Page 25 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)

CHAPTER 25

W ickham flipped his trepidation into a smile in the blink of an eye. He stepped in front of Mr. Denny to swoop an exaggerated bow. Hand over his heart, he addressed Mrs. Bennet. "We apologize for our sorry state, but we knew we could count on you to provide refuge from this dreadful rain."

The skin over Darcy’s knuckles tightened. Wickham never had been one to learn from his mistakes.

Mrs. Bennet divided the last of the cake, poured tea, and fussed over the arranging of the chairs around the fire. She was an attentive hostess, even if one of her guests was a slippery viper.

Darcy was loath to leave Elizabeth’s side, but he moved to the other end of the room to stand behind his sister, his hands wringing the back of her chair. Richard, too, moved closer to Georgiana, closing ranks.

“I thought you were reassigned,” said Richard.

Mrs. Annesley looped her arm through Georgiana’s, lending support.

Wickham smirked belligerently. “To Ramsgate. I had thought you had a hand in the recommendation, Colonel.” His gaze flickered to Georgiana. “How can I thank you for returning me to a place with so many pleasant memories?”

The chair creaked under Darcy’s grip. Elizabeth crossed the room to stand beside him, behind Georgiana. Elizabeth might not yet know the whole of it, but she was perceptive. She glared daggers at Wickham.

"Shall we roll back the rugs and dance?" Mrs. Bennet noticed none of the tension growing in the room.

"No!" Darcy shot her suggestion down immediately.

Richard placed his empty plate on the nearest table. "We have trespassed on your hospitality long enough, madam."

"You mean to leave? In this downpour?" She could not countenance their departure. "You cannot leave when you arrived on horseback! Miss Darcy would catch a terrible chill."

Of all people, how ironic that Mrs. Bennet should say such a thing. Darcy could not help but glance at Miss Bennet, whose lips were pinched together in the most marked sign of disapproval Darcy had yet to witness on the lady. He further saw her shoulders heave up and down in a large sigh, and Darcy nearly laughed at her marked display of restraint. The lady must have nerves of steel and the forbearance of a saint. She would fare well with his own aunts.

And then there was Elizabeth. She observed, "It would not do for anyone to depart in this downpour. If the storm passes as suddenly as it arrived, then it shall not last much longer." She watched Georgiana and deftly influenced the conversation, all the while with a smile on her face and her usual light touch. It made Wickham's presence at the opposite end of the room almost bearable. Would that the flames at the fireplace rise to scorch his coattails!

"Perhaps some music will help us pass the time,” Elizabeth suggested. “Would you agree to a little duet at the pianoforte, Miss Darcy? Something to lighten the mood and help us pass the time?"

Georgiana—play music in front of that lout? She was too shy. She would falter. Darcy opened his mouth to oppose the idea but Richard jabbed him in the ribs, preventing him from speaking.

Rubbing his side and glaring at his cousin, Darcy missed whatever it was that propelled Georgiana to stand. He rushed to her side to escort her to the instrument. The distance was not great, but he would block her and Elizabeth from that devilish rake flirting shamelessly with the younger Bennets.

Darcy shot Richard a look and nodded over to them. Wickham had come so near to ruining Georgie, who now had two protectors to look out for her. Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia had no such advantage. Mr. Bennet had disappeared into his book room, and Mrs. Bennet seemed to think that every man donning a uniform must be an honorable gentleman seeking a wife.

Georgiana sat beside Elizabeth on the bench just as Richard joined Wickham and Mr. Denny. The panic on Wickham's semblance was most satisfying. Richard would tease and torment him at his leisure, like a cat playing with a mouse. Even with a kitten crawling over his shoulders, he looked intimidating.

Darcy’s sister played beautifully, as she always did. Elizabeth lacked her perfected technique, the work of hours of practice under the tutelage of the most proficient masters, and she played with gusto and charm. Darcy could not help but admire her performance.

Their audience clapped. Elizabeth leaned into Georgiana, "You play splendidly! The praise I have heard for your accomplishment on the instrument pales in comparison to the reality."

Miss Mary offered to play, and Darcy tried to conceal his cringe. Mrs. Bennet would have none of it, though, insisting instead that Georgiana play for them again.

Georgiana bowed her head at the enthusiastic praise. "Oh, I could not."

Darcy had hoped she might agree. One act of boldness might lead to another. Unfortunately, the Bennets’ encouragement only wilted her courage. He spoke over the melee of persuaders. "My sister is not accustomed to exhibiting. Perhaps she might play for you when we are not such a sizable crowd."

Wickham snorted, the ugly sneer on his face seeming to say Have you ever seen a young lady weaker than Miss Darcy?

Elizabeth pushed her shoulders back, her jaw jutted forward in the same manner he had noted the two times she refused to dance with him. Leaning over on the pretense of searching through the pages of music, she whispered to Georgiana, "You have nothing to prove to anyone, and especially not to that man. Play no more."

Georgiana was shy and diffident in many ways, but she did not like to be told what to do. Her expression tightened, and she lifted her chin defiantly—the same tenacious look their father had in his most stubborn moments. Turning to face her audience, she looked pointedly at Elizabeth. "I would be delighted to play another."

Elizabeth slipped off the bench and stood on Georgiana's other side, the mischievous quirk in her lips revealing that she had maneuvered his sister to do exactly as the situation required. Darcy shook his head in appreciative awe, his gaze lingering on the curl of Elizabeth’s lips. He ought to have kissed her when he had the chance. Lord knew he still wanted to.

Georgiana launched into a piece which startled him to his senses. Wrenching his attention away from Elizabeth, Darcy attempted to focus on the performance. It was difficult with Elizabeth only an arm’s length away. When he peeked at her, the smile greeting him made his clothing feel too tight.

He looked away before he made a spectacle of himself. He imagined himself in the coldest, dullest place imaginable: his aunt Catherine’s drawing room where a beautiful piano nobody in her household played sat neglected in a corner.

Georgiana displayed the infallibility of her fingering and added her soprano voice to the greatest advantage. She was radiant. The longer she played, the stronger her voice became. Even Mr. Bennet appeared in the doorway, his eyes closed, his head bobbing and swaying along with the ebb and flow of the music.

Everyone clapped enthusiastically except Wickham. He looked as though he had swallowed sour wine.

Georgiana swiveled to face her audience, her head high. Wickham was nobody to her—had been nobody for a while—and now it was plain that any influence he held over her had disappeared with the high notes of her aria.

Darcy’s chest swelled with pride. After fifteen minutes in Elizabeth’s company, look how Georgiana’s courage rose. Elizabeth had done that.

As if to crown Georgiana’s triumph, a ray of sun peeked through the clouds and shone through the window across the worn carpet.

“It stopped raining!” she exclaimed.

Richard stepped forward. “We ought to return to Netherfield while we can.”

Bowing to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Darcy added, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You are always welcome, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Such pleasant company is always welcome in our home. Perhaps we shall see you on the morrow?” Mrs. Bennet’s eyebrows raised in twin question marks.

“Of course.” To his amazement, Darcy realized that he looked forward to returning.

He took Elizabeth’s hand, her fingers small and strong against his. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he bent closer and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Her lips parted, and she sucked in a breath. Her cheeks pinked a bright hue—Darcy’s new favorite color. His lips tingled for more, but he suddenly realized a resonant silence had fallen over the room.

He looked up to see the ladies of the house clutching one hand over their hearts, their heads tilted, smiling eyes watching him and Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet fanned her face vigorously.

It was the disbelief on Wickham’s face that filled Darcy with the most satisfaction. His foe’s smooth manners and slick speech no longer had any effect on Elizabeth. She had made her choice—and she had chosen Darcy. It was the sweetest, most perfect revenge.

Wickham shuffled his feet, his smile forced. “We would hate to get caught in the rain again. We had better depart as well. Ladies.” He bowed gallantly, albeit a touch stiffer than before.

The youngest Bennets pleaded for him and Mr. Denny to stay longer, but he ignored every objection. “I am expected at my regiment in Ramsgate. I fear I shall not be able to return for some time”—he looked at Darcy—“if ever.”

Darcy nodded. Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia would be safer without that wolf slinking around. Now that he knew they were not unprotected, Wickham had to abandon any ruinous ideas he may have plotted against them.

With one last smile at Elizabeth, Darcy finally released his hold on her hand to step into the hall.

Miss Bennet ushered Wickham and Mr. Denny out of the drawing room to stand in the hall with Darcy. She returned to console her bereaved youngest sister, who was lamenting both the wallpaper in the room and her lack of proposals.

Mrs. Hill came bustling out of the kitchen, Darcy’s coat draped over her arms. “Pardon me, sir, but I took the liberty of drying your coat in the kitchen where the stove is warmest. It is mostly dry.” She handed it to her husband, who held it up for Darcy to shrug into.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hill, Mr. Hill” he was rewarded with matching gappy smiles.

Wickham shot him a confounded look. His coat dripped from the coat rack by the door. The tables had turned. “I do not know how you did it, Darcy, but you won.”

Darcy had never seen Wickham so discontented. Maybe now that Wickham had failed to take Darcy’s fortune, his sister, his good name, the woman he loved… he might direct his energies to his own improvement. Darcy hoped so.

With a nod, he and Wickham parted ways. Gone was the resentment Darcy had held against that man for years. In its place, he found peace.

He had been a fool to spurn Elizabeth as he had done, to avoid her and insult her family when a more intelligent man would have begged her for a dance, her friendship, her heart, her hand.

Darcy hastened across the yard, happy to spend the three miles to Netherfield contemplating the appeal of a pair of fine eyes.