her gaze fell on the bouquet of wildflowers on her bedside table. They had been sent just that afternoon by Richard Goulding, who had heard she was feeling poorly. She thought it a very thoughtful gesture but resolved not to mention who had sent it if her brother should take notice. She doubted that Will would appreciate her receiving two such presents in one week, courtesy of the same young man.
"I do like him," she said aloud. "He is a sensible, amusing young man. There is nothing wrong with admiration, is there?"
Sir Francis, ensconced in a cozy cocoon of blankets, lifted his head and answered her with a sleepy quack before burrowing his bill back under the covers. Georgiana followed suit and lay back with a sigh. Oh, but she hated being ill!
Martha promptly reappeared with the mug of chocolate and declared that her patient should drink all of it. Georgiana had barely taken a sip before she heard her brother's firm footfalls on the staircase.
He came into her chambers immediately, still wearing his evening coat and appearing much wearied. He smiled to see her sitting up and came over to sit on the edge of the bed. "You are feeling well?" He put his hand to her forehead to test for fever.
"I am well. There is only a little headache now."
Martha curtsied to Darcy and quietly departed the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the two siblings to talk.
"So tell me, Will, about the party. I have been anxious to hear about it all evening."
He smiled. "Everyone was in their best looks. There was a great deal of good conversation, fine food, and music. I danced a few sets and then spent the rest of the evening sitting in the corner with a very stupid expression indeed."
She laughed. "You tease me mercilessly! Truly, what did you do?"
"I should much rather have been in the corner, but Sir William declared that I must play at whist. I lost spectacularly you would have been proud of me, my dear. I didn't win a single match and had the lowest tally in most of them."
"You always were unlucky at cards. Tis fortunate that there was no betting."
"I could not have wagered even if there had been. My career is eminently suited for my disinclination for cards. It provides the perfect excuse."
"And who did you dance with?" she prodded.
"One with Miss Long, one with Miss Maria Lucas, and two with Miss Lucas."
"And?"
"And what?"
She gave him a disgruntled look.
He grinned. "And two with Miss Elizabeth, of course. Did I not mention that?"
She would have pinched him if she wasn't so tired. "How was Miss Elizabeth?"
"She seems fine, and was as lovely as ever."
"Did you not speak to her?"
He shrugged. "During the dance, yes, but we did not have a chance for much private conversation, for her time and attention were diverted by..." He hesitated.
Georgiana sensed that something very wrong had happened. She reached to touch her brother's hand. "Will? Did you and Miss Elizabeth quarrel?"
He smiled tightly. "No, though it might have been better if we had. Georgiana, there was an unexpected guest at the Lucases' tonight. It was an arrival I would much rather have not been witness to."
Anxiety gripped Georgiana. There was only one person whose presence could inspire such sentiments in her brother.
"Wickham?" she whispered.
He nodded.
When she said nothing more, he added, "I did not wish to tell you I would not cause you distress for anything but I know that I cannot shelter you forever. You are bound to meet sometime. I am so sorry, dearest."
"There is nothing to apologize for, Will."
"I pray he does not stay long, for all our sakes."
"Why is he here? I don't believe he has relations in Hertfordshire."
"The colonel of the militia quartered in Meryton is one of his friends." He scanned his sister's pale, composed face. "Will you manage, Georgiana? I could ask Reverend Fallows if you might pay a visit, just until Wickham returns to London..."
"I will not run from him," she said sharply. "Will, do you not trouble yourself. It was a long time ago."
"Last summer."
"A long time ago," she repeated firmly, "and I do not think of it. I have forgiven him for his offenses, Will. He hurt me, but it was not a wound of lasting duration. I wish you could forgive him. I know it weighs upon you."
"I wish I could too. Lord knows I have tried. But what he said to you..."
She put her hand on his arm to stop him, for she could see he was growing angry. "Let it be. I will avoid him all I can, and when I cannot, I will pay him only the courtesy his status deserves. Have no fear for me or my heart."
"You are a brave girl," he said affectionately, taking hold of the fingers that lay on his sleeve. "There are not many in this world who can and will forgive so generously, including your brother, who preaches about mercy and yet finds it so hard to give." He sighed. "You are a far better creature than I - and I am enormously proud of you."
"Oh, but that is not true!" she protested. "There is no man so kind and good as you, nor so..."
He gently interrupted her. "I was not begging for compliments, Georgiana." After a brief pause, he added, "I will try my best to appear unaffected in his company, for I certainly did not this evening. I let my temper rule me, and acted the fool before everyone. I'm sure I must have seemed ridiculous."
Georgiana knew that everyone' referred to one particular person. "You can go and talk to her tomorrow. There is always an opportunity."
He regarded her quietly. "You know, don't you?"
"I do." She laid a tender hand against his cheek. "Oh, Will, do be careful. Guard yourself well."
He shook his head sadly. "At this point, my dear sister, precaution has come too late."
Mr. Collins was in a state of dreadful indecision. His most exalted patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had charged him with the duty of finding a wife at Longbourn. It should have been simple, for there were five eligible candidates, but the trouble was in choosing which one to favor with his attentions.
His sights, predictably, had settled first on Miss Jane, but after Mrs. Bennet had quietly taken him aside to explain the girl's involvement with Mr. Bingley, Mr. Collins had scratched Miss Bennet off his list of matrimonial prospects.
Number Two was a fair-looking alternative, but eventually it even was pounded through his thick head that Miss Elizabeth was not interested. In truth, she frightened him a deal more than he would admit.
The two youngest girls must also be excluded, for Miss Lydia was always laughing about something far too loud for a clergyman's wife and Miss Kitty seemed struck with such coughing fits that he feared she must be ailing, and it certainly would not do to bring sickness back to Rosings Park.
So, that left Miss Mary Bennet, who, although she was not so pleasant to look at as her sisters, was possessed of a stolid and submissive demeanor that was bound to please Lady Catherine. Besides, had not Lady Catherine oft spoken on the advantages of a quiet, obedient wife?
Yes, the choice must be Miss Mary. When this course was decided upon, Mr. Collins set to work on the onerous task of wooing.
This prospect was viewed with much amusement by Mr. Bennet and his second eldest daughter. Mr. Collins had no notion of how to show a hint of romantic interest toward his cousin, and Mary, having had no suitors before, was oblivious to his efforts. What resulted was a very strange pattern of unsubtle speeches and maneuvers by Mr. Collins, which were promptly ignored by the object of his affections.
"Young men these days have no understanding of the delicate business of courting," Mr. Bennet had commented one afternoon, upon observing Mr. Collins chase Mary about the garden in repeated attempts to draw her into conversation. "Why, Jane's Mr. Bingley was entirely too open about the matter, and Mr. Collins is entirely too enthusiastic. When you should make some fellow fall in love with you, Lizzy, be sure he does it in a sensible manner. I should hate to see Longbourn besieged with any more moonstruck gentlemen."
Finally, after much effort, vexation, and failure, Mr. Collins struck upon the key to Miss Mary's heart: books.
It happened quite by accident. Mr. Collins had heard Mary mention to Jane that a new volume of religious prose was being reprinted. It was a tome she did not own, and she feared the lending library would not receive it for many more months. The disappointment he detected in her words spurred an idea forth: with his connections, he could order one straight from the printer! Surely that would make his coy cousin take notice!
He sent off the order directly, and when it arrived a week later, he presented it to Mary with a peculiar mixture of shyness and pomposity. Intrigued despite herself, she had made minimal protests at receiving such an improper gift before yielding willingly to his encouragement.
Mary immediately took up the revealed book with a look of glowing delight. "Volume II of Fordyce's Sermons! Mr. Collins, this is very generous! I shall read it at once and commit its valuable lessons to memory."
Mr. Collins beamed, wiping at his forehead with his handkerchief. "I was hoping, Cousin Mary, that I might be allowed the honor of reading a passage or two to you this afternoon."
Mary smiled shyly, clutching the book to her bosom. "It would give me great pleasure, Mr. Collins." She blushed.
Lydia made a retching sound from behind the unmindful couple, earning her a reproving look from Jane. Kitty stifled a giggle.
"Well, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet said wryly, watching his cousin and middle-born daughter bend over the book in avid conversation, "it appears to me that we two are witnessing a great meeting of the minds."
He was given opportunity to chuckle again just two days later, when the eager suitor came to apply for Mary's hand. Mrs. Bennet's joy upon the occasion of receiving the first offer of marriage for one of her daughters was boundless. She congratulated Mr. Collins warmly and praised Mary to the skies, all her past dislike for the parson forgotten in the deluge of wedding plans.
It was a strange yet well-suited match when one considered it. Mr. Collins had managed to convince himself he was in love with his cousin, and Mary was simply glad for the chance to be the center of attention for perhaps the first time in her life. It was not so grand as Jane's catch, but a marriage proposal was definitely superior in Mrs. Bennet's eyes to a mere request for courtship. No, until Bingley finally took it upon himself to apply for consent to marriage, Mrs. Bennet's focus would be upon her middle daughter's success.
Longbourn saw many visitors in the days after the match was made, both well-wishers and otherwise. Mr. Collins did not tarry long, for he went posthaste back to Rosings to inform Lady Catherine in person of his attachment, promising to return to his beloved before the next week was out. The absence of the bridegroom-to-be, however, did not stop the flow of callers.
One such visit threw Mrs. Bennet into fits: Colonel Forster paid an afternoon call with two of his officers...and Mr. Wickham. The honor of having a man of ten thousand a year' proved well-nigh fatal to the matron, for all her daughters became convinced that one more bit of excitement might very well give her heart spasms. She turned the house nearly on its end to have everything perfect for the visit, and she was constantly fretting about the girls' hair and gowns, unable to settle down for a moment.
The long-awaited quartet arrived promptly at three. Colonel Forster was drawn into conversation with Mrs. Bennet and Jane, and Kitty and Lydia, preferring the company of officers to a gentleman no matter how wealthy or handsome commandeered Lieutenant Denny and Captain Carter for themselves. Mary was absorbed in her book, so Elizabeth was left to the task of entertaining Mr. Wickham.
It was not a disagreeable undertaking, for the gentleman was as amiable as on the evening he had first been presented to her, and he looked as fine in a morning coat as he had in his full evening wear. He was a skilled conversationalist, and she found herself drawn into his lively, ironic tales despite herself. She had been resolved upon disliking him after his insinuations about Mr. Darcy's character, but as the hour passed and he made no mention of the curate, Elizabeth decided that his slip of manners the night before must have been due to some ill-humor.
"The evening we met you asked me how I liked Hertfordshire, if you recall," Mr. Wickham said, accepting the cup of tea she offered him as they sat down together on the settee, "and I was unable to give you a definitive answer."
"I do recall it. Do you now have that answer?"
He smiled. "Indeed, I do. My friend Forster took me around the countryside hereabouts, and I must admit that the scenery is simply marvelous. I am no great admirer of nature, I am ashamed to admit, yet even a man as aesthetically blind as I cannot fail to see its merit."
"You are bold to admit such faults, for your disinclination for the countryside would not be popular with most here," Elizabeth teased.
"You twist my words, madam," he declared with mock offense. "I never professed a disinclination for the countryside I merely admitted to my own deficiency in differentiating between the natural and the artificial."
"Now you perplex me," she said. "How can a man of sense and education not appreciate the distinction between a potted hyacinth and a wild rose?"
One eyebrow quirked. "Perhaps I am not quite so impaired as that. I speak instead of the true adoration of some for the untamed wilderness. I have not that talent but greatly admire those who do."
"I would not call it a talent, for it is a skill that can be learned."
"Ah, my dear madam, but the talent lies in having the patience to learn the skill."
Elizabeth laughed. "You do truly confuse me, sir. You are almost as ridiculous as..." She broke off in genuine confusion and looked somewhat discomposed.
"As...?" he prompted.
"It is of no matter." She busied herself with straightening the folds of her skirt. "Now, may I pour you more tea? Or would you like something to eat?"
"I am quite content, thank you." His eyes studied her intently. "You are a very intriguing young woman, Miss Bennet."
She found herself uncomfortable at such a frank and abrupt appraisal. Fidgeting in her chair as she had not done since she was a girl, she was vastly relieved when Colonel Forster declared that the hour was late and they all should return to the camp. Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters protested mightily, but the colonel was politely determined, and in no time at all, the four men were bundling back into their cloaks and hats.
Mr. Wickham made his hostess a very courtly goodbye and seemed to linger long at Elizabeth's hand. "I hope," he said quietly, as the others milled about nearby, "that we may have further opportunity to acquaint ourselves, Miss Elizabeth."
She nodded and smiled faintly, and he brushed one more kiss across her knuckles. Colonel Forster called cheerfully for his friend, and Wickham at last released her and followed his friend out the door, leaving behind one very satisfied Mrs. Bennet and one very distressed Elizabeth.
The following Monday was a wonderful day for Jane. Bingley had been in London for his sister's wedding the past week, and she had deeply felt the loss of his company, though she tried her hardest to appear unaffected and serene. His letter, full of affection and written about four days into his absence, helped assuage the emptiness his departure had caused, but this message, just arrived in the morning, brought even more solace.
The news had come that he was traveling back to Hertfordshire that very day! Of course, this happy information was somewhat dimmed by the fact that the newly-wedded couple and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst would accompany him, but it is always said that the bad must come with the good -- though Jane would never voice that thought aloud.
Elizabeth held even less enthusiasm for the return of the former Miss Bingley. The only redeeming thing in the return, she decided, was that Bingley had generously invited his beloved and her family to a supper welcoming his sister and her new husband to Netherfield and he had also invited the Darcys.
Jane was in an uncharacteristic tizzy as the hour for departure drew near. She repeatedly called Elizabeth over to see if some ribbon or tie seemed crooked or if a ringlet was not properly curled. Elizabeth, amused to see her placid sister in such a state, reassured her again and again that she looked beautiful and that Mr. Bingley would be delighted to see her once more.
Elizabeth took care with her dress as well, noting wryly that she had never taken so much caution with her wardrobe before. She knew not why it was important that she look her best when she was around Darcy, but at the moment, she was too distracted to puzzle it out.
When the hour struck, Elizabeth herded her sister down the stairs and into the carriage. Jane was restless the entire way, repeatedly lifting the window-shade as if she expected Netherfield to suddenly appear along the roadside. Mrs. Bennet entertained herself with admonishments and advice to Jane about how she should conduct herself in front of Bingley.
"He surely missed you, my dear," she announced for the seventh time," and you must not give him reason to regret his pining. You must be everything charming, Jane, and be sure to ask him all about his journey and how he spent his time in Town. Men love to talk about themselves, you know, and it will keep him occupied for the rest of the night. Bless me, he may even propose! What a lovely notion and so soon after Mary's match!"
Jane didn't hear a word her mother said, but as she nodded at appropriate intervals, Mrs. Bennet was content. Elizabeth could only smile at her sister's inattention. So this is what love does to people? she mused. An affliction that makes men rash and women preoccupied?
The unavoidable observation that Jane was not the only girl in the Bennet household to fall distract over the past weeks disconcerted her. She twisted her gloved hands together and stared out at the sliver of moonlight beyond the shade. Could she...? Could he...?
"There he is, Jane!" Mrs. Bennet's shriek rent Elizabeth's thoughts asunder. "He is come to greet you! Straighten your gown, child your hair! Fix your hair!"
A mightily flustered Jane was pinched and prodded to her mother's satisfaction before the carriage came to a stop. Elizabeth peered out the window and saw that Mr. Bingley was indeed waiting on the portico. When the coach stopped, he hastened forward, his grin visible even in the poor light. He greeted Mrs. Bennet and the others warmly, but it was clear that his thoughts were consumed with Jane.
His greeting to her was everything affectionate and loverly, and, tucking her arm into his, he proudly escorted her inside, where the rest of the party awaited them. Mrs. Bennet and the girls trailed behind, and the matron was filled with joy at the sight of Jane on Bingley's arm. "Do you see what a fine pair they make?" she demanded of no one in particular. "See how well Jane looks at his side? She is meant to be mistress of Netherfield of that there is no doubt. Dear Bingley and she are so well-suited."
They went directly to the parlor, where the guests were already gathered. Elizabeth's eyes flew instantly over the other faces to one lone figure, who sat by the windows.
Darcy glanced up at the sound of footsteps. He started to rise from his chair, but as Miss Elizabeth stepped into the room, he was quite unable to move. She was staring straight at him, with such a look in her eyes as left him breathless. He found himself staring back until a flush rushed up into her cheeks and neck. Still he could not pull himself away. It was as if a cord were tied from him to her every time he attempted to move away, it pulled upon that bond between them.
As though his legs had a mind of their own, he numbly walked over to her, oblivious to the others in the room. He saw her eyes widen and heard her breath come short, and it took every ounce of his willpower to stop sedately in front of her.
"Miss Elizabeth." He lifted her hand for a kiss, and both of them trembled.
Elizabeth gripped his hand when he started to pull away. Her action had been impetuous, but its effects were anything but. Charged silence enveloped them as slowly, slowly, he returned the pressure of her fingers, enfolding her delicate hand in his large one.
"Miss Elizabeth, you must come and meet my brothers and sisters!" Bingley came up beside them and offered her his arm. "You won't mind my stealing Miss Elizabeth, will you, Darcy?"
"Not at all." Darcy gave her one last smile before Bingley steered her over to the circle of chairs and couches were the others were visiting. Elizabeth, privately wishing to smite the man for his ill-timed interference, was relieved to see Miss Darcy sitting on the chaise next to Mary.
"Georgiana, dear!" Elizabeth gave her friend a kiss. "You are quite recovered?"
"I am. The tonic you sent took away my cough instantly. Thank you. I am sorry I was not up to a visit when you came."
Elizabeth shook her head. "There is no need to apologize. You are well now, and we may talk as much as we like."
The girls smiled at each other, their easy camaraderie evoked in an instant. Bingley called everyone in to dinner, and Elizabeth was delighted to see that she was placed next to Mr. Darcy and across from Georgiana - and far away from their hostess.
The new title of Lady Burquist had given Miss Bingley an even greater regard for her own station and importance. Never mind that Lord Burquist was about as dull and lazy as it is possible for a man of nine-and-forty to be - she was a countess, and that was all that mattered.
Indeed, the first time she arrived to visit her brother after her marriage, he almost did not recognize her under the mask of expensive cosmetics and the wreath of feathers about her head. With her elevated position, she could afford every frippery she wished and had the influence to wear it whenever it struck her fancy without censure.
Lady Burquist behaved much as she had as Miss Bingley, however. She treated her brother with condescension, the staff with no patience at all. Her fatuous husband alternately followed her about like a devoted puppy or, troubled by persistent gout, reclined on a chair to sleep.
Bingley's other sister and her husband offered no respite from superior manners either. Louisa Hurst was a shorter, slightly more polite version of her younger sister, and Mr. Hurst, though he seemed very fond of his food and wine, said nothing either rude or welcoming, choosing instead to nod in their direction and return his attention to his plate.
Despite all of Elizabeth's hopes, the dinner, which had started out so promisingly, was a disaster. When it was not Lady Burquist making snide allusions about her guests, it was Mrs. Bennet herself who was mortifying her daughters.
Her first item of business was to make extraordinarily unsubtle hints about engagements. She compared the countess's wedding with "one that will surely follow" and warned Bingley that young ladies particularly ones so handsome as Jane could not be made to wait forever.
When she had finished with this vein, she turned the tide of the conversation to the call Colonel Forster had paid at Longbourn. She commented on how gallant all the officers were to her daughters, and then launched into a subject which Elizabeth had been dreading all evening.
"And if the attentiveness of the officers were not enough," Mrs. Bennet said gloatingly, "Mr. Wickham seemed quite taken with my Lizzy."
From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Darcy's fork pause above his plate and suspend there. She kept her eyes to the table, not daring to look him in the face.
"Indeed?" Lady Burquist said loftily.
"Oh, yes! He sat by her the entire afternoon and talked with almost no one else. He gave me quite a few very pretty compliments about my girls and mentioned Lizzy in particular. Why, he seemed of the opinion that she is as pretty as Jane!" Mrs. Bennet shook her head in wonder, as if such a notion were incomprehensible. "Of course it is not so, but it was a lovely thing to say nonetheless."
Elizabeth knew her embarrassment was painted on her face for all to see. For her mother to say such things in front of Mr. Bingley and his guests! There seemed no limit to her vulgarity, and Elizabeth selfishly wished that Bingley had been delayed in London for another week.
Astonishingly, it was Lady Burquist who put a halt to the topic with a call for some after-dinner amusement. The party separated, the men off for brandy and talk of sports and politics, the women for tea and gossip.
Elizabeth had the opportunity to sit next to Georgiana, and the settee they occupied was set away from the remaining ladies so that they could talk together without interrupting other conversations. They chatted about the mundane matters that female friends find so interesting, and both were almost disappointed when the gentlemen came to rejoin them.
As the reunited party milled about, Elizabeth was approached by the countess, who was sporting a thoroughly unpleasant smile. "Eliza, I could not help but notice that you were burdened with the company of the curate's sister. I must commend you for your forbearance, as it could not have been an enjoyable task." She let out a long-suffering sigh and plied her ostrich-feather fan. "I declare I shall never understand Charles. He invites the most unsuitable people here."
Elizabeth took exception to her tone. "It is never a burden to speak with Miss Darcy. She is a very sweet young woman and I am glad of her acquaintance."
Lady Burquist laughed. "You cannot possibly like that stuttering, drab little creature? Eliza, I confess your appalling taste shocks me."
"Then I am pleased to provide you with such a surprise," Elizabeth said sharply. "I am fond of Miss Darcy, and I ask that you cease this pointless derision. She has done nothing to you."
Her eyes narrowed. "I am not accustomed to such treatment, Eliza. Why should you care what I say of some penniless church-girl?" Without giving the other woman a chance to reply, she added loftily, "But of course. I should have known. A woman with your... impeccable...taste is bound to have very unorthodox connections. I should not be surprised to discover that you are a dear friend to every maidservant and stableboy in the village. Country manners are so charming."
With that last imperious observation, Lady Burquist glided away to join her husband at the piquet table. Elizabeth, angry and more offended than she would have liked to admit, paced restlessly around the room and finally went out on the balcony for a breath of fresh air.
It took her only a moment to realize she was not the trellis's only occupant. Darcy was standing in the far corner, his gaze turned to the stars overhead. His head turned at the sound of her footsteps. "Miss Bennet," he said crisply.
She was dismayed by his cold tone. "Forgive me, sir. I did not realize anyone was out here. Do excuse me." Turning to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Do not go."
Elizabeth paused, and their eyes met across the distance of the terrace. Wordlessly he stretched out his hand. She took it and let him guide her to the farthest reach of the balcony, where the view was best.
"You are a stargazer, Mr. Darcy? An odd occupation for a clergyman." Elizabeth tried to sound playful, but the words came out stilted and husky.
"A stargazer in the most innocent sense of the word," he replied, but his smile made her legs feel very weak indeed.
"We are still friends, I hope?"
Something flickered in his eyes. "I pray we may always be friends, Miss Bennet."
"As do I." She hesitated. "I feared that my mother..."
"It is of no consequence to me," he assured her. "Your mother gives no offense."
She knew it was a blatant lie and was amused at his ease in delivering it. "I will not quarrel with you over it," she said, "but I believe I deserve some compensation. Will you not show me the stars? I was a very poor astronomy student, though Papa did try."
He obliged her, scouting out planets and constellations, sharing the mythology of each and making Elizabeth completely forget about the briskness of the evening air. As she watched the far-flung heavens open up before her, she felt a sense of unity with the moon and stars and endless sky she knew herself a slight thread in an intricate tapestry that spanned farther than her mind could comprehend.
"Is it not amazing?" he said softly, wonderingly. "God has given us so much to marvel at. Think of it all billions of stars and celestial bodies...Does it not move you to think that He created it all?"
"I suppose I had not really thought of it." Elizabeth looked back up with fresh awe.
"It is all of it majestic, all of it perfect," he continued, "and look how it works in harmony. Each star, each creature knows its place and serves its purpose, just as each person has worth and a role to play. We need only look to nature to see how God intended us to live."
She nodded, and as a gust of wind blew past, used the cold as an excuse to move a little closer to him. The sounds of talk and laughter still issued from the door, but the two beyond it were oblivious. The darkness deepened, throwing the stars into greater prominence, and Darcy brought over a bench so that they might abide in better comfort.
They sat together in perfect accord, but the bond felt as ephemeral as a wisp of smoke fragile, beautiful, and fleeting. When they spoke, it was with undertones of desperation. Both knew that another night like this could never be had in a thousand years, and they grasped onto whatever happiness they could, so that, whatever happened in the future, they might have that small bit of joy left to treasure.
And when nothing more could be said, they were silent, each thinking what they could not say and feeling what they scarce could afford to think.
The morning after the dinner at Netherfield saw Georgiana in Meryton, browsing through the shops and enjoying a day away from her studies.
Her brother, sensing that she was in need of a little time to herself, had not pressed the issue of her taking along a companion. He merely warned her to watch out for herself and return before supper. Georgiana was grateful for the concession, for she badly needed an opportunity to work through her feelings in solitude.
She knew and was thankful that her reaction had been largely unnoticed by the other guests when Mrs. Bennet had brought up a subject distasteful to more than one. Previously, she had believed herself immune to anymore hurt at his hands and had told Will as much. Yet she had not counted on the severe discomposure that had gripped her at the sound of Wickham's name. No it was clear that she had yet to overcome last summer's travails.
Mulling over this unexpected quandary, she wandered into the lending library and strolled through the shelves, idly looking over the titles. Occasionally she would take down a volume for closer examination, but she couldn't really concentrate. Oh, why must he have come? Would he say anything to her should they meet? She felt her stomach ache with the thought. Would he tell anyone of their history? Dear God he could ruin her if he chose to!
She forced herself not to consider the possibility. No matter what lies Wickham told, Will would stand by her. Nothing could change that. Wickham could tarnish her reputation all he wanted she did not fear him.
Forgive and forget, she reminded herself. He is nothing to you now nothing but an unhappy memory far in the past.
She turned to the window, only to find that the unhappy memory' was walking down the street right in front of her. Her insides give a painful clench as she stared at the face of the man she had once loved.
Mr. Wickham was remarkably unchanged. His confident walk, dashing smile, and perfectly-featured face were all familiar, all unaltered. Even from this distance she could see the brilliant blue of his eyes. As his elegantly-clad figure paused on the walk in front of the lending library, Georgiana hastily tucked herself out of sight between two bookshelves. Don't come in! she prayed fervently. Don't come in here Go away Keep walking! Please, please keep walking!
Her prayer was answered. In a moment he resumed his stroll, finally ducking into a shop down the street.
Georgiana took a shallow breath and slumped against the shelves. She knew she must be pale, and her palms were cold and clammy. She rubbed shaking hands over her face, desperately trying to gain control of herself. Oh, but she hadn't expected such a reaction upon something so simple as seeing him across the lane! Fear and disgust had warred for prominence in her breast, and her mind was instantly bombarded with images and words. She took steadying breaths to slow her heartbeat, which raced as quickly as a frightened rabbit's. But that he had never met Colonel Forster!
"Miss Darcy?"
She let out a very unladylike squeal and dropped her book on the floor. Richard Goulding, who had taken a hasty step back at her exclamation, quickly recovered his wits and stooped to pick up the book. "Do forgive me. I didn't mean to alarm you."
She hastily shoved the book on a nearby shelf. "How do you do, Mr. Goulding?"
"Quite well. I..." He paused. "Are you well? Truly, you look very pale!" With a look of earnest concern, he took her elbow. "Come, you should be sitting down. Your illness must not have left you yet."
Georgiana allowed him to walk her over to a chair and after ensuring that she was settled, he hurried next door to the bakery for a glass of water.
His departure gave her a chance to collect her bearings. When he came back in, she even managed to smile at the ridiculous picture he presented. Mr. Goulding was a brawny, strapping young man, and the delicate, willow-patterned china teacup looked ludicrously out of place in his large, blunt-fingered hands.
He drew up a chair next to her and held the cup while she took a few sips. She was perfectly able to handle the task herself and told him so, but he was so determined to be of service that she let him have his way.
After Mr. Goulding was satisfied that she had drunk enough, he set the cup away and impetuously reached for her hand. Catching himself in time, he pulled away, blushing like a schoolboy instead of a gentleman of nearly one-and-twenty. He sat back and clasped his hands tightly atop his lap, as though he were afraid of what they might do. "Are you certain that you are feeling better? I could call on the apothecary if you wish it. He only lives a few streets down..."
She assured him that she was quite well, thank you, and that he needn't trouble himself or the apothecary. He leaned forward again unconsciously. "I hope I did not startle you too badly. You looked as though you had seen a ghost."
She smiled thinly. "I trust I got quickly over whatever scare you did afford. Please think no more of it."
He sensed her aversion to the issue and inquired no more. They did talk, however, easily picking up the conversation they had started at the Netherfield Ball. He entertained her with stories of Oxford, and she had him laughing with tales of Sir Francis's and Lady Drake's latest escapades.
"I have yet to coax her into the house," she was saying, "and Will tells me I probably will never be able to. Yet she has grown bold enough to eat out of my hands it is a good start, I suppose."
He chuckled. "I believe you are the only person I know to have ducks as house pets."
"We Derbyshire natives are a strange people. I know a few residents here were horrified to be greeted at the door by Sir Francis."
"I think you would find those residents' are in the minority. As long as he doesn't nip anyone's ankles."
"Without good reason, you mean," she said pertly.
He laughed, the mirth therein transforming his broad, square-jawed face from plain to almost handsome. "And Sir Francis is the judge?"
"Of course...but only because he has not learned to bite on command." She colored, shocked by her own boldness but not entirely displeased. Besides, had not Dr. Lawrence and Will both encouraged her to speak her mind?
Mr. Goulding seemed to appreciate her daring as well. Her openness precipitated his, and they enjoyed a lengthy conversation which enveloped all the subjects they could think of and left them both immensely satisfied with all that had been said.
The chiming of the church bells announced that it was time for Georgiana to return home, and as she rose to take her leave, he impulsively kissed her hand. "Would it...would it be too much to..."
"Yes?"
"Would it be too much to expect you to receive me at the parsonage some afternoon this week? Would I be welcome?"
"I..."
"Of course I would send around my card to your brother before I call," he added quickly.
"Oh, I..."
"Do you think your brother would object since we haven't been formally introduced? Maybe I could arrange..."
"Mr. Goulding," Georgiana said, laughing, "I assure you, my brother will be very understanding. He will appreciate making your acquaintance first, so he can join us during your visit. You are welcome whenever you choose to come."
He beamed. "Thank you, Miss Darcy. I shall look forward to it! Would Friday be inconvenient?"
"I don't believe so. I will ask Will this evening, and I'll send a message if we have plans for Friday." She curtsied. "Thank you for attending to me, Mr. Goulding. Have a lovely afternoon."
He bid her farewell, and, as Georgiana began the walk home, she was conscious of his presence by the lending library windows. With a smile and a burgeoning lightness in her spirits, she strolled home, filled with that secret gratification possessed by all women who know themselves admired by an agreeable man.
A note, bearing the wax seal of the Wickham family, arrived by express to Longbourn. A quick perusal of the contents revealed an acceptance to the dinner invitation extended to the gentleman by Mrs. Bennet. The date was set for Thursday evening at seven o'clock.
Mrs. Bennet spent the entire afternoon tenaciously clutching the expensive sheaf of parchment as though she expected it to make an escape attempt. She drew it from her apron pocket repeatedly to admire the firm handwriting and speculate as to the ancient and undoubtedly noble roots of the kingly crest on the seal. The mistress of Longbourn could not be more pleased with her lot Wickham was coming to dine, and Mr. Collins had just returned from Kent bearing news of Lady Catherine's approval.
When the parson was first told of their engagement to entertain Mr. Wickham, one would have thought that he himself had daughters of his own to marry off, such was his excitement.
"My dear madam!" cried he upon examining the letter. "Do you know who Mr. Wickham is? Why, he is the nephew of my most celebrated patroness! Cousin Bennet, are you not sensible of the honor being done to you? Mr. Wickham of Pemberley in this very house!"
"I assure you, Mr. Collins," Mr. Bennet drawled, "that I feel the compliment exceedingly. In truth, I am quite overwrought, and I expect my nerves will fell me upon beholding Mr. Wickham on my lowly doorstep."
Mr. Collins vehemently seconded this speech, unwitting of its spuriousness. Elizabeth, sitting next to her father, was obliged to leave the parlor on some pretense in order to muffle her laughter.
When Thursday finally came, it was almost impossible to tell who was more anxious for Mr. Wickham's arrival Mr. Collins or Mrs. Bennet. The latter had been debating for some while as to which of her daughters would get Mr. Wickham. Jane and Mary were off limits, and Kitty and Lydia were full too young for marriage to a man of his worth. That left one obvious choice...
Elizabeth jumped at the sound of her bedroom door slamming open, and poor Sarah, who was pinning up her mistress's hair, dropped the hairbrush. Elizabeth hastily swivelled about to see her mother framed in the doorway, with an expression not unlike a general going into battle.
"Lizzy," she declared. "I have a few things I would speak to you about."
On this ominous note, she dismissed the maid and waited for her second eldest to settle onto the bed before continuing. She began to pace as she spoke. "Mr. Wickham is coming tonight, Lizzy."
"I am well aware of that, ma'am."
"Enough of your witticisms, child! Now listen. I have been observing Mr. Wickham carefully, and I believe he has taken a fancy to you."
Elizabeth's smile disappeared. "Mama, I would beg that you not interfere in matters between any gentleman and myself."
"Interfere? I cannot interfere? I am your mother, and I may do as I like! Now let me finish. My nerves cannot take more than a few minutes in your trying company!" She stamped her foot for emphasis. "I want you to pay Mr. Wickham every courtesy. Laugh at his jests and smile whenever he should catch your eye. Jane followed my advice and see where it has led her? To a fine fiancι and a position as mistress of Netherfield Park!
Mr. Wickham has clearly chosen you, though I hardly know why, ungrateful girl that you are. Flatter him and let him think you are mad in love with him. Men like to be admired. Nothing pleases them more than the notion that they interest a girl."
"But he doesn't interest me," she said forcefully. "I refuse to encourage a man only to disappoint him."
"Disappoint him?" Mrs. Bennet's voice rose an octave. "You talk nonsense, Lizzy, if you think to refuse him! If he should pay you attention, don't you dare slight him! You owe it to your family, to..."
A knock was heard on the downstairs door, and Mrs. Bennet stopped her tirade at once. "He is come! Lizzy, finish your hair. Jane! Kitty! All of you, down to the parlor! Oh, my nerves I shall faint straight away!"
In a heartbeat she was gone and Elizabeth was again left in solitude.
The party gathered downstairs. Mr. Wickham looked very dashing and his manners were impeccable as he greeted his hosts, and if he was somewhat bewildered by Mr. Collins's genuflecting bow and effusive praise, he did not show it. Mrs. Bennet accounted for most of the talking before it was time for the meal to be served.
The lady of the house had charged the kitchen staff with the task of making the very best they could, and the result was spectacular. Longbourn's table had never seen such quality or quantity of food before, and Mr. Wickham complimented her on such a generous spread.
Elizabeth discovered, much to her displeasure, that her mother had seated her next to Mr. Wickham. The gentleman must have noticed her expression, for he commented lightly, "I did not think myself such poor company, Miss Elizabeth."
She was mortified, for she had no intent to wound his feelings. "You mistake the matter entirely, sir. You are very welcome."
"Indeed, Mr. Wickham," called Mrs. Bennet from the end of the table. "My Lizzy has been eagerly waiting all afternoon for your visit."
Elizabeth shot her mother a frustrated look.
Mr. Collins spoke up. "My dear cousin Elizabeth does not mean to offer any insult, sir. We are all deeply honored to have your illustrious personage gracing this humble table." He started to bow, but, recalling that he was seated, made due with a reverent tip of his head.
The illustrious personage seemed unsure of what to say. "The Bennets do me the honor by inviting me here." When the parson appeared ready to dispute this assertion, Wickham added, "Was my aunt in health when you left her?"
Mr. Collins sat up straighter. "It gives me very great pleasure to announce that Lady Catherine was in excellent health and spirits when I saw her at Rosings."
"Good, good." Wickham reached for his goblet. "And Anne?"
"Miss de Bourgh is as delicate and beautiful a flower as ever as I mentioned to Lady Catherine a few days ago but alas, she is troubled by fatigue and stays confined to her rooms."
"Pity." He took another generous swallow.
As the meal waned into the second course, the guests divided into conversation amongst themselves, affording more privacy for those in wish of intimate discourse.
"Tell me, Miss Bennet," Wickham said, "whose absence is making you so melancholy."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You needn't be demure," he said pleasantly. "Only the absence of a beloved friend can make a lady's spirits so downcast in the midst of lively company. Or perhaps you are missing the companionship of a certain person? A gentleman?"
It may have sounded like an innocent remark. He may have meant it as an innocent remark. To Elizabeth, however, it was a mortifying query. Does he know? How could he know? I am so very indiscreet?
He saw her fists clench unintentionally where they rested by her plate, and a sliver of a smile crossed his lips. "It was kind of your cousin to tell me of my aunt's business."
The subject change was so abrupt that it took her a moment to realize who he was talking about. "Yes. But then, my cousin is never lacking for words about Lady Catherine. Your aunt must be an unusual woman to inspire such devotion."
Wickham let out a bark of laughter. "Aunt Catherine is meddling harpy." He saw Elizabeth's shocked look and grinned. "There is no love lost between us. I have not seen her in a year and we do not keep contact by post. Her daughter Anne is nothing more than a name to me. She has too little character, and my aunt too much."
Elizabeth observed the unnatural brightness in his eyes and cheeks and wondered if he might have drunk too much wine. Surely only alcohol could cause such careless talk? Her gaze moved to the goblet in his hand. How many glasses had he had? Two? Three? Even as she watched, he gestured for the attending servant to refill the chalice with strong port.
He misinterpreted her edgy look. "I am not usually so abusive of my relatives, Miss Bennet. I do not mean to be unkind." He sighed. "I suppose I am only feeling the effects of familial estrangement."
As much as Elizabeth disliked this topic, she couldn't resist inquiring whether he did not have any other relations in the country.
"I am an only child, and my closest kin, the Matlocks, have followed Lady Catherine's example without taking time to verify the facts behind my aunt's ranting. Even my cousin Fitzwilliam has cut off all ties with me." He sighed again, but Elizabeth thought the sound more petulant than pitiful. "As you see, Miss Bennet, I am quite alone."
"Alone, sir? You have many friends and acquaintances all across England, I am sure. You may not have a closely-knit family, but you are certainly not alone."
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Lonely."
"Sir, I..."
"Do not be upset," he said unsteadily. "I see that you are. But I am right. You are surrounded by people, but you are just like me. Lonely."
There was a note of desperation in his voice that summoned forth pity from her, but the next moment that sympathy was abolished when he said, "Two lonely people, Miss Elizabeth, both wanting companionship. We might offer each other something of...solace." He stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
Elizabeth, feeling that the conversation had taken a decidedly improper turn, looked to her father for intervention. Mr. Bennet, however, was absorbed with mocking his wife and cousin and did not even glance in her direction, insensible to his daughter's distress. Thus, it was up to Elizabeth to extract herself from the situation.
"Come now, Mr. Wickham," said she with feigned jollity. "Let us talk no more of gloomy things. It is a lovely evening. Have you tried any of this bouillabaisse?"
She kept him occupied with food and drink, and when the gentleman rose to take his leave, he wavered on his feet with such violence that Elizabeth feared he might topple onto his backside. In a moment, however, he regained his footing, bid them goodbye with only a faint hint of a slur, and walked out to his carriage with the slow, measured gait of an intoxicated man attempting to appear sober.
No one took note of Mr. Wickham's not-so-keen grasp on his senses except Mr. Bennet, who only chuckled and made a few comments about the follies of young bucks. He did trouble himself to inquire of his daughter whether he spoke anything to her under that influence to alarm or make her uneasy.
She made a faint reply and willed him to probe further, but he just chortled, patted her shoulder indulgently, and left for the sanctuary of his library. Unable to bear any of her mother's effusions about Mr. Wickham, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Collins, or any gentleman at all, Elizabeth begged to retire early. When she finally crawled under the covers, gown and night-braid in place, sleep did not come easily. Her mind was full with all that had been said and all that had not been said, and it was well past midnight before slumber seized her for a night of restless tossing and fretful dreams.
Another fortnight passed with a bustle of activity and numerous visits before the long-awaited letter from Mrs. Gardiner arrived.
My dearest Lizzy,
I must offer you an earnest apology for the lengthy delay in my reply to your note. Both little Benjamin and Lucy were taken with bad colds, and before long, all of the children and both Edward and I had contracted it. How you would have smiled, Lizzy, to see us all lounging about and sniffling and sneezing like the most wretched of creatures!
Fortunately everyone has recovered, and I found myself at leisure this afternoon, as Nurse Crooks has taken the children to the park for some much-needed exercise. I suspect they may return soon, so I will not tarry any longer with news from Gracechurch Street.
From your descriptions, Mr. Bingley seems a most amiable and sensible man. If his intentions toward Jane are sincere, there should be no need for concern on his account. However, her worries are perfectly reasonable and entirely prudent. I should think less of Jane's discernment had she not had some fears.
Love is a wonderful gift, Lizzy, but it can also cause great uncertainty. Commitment to marriage is a momentous step and should never be taken lightly. It is to Jane's credit that she wishes to have an understanding of her own feelings before she pledges herself to Mr. Bingley.
I may, however, be able to offer Jane some succor. If she continues to express a sense of uneasiness, I would request that you have her ask herself these questions. Does she wait impatiently for her next meeting with him? Does she covet his company when he cannot be with her? Does she feel as if he is a man she could imagine living with day to day? Does she know his faults, and are they failings she can contend with? Most importantly, can she imagine a life without him?
I know that your mother can be very insistent, particularly where Jane is concerned, but please reassure her that in the end, the choice is only hers and no one else's. She is not obligated to accept Mr. Bingley if she does not feel herself bound to him by the very deepest affection.
Lizzy, I wish I was at liberty to write more on the subject, but I hear the children coming down the hall, and they will want my attention. Edward, the children, and I send you our love.
Yours, etc.
M. Gardiner
Elizabeth read through the letter thrice before sitting down to ponder what her aunt had said. There was no one whose advice she trusted more than Mrs. Gardiner's, and she resolved to share the note with Jane directly. Her serious thoughts dealt not with that issue, for it was easily solved and required little reflection on her part but the trouble lay in the parallels that must be drawn from such a commentary.
Mr. Wickham was very attentive to her, to a point where he called at Longbourn almost every day. Elizabeth could no longer wave off his ardency as a mark of friendship with every smile, every word and gesture, he exhibited his designs of courting her. He brought her flowers, said many pretty things, and behaved like the most infatuated of suitors. After the debacle of a dinner that one evening, he had not touched a drop of liquor in her presence, and always presented himself neatly and promptly.
Mrs. Bennet was positive that he was eager for marriage, and even Mr. Bennet teased his daughter about the zealousness of her new beau. Their neighbors seemed equally and embarrassingly aware of the one-sided wooing. Sir William winked and inquired about Mr. Wickham every time they chanced upon each other, and when she walked in Meryton, she saw more than one smirk, snigger, and envious look fall her way.
It is a very uncomfortable thing to have one's business aired about town, and Elizabeth loathed the presumption of her friends and family with regards to her romantic attachments. She was given more advice than she cared for, and as the amiable Wickham was known and liked throughout Meryton, gossip abounded. Some of the spiteful old ladies even went so far as to quiz her about Mr. Wickham's intentions.
Elizabeth attempted to quash their eager expectations, but frank denials did very little good. She saw how they exchanged sly glances and agreed with insincere pleasantry, all the while whispering behind their hands about how Miss Eliza was leading the poor gentleman on a merry chase.
The chase was certainly not merry. The more Wickham flattered and flirted, the more she felt herself pushed into a corner from which she could not escape. His solicitude was stifling. Elizabeth could not help but wonder if the trapped sensation was more due to the courter than to the courting itself.
She had not spoken to Darcy in days their only contact had been a brief nod and a how-do-you-do before Sunday services. She would sneak furtive glances at him from behind her hymnal, but he was oblivious to her efforts to catch his eye. His gaze fixed unwaveringly on the altar and did not move from it until the ceremony was concluded.
The one time they had met beyond the churchyard's gate was one she would much rather forget. Mr. Wickham had insisted upon walking her to the tea shop, and she felt unequal to refusing his kind offer. They strolled arm-in-arm while he entertained her with stories of his travels in France. She had just laughed at one wry jest when she saw Darcy step out of a nearby shop. His eyes alighted upon her and Wickham, and the look in them made her feel as though she were somehow betraying him like she were a wife being caught cavorting with her lover.
Elizabeth flinched even now at the memory of his cold, formal manner. He had greeted them briefly and with little feeling before walking away, his shoulders stiff with resentment. He had not looked back.
She took Mrs. Gardiner's note back in hand and sat down at the escritoire. After a few minutes of careful consideration, she took out fresh parchment and a pen and wrote:
My dear Aunt Gardiner,
I thank you for your letter, and I trust its contents will reassure Jane, though I believe her to have sorted out most of her feelings regarding Mr. Bingley. When he left for London on a short trip, she was quite despondent without him, and when he returned, our placid Jane was in such a state that I half-expected that I would need some of Mama's salts. If Mr. Bingley can inspire such romantic disorder in Jane, I daresay she is already in love.
Your questions, nonetheless, will be shared with her as soon as I finish this letter. How did you become so wise, dear aunt? I would give anything to lay claim to such a virtue.
I also have need of that wisdom, if you would be so good as to lend it to me. A situation has arisen here, and I am not certain how to deal with it. Since I know that you and my uncle are fixed to come to Longbourn for Christmas, I should very much appreciate your counsel. The matter is of some importance and too delicate a business to discuss through the post. I will eagerly anticipate your arrival, and I bid you to catch no more colds!
Give Uncle and the children a kiss from me.
Yours, etc,
Elizabeth Bennet
Mr. Collins and Mary's wedding day arrived quickly, for Lady Catherine did not approve of long engagements for young people. Mrs. Bennet was very much obliged to Her Ladyship's dictates, as they helped her rid herself of her middle child with all due haste and no neighborly speculation.
Mr. Collins was likewise eager to take his bride home to Hunsford. He informed Mary, with tones of great reverence, that Lady Catherine had promised to call upon them when they should return to the parsonage. Mary was unruffled by the prospect of being examined by such a lauded member of society. She privately observed to Elizabeth that she thought that the glorifying of a mere human being seemed a little unsuitable for a parson, but she bore Mr. Collins's raptures with perfect patience.
Elizabeth marveled at her sister's implacability. How could Mary bear his idiocy with such cool composure? Mr. Collins was a harmless fool, but a fool nonetheless, and she doubted that Mary's choice of mate had been a prudent one.
When she said this to Jane, however, she was roundly reproached. "You must not judge Mary by your own standards, Lizzy. Mary requires only a secure home and a decent man besides, you have declared yourself unromantic too. Is it not a good match for her? We may take comfort in the fact that Mr. Collins will never treat her unkindly."
Elizabeth accepting the rebuke with grace, but still wondered if Mary could truly be happy once the deed was done and her choice was irrevocable.
On the morning of the ceremony, the girls assisted their sister into her wedding finery. There was a great deal of giggling and teasing until Mr. Bennet came to escort his daughter downstairs. He gave her an affectionate kiss (for though he did not normally trouble himself with his three youngest daughters, he loved them all equally. His fondness only manifested itself in different ways) and took her down to the carriage which would convey them to the church.
Mr. Darcy was to perform the wedding ceremony, and he was waiting in the vestibule when the Bennets arrived. "You may stay in the hall parlor until your groom is here, if you wish it," he told Mary, with a kind smile. "You look very much the radiant bride this morning, ma'am."
A faint and not displeased blush appeared on her cheeks. Elizabeth was grateful for his words, as Mary had scarcely received a compliment from her own mother. Though her sister protested that it was sinful to accept compliments which fed the vanity, everyone needed a little encouragement. A gentle word from a handsome man would boost any nervous bride's spirits.
Mrs. Bennet gathered the girls to her and followed Mary into the parlor. Mr. Bennet wandered over to a shelf in the adjoining room which housed a few dusty volumes, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy alone.
He looked very different in his white surplice and cassock...older, somehow someone to be honored and respected. A heavy gold cross and chain glittered against his chest, and the cracked old service book was tucked under one arm. She smiled tentatively at him and was relieved when he smiled back.
"Is Dr. Lawrence not here?" It was a stupid question, for quite obviously the great narthex was empty but for them.
"As you see. He is laid up with a fit of rheumatism this morning."
"I am sorry to hear it." She fidgeted. "Will Georgiana attend?"
He smiled a little. "She was not invited."
Elizabeth felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I...will you not stay for the wedding breakfast, at least?"
The amusement was writ on his face. "I was not invited." He took pity on her discomfiture. "You don't need to disturb yourself. The wedding is for family and close friends, and Georgiana and I hardly know your sister. It would be foolish to take offense at a slight that was never given."
Mr. Wickham and Mr. Bingley despite the latter's connection to Jane were not family or close friends, and yet Mrs. Bennet had invited them. "You are most gracious, sir."
"Not at all." His eyes swept across her face, and she saw a softening in his expression. Wonder and a bit of pride swelled within her at the knowledge that she, of all the women in the world, had the ability to inspire such tenderness in him.
"You look nice," she blurted.
"I don't believe that is the general purpose of these vestments."
"Nonetheless...I suppose we must keep this niceness a secret. Else we shall soon see the fashionable parading about with stoles instead of neckcloths."
Her pertness coaxed an elusive dimple from his cheek. "You think so?"
"Most assuredly. Are you angry with me?" The abrupt question startled even herself.
The dimple disappeared. "Angry?"
She began to wish that she had kept her mouth shut. How many times had her mother scolded her for the thoughtlessness of her tongue? Well, there was nothing for it now. "You have scarce talked to me in weeks, and when you do you are unconscionably cold." Her voice rose a notch. "What am I to think but that you must despise me for something?"
He looked astonished. "If my behavior has been misleading, I do apologize."
"You have been avoiding me,"she accused. "Can you deny it?"
"I have no wish to deny it."
That brusque answer deflated her temper. "Why?"
Darcy's face took on such an air of sadness that she felt an absurd longing to bundle him into her arms and cosset him like a child. "You know very well why."
"I most certainly do not!" she cried. "Why must you be so reserved with me? If you would only tell me..."
With typical ill-timed aplomb, Mr. Collins barreled into the church, sweating profusely and looking every inch the jittery groom. "Mr. Darcy!" he exclaimed, coming forward to wring the man's hand. "What a pleasure it is to have you officiate the ceremony. I should have much preferred Dr. Lawrence, of course, but you are a very agreeable alternative!" He beamed. "And where is my charming Mary, Cousin Elizabeth?"
"She and my sisters are in the parlor, sir, and my father is over in the next room, if you would be so kind as to go to him. I am sure he wishes to extend private felicitations." She felt a little guilty for foisting Mr. Collins upon her unsuspecting father, but considering his actions on the night of the dinner party, she was not half so repentant as she ought to have been.
Mr. Collins hastened off to collect congratulations from dear cousin Bennet. Darcy went up to the altar to finish readying the necessary trappings for the ceremony, and Elizabeth quietly trailed after him, hoping that he might pause in his tasks and talk to her like he used to. It struck her then that she actually missed him missed his conversation and the richness of his laugh. It was a novelty to her, to feel a loss of connection as well as one of company. He was standing right beside her, yet he was not there. It was a strange sensation, as though only a shade of him remained with her, while the deeper intricacies of his spirits were out of her grasp.
Darcy began to lay out the linens, and without a word Elizabeth joined him, folding the altar cloths across the parallel bars of the kneelers. As they sorted through the pile of fabric, their hands would touch every so often, and with each brief moment of contact, Elizabeth again felt that strong bond pulsing between them but when they pulled away, the powerful, binding cord seemed as withered as the roses on the hedgerow outside.
Guests began to file into the church, and Elizabeth was obliged to rejoin her own party. Darcy welcomed the arrivals until Mr. Collins came to do his duty, and as soon as the church was full, the service began.
Having never heard Darcy deliver a sermon before, Elizabeth was on the edge of the pew, eagerly awaiting what he might say. Mr. Bennet chuckled and leaned over to whisper, "One more inch, child, and you will find yourself on the floor."
Elizabeth colored and sat back in her seat.
"Dearly beloved..." The words were the same, but Darcy's resonant voice gave the speech a fuller meaning and his eyes, ever so briefly, focused upon her. "...we are gathered here today to witness the union of this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony."
The service continued with no mishaps, if one discounted the three times Mr. Collins dropped the ring and the instance in which he referred to his bride as "Catherine." All in all, there was not too much cause to repine when the happy couple signed their names in the registry. Mrs. Bennet was ecstatic. Now at last she could boast of visiting and writing letters to Mrs. Collins the plainest of her girls was the first to go! Oh, the triumph! Mr. Bennet only shook his head and remarked that wonders would never cease.
Mrs. Bennet was quick to round up her guests for return to Longbourn, where she could gloat at the comfort of her own table. The church gradually emptied, but Elizabeth hung back from the rest of her family.
Darcy remained up in the chancel, putting the registry book back in its alcove. "Should you not be with your party?" he called to her. "You might be left behind."
She shrugged and came to sit in the front pew where she might observe him better. "I thought it was a lovely service."
"Did you?"
She heard the doubt in his voice and smiled. "Very well. I was mortified for poor Mary's sake."
"Mr. Collins is not a unjust man," he said, "even if he is not precisely what you might have wished for a brother-in-law. I trust your sister will not be unhappy."
"She is secure, if that is what you mean."
"Security is not a predecessor of happiness. There are some with life's every advantage who cannot enjoy what they have."
"Like Mr. Wickham?"
He would not look at her. "I suppose so."
Elizabeth impatiently waited for further reply, but was given none. "I think he is not quite content, in truth."
Darcy looked as though he longed to say something and then thought better of it. "I am not at liberty to say anything in regards to the gentleman, Miss Bennet. You will have to apply to someone else to satisfy your curiosity. Now, if you will excuse me."
"I did not mean to vex you," she exclaimed. "Please, let us not part this way! I promise I shall not ask you any more."
He was quiet for a long minute before taking her hands to his lips for a kiss. It was an uncalled for gesture, considering the circumstances, but she didn't care if it was proper or not. She only wished for his closeness. "I could never be vexed with you, Miss Bennet. Bemused, frustrated, even exasperated, but not vexed." Bowing over her fingers, he made his swift escape before she formed any reply.
Darcy half-sprinted down the back hallway out into the lower courtyard. His heart was pounding wildly and a chaos of thoughts ran through his head. It had been too close far too close. A glance at her and he had almost betrayed himself. You must get a hold on yourself, Darcy, he told himself. You are playing a dangerous game. The stakes are nothing to her, but you will lose everything.
He slumped against the cool stone of the wall, attempting to catch his breath, when he heard Bingley calling his name. The gentleman rounded the corner, dressed in his Sunday best and grinning from ear to ear.
"Will, there you are! Come, man, what are you doing hiding back here? I had not thought you such a squeamish fellow Mrs. Bennet is not so awful an object once you accustom yourself to her."
"I haven't taken to hiding," he said tartly. "Should you not be fawning over Miss Bennet somewhere?"
Bingley only laughed. "My, my William Darcy in a foul mood! I am honored to witness such a significant event. I wager I will be telling my grandchildren this story someday."
Darcy blew out a frustrated breath. "Aren't the others waiting for you?"
"Not at all," he said cheerfully. "Come, Will, I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better join the rest of us."
"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest imposing on people's hospitality, unless I am particularly acquainted with them. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable to assume an invitation. My sister is engaged at home, and I should be with her."
"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honor, the Bennets will not mind. After all, you have performed the service for their daughter. Mrs. Bennet will be happy to have her other daughters attended to during the breakfast. You would not be bored I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty. Particularly my Jane."
"Yes, but I daresay she is already spoken for." Darcy could not help but smile.
"Most definitely. But surely there is another who is tolerable enough to tempt you?"
Darcy acquired such an expression of mingled guilt and embarrassment that Bingley paused. "Will? Did I speak amiss? Is there someone?"
"Charles, enough, please."
"One of the Bennets?" he prodded. "Kitty and Lydia don't seem quite your type, and Mary and Jane are quite claimed already." His eyes widened at the logical conclusion. "Not Lizzy?" One look at his friend's face answered his question. "It is Lizzy!"
"Do not speak of it," he pleaded. "I could not bear to have her know. Promise me you will not say anything, Charles, not even to Miss Bennet."
"Mercy's sake, you act as thought it were a grave secret!"
"It is. Please, Elizabeth must not ever discover my feelings."
Bingley stared at him. "Why ever not?"
Darcy started to pace along the wall, growing more agitated with every step he took. "I must not give rise to expectations that I cannot fulfill. It would not be fair to me or to her."
"What nonsense are you blithering on about?" Bingley said impatiently. "Propose to the girl if you love her. Tis as simple as that."
"Are you mad? What do I have to offer her? What possible incentive could there be for her to throw herself away on a poor country curate, who has little income and tenuous prospects? A man who can give her only himself and a life of labor and hardships? She has never lifted a finger if she did not wish it. She is accustomed to all the very best things: servants, fine food, new clothes, and jewels. She does not know how to cook or keep house or care for children or balance accounts or feed chickens or..."
"But she can learn," Bingley interrupted. "Lizzy is a determined woman, Will. If she sets her mind to it, I daresay she can soon adapt to a different sort of life."
"I do not want to make her adapt," he said hotly. "She deserves better than to be saddled with a husband who must rely upon her own money for their livelihood."
Bingley shook his head in disgust. "Just listen to yourself! You sound as though a marriage to you would spell her doom! If she cares for you, all the things you have mentioned will mean not one whit to her. You do not give her enough credit."
Darcy stood up and strode over to the windows. After a tense moment, he said, "But there are other obstacles, Charles."
"You mean Wickham?" Bingley shrugged his shoulders. "He seems a jolly enough fellow, but he is not the one that Lizzy loves."
"What?"
"I have seen how she looks at you, Will. I would be a fool not to notice." Bingley gave him a sly smile. "It was apparent enough with you, in any case. You could not keep your eyes away from her."
Darcy shook his head. "It cannot be."
The younger man sighed loudly. "I swear you are impossible! You will never know what her reply will be until you ask her, and remember that she won't wait for you forever." He started to walk back toward the others in the courtyard, but suddenly paused and said with uncharacteristic seriousness, "Don't do something you will regret, my friend. Or perhaps I should say, do something or you will regret it."