Page 15 of Disarmed
“M ay I introduce my betrothed, Miss Harriet Stewart.”
Mrs Bennet and her daughters curtseyed, greeting the lady on Colonel Forster’s arm.
She looked to be only around Lydia’s age, and given the amount of blushing, giggling, and flirting Elizabeth had witnessed from her since her arrival just a few minutes ago, she seemed similar to her youngest sister in temperament too.
After offering their congratulations, Elizabeth and Jane left the group and surveyed the room. Jane looked downcast.
“I am sorry Mr Bingley is not here tonight, Jane,” Elizabeth said, knocking her sister’s arm with her own teasingly.
Jane gave a rueful smile. “Am I that transparent?”
“Ah, transparent Jane. Through thy bosom can I see thy heart!” They both laughed, Jane blushing as she did so.
“What are you talking about, Lizzy?” Mrs Bennet said, coming up behind them.
“Shakespeare, Mama,” Elizabeth replied. “Do you know whether the Lucases are expected tonight?” she continued hurriedly, wishing to distract her mother before she began lamenting Mr Bingley’s absence, lowering Jane’s spirits further.
“Well, I would imagine so. But you should be more concerned about these officers, Lizzy. Such a shame Colonel Forster is engaged. He would have done very well for you. Mr Wickham seems to favour you, of course, but I do think you could do better than a lieutenant—”
“Would you like a drink, Mama?” Elizabeth asked.
Mrs Bennet’s eyes narrowed slightly at the interruption, but she answered in the affirmative, and Elizabeth left to procure some wine for them all.
The Harringtons’ home was small but comfortable and welcoming, and they were pleasant people, though not well off.
They had obviously felt that the residents of Netherfield were too high above them to accept an invitation so had limited their party to their closest neighbours and the officers.
Given Mr Wickham’s presence, Elizabeth supposed it was a good thing Mr Darcy had not been invited, though part of her had hoped to study the two gentlemen in each other’s company again.
As she waited for a servant to pour the wine, her ear was drawn to the conversation behind her.
“…and good old Watson here was responsible for bringing us together, you know,” she heard the colonel say. “He knew I was sweet on Miss Stewart, so when we dined at the Armitages’, he swapped the place cards at the table so we could sit together, and now we are getting married!”
“He should receive a promotion for that, I say!” another voice declared.
There was much laughter and compliments paid to the matchmaker.
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to see that Watson was a young fellow with a shock of fair hair and an awkward manner.
He looked tickled pink to be the object of everyone’s attention.
Mr Wickham stepped forwards and patted him on the back, and Elizabeth quickly turned away; she found she was not in the mood for either his jollity or his bids for sympathy.
Picking up the wine, she returned to her mother and Jane.
The Lucases did eventually arrive, and Elizabeth was glad to be able to sit with her friend and enjoy some quiet conversation.
Charlotte was one of the few people Elizabeth could be truly candid with.
She was sensible and practical, observed carefully and did not rush to make judgments. She was also completely trustworthy.
Elizabeth told her about her recent ruminations regarding Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy, as well as Lydia’s surprisingly keen observation.
“Lydia is not as slow-witted as your family often make out. She only wants for a little encouragement and guidance, I think.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Yes. My father, as much as I love and respect him, takes little interest in my younger sisters, and my mother takes too much interest in Lydia, spoiling her and encouraging her wild behaviour. She is not slow-witted at all—quite the opposite—but has been left to use her intellect for scheming and teasing.”
“She is only fifteen, Eliza. There is plenty of time for her to improve and develop her understanding.”
“If she does not ruin us all in the meantime,” Elizabeth murmured, and her friend squeezed her hand briefly.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Elizabeth raised her head to discover Mr Wickham bowing to them. She suppressed a groan. “Do not leave me,” she whispered to Charlotte, clenching her teeth into a smile.
Mr Wickham seemed unaware that he was unwelcome and took a seat beside them, immediately launching into a conversation about Colonel Forster and his betrothed.
“I am not one to blow my own trumpet, but it was I who introduced them, you know,” he said as he brushed absently at the hair on the back of his neck.
Elizabeth could not help her curiosity at this statement, which must have shown on her face because he seemed to take it as a sign to continue.
“Yes, it was at a dinner party. At the Arlinghams’—I doubt you know them.
In any case, I could see the way the colonel was looking at this pretty young lady across the room, and my heart went out to the poor man.
He is nearly forty, you know, and there are few opportunities for courting when one is a military man, devoted to king and country.
” He smiled ruefully, and Elizabeth felt a little queasy; how had she ever believed him charming and interesting?
Had she been so stubbornly blind to his faults because he had insulted the man who had insulted her?
“Well, I had to help the fellow. What better incentive than love?” He put his hand on his heart and laughed lightly—and falsely in Elizabeth’s opinion.
“So I swapped the place cards when our hosts were distracted, placing them next to one another, and a beautiful romance bloomed.”
He grinned, his eyes flitting between Elizabeth and Charlotte expectantly, like a dog waiting for praise for performing a trick.
“How clever of you, Mr Wickham,” Elizabeth said finally. “You do seem to have a talent for altering things to achieve your ends.”
A look of confusion crossed Mr Wickham’s face, and his smile wavered. A slight crease appeared between his brows.
“Well,” he said, rising awkwardly and brushing his hands over his trousers, “I must return to my fellow officers. I do hope you enjoy your evening, ladies.”
As soon as Mr Wickham had stepped away, Elizabeth blew out a long breath. “I do not believe it! Only half an hour ago I heard that same story told, yet it was a young officer called Watson who was the hero, not Mr Wickham. He told us a deliberate falsehood!”
Charlotte did not seem surprised. “I imagine all men embellish their tales to some extent. They wish to appear gallant or wise in front of the lady they admire. Perhaps it is one of the lessons taught at boys’ schools.”
Elizabeth managed a small smile. “I do not believe Mr Wickham admires anyone but himself, Charlotte. And I am so disappointed in myself for ever believing him to be amiable or honourable—or dare I even say interesting.” She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts.
“It does also deepen my suspicions about his allegations against Mr Darcy. Can any of them be true?”
Charlotte gave her a sad smile. “I suspect, Eliza, that what Mr Wickham told you about Mr Darcy says a lot more about Mr Wickham than it does about Mr Darcy.”
The officer was standing across the room, in a group that included Lydia and Kitty. He kept glancing over at Elizabeth and Charlotte, his usual assuredness visibly absent.
“Poor Mr Wickham,” Charlotte said. “He cannot decide whether you were commending or condemning him.”
“Yes. He is not nearly so clever as he wishes everyone to believe. Nowhere near as sharp as Lydia, in fact.” She nodded towards her sister, who seemed to be attempting to pull Mr Wickham from his unusually lowered spirits.
“I may genuinely pity the man if he tries to hoodwink her. I do not believe even Mr Darcy’s resentment is as implacable as my youngest sister’s, and she is capable of enacting a much more humiliating revenge than withholding a living. ”
The two ladies were forced to put their hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter.
As Elizabeth and her family left the party later that evening, they passed Mr Wickham, who was talking to Mrs Long and Lady Lucas. Elizabeth slowed her steps as she caught the strains of a familiar story.
“We were dining at Lord Arlington’s…colonel was a picture of misery at not being seated next to the lady who had stolen his heart…sneaked into the darkened dining room to swap the place cards…nearly caught by her ladyship…”
The story seemed to have grown into an epic tale, featuring a titled host and making the simple changing of place cards sound like a daring, risky endeavour. It seemed Mr Wickham’s skills were wasted in the militia; he should perhaps turn his hand to romance novels instead.