Page 3

Ball Room

Netherfield Hall

George Wickham slipped through the side door near the refreshment table and consulted his watch. It was nearly time for the Boulanger, and he had arranged to end the evening dancing with Miss Lydia Bennet, the youngest of the Bennet daughters.

The next few hours would doubtless be delicious, as gaiety and cheer gave way to bewilderment over the location of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, safely locked upstairs in the same room as Wickham’s enemy, Fitzwilliam Darcy. It would be a wonderful end to an already enjoyable night when the two were found together.

The greatest trouble would be for Miss Elizabeth, of course, as the woman was always considered at fault under such circumstances. But Darcy, too, would suffer further disapproval among the local gentry – not that he would likely care a great deal, but the scandal would keep the locals from listening to any claims about Wickham’s own reputation. He had shopkeepers to fleece and servant girls to entice into his bed, and the last thing he needed was for the locals to believe Darcy’s accusations about his character.

***

Library

Netherfield

“Why did you close the door?” she demanded.

Darcy turned hastily and shook his head. “I did not. It must have swung shut from the draft.”

Of all the things Elizabeth did not want, it was to be in a closed room alone with Mr. Darcy, and she hurried over to open it again.

She tried to turn the knob, and failed, and frowned, and tried once more, and then turned wide eyes toward Darcy. “It is locked!”

“Nonsense, it cannot be!” he declared, rushing to her side. “You merely need to twist the knob and…”

She retreated a few steps back, not wishing to be in such close proximity to her companion, and watched as he too struggled to turn the knob, which resisted his efforts.

“I believe I know how to open a door, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her tone shriller than usual in her distress.

He was facing away from her, still battling the door, and then he spun around, and his jaw was set. “You are correct, Miss Elizabeth. It will not open. It must have broken somehow, and we are trapped ... together.”

“I know,” she said angrily. “What are we to do?”

Darcy gazed at Elizabeth blankly. “We will be missed eventually, and someone will find us.”

“Yes, we will be missed,” Elizabeth snapped back, “especially me, and if a search is made and we are found here together behind a locked door, my reputation will be ruined!”

Darcy stared back at her with an unreadable expression. “That is true, but it seems likely that a servant will find us, and the staff is, I hope, sufficiently loyal to Bingley that they will not spread the news…”

He trailed off, and Elizabeth groaned and said, “I have no such confidence, Mr. Darcy, given that most servants love to gossip. In any case, there must be something wrong with the door, as I presume no one deliberately locked us in. It may well not be an easy thing to get it open again. ”

Darcy’s jaw was now clenched, and he nodded. “You are quite correct, but perhaps there is a key within this library? We should look.”

Elizabeth could not disagree with this, and the next fifteen minutes passed with increasingly anxious searching, as the pair separately checked drawers and vases and bookshelves, until at last, they found themselves standing across from one another by the fire, the lady flushed with exertion and distress, and the gentleman grave and serious.

After a long minute of silence, Darcy said, “I fear that your reputation may well be damaged by this unfortunate event and if so, I will marry you.”

Elizabeth stared back in shock. “What?”

“If your reputation is damaged by this unfortunate event, I will marry you,” he repeated doggedly and then turned to begin pacing up and down the room. “Of course it will be a great sacrifice on my part given the inferiority of your family, not to mention the dreadful behavior of your mother and younger sisters, but I owe it to my sense of honor to assist you in this way. Moreover, I beg you to be assured that while I cannot approve of your position in life, I find you a most remarkable woman, with a clever mind and charming manners. You are also, as I said a few minutes ago, a truly handsome young woman and … Miss Elizabeth, whatever are you doing? ”

When Elizabeth was but a child of nine years of age, she had often played with the Platchetts, the owners of Netherfield Hall. There were four children, three sons and a somewhat older daughter, and the boys were roughly the same age as the eldest three Bennet daughters. Simon Platchett, the middle son, was a rapscallion of a child, always climbing and leaping into mud and generally wreaking havoc, and Elizabeth had, as much as was possible, joined him in his antics, including climbing the trellis attached to the east side of Netherfield Hall, which had been intended by Mrs. Platchett for growing roses, but instead had been taken over by ivy and children.

In this moment of panic, with Elizabeth trapped in the same room with the most annoying man on earth, she found herself remembering that sturdy trellis. Only a minute into Mr. Darcy’s insulting speech, she had an appropriate window open and was seated on the sill, her hand reaching to grasp one of the wooden crossbeams of the trellis. To her relief, it seemed sturdy, and, she hoped, would easily bear her weight.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy cried out again, his voice now tinged with panic. “Please come back in immediately!”

She ignored him, which was, of course, the appropriate response, and in one elegant movement, swung off the window and grasped the trellis with two hands, while her feet settled on another slat of wood below her. To her profound relief and gratitude, nothing broke. She had been lighter as a child, though she still was not heavy.

She was panting now with exertion and fear, but she was, at least, out of the library, and that was a great relief. The nearly full moon, riding high in the sky, provided sufficient light for her to see below her, and she began moving hands and feet to lower herself carefully towards the ground.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy said again, and based on the sudden increase in volume of his voice, she rather thought he had stuck his head out the window and was looking at her. She would not look up, though, as she needed all her concentration to keep from falling.

“Mr. Darcy, I beg you to return to your chair by the fire and wait for someone to find you,” she snapped.

“Miss Elizabeth, please, if you fall I will never forgive myself! Please call for help! I daresay one of the servants will hear you and…”

“Are you mad?” she huffed, moving another two feet downward. “The last thing either of us wants is for someone to find out that we have been trapped together in the library!”

“But I promised that I will marry you. ”

She was so angry at this stupid remark that she tightened her grip on the wood and looked up. He was, indeed, leaning out of the window, and his handsome face was set in obvious concern.

“Mr. Darcy,” she hissed furiously. “I dislike you as much as you dislike me, and a marriage between us would be a complete and utter disaster! I would sooner marry my stupid cousin, Mr. Collins, than marry you! Now please, be quiet and allow me to focus on descending safely!”

To her relief, he did fall silent, and she continued her careful descent to the ground. The trellis was still strong and sturdy, and any lack of recent climbing experience was made up by her frantic desire to escape a marriage to Mr. Darcy or a broken leg.

When she dropped the last few feet to land on the ground, she sighed in relief, looked up, and gave the Master of Pemberley a half-hearted wave. She then pulled her gloves out of the bodice of her gown and put them on, and she shook out her skirt. It was hard to see what the last few minutes had done to her attire, but she knew Netherfield well and would make her surreptitious way to the ladies’ retiring room and inspect herself in the mirror. There might well be other ladies there, but she could explain any disorder away by claiming to have wandered outside for some air and tripped .

In any case, there was no way to tie her to Mr. Darcy, and she was thus safe from a marriage to the most unpleasant gentleman in the kingdom.

***

Ball Room

Netherfield Hall

Miss Lydia Bennet bounced towards George Wickham, her curls swinging around her heart-shaped face, which was tipped up in a bright beaming smile. He smiled back and glanced briefly down the length of her, admiring her figure that, despite her young age, was already full and womanly. She was a lovely girl, Miss Lydia, and always ready to encourage the advances of any handsome young man who would pay her attention.

Doubtless that would become even truer as the entire Bennet family was thrown into disarray by the scandal that would, at any minute, befall them when Miss Elizabeth was discovered to be missing. A search would be mounted, and eventually the locked library door found. The key was, of course, missing from the convenient hook beside the doorframe, so perhaps Wickham would even be treated to the pleasant sight of the footmen breaking down the door to reveal a very flustered Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth.

Oh, she deserved every smear and smirch on her name! Darcy was, of course, haughtiness and hostility itself, but Wickham had counted Miss Elizabeth a friend, and her betrayal infuriated him. He knew that Darcy would take every opportunity to slander him, but Miss Elizabeth had heard the truth from his own lips! It baffled Wickham and made him livid that she could agree with his old enemy, rather than leaping at once to his defense! Had Wickham not paid her special attention? Had he not confided his tale of woe to her, earning the sympathy that he so deserved?

Wickham had not even been aware that Darcy and Miss Elizabeth had slipped away from the ballroom for a meeting in the library. He had been upstairs on business of his own. When a large and wealthy household moved from London to a new estate in the country and hired servants from among the locals, it was inevitable that a few trinkets and loose coins would go missing. Usually these items would turn up later, but often they did not and were carelessly written off by their owners. At worst, one of the yokel maids or footmen would be blamed for the loss.

Wickham had been seeking the personal chambers when he had seen an open door, light glowing from within. He had been ready to ignore Darcy’s voice, coming from inside, but Miss Elizabeth’s had arrested him, and he had paused to listen from the shadows, in heightening outrage as she came to agree with his old adversary. The matter of the Kympton living was not Wickham’s fault! He had earnestly intended to study law, but it had proved so very dull and confusing that it had soon demonstrated itself quite unprofitable. Had Darcy any integrity or kindness, he would have hired a curate to see to the living while Wickham had studied for Holy Orders. Surely a competent curate could see to a parish for a few months or even years!

But no, it was merely his old enemy’s excuse to rob him of his due! In spite and jealousy, Darcy had refused the living to his dead father’s favorite. How grieved old Mr. Darcy would have been to know his only son’s unkind nature. But he was dead and gone now, and his cruel-hearted son would know Wickham’s wrath.

It had been but the work of a moment to pull the library door softly shut, the handle turned to avoid any clicking, entirely unnoticed by the pair inside. The key hung on a short ribbon beside the door, and Wickham had locked it swiftly and with vindictive triumph. Key clutched in his hand, he had slipped back down the stairs. Flowers in porcelain vases sat on tables lining the hall, and he had dropped the key in one of them as he passed on his way back to the color and glitter and music of the ballroom .

How long would it be until Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were discovered? An hour? Two, perhaps? Surely not that long. The Bennets would be distraught, of course, and Wickham would come alongside them, a true friend in their distress. How Mrs. Bennet would shriek when arrogant Darcy refused to marry Miss Elizabeth, so far below him. Doubtless, Bingley would abandon Miss Bennet, too, completing the family’s distress and shame. There was no way that Darcy, who had declared Miss Elizabeth not handsome enough to tempt him to dance, would worry about the disgrace of the Bennet family. Admittedly, Darcy had danced with Miss Elizabeth this evening, which was odd for the fastidious master of Pemberley. Perhaps he had been seeking to repair the social condemnation he had faced for slighting one of the most popular ladies in what passed for local society. That would change soon enough! He looked forward to the grim faces and vindictive tongues wagging about Darcy’s perfidy, not to mention the mortification on Elizabeth Bennet’s face.

It would be a harrowing time for the family, Wickham thought with deep amusement. They would need any friend who was willing to still associate with them. And perhaps Miss Lydia, accustomed her entire life to being the center of her family’s attention, would feel slighted by that attention being yanked away toward Miss Elizabeth. Being young and pretty and spoiled and boisterous and foolish, Lydia would likely seek consideration in the arms of a sympathetic and handsome young man, and Wickham intended to be that man.

The last notes of the dance came to an end, and Wickham stopped with everyone else, and clapped with everyone else, and bowed to Lydia, whose pretty cheeks were flushed with delight.

“Oh, Mr. Wickham,” she sighed, taking his arm. “What an absolutely wonderful ball, and you are the best dancer here, I assure you.”

“Why thank you,” he said with his most winsome smile. “Would you like another glass of punch before the servants take it away?”

“Oh, yes,” Lydia giggled, and he led her over to the table, which was crowded with other dancers who wished to fortify themselves before leaving for their respective homes.

He ladled punch into a crystal glass and handed it to Lydia, who began slurping it down, and he smiled with pleasure at the sight as he poured himself a glass of wine. Miss Lydia, not yet sixteen years of age, was quite fond of drink, and in his experience, ladies with that tendency were easier to entice into bed. They were not yet there, but perhaps in the not too distant future…

“Lydia,” a sharp voice said from behind them, “do hurry up. We need to leave for home soon. ”

Wickham was sufficiently startled that he spun around without paying attention to his wine, which promptly sloshed out onto the floor, with a little splashing onto the hem of the lady a few feet away.

Elizabeth Bennet looked down at her dress for a few seconds and then lifted her face to glare into Wickham’s. While he prided himself on his silver tongue, he was, for a moment at least, entirely dumbstruck. How could Miss Elizabeth be here when she was supposed to be locked up with Darcy in the library upstairs?

“Oh Lizzy!” Lydia cried out in a slightly thickened tone. “Oh Lizzy, your dress. Mr. Wickham, erm, um, you, um…”

“I will fetch a servant to clean up the floor,” Elizabeth said, “but Lydia, do come along. The carriage has been called and we need to leave for home.”

Lydia poured the rest of the punch down her throat, and Wickham finally recovered enough to say, “Miss Elizabeth, I do apologize most profusely for my clumsiness. I fear I drank a little too much.”

He would not usually admit to such a thing, but he was afraid that he might have displayed his surprise too openly .

“It is quite all right,” the lady said with a slight smile, though her eyes were narrowed. “I am confident the servants can get the wine out. Come along, Lydia.”

With this, the second Bennet daughter hooked her arm in her youngest sister’s arm and guided her away. Wickham poured himself another drink, frowning heavily, and watched as a female servant hurried into the room with a cloth and proceeded to clean the wine from the floor.

Apparently, there had been a key within the library as well, which had permitted Miss Elizabeth to escape. What a pity.