Page 10 of A Good Memory is Unpardonable (Frolic and Romance #2)

Nine

I did not kiss him first.

For the record, my husband carelessly left his journal open on the writing desk in my bedroom.

How was I to help seeing what he had written?

I suppose I ought to have expected him to assert that outlandish claim on paper because he tries to hold it over me in our private moments as well. Here is how it truly took place.

I did happen to be passing by the drawing-room with a book from the library when he withdrew that night.

And I was eternally grateful to him because Jane told me how Collins had cornered her, and she was in mortal fear of being compromised or simply losing her nerve and caving to his proposal.

So yes, I could have kissed almost anyone for stepping in as Fitzwilliam did.

I stopped him and said as much. I have mentioned one or two of his more unique expressions, and that night he used yet another of them on me.

This is the one I call his “cat-got-into-the-cream” look, and he is unfairly good at it.

I think he practices in his mirror. He let loose that smile and asked me what I would do to prove my gratitude, so I pecked him on the cheek like I used to do for Charles or my father, and went to bed.

No more. That business about me pulling him by the cravat is pure masculine fantasy.

That fact settled for posterity, I must now detail something that I would rather not recall. Indeed, the beginning of November that year opened a season of all our lives that is still painful to all concerned, but without this bit of the narrative, Fitzwilliam and I never would have come to be.

Ah, yes, he claims otherwise. To hear him talk, he was smitten with me almost from the start, and I was head over ears for him even before that.

But I was not naive to the ways of the world by that point.

For all my teasing that he would eventually oblige me by marrying one of my sisters, I knew very well that the Darcys moved in different circles than the Bennets of Hertfordshire, or even the Bingleys, with their fashionable wealth.

For him to truly permit himself to form an attachment to me, something drastic had to rattle his pride and upend all his expectations.

That something drastic arrived in Hertfordshire the first week of November 1811, wearing a lieutenant’s uniform and answering to the name of George Wickham.

The militia had come to Meryton for the winter, and apart from my concerns for Kitty and Lydia, they were generally received with welcome arms. Charles and Fitzwilliam even dined with the colonel twice.

My aunt Philips, whom I have so far not mentioned, hosted a party one evening.

Unbeknownst to be, the officers were all invited.

We attended, even Georgiana, who had gained precipitously in confidence since her arrival.

Fitzwilliam was against it, but I, to my eternal regret, persuaded him to permit her to come.

Though she was not out, as my sisters were, I thought it was little more than a gathering of neighbors. Practically family.

“If you mean to encourage her, let her have a bit of freedom. How is she ever to gain any confidence if she never meets anyone?” That was my argument.

The house was too small to allow for more than cards, and she would be perfectly chaperoned.

She had already been in company some little with her family, but this occasion was a step toward adulthood for her.

It was the wrong step.

I discovered this within moments of our arrival.

Caroline might not have had the power in the household that she felt was her due, but she was capable, at least, of making us late.

Therefore, by the time we came to the house, my younger sisters had already connected themselves to a group of officers, one of whom was unknown to us.

I met him first, as Lydia seized me by the hand to make the introduction. “Here she is!” she cried triumphantly. “Lieutenant Wickham, this is my sister Elizabeth Bingley who was married last year and is a widow now with a fortune to her name and still quite pretty enough to marry again.”

Lydia was never known for even the most basic manners, and I hushed her in mortification. The lieutenant, to his credit, only smiled and bowed as if she had spoken properly.

“Mrs. Bingley, I am enchanted.”

I curtsied, somewhat impatiently. “Likewise, Mr. Wickham.”

“The lieutenant has just joined the regiment, have you not, Wickham? Kitty and me met him yesterday in town and he had just got his uniform. He is great friends with Lieutenant Denny, and does he not look fine in his regimentals?”

“Miss Lydia, you do me too much credit,” he said with a chuckle. “I warrant you say that to all the officers.”

“Oh!” she giggled, fanning her hand coquettishly.

“But you have not met the rest of her party. There is Mr. Bingley, her brother in law, just coming in now, and Miss Bingley—I do not think she is particularly nice, but I suppose you shall have to be introduced to her all the same.” Lydia stood on her toes and brightened.

“And there comes Mr. Darcy. Lizzy, how did you talk him into letting Miss Darcy come tonight?”

I was not looking directly at Mr. Wickham, but he gave such a great start that I could not help turning back to him. He had been sipping of his drink and began to cough and sputter. “Did you say Darcy?”

I blinked slowly, and it was one of those moments where everything coalesces at half the natural speed. A gleam such as I had never seen kindled in Mr. Wickham’s eye, but before I could wonder at it, a commotion arose from the doorway.

Georgiana had fainted. Fitzwilliam was still in the act of catching her, his features white with horror. And I saw the instant he locked eyes with Lieutenant Wickham.

It was only an instant, for, in the next heartbeat, he was glaring at me. The look in his eyes then, I shall never forget. It was fury and disgust, regret and anguish, but above all, it was a look of heart-wrenching betrayal.

We left at once, with Charles being the only one who seemed dismayed. Caroline was smirking, for she had been loath to come at all, but I think she never did quite understand why Georgiana was suddenly too indisposed to remain.

But I knew. Before Fitzwilliam ever pulled me aside later, before I heard the pain exploding in his voice for his sister, before I had a chance to beg forgiveness for all but forcing him to bring her that night...

I knew.

It was not hard to figure out. He was not a man to easily brush off the offenses of others against him, but he was also not one to allow his resentment to form easily. Something hideous had to have happened between them, and the pieces of other conversations began to click into place.

I will not write down the fearful argument we had that evening in the library after everyone else had taken themselves to bed.

He was not so unreasonable as to blame me for the lieutenant’s presence in the neighborhood, but he did lay at my feet the fact that I had interfered in his proper guardianship of a young, impressionable, and very fragile girl.

A girl who had greater expectations in life than any “farmer’s daughter,” and could not afford to have her reputation tarnished by “village gossips.” Naturally, he meant my mother and her ilk.

I made him pay for those remarks, but the damage was done. For my arrogant overstep, and for my heated, often unwise retorts in reply to his insulting wrath, he nearly did not forgive me, and I almost swore him off.

Obviously, we did settle our differences, or I would not be writing this today, but it was not immediate.

Rather, it was not immediately complete.

We both apologized that very night, through tears (mine) and grinding teeth (his), but he struggled to reconcile himself to that apology for many days after.

It was at least a week before he could smile again and almost that long before I could forget how severely he had spoken to me.

But never once did he make plans to return early to London, nor did I wish for him to go.

Georgiana’s courage took a terrible blow. I shall not put down why her trust was so shattered by seeing one earthworm masquerading as an officer in gentle company, but the reader may employ their imagination.

Caroline, unfortunately, found a foothold there, and she was most often with the girl, usually lauding her to the heavens, however insincerely, and finding new ways each day to discredit me.

My credibility was further tainted by my own family’s intimacy with Lieutenant Wickham, and their persistence in inviting him to call.

Therefore, my friendship with Georgiana suffered more than it ought to have.

Fitzwilliam, however, did his part nobly.

I shall never forget the day he asked me to ride over to Longbourn with him.

Charles came as well, of course, but poor dear Charles seemed oblivious to the grim set of Fitzwilliam’s jaw as we drove.

I had begun to suspect by this time that he fancied Jane more than he had ever admired any other girl, so he probably only had thoughts of courtship on his mind.

Fitzwilliam disappeared during our call. I saw him when he quietly stepped out, met his eye just before he closed the door, and knew what he was about. Later, he confessed it all to me.

“I had a word with your father today.”

“I know.”

He paced, his chest tight against his buttons because he was holding his breath.

He always does that when he has something important to say.

He was gesturing thoughtfully with a brandy glass, then set it on a table and faced me.

“You may consider him sufficiently cautioned as regards his daughters.”

I let go the breath I was holding, for I have the same habit. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me so swiftly. I can only caution. The governing of their behavior must come from him, and...”

“And my mother and sisters will not make it easy. I know. If there is one thing my father craves, it is ease in his old age.” I sighed and fingered the fringe of my sleeve because it made my cheeks hot to look at him.

“Thank you for trying, anyway. Not that my father is one to gossip, but you exposed yourself for that. You did not have to.”

“I did.” He came round the room to face me and took my hand in his. “For you, I did. I protect my friends, Elizabeth.”

I laid my other hand on his cheek and smiled at him.

There was nothing romantic in it, although it may sound as if I tried to seduce him.

It was nothing of the kind. We said nothing more of import to each other that night, but we did exchange an.

.. understanding, if you will. One that has endured to this day.