Page 2

Library

Netherfield Hall

One Hour Past Midnight

Elizabeth pushed open the library door with a calm propriety that belied the agitation that filled her heart and was greeted with the warm glow of fire and candles. She stepped into the welcome light with pleasure and no small surprise. There was not another soul around, and she marveled at Bingley's wealth, that he would have wax candles lit in a deserted room during the ball.

She was nonetheless grateful. This room would be her sanctum for a short time, a refuge away from the vagaries of her family and the unwanted and constant attentions of her dull and boorish cousin. Mr. Collins had attached himself to her most particularly and allowed her but little avenue for escape. Nothing could prevail upon Elizabeth to stand up with him to dance again, but entreat as she might, he utterly refused to even consider asking one of the other young ladies seated about the room. She had no option but to sit out dance after dance, watching the other couples as Mr. Collins droned in her ear .

Elizabeth was unspeakably grateful for Charlotte Lucas. Plain Miss Lucas, well used to sitting on the sidelines at balls, had taken pity repeatedly on Elizabeth's misery, coming over to draw Mr. Collins's prosing onto herself for some minutes at a time and freeing Elizabeth to at least sit in silence for a spell.

Being the focus of her cousin's devoted attentions was agony enough, but it was far from the only mortification of the night. Mrs. Bennet had spent much of the evening with her particular crony, Lady Lucas, and had expounded loudly and in exhaustive detail the many advantages to a match between Jane and Charles Bingley.

“And I don't mind telling you, my dear Lady Lucas,” she had crowed, “that we are hourly in expectation of hearing the happy news! I can only wish you such good fortune for your own girls.”

At least during the dancing, the music had, on occasion, drowned out Mrs. Bennet's strident voice for a word or two. But at dinner there was no escape, and to Elizabeth's dismay, she was seated but one setting down from her mother. Mrs. Bennet, still enamored of her own subject, did not let it rest, but only grew louder. Elizabeth had watched with ashamed fascination as Mr. Darcy, seated nearby, listened with first incredulity, that morphed rapidly to indignant contempt, and finally settled into a well-bred indifference. The barest glance at Miss Bingley and her sister had shown what could only be expected as the two women exchanging disdainful glances.

It would have been bad enough had the Bennet family's shame ended there for the night, but no, it was not to be. Mary, her voice untrained and not entirely pleasant, had nonetheless leapt at Sir William's kindly intentioned request that she might play for them, and she proceeded to regale the company with a rather dismal song of a dead love, played adequately and sung painfully off-key. The gathered company's silence after the performance had been uncomfortable and slightly shocked rather than appreciative and the applause polite rather than enthusiastic. Mary, so rarely the focus of approval, had nevertheless taken it as encouragement and launched into yet another ballad.

Elizabeth had made discreet but earnest motions for her sister to cease, but they had gone ignored. She looked next to her parents. No help would come from their mother, who was watching comfortably with an approving eye. Mr. Bennet had at least stood and gone to his third daughter and told her kindly that she had delighted the company long enough and that she should let one of the other young ladies have a turn.

As the dancing began again, Elizabeth had dared to begin to hope that her family members were finished embarrassing themselves. Mr. Collins was – perhaps predictably – quick to dash these overly optimistic hopes. By mischance it came to his attention that Mr. Darcy was the nephew of his own revered patroness, and he at once made up his mind that he must go pay his respects to the gentleman and assure Mr. Darcy of Lady Catherine de Bourgh's continued health. Elizabeth, appalled, had exerted all her efforts to dissuade him, to no avail. She could only watch in helpless distressed as Mr. Collins minced his way across the floor to flourish a bow to an openly astonished Mr. Darcy.

The following interlude was exquisitely painful for the watching Elizabeth, and more than once she had to look away before her eyes were dragged back, her mouth pursed with embarrassment. But at last even that mortification had ended, and Mr. Collins had resumed his unwelcome attentions to her person.

Elizabeth had hoped, in vain, that perhaps Lieutenant Wickham would ask her again to dance, but he kept his distance. For this, she privately blamed Mr. Darcy, who had developed a perverse habit of hanging, aloof and forbidding and silent, within speaking distance of her. She was also inclined to believe that was why Caroline Bingley, ever eager to show off for Mr. Darcy, had glided elegantly over to take Charlotte's recently deserted chair and, looking down her fine nose, lectured Elizabeth on poor, slandered Mr. Wickham, vaguely alleging aspersions on his character .

The only bright spot of the evening had been watching Jane and Mr. Bingley, the glances shared and the constant conversation between them. Both looked blissfully happy, and Elizabeth was happy for them. But even her favorite sister's burgeoning joy was insufficient to make the ballroom tolerable any longer, and it was with deep relief and gratitude that Elizabeth had managed to shake herself loose of Mr. Collins for a few minutes and make her escape to the library.

The library was a large room above the Netherfield drawing room, which contained only a few dozen books, but that was enough for Elizabeth. She found a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets and, after taking one of the candles and placing it on a small table, sat down and read a few of her favorites. It was a great boon to her anxious soul, and within five minutes, she felt reasonably calm, and five minutes after that, genuinely happy.

Yes, her parents and younger sisters often behaved in foolish and boisterous and rude ways, but at least she had her dear sister Jane, who was, in turn truly in love with the congenial Mr. Bingley, and based on that gentleman’s behavior, Jane could soon expect an offer from the handsome, and wealthy, master of Netherfield Hall.

There was a sudden footstep at the open door, and Elizabeth looked up in surprise, followed by irritation as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped into the room, his handsome face grave.

Why must the man continue to harass her by always being where she wished to be?

Nonetheless, he was an inhabitant of the house and she was not, so she stood up and said, “Mr. Darcy, I apologize for intruding here. I will return to the ball room.”

“Please do not,” he said in a sufficiently peculiar tone that she found herself halting in confusion.

“What?” she demanded and glanced at the door once more, which was reassuringly wide open. There was no reason to fear anything from Mr. Darcy, of course, and the door was open, so there could be no compromise, but it was nonetheless a trifle odd.

“I have been looking for you to explain my relationship with Mr. Wickham,” he said abruptly.

Elizabeth stared at him in wonder. The matter was a simple one, after all, and she could not understand why Darcy would wish to talk about it. He was a jealous man unable to accept that his deceased father, old Mr. Darcy, had loved Wickham, and thus he had refused to give the man a church living. What more could be said?

“I do not think that is necessary,” she said coolly .

“Please, Miss Elizabeth, I beg you to hear me out. I know that you consider Mr. Wickham a friend, but is it not appropriate for you to know my side of the story? I am certain your sense of justice requires that.”

She clenched her teeth, sat down again, and waved toward a nearby chair. He sat down as well, and after a painful few seconds of silence, he began to speak. “I do not know what Mr. Wickham has said about our difficult relationship, but allow me to tell you what I know to be true.

“Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who for many years was in charge of the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him, and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported the younger Wickham at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. This was most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father was not only fond of Mr. Wickham’s society, whose manners were ever engaging, but also had the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it .

“As for myself, it has been many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, the want of principle, which Wickham was careful to guard from the knowledge of my father, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. My excellent father died about five years ago, and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will, he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and if he took Holy Orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. In addition, he also provided a legacy of onethousand pounds for Wickham.

“The older Mr. Wickham did not long survive my own father, and within half a year from these sad events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage in lieu of the preferment, by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support for such study. I did not believe him to be sincere, but was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that because of his character Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claims to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and with my agreement, he accepted in return three thousand pounds from my coffers. All connection between us seemed dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley or admit his society in Town. In London, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretense, and being now free from all restraint, his life was one of idleness and dissipation.

“For about three years, I heard little of Wickham, but upon the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been originally designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. As for his own state of affairs, he assured me – and I had no difficulty in believing it – were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question, of which he trusted there could be little doubt. He declared that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father’s intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances, and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. ”

It was at this point that Elizabeth, who had been listening with growing dismay, cried out, “I do not believe it!”

Darcy jerked in surprise and then frowned. “Believe what, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Any of it!” she said indignantly. “Mr. Wickham told me that you … that he…”

She trailed off, suddenly uncertain, and then lifted her chin and said resolutely, “He said that you denied him the living because you were jealous of your father’s affection toward him.”

“I was a little jealous,” her companion admitted, “because it grieved me that my father was so fond of the rogue, but that is not why I refused him the living. I paid him a great deal of money to give it up, and in any case, he has not taken Holy Orders, which is not the work of a moment. I could hardly allow the Kympton living to remain vacant for the years required for Wickham to obtain orders, could I?”

Without a doubt, he could not, and Elizabeth realized that she had never so much as asked Mr. Wickham whether he had the legally required education and experience to become a clergyman. She had merely assumed that he had, and she had never wondered why Wickham had not searched for another living .

She could not, suddenly, bear to be sitting, and she leaped up and hurried over to the window. Outside, the moon was full, and she stared blankly at the great white orb until it grew fuzzy as the tears formed in her eyes.

“I am a fool,” she said aloud.

“You are not,” Darcy said kindly. Based on the position of his voice, she thought he was now standing, but he did not approach, which she appreciated.

“I am,” she said drearily. “I believed everything he said without even thinking, because he was handsome and flattered me, and I was angry because of your insult…”

“My what?” Darcy demanded in a higher-pitched tone.

She spun around and said, “Your insult? At the Meryton assembly? When you announced to the world that I was ‘not handsome enough to dance with’ you?”

To her astonishment, the gentleman’s eyes flared open wide in obvious horror, and he shook his head rapidly.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said in what seemed a genuinely contrite tone. “I must apologize profusely for my words. I was in a foul mood and not really looking at you when I said … not that there is any excuse for such a th ing, of course, but truly, you are one of the most handsome women of my acquaintance, I assure you.”

Elizabeth sighed and said, “Mr. Darcy, I appreciate your apology, but there is no need to flatter me.”

“I am not flattering you,” he said gravely, and she huffed and turned away, and took a step toward the door, which had been standing open and was now closed.