Page 9 of Friendship and Forgiveness (Mr. Underwood’s Elizabeth & Darcy Stories #7)

The entire day after she returned from Netherfield Hall with Jane, Elizabeth had a vague guilt.

She’d gone to Netherfield with the full intention of encouraging Mr. Darcy’s attention to turn towards her friend, and instead… she’d had that conversation with him.

Though she tried quite hard, it really was impossible for Elizabeth to not suspect that the gentleman was attracted to her — why else would he seem to care so much about her opinion about his opinions?

Or maybe he simply was a disputatious fellow who wanted to argue the correctness of his philosophy about everything, and then somehow fell into a self-disclosure that… Elizabeth found that the more she knew him, the better she liked him — he certainly had ample flaws.

The next afternoon Mr. Collinss’ arrival promised to be a useful distraction from these thoughts.

The actual man was as ridiculous as his letter, which Papa had eagerly shared with Elizabeth after her arrival back home.

There was a great deal of entertainment to be had at dinner as she ate her potatoes, soup, and roast in watching Papa bait him into saying particularly ridiculous things, or in listening to his transparent proclamations of intent to marry one of the Bennet girls.

Except for Mary, whose preferences Elizabeth could not honestly parse, she was confident that none of them would have any interest in him.

However that night in bed her mind returned again to Caroline, and the question of whether there was anything she could do to help her friend.

The weather was turning cold, and Elizabeth had buried herself under a pile of blankets, and she wrapped her arm around a second down feather pillow to help her sleep.

Unlike Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was not inclined to judge her friends for their faults: Caroline was stubborn to an extreme. So the crisis that she would face when she finally admitted to herself that Mr. Darcy would not turn his eye towards her was likely to be delayed — but Elizabeth had never seen Caroline fail to gain a goal that she had assiduously pursued and deeply desired.

She did not know how her friend would react, but she suspected it would be unpleasant to all.

Little bits of feather poking out of the pillow scratched at Elizabeth’s arm. She rolled over to her other side. If only Caroline was a little more reasonable and persuadable!

Of course she would not be Caroline then.

Elizabeth smiled to herself in the dark.

The cold air bit at her face.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and she promised herself, again, that she would always support Caroline.

They ought to convince Bingley or Papa to take them all to London once Darcy had abandoned Hertfordshire — the sooner he left, Elizabeth was convinced, the better it would be for Caroline’s heart.

Yet part of her hated the idea of him leaving, and her never seeing Mr. Darcy again.

But when they went to London after he left, she could tramp up and down Bond street with Caroline, chattering endlessly to distract her friend from her unhappiness. They would visit the booksellers, look in at all the modistes, watch plays in Covent Garden, watch the queens of fashion parade up and down St. James, and generally have a fabulous time.

There would only be a few small parties, since Town would be mostly abandoned, but there would be enough company to break Caroline out of the melancholy that she would be sure to fall into.

Also she would meet other men, men more deserving of her love.

Having settled this plan in her mind, Elizabeth fell asleep, twisting and turning in bed.

But as she slipped into unconsciousness, it was thoughts of Darcy that returned to arouse and bother her. That brief touch of his hand covering her hand.

The way his lips looked. The pained glow in his eyes as he told her something very true about himself.

And also the bushiness of his sideburns, the smooth, healthy appearance of his skin, the way that he always wore the finest coats, and how they always fit him perfectly. And his thick dark hair.

Above all, his serious eyes.

Such an odd serious man…

When she awoke, sweaty, and with her legs all tangled up in the bedcovers, Elizabeth was again not quite sure what she had dreamed of, but she was sure that Mr. Darcy had figured in those dreams prominently.

Ugh.

Caroline’s! He was Caroline’s!

Even if he did not want Caroline, Elizabeth would win no profit in thinking about him.

After she dressed, Elizabeth half stumbled down to the breakfast room, with rather more tiredness than she usually did. Delicious coffee, rolls and ham were laid out. They always had excellent coffee present on the table, as Papa had a particular fondness for the beverage.

Papa already sat at his breakfast, a newspaper neatly folded by his side, abandoned in favor of a recent issue of the proceedings of the Royal Astronomical Society perched in his hand that he was rereading because he had not been wholly persuaded by a paper published in it.

However, Papa seemed to have some difficulty focusing on what he was reading, as Mr. Collins determinedly and unceasingly spoke.

Mr. Collins eagerly looked up at her entry and said, “Loveliest cousin. Sit down. Do sit down.”

Instead of responding Elizabeth poured her coffee, adding cream and sugar. She half growled at Mr. Collins, and, as Papa was not reading it, she seized the newspaper from beside his plate.

Papa glanced away from the journal he was reading. “No please or may I?”

Elizabeth swatted at his head with the back of the paper and he laughed. “Nothing of note happened today.”

“Loveliest cousin, you ought to show more respect for your honored father.” Mr. Collins used that term for her again.

Elizabeth winced inside.

He added, “You read the newspaper? I hardly think that it is the place of a woman such as yourself to interest yourself in the doings of the Great and the Public.”

Elizabeth stared at him, like he was a rather strange specimen, and then she spread open the paper on the table, and took a sip from the rich coffee.

“Have I told you about the fine parsonage I have?” Mr. Collins said, after a moment of being disconcerted by Elizabeth's rudeness.

Elizabeth sighed, and she refolded the paper. “You spoke a little about it last night.”

“It is the snuggest and finest place in England! Three guest rooms — we have an excellent garden, hedges all grown around. My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, spent a great deal of effort on it. She advises me on all matters. There is no woman who is more kindly condescending than her. Nor any woman who is a greater ornament to her exalted rank.”

“You certainly did ,” Elizabeth replied with a smile, “already speak upon the great virtues of your patroness. You hardly need to repeat anything about her.”

“Oh! But I must. I must. For her virtues are such as to bear a great deal of repeating. Without her patronage I would be nothing — or nearly nothing. It was my great fortune that I encountered her, and so shortly upon the completion of my education. Soon as I’d taken orders. Let me tell you how I met her, and—”

“Oh, my,” Mr. Bennet said, rising. “Look at the time. I really must hurry to the library, I have important business to manage.”

“I will come with you then,” Mr. Collins said. “For I must learn all about the management of this estate.”

Mr. Bennet stared at him.

Seeming to perceive a question in that silence, Mr. Collins added, “For one day, perhaps one day very soon you shall be deceased and shall face the almighty before whom all our secrets are laid bare, and it will be my duty to manage this estate and to ensure the comfort of all those connected with it.” So saying he turned to Elizabeth and bowed solemnly to her.

Does he mean to marry me?

If the notion was not so obvious a scheme, Elizabeth would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. At least this was a man, at last, who proved easy to understand. Precisely what every woman wished.

Papa retreated from the room without replying in any significant way to Mr. Collins’s memento mori — or threat of death, if one was inclined to interpret him liberally.

To Papa’s disappointment, and Elizabeth’s relief, after giving her what she thought was supposed to be a longing look, but which in fact seemed more indicative of constipation than affection, Mr. Collins followed her father to the bookroom.

A little later that day all the sisters determined to walk out to Meryton, and seeing his opportunity to rid himself of his increasingly unwelcome guest and interlocutor, Mr. Bennet encouraged Mr. Collins to go with them.

As they donned their shoes, Mama came up to Elizabeth, and said, “Dear, I should mention to you, Mr. Collins seems to have designs on your hand.”

“On me!” Elizabeth sighed.

Suspicion sadly settled.

Until now, Elizabeth had had hope.

There always ought to be, in the heart of every woman, hope.

Or it was like Caroline insisted: If she harmonized her thoughts correctly with the spiritual forces governing the world visible — that is to say, if she simply maintained in her heart the conviction that Mr. Collins could not possibly be indicating an interest in her hand, he would then cease to exist like the elves had ceased to exist once people lost their belief in them.

Or maybe he might cease to bother her.

Mrs. Bennet nodded. “He came to me this morning, and said that his patroness — she sounds like exactly the sort of aristocratic lady who I cannot stand, the sort who sneers about fortunes from trade — had sent him to Hertfordshire to find a wife from amongst his cousins! I told him that I would not interfere in any way in the choices of my children, but that I thought you were unlikely to be inclined in his direction. But he said some nonsense about how every woman of sense would be attracted to him!” Mama giggled. “Him! But in any case, he seems fixed upon pursuing you.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I shall manage. And I thank you for the warning. It seems I was right to beg Colonel Fitzwilliam for the first dance at the ball Charlie has planned — my only surprise is that he did not pick Jane as the partner of his future life.”

“Oh, she was his first choice.” Mrs. Bennet waved her hand. “But I told him that she is likely to become engaged.”

“You did?” Elizabeth laughed, half shocked. “Mama, you should not lie!”

“I didn’t, don’t you see that — oh .” Mama now looked sly, and patted Elizabeth on the cheek. “Dear Lizzy, you shall be quite surprised.”

“Not you too? I assure you, Jane and Charlie cannot possibly be considering making a match of it. Not possibly.” Elizabeth paused, to assure herself that she still felt confident in this assertion. “Not possibly.”

She… well she could not imagine possibly ever having a desire to marry Charlie. But Jane had always been inscrutable, sweet, with odd tastes.

On the walk into Meryton, Mr. Collins hung next to Elizabeth. He was a most determined talker and an accomplished walker, and gradually Elizabeth’s patience with the persistently boring words began to run out, and she found it increasingly difficult to attend to him.

When they reached the house of Elizabeth’s aunt, Mrs. Phillips, Kitty suddenly exclaimed, “Denny! There is Denny! And he has a very handsome friend with him. Hallo, Denny. Denny!” After calling out to him in that way, Kitty flushed, turned to Elizabeth and Jane, and with a deep blush said, “Ooops… ought not have called out so loudly. Mrs. Castle would have caned me.”

Jane smiled sweetly. “You do not need to worry about that anymore. But you ought to be more sedate.”

Denny and his friend eagerly crossed the street to join the girls and Mr. Collins.

His friend was in fact exceedingly handsome, surpassing Denny in appearance and manner by an equal extent to how Denny surpassed Mr. Collins. He had a smooth smiling face, bright cheerful eyes, and excellent sideburns.

Introductions were made all around, and the gentleman, who was revealed to be a Mr. Wickham, happily smiled to meet them.

To Kitty’s delight, they soon learned that the gentleman had already been enrolled as an officer in the regiment, and he was thus to don the redcoat, and remain quartered in Meryton for the next months, along with the rest of the militia regiment.

Elizabeth found her conversation with such a charming man a welcome distraction from both Mr. Collins’s dullness, and the unsettling thoughts she’d had of late about Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Phillips saw them from where she sat, and she threw open her upstairs window and called down to tell them that Mr. Wickham was very welcome to also come to the card party that she was throwing tonight.

Quite the country town sort of open behavior. Elizabeth smiled at her aunt.

Her mother was also often like that as well, especially when she had been spending a great deal of time with her sister. While Mrs. Castle would have despised Mrs. Phillips as vulgar — and Caroline certainly had a bit of that distaste for the vulgar as well — Elizabeth could not help but be charmed by the openness and authenticity of her relation.

Despite that, Elizabeth was glad that Mr. Darcy had not been present to see either Mrs. Phillips’s display, or Kitty’s.

In the midst of this conversation, Mr. Darcy and Charlie came through the town on horseback.

Upon seeing each other Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham both stopped and stared at each other. Mr. Darcy’s face was cold and harsh, with an edge to it that Elizabeth had never seen before.

For his part Mr. Wickham went red, and then he half awkwardly took his hat off to acknowledge Mr. Darcy.

Darcy responded to that gesture of respect with nothing but a cold glare, and then he turned around and went back the direction he’d come out of town at a gallop.

On seeing his friend take off in such a way, Bingley startled from where he’d been talking to Jane, exclaimed to them, “All invited to the ball! Cards to be sent soon!” And he took off after Darcy shouting, “The deuce! Old fellow, what's bothering you!”

Elizabeth turned back to Mr. Wickham, half hoping that he would immediately explain to her this extraordinary occurrence, but instead he was quite quiet.

After another minute, he and Denny made excuses and hurried off.

Elizabeth shrugged.

Nothing to it but to ask Charlie what the whole thing had been about next time she saw him. Except Elizabeth had an unhappy notion that Mr. Darcy would not in fact reveal very much about the situation to his friend, and she would be left, perhaps forever, in this state of curiosity.

Oh, well.

But if Wickham was at the card party tonight, perhaps she could finagle the story out of him .

To Elizabeth’s good fortune, not only did Mr. Wickham attend Mrs. Phillips’s card party, already wearing the red uniform of the service, but she was the favored woman to whom he turned his gaze and steps upon entering the room.

His bearing and appearance was superior to that of anyone else in the room, however Elizabeth could not help but have a strong sense of reservation about him.

Despite the clear flaw in his character shown by not falling in love with Caroline, Elizabeth had found Mr. Darcy to be a sensible man, and further he had insisted that he was cautious in determining to dislike a man.

He clearly disliked Mr. Wickham.

Commonplace trivialities began their conversation: Common comments upon the weather. Commoner comments upon the neighborhood. Less common compliments to the regiment. Wickham floridly smeared flattery as thick as butter upon Hertfordshire, Meryton, the regiment, Elizabeth herself, rainy days, sunny days, and all that he saw, but especially the charming society of the neighborhood, exemplified by his present partner in charming conversation.

Elizabeth was not immune to the pleasure of being marked as a charming part of a charming society, and she did smile prettily back to Mr. Wickham. She flushed a little at his flirtation. However the chief part of her mind was caught up in seeking some unobtrusive conversational gambit that she might use to ask him about his connection with Mr. Darcy.

But to her delight, Mr. Wickham began the conversation himself. He first enquired about the distance from Netherfield to Meryton, and then asked how long Mr. Darcy had been present at the estate.

“Oh about a month,” Elizabeth replied. “He is the owner of what I have been informed is a delightful property, with a particularly delightful set of gardens and large library in Derbyshire.” Elizabeth could not help but smile at her memory of Caroline’s enthusiasm for Pemberley.

“Yes, his property is a clear ten thousand a year,” Wickham said as he expertly shuffled a deck of cards, playing little tricks with the deck in the way he combined it together again and again. “And though I am partial to it, I honestly believe there is no finer house, nor park, nor estate in all of England than Pemberley. This may surprise you given the very cold manner of our greeting, but I have been particularly connected with his estate since infancy.”

“You have!”

Mr. Wickham seemed pleased at having elicited such astonishment in his fair interlocutor. But rather than immediately satisfying Elizabeth’s curiosity on the head, he asked, “Are you particularly acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

“Oh I hardly know!” she replied. “We spent a week in the same house, and I danced with him twice, and I have conversed with him many times. But am I particularly acquainted with him?” She blushed remembering that conversation in the library about his tendency towards resentment. “I hardly know.”

Elizabeth saw again in her mind Darcy’s dark eyes, as he passionately spoke about how someone close to him had been hurt by a person he once trusted, and… and she felt a cold pit open up in the center of her stomach.

Suddenly, despite having no proof, nor any reason to think so beyond an odd intuition, Elizabeth felt completely certain that the particular man who had taught Mr. Darcy to never forgive was this Mr. Wickham.

Suddenly she felt all the hardness of the wooden chair beneath her, and a tension in her muscles. It was as though an odious stench had begun to waft from Wickham, but she was sure it was her imagination.

She repeated to him more quietly, “I hardly know how well I know him.”

“Ah.” Mr. Wickham did not seem wholly satisfied by that answer. But he then asked again, “And tell me, is he generally liked in the neighborhood?”

And now Elizabeth began to think she was accumulating specific evidence in Wickham’s probing to understand how Meryton thought about Darcy before he said anything that Mr. Wickham was the man who Darcy had a pointed reason to dislike.

She said in reply, truthfully, “I do not think he is well liked. His manners are quite too high, reserved and maybe…” shy . Elizabeth suddenly realized that Mr. Darcy was, despite everything, shy. And somehow that made her like him a great deal more. But she would not say that to a man who was his enemy. “He makes an effort to appear to be the high gentleman, and those who fancy themselves as not quite so high are not endeared by that.”

“Ah!” Mr. Wickham said, seemingly relieved by what she had said. “It is unusual to see him not be liked everywhere he goes. Mr. Darcy has the ability to please when he chooses. And all the world is generally blinded by his wealth and consequence and unable to see his faults.”

“He admits quite openly to his faults,” Elizabeth replied.

Mr. Wickham blinked at that statement several times. As they started another round of their card game, there was a low sound each time he slapped another card on the table. “I can hardly be expected to pronounce an opinion on him. Or upon his flaws. I conceive of myself as having been treated poorly by him, but others might see the matter differently. In any case, I have known him since my earliest childhood. My father was the steward of his estate, and his father, old Mr. Darcy, was my godfather, and the kindest friend I have ever known. I can never say anything against Mr. Darcy, due to my memory of his father.”

“The godson of his father!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She carefully sipped from the wine that Mrs. Phillips had passed around to everyone. “Were you two close?”

“Exceedingly so. But alas, as Mr. Darcy grew older and prouder, he no longer could stand to have as a close companion someone with such low origins as myself. And when his father sent me to university with him, so that I might study to enter the church, our relations became strained and Mr. Darcy came to hate me — at the time I was only grieved to have lost a friend who was dear to me, later in his spite he did me great harm.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth said. “From what he has said, it would not surprise me at all to hear that he refused to forgive you once he had determined you had offended him sufficiently.”

“Precisely that! His father had wished for me to enter the church, and Mr. Darcy’s father had meant to give me a fine living under his control — the parish in which Pemberley lies in fact. But Mr. Darcy could not stand to see me living in such close proximity to him, so he refused to give me the living when it fell vacant. And thus when I ought to be well provided for as accorded my education, I am left to shift for myself — but I do not complain! This regiment is the finest body of men I have ever known, and I am determined to be tolerably happy, no matter what causes for complaint that I might have.”

“Shocking!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She frowned. “He truly did not — but if your father had specified in the will that you were to have the living, there would be little that he could have done.”

“While Mr. Darcy’s wishes were clearly stated, and well understood by his son, there was enough ambiguity in the language of the will as to give him sufficient legal excuse for denying me the position.”

“I am surprised that he could do such a thing, yet…” If this Mr. Wickham was the man who Darcy had angrily spoken about when they talked in the library, she could in such a case imagine him being willing to disregard his father’s wishes to avoid being forced to live in close proximity to him. “Yet, I can believe it of him.”

She shuffled through her cards and laid two down on the table. The room suddenly was cold, and Elizabeth was not sure what she felt about these revelations — especially since, as she reminded herself, she ought in no way trust Wickham’s word.

Darcy’s dark eyes.

Wickham said, “I assure you that it is a wholly true tale. Seldom has there been a son less worthy of his father.”

“What a surprising story,” Elizabeth replied. “Might I inquire, if it is not a delicate matter, what precipitated this break in your relations?”

“I can hardly say. He did not like my habits, and I did not like his. But I truly believe that it was chiefly because he preferred companions with more wealth and influence than I could boast. But further… he was jealous. Yes, he was jealous. I was his father’s favorite. I could entertain and amuse his father in ways that he could not. And he could not stand to be second in any way.”

Elizabeth pressed her tongue hard against her teeth in thought. “And Darcy’s other childhood companions. You must then have known his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Wickham paled. “C-colonel Fitzwilliam? Is he also at Netherfield?”

Now this was interesting.

“Oh yes, but just for the past week. He is present to do some task that involves training the regiment.”

“Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?”

“I believe that is his Christian name. Is his presence likely to have any great impact on your plans.”

“N-n-no. N-not at all.”

And then, as if he had been summoned forth by conversation about him, like the devil famously could be, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered Mrs. Phillips’s already crowded supper room followed by Bingley who apologetically waved to Mrs. Phillips. “Apologies for showing up. We’d said we wouldn’t come, but Colonel Fitzwilliam wanted—”

That gentleman though only had eyes for Mr. Wickham.

He bared his teeth and stalked forward towards them, a delighted glow in his eyes, and Elizabeth had a shivery sense that this was a man who was capable of violence without an excess of compunctions.

“ Fuck… ” Wickham hissed as he sat stuck in place, like a rabbit before a snake.

Elizabeth looked at him shocked. She didn’t have any idea what that word meant , but she knew it was one of those words which gentlemen were really not supposed to use around ladies.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s smile hid nothing of his predator nature as he pulled a seat up next to them and sat down, arms loose and relaxed. “Hello, Miss Elizabeth, making the acquaintance of my charming old friend here?”

“You do not frighten me,” Wickham said stiffly. “You know I can injure you as much as you can injure me.”

The colonel stared back at him.

His eyes were cold.

Elizabeth was rather shocked to see this wholly different version of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

She was used to the continual teasing warmth that Colonel Fitzwilliam showed towards Caroline, his cousin, and to a lesser extent herself and everyone else.

“I know things! You know that I can tell people about them!”

The raptor’s glare continued.

“You will not do anything to me. You would not be willing to risk it.”

A slow cruel smile crossed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face. “I’d like it if you tried to defame us.”

What little confidence Wickham possessed seemed to dissolve, and he shrank into himself, like a small little rodent who just hoped that the hawk had not seen him.

“Well, well, well. Entered the militia have you? Ready to defend merry England with your life and your blood? — you might join the regulars if you really don’t mind being shot .”

Wickham went paler.

“Easier also to run from the militia. No worries about desertion charges when you run from the battles defending our coasts that the navy ensures do not happen. Are you intending to stay here? Permanent like? Like the neighborhood do you?”

“Very much.” Wickham’s voice cracked.

“Oh well.” Colonel Fitzwilliam stood, and he looked around at the room. Many of the officers had come to Mrs. Phillips’s card party, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was clearly pleased to see so many red coats.

He sharply clapped his hands three times, and then shouted, “Officers of Forster’s regiment. Attend to me.”

Somehow he silenced everyone, man or woman, in the room by a force of personality. “So this sweet fellow,” he put his hand familiarly on Wickham’s shoulder, “is joining you all. Might do him a bit of good to be part of a decent regiment of men, though he has always been in my experience a worthless sort of fellow. I want to warn you all: Don’t play cards with him. He cheats. And when he can’t cheat, he loses and does not pay back the debts. Don’t trust him with your money, your lives, or your women.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam then looked at Elizabeth’s portly uncle Mr. Phillips. “You there, you know most of the local shopkeepers, the generality of people?” Without waiting for a reply he said, “Make sure every shopkeep in town knows that they should not trust Mr. Wickham’s money, unless they can see it. Even then, they probably ought to bite the coin to make sure it is real. He’ll also try to seduce every tradesman’s daughter, and he’ll not take any responsibility, not even if they threaten to shoot him. Be cautious around this fellow. But who knows? Maybe in this new profession he’ll turn into a worthwhile, useful sort of man. You are a fine company of men, and you shall set him an excellent example.”

After he said that, Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded to Mrs. Phillips. “Know it must be deuced annoying to have your party interrupted like this. But I’m a simple soldier who knows nothing of niceties. My apologies.”

He inclined his head to Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth, I eagerly look forward to sharing the first dance with you at Bingley’s ball.”

He finally looked at Mr. Wickham. “If you try to insult our good name I will hear . Even after I’ve left, I will hear — and I’m not a kind and forgiving soul like Darcy: I hope you do. Till we meet again.”

The officer then marched out of the room, without speaking to anyone else.

Everyone stared around, and then everyone began eagerly talking.

Elizabeth looked back at Mr. Wickham, he breathed hard and the cards he held from the game they’d played while speaking had been crumpled together.