Page 26 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A VISITOR IN brIGHTON
E lizabeth entered yet another assembly hall for yet another assembly on yet another Tuesday night. It promised to be a crush, but then again, the assemblies in Brighton always were. Even as she thought it, Lydia, walking ahead of her, yelped as someone jostled her roughly coming from the other direction. “Are you injured?” she said into her sister’s ear, but Lydia did not reply, her attention seeming to be fixed on the dancers.
For as much as the diversions of Brighton tired Elizabeth, Lydia was positively in raptures. Everywhere they went, she flirted and flounced to her heart’s content, and more than once was Elizabeth required to intervene in some scheme or another that would surely have brought shame to them all. She once woke to find Lydia in the midst of dressing, having evidently planned a clandestine tryst outdoors. Another time, Elizabeth was made to stop her going off to the closet in what was meant as a ‘kissing game’.
“That man is thirty if he is a day,” she had scolded her sister. “I assure you he is not going to settle himself for a few kisses from a sixteen-year-old girl.”
Lydia overspent her allowance, drank too much, slept too little, and in no way behaved as a gently bred young woman. Mrs Hamilton was certainly incapable of keeping her wild animal spirits in check, and Mrs Forster had no wish to do it. Mrs Forster was the sort of friend who admired effusively, and Lydia’s antics were spurred on to great heights under her regard.
In all, Elizabeth felt that the dangers of Brighton far outweighed the pleasures and hoped, rather than believed, that they would end their stay with no significant damage to Lydia’s reputation. Despite her tiredness and ennui, she was always glad she had accompanied her sister, laying down in her bed every night thankful another day had passed without incident.
“Pray tell me you will dance tonight, Lizzy?” Lydia abruptly turned her attention to her elder sister. “I cannot think why, with so many eligible gentlemen about?—”
“Because I cannot,” Elizabeth said with gentle firmness. “Go on and enjoy yourself, and I will satisfy myself with the pleasures of observation.”
Elizabeth had discovered an impediment heretofore unrealised: the dances confounded her. As she watched from the side, she felt bewildered by patterns she knew she must have once mastered. She would study Lydia—no matter what else might be said of her, Lydia was an expert dancer—but her movements did not make sense to Elizabeth, the steps remaining unpredictable in her mind. She hoped if she continued to study them, she might re-learn them.
In truth it was no great loss to her, for the more she was in Brighton, the more that thoughts of Darcy came upon her. She knew not why—as far as she knew, she had never been in his company by Brighton or any seaside town for that matter. And the more she thought of him, the more she began to think that perhaps her painful rejection of him had been too absolute. She had always wished her expressions were more moderate but never more than now, sitting in a comfortable chair among the matrons and chaperons, longing for a man who might hope he never saw her again.
“Miss Bennet? How do you do this evening?”
Elizabeth looked up to see Mr Wickham standing before her.
It had been a relief to find that he gave them no particular notice since their arrival in Brighton. He was friendly but not too much so. They were not always at the same parties, nor did he always ask her sister to dance when they were. Towards herself, he betrayed no undue interest. They were passing acquaintances; she had no desire for more and was happy to find that he did not seem to either.
“Very well, sir, and you?”
With a little gesture, he asked if he might sit on the chair next to hers, and she agreed. He sat, smoothing his coat behind him. They chatted, briefly and civilly, about the little goings-on of the evening, after which he said, “I had hoped that I might tempt you away from that chair of yours tonight. Just one set?”
“I am afraid, sir, that I do not mean to dance this evening.” Elizabeth gave Mr Wickham what she hoped appeared a regretful smile. “My injuries, as you know.”
“Oh! How stupid of me,” he exclaimed. “Then I shall sit this one out with you.”
“No, no,” she said. “Pray do not sit out on my account. There are so many pretty girls to dance with in Brighton!”
“Aye, there are pretty girls aplenty,” he agreed with a nod, his gaze moving absently over the crowd. “But prettiness and charm are so rarely united, that when one finds it, the appeal of dancing grows dim.” He turned his eyes on her with a smile that left her in no doubt of his intention to compliment her, and she felt equal parts discomfiture and warmth spread through her. Discomfiture because of what she knew of him and pleasure because…well, it was pleasant to have the attentions of a handsome man, even if privately she thought him much less handsome than Darcy.
There you go again! Why must you always think of Darcy! To cover her consternation, she said, “And tell me, sir, how have you been spending your days? I hear that there are?—”
She stopped as Mr Wickham abruptly stood. With a hasty “Excuse me,” he strode off into the crowd. Her amazement was such that she could only stare after him, wondering if he meant to return. It seemed he did not, for he disappeared from sight without a look back. So much for my charm and wanting to converse with me!
His actions were not at all injurious to her; they were merely a source of bafflement. In any case, she had little time to think about it, for moments later, a man in the regimentals of a colonel in the regulars approached her.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” he exclaimed. “May I join you?”
He did not wait for her reply, but sat himself beside her, grinning broadly. Despite the intrusion, she felt comfortable. Was this a friend? She would need to explain to him that she did not know him and why.
“Oh Lord!” With great theatricality, he lightly slapped a hand against his own forehead. “How stupid am I? You have not the least notion of who I am, have you?”
Elizabeth gave a relieved laugh. “I am afraid I do not, sir. I had an accident while in?—”
“Kent. Yes, I know, I was part of the party that searched for you,” he said with a laugh. “I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Darcy’s cousin, Lady Catherine’s nephew. Although with luck, you might have forgot her as well?”
Darcy’s cousin! The thought electrified her, and she longed to ask about him even as she struggled to speak of Lady Catherine instead. What a relief that he had not come upon her speaking with Mr Wickham!
“That is true, I do not remember the lady, though I was told I dined with her on several occasions.”
“And became something of her favourite, I must tell you. She told me she thought you were too clever for your own good. That is high praise, indeed!”
Elizabeth laughed again.
“Of course, you must know—or perhaps you do not—that her approbation must end with Darcy’s avowal of his wish to marry you. She had hopes he would marry her daughter, even if her daughter had no wish to marry Darcy!”
He chuckled again, but Elizabeth, hearing reference to Darcy’s wish to marry her, grew awkward and lowered her head to study her hands.
“There I have gone and done it, have I not? My mouth gets ahead of my brain box, I fear.”
“No, think nothing of it,” she murmured.
“It is precisely how everyone came to think you and Darcy were engaged, you know,” he informed her. “The fault, wholly and completely, sits beside you.”
She peeped up at him, and he nodded earnestly.
“I cannot remember Darcy’s exact words to me—I believe he told me that he had proposed to you, and knowing him as I do, it did not once occur to me that he might have been refused?—”
“Because he is so rich?” Elizabeth challenged.
Looking surprised, the colonel said, “No. Not at all. In truth, my cousin has a great deal to offer a lady and the least of it is his fortune.” Leaning almost into her, he said, “You yourself have seen how he cares for people. There is nothing he would not do for those he truly loves. No person under his care suffers, not servants, not cousins, not creatures, not if he can help them in any way. Darcy never loves anything or anyone by halves, so if he loved you, well, I simply could not imagine you would not love him back. Any woman’s heart, greeted with such devotion, must surely yield.”
The force of that struck her so that she had to look away, feeling that the emotion in her eyes would surely give away all that she felt. The colonel seemed to sense her awkwardness and happily moved them past the uncomfortable moment.
“But, I see by your face that I have made you uneasy, and that was surely not my intention. I wished merely to renew our acquaintance, so let us speak on subjects less fraught. How is your health? Are you wholly recovered?”
A very agreeable half an hour was spent in conversation with the colonel. She did make the awkward mistake of asking—twice—whether his family were all in good health; he answered with the same geniality twice as well, saying everyone was busy preparing for Miss de Bourgh’s wedding.
The colonel was very much the gentleman, telling her that she and he had taken more than a few walks in the groves of Rosings Park and relating to her the substance of some of their conversations. Elizabeth could see how she might have spent a good bit of time with him; he had just the sort of easy disposition she found agreeable in a friend. It was no surprise to her to learn that he was Darcy’s dearest friend, for she had always heard it said that two men, so near in age and raised as brothers, would either become bitterest rivals or dearest friends. In the case of the colonel and Darcy, it had been, apparently, the latter.
As the conversation flagged, she enquired, “Are you staying long in Brighton?”
“No, my position mostly requires me in London. I came for only a few days.”
He did not indicate why he was there for so short a time, nor did she ask.