Mr Darcy the Dance and Desire Page 2

  “But I must admit, I would crave it selfishly,” said Wickham. “Would you consider using your melodious voice in conversation with me instead?”

  “I would indeed,” said Elizabeth. “Ask someone else to sing, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Charlotte, giving Elizabeth a smile as she went off and left her alone with Mr. Wickham.

  “It has been too long since I have been in your presence, Miss Bennet,” said Wickham. “The birds have not chirped as cheerily. The flowers have not blossomed as brightly. In short, the world has been duller without you in it.”

  “I have been in the world, Mr. Wickham,” she said. “It is not as though I cease to exist when I am not in your presence.”

  “No, but perhaps I wish I did. What use is it being alive when Miss Bennet is not near?”

  “You must stop saying such things!” Elizabeth was blushing again, worse than Jane blushed, which was truly saying something. “I cannot abide it. You are far too complimentary. It must stop.”

  “I could not stop.”

  “You must. Let us stop talking of me and talk of you.”

  “Me? What could you possibly find interesting about me?”

  “Oh, everything. You fascinate me. Indeed, I think of little else.”

  He smiled in genuine pleasure. “Truly? You flatter me, Miss Bennet.”

  “How came you to Netherfield with Mr. Bingley?”

  “Bingley and I are good friends from school,” said Wickham. “We had a friend in common, a Mr. Darcy, but alas, Darcy has no interest in his old friends anymore. He has fallen into disgrace, in fact.”

  “Darcy?” repeated Elizabeth. “I’m afraid I do not know the name. I am sorry for the state of your friend, however.”

  “Yes, it is a tragedy. And it has been particularly hard on me, for I owe everything to the Darcy family. The elder Mr. Darcy and I have always been close, and it is his dearest wish to see his son redeemed, but the younger Darcy will not hear of it.”

  “How awful,” said Elizabeth. “Why, what is the draw of such wickedness that it separates a son from his father?”

  “I know not,” said Wickham. “But I fear what will happen when Darcy’s father dies and he takes over his lands and fortune. A man such as Darcy will surely fritter and gamble away it all. Why, he has already lost an estate of his late mother’s. He put the lands up in a card game, such is the little esteem he gave the place where his mother passed on. It was this act that caused a rift between Darcy and his family. None of them will even speak to him, and his father has cut him off entirely. Sends him no money at all.”

  “None? His only son? His heir?”

  “He cannot trust Darcy with it,” said Wickham. “The man is quite a disaster. Last I heard he had taken money to serve in some man’s stead in the militia, where he was scamming every officer from here to Brighton out of their pocketbooks.”

  “How dreadful,” said Elizabeth. “But surely he is not part of the regiment stationed here, at Meryton?”

  “I believe so,” said Wickham. “But I have put it out that he is not to cross my path, because I cannot be responsible for what I might do if I see him. Bingley is quite frustrated with him as well. The last time Bingley saw him, I understand that Darcy did nothing but try to beg money from him. Can you imagine? He has no shame.”

  “Gambling is quite horrible,” said Elizabeth. “I mean, it can be. Personally, I do find a game of cards now and again diverting—”

  “Oh, to be sure,” said Wickham. “It’s not a matter of the games themselves, it’s a matter of the extent one takes it to. A man who is in charge of his faculties, who knows what he’s about, he is in no danger, but a man like Darcy, with a weak constitution, why he must steer clear of any game of chance if he wants to truly reform. He has no head for it.”

  “No, I suppose he does not,” said Elizabeth. “But you said that you owed everything to the family. What did you mean by that?”

  “Yes, it’s true. I have quite humble beginnings. I was the son of the steward of Pemberley—that is the Darcy family home. I became rather a favorite of the elder Mr. Darcy, and he took it upon himself, quite out of the goodness of his heart, to have me educated. He had some idea that perhaps I could make a living as clergy. In fact, he had a post in mind for me. But I was never meant for the church, and I knew that if I had a bit of starting capital, I could grow something else for myself, and with Mr. Darcy’s help, I have done so.”

  “He gave you land, then?”

  “Well, let us simply say that while the younger Mr. Darcy has no head for cards, I am rather skilled at turning a small amount of money into a much larger amount. Or indeed, into a small estate.” He spread his hands. “But I grow weary of speaking of myself. Let us again return to the subject of your beauty, shall we not?”

  “Oh, please don’t, Mr. Wickham,” she said. “If you keep at this, you’ll turn my head, and we all know that vanity is a sin. You would not lead me down the wide way to destruction, would you?”

  “Perish the thought, Miss Bennet.” He looked up. “It seems that some of the others are dancing.”

  Elizabeth looked and saw that he was right. There was a gathering of officers and ladies, including several of her sisters, who were dancing at the end of the room. Her sister Mary was playing the piano.

  “Well, if I don’t move quickly, Bingley will snatch your sister out from under my nose. Do excuse me, if you please.”

  “Well, of course,” said Elizabeth, after a pause, because she was stunned. Wickham was not going to ask her to dance? Why not? What was the purpose of his praise of her if he preferred dancing with someone else to her?

  She watched in consternation as Wickham approached Jane and the two began to dance.

  Everyone who saw Jane agreed she was a great beauty. There was no one with eyes who thought that Elizabeth was prettier than Jane.

  Typically, Elizabeth did not mind, though. She accepted it all a long time ago. It had always been thus.

  This was different, however.

  Mr. Wickham was the man she was sure she was destined for. She felt the tug—the avalanche of sensation—toward him.

  Jane already had Bingley. She did not need Wickham as well.

  Elizabeth glowered at the two of them dancing, and she wished she did not have such ugly thoughts. Jane did not deserve it. Jane was the best sister a girl could hope for. Elizabeth must find some way to be happy for her. But how could she when she felt this way?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Within the week, Jane received an invitation to dine at Netherfield, and Mrs. Bennet was overjoyed at the summons. Immediately, she set to scheming, and she set it up so that Jane would ride out alone in the rain.

  Mrs. Bennet’s cunning was rewarded when Jane fell ill and was obliged to stay overnight at Netherfield.

  Elizabeth had been in a frenzy over all of it. On the one hand, she was terribly jealous that Jane had been invited to Netherfield and that she had not. On the other hand, she was remarkably guilty about her jealousy and endeavored to stamp in out with great prejudice.

  It was not seemly, and it was not part of the way that she and Jane had ever related to each other in their lives together. She was quite close to her older sister, and she celebrated each of Jane’s happy moments as if they were her own—indeed, better than if they were her own, because Jane deserved happiness so much more than Elizabeth did.

  Truly, if the situation were reversed, it was incomprehensible to think that Jane would be jealous. Jane did not possess a jealous bone in her entire being.

  No, Elizabeth was mortified with her state and chastised herself for it at every opportunity.

  However, when she begged to go to Netherfield to look in on Jane, she could not be sure what her true motivation for the action was. Did she only wish to see Mr. Wickham herself, to take advantage of the fact that her sister was sick to claim his attentions? Or was she going to tend to Jane in penance for her transgressive spirit?

  She couldn’t be sure, but she tried to insist to herself that is was the latter, because she refused to be the sort of sister who would do the former. Especially to Jane, who didn’t deserve any evil in the world.

  Oh, why did Jane have to be so good?

  If Jane were simply the slightest bit wicked, Elizabeth would not have to feel so guilty.

  Nevertheless, she was steadfast in her resolution to see Jane and to nurse her back to health, so she walked to Netherfield and was received in the breakfast parlor by everyone in the household except Jane, who was confined to bed.

  Mr. Wickham greeted her with his characteristic grandiose flattery, commenting that she was a vision with her cheeks reddened by the wind. In fact, his voice dropped to a deep register that seemed to settle into Elizabeth’s core, making her feel that same avalanche of sensation she had felt before when seeing Mr. Wickham.

  But she would have none of it and ignored it. Instead, she insisted on being shown to see her sister.

  She was conveyed there immediately, accompanied only by Mr. Bingley. The others in the party declared to be desirous of a walk in the gardens and left the house.

  Mr. Bingley was all sincere concern for Jane, telling Elizabeth of all that had been done for her, and how he felt personally responsible for her predicament.

  “Indeed, I must say I feel wretched that she is ill, but I cannot help but be glad of her continued presence here,” he admitted sheepishly. “I suppose that is a positively awful thing to feel, but I find I cannot help it.”

  “Do not be too hard on yourself, sir,” said Elizabeth, who was thinking to herself that it was not fair at all that Jane should be so pretty and so very, very good, because it meant that all the men in the entire world seemed to fall in love with her. Why must Jane have both Bingley and Wickham? Might not she leave some men for the rest of them?

  But when she entered Jane’s room and saw how ill she was, she repented immediately of the thought, because her sister was suffering.

  Elizabeth went to her immediately, throwing herself down on the side of Jane’s bed and seizing both of her sister’s hands. “Oh, my dear sister, if only our mother could have spared the carriage for you. I am so terribly sorry.”

  “Lizzy!” Jane was smiling. “I am glad you’re here.” She gave Elizabeth’s hands a faint squeeze.

  “Is there anything you need, Miss Bennet?” said Bingley. “Anything at all?”

  “You are far too kind, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane. “But I do wish everyone would not make a fuss over me.”

  Elizabeth felt chagrined. Poor, poor Jane. And to think, Jane was naturally good. It never even occurred to her to be jealous or petty.

  Why was it so hard for Elizabeth? Why was she such a wretch?

  * * *

  “Miss Bingley, compared to you, the autumn sky is but a pale bit of nothing,” said Wickham across the dinner table. “You are too lovely for this world.”

  Miss Bingley tittered. “Oh, Mr. Wickham, I will not hear more of your ridiculous prattle.”

  “I cannot help but say what I see,” said Wickham to Bingley. “Your sister is magnificent.”

  Bingley chuckled. “Ah, yes, Wickham. I have heard it all before.”

  “We have all heard it before,” said Miss Bingley. She turned to Elizabeth. “Why, I imagine he has said something similar to Miss Eliza, has he not? Did he compare you to the sun? Or perhaps to the sparrows?”

  “Or,” spoke up Mrs. Hurst, “perhaps to the stars in the night sky?”

  “I can’t help it,” said Wickham, cutting the meat on his plate. “I am constantly surrounded by beautiful women. What am I to say except to praise their beauty?”

  “He is wretched,” said Miss Bingley to Elizabeth, shaking her head.

  Elizabeth looked down at her plate, and she felt cold all over.

  She was an idiot.

  She found she could not look at Mr. Wickham. The pain of it all was too great and too humiliating. The way she had behaved with him! He had fed her his prattling praise, and she had feasted upon it, assuming he was genuine.

  “Oh, come now, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Bingley. “You can’t tell me that you’ve taken anything Mr. Wickham said seriously, have you?”

  “Of course not,” said Elizabeth, squaring her shoulders. She still could not look at him. She was humiliated beyond all belief. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

  “Very good,” said Miss Bingley. “You see, Mr. Wickham, I keep telling you that if you say these things, you will give women ideas.”

  “What sort of ideas?” said Mr. Wickham, laughing.

  “You know very well the ideas,” said Mrs. Hurst. “It’s one thing for you to speak so to an old married woman like myself, but when you turn the heads of unmarried ladies, it’s another thing entirely.”

  Wickham was still laughing. “I have told you all, I do not lie. When I see a beautiful woman, I am compelled by a higher calling to honesty to tell her so. I can do little else. It is out of my hands.”

  “Well, anyway,” said Miss Bingley, whose eyes had some kind of hard triumph in them, as if she could see Elizabeth’s discomfort and was enjoying it, “now you know never to pay any mind to anything Mr. Wickham says.”

  “Now, that is hardly fair,” said Wickham. “Bingley, old chap, please make your sister apologize.”

  “Are you wounded?” said Bingley, sounding amused.

  “Desperately,” said Mr. Wickham. “I am quite beside myself. I shan’t even be able to finish my dinner.” He popped a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

  “Yes, well, I can see how you’ve lost your appetite,” said Bingley.

  “Mmm,” agreed Wickham, whose mouth was still full.

  “I say, did you hear about Mr. Fortescue?” said Mr. Hurst.

  “Mr. Fortescue? Do we know a Mr. Fortescue?” said his wife.

  “We met his wife,” said Miss Bingley. “You remember. Wickham surely remembers.”

  Wickham raised his eyebrows. “What? Who?”

  “You were quite especially attentive to her,” said Miss Bingley.

  “I thought we had just established that I was never especially attentive to anyone,” said Wickham. “That I was overly effusive to all pretty women that crossed my path. This is what you keep accusing me of, is it not?”

  “Oh, fine,” said Miss Bingley. “But I was not the only one whose tongue was wagging about the two of you. After all, she was practically a widow even then. Mr. Fortescue has been languishing on his deathbed for over a year now, has he not?”

  “Oh, I do remember!” said Mrs. Hurst. “She was ever so much younger than him and had set about traveling all over, on her own, doing strange charity work such as teaching men of the militia how to better dance.”

  “Yes, that is her,” said Miss Bingley.

  “I don’t remember her at all,” said Wickham, shrugging. “But I’m sorry for her husband. Sad that he’s passed on.”

  “Oh, I doubt she’s sorry,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Now, she’s a widow. She’s free to do as she pleases.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Bingley. “She was his second wife. He has grown children. I don’t imagine she’ll be getting a vast sum of money. I rather imagine she’ll be taken a bit down in the world.”

  “She won’t inherit?” said Wickham.

  “Not much, I don’t think,” said Mr. Bingley. “There are stipulations that the lot of old Fortescue’s estate goes directly to his son from his first marriage. Young Fortescue could take care of his stepmother, but I’m told he and his sisters have never liked her. She is younger than they are, after all.”

  “Yes, they all thought she trapped their doddering father into marrying her,” said Miss Bingley. “But I thought she had somehow convinced him to leave her quite a sum of money.”

  “I think the son interfered,” said Bingley. “He wasn’t about to let that happen.”

  “Well, whatever the case, it’s terrible that anyone dies at all,” said Miss Bingley. She turned to Elizabeth. “I’m so sorry. We must be boring you to tears, talking about people you don’t know.” But she didn’t sound the least bit sorry. In fact, Elizabeth was beginning to think that Miss Bingley’s seeming politeness was only a mask. She seemed to rather enjoy causing Elizabeth discomfort.

  What could that be about?

  * * *

  But the reasoning behind Miss Bingley’s dislike became rather clear when Elizabeth watched her later, as they all sat together in the drawing room.

  “I must see to Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley. “She has been left alone for hours now.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Elizabeth, getting to her feet. She had meant to go and see Jane after dinner, but all the revelations about Wickham not meaning what he said had rather crushed her spirit. She knew that she shouldn’t be so badly hurt by it all. It was nothing. Wickham had made her no promises. It was her idiocy that had created any intimacy between them at all.

  But she had believed things. Ridiculous, romantic things. Fanciful things. She had thought herself an intelligent woman, but she had not been able to see that Wickham was not genuine, and it was a blow.

  She had been in the process of falling in love with Wickham. Dear Lord, she had thought herself destined to marry him. Whatever had possessed her to have such a thought? She couldn’t abide her own stupidity.

  She had always thought of herself as shrewd, but she was not.

  Maybe it was true, what people said to her sometimes, that she read too many novels. She had frivolous, romantic ideas about men and women, but they weren’t borne out of experience. No, in fact, most men she met in life she found wanting in some way. They were not like men in books at all. Mr. Wickham, he had stirred things within her, and she was never going to be the same.

  “We shall go together to see Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Bingley. “Come. Let us see how she is doing.”

  “Charles, heavens,” said Miss Bingley. “You were only recently in to bother Miss Bennet. Surely, you’re tiring her.”

  “Do you think so?” Mr. Bingley looked genuinely worried about this possibility.