Page 70 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

“Miss de Bourgh, you are radiant tonight,” Mr. Wickham proclaimed, smiling down at his companion.

Anne managed a blush even as she deliberately made a small mistake in the dance. She had worked hard to perfect the image of a slightly clumsy, unsophisticated girl who had been trapped at Rosings for far too much of her life. “Thank you, Mr. Wickham, you are most kind. You look very handsome tonight.”

“Thank you, Miss de Bourgh.”

The dance separated them for a few moments, and when they were drawn together by the steps, Anne asked, “What think you of this weather, Mr. Wickham? Is it not quite warm?”

“It is indeed, and this ball room even warmer, but the pleasure of your company makes any discomfort of no importance whatsoever.”

Again, Anne smiled and produced a heightened flush. It surprised her a little that Mr. Wickham had charmed Miss Elizabeth since his conversation was quite dull; perhaps the man was adept at adjusting his words for his audience. Indeed, that was entirely likely; Wickham was a chameleon, eager to charm women for his own foul purposes, but once Georgiana’s letters were retrieved, the League would take him down.

***

Priscilla Colby listened carefully from Wickham’s room before opening the door and walking briskly into the corridor, with Georgiana’s letters placed securely within the bosom of her simple cotton dress. It had taken her all of five minutes to find the letters; Wickham might be clever, but he was not skilled at finding unusual hiding places. She had found the papers secreted in a pouch which was, in turn, tucked in a hole in the bottom of his mattress. There were several other letters from infatuated women, and she was pleased to think that Wickham would no longer have a hold over other girls who had been foolish enough to write love letters to a rogue.

The building which housed the officers was large, but not elegant. It had, she guessed, previously been a warehouse of some kind that had been altered to provide simple living quarters for the officers who had neither the funds nor the rank to obtain better living arrangements.

She descended the wooden steps, her feet tapping softly in the solitude, and made her way to the side door. She opened it to find herself staring into the face of an unknown officer, who peered at her in astonished surprise. She allowed herself a second of annoyance before smiling coquettishly at the man. “Good evening, sir!”

“Good evening,” the officer replied suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, sir,” Priscilla fluttered back, shrinking a little, “I was … I was looking for Lieutenant Wickham, but he is not here!”

The officer’s expression shifted from suspicious to avaricious, which provoked a strong desire in Miss Colby to punch the man in the throat. Naturally, she restrained herself; any display of her considerable fighting skills would earn suspicion.

“I see,” the man responded. “Well, my dear, I fear that Mr. Wickham and, indeed, most of the officers, are at a ball at Netherfield Park at the moment. Most regretfully, I was on duty tonight at the stables, or I would have joined them.”

“Oh dear! I was to … to visit Mr. Wickham last night, but my father, well, I was unable…”

“To slip away?” The man was grinning openly now. “That is quite a pity, Miss…”

“Hartford, Susanna Hartford, Mr...”

“Pratt, Lieutenant Pratt, at your service. I daresay that Wickham will be along soon, Miss Hartford,” the man continued with a salacious glint in his blue eyes. “Might I entertain you until he arrives?”

“Oh thank you, but no!” Priscilla breathed dramatically. “Indeed, I cannot stay long. My father … no, thank you, but I must go!”

To her relief, Pratt, though he looked disappointed, allowed her to pass. Priscilla gave the man an arch smile and disappeared into the night, thinking furiously. It was a pity she had been seen since Wickham would probably hear of her incursion into the building. She had considered naming another officer as her quarry, but the problem was that she did not know the characters of the other men; for all she knew, Pratt, and Denny, and Colonel Forster were Methodists who would not even consider seducing a lower-class girl. Wickham, of course, would do so without a hint of remorse.

Well, all the letters had been retrieved now, and there was little Wickham could do to move against the League of the Golden Daffodil.

***

“Might we go out to the terrace for a breath of fresh air, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, her cheeks flushed with heat and the exercise of dancing.

“Yes, indeed,” the man replied gratefully. “May I fetch you some iced lemonade?”

“Oh yes, thank you! I will wait for you outside.”

Darcy nodded and watched as his love walked elegantly toward the great doors, which had been thrown open to allow air to circulate in the ballroom. It was hot tonight, and he was quite warm in his evening dress. He cast a quick glance at his cousin Anne, who was seated across from one of the open doors with George Wickham bent over her, his expression winsome. Darcy felt a throb of concern, which he quickly repressed. Anne was in no danger in such a public arena, and she was entirely aware of Wickham’s vile proclivities. Unlike Georgiana, she would never lose her heart to the rogue.

He fetched Elizabeth’s lemonade and quickly made his way onto the open terrace. The moon was full tonight, which was not by happenstance; given that many families would be returning home in full darkness, the date of the ball had deliberately been chosen to coincide with the full moon.

Elizabeth was standing at the edge of the terrace, gazing out over the flower garden, which was silvery in the moonlight. At the sight of her, Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful, so pure – she looked like an angel. Then his natural intelligence came to the fore. Elizabeth was not an ethereal angel; she was a full-blooded, energetic, passionate, intelligent woman, and he loved her for it.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, turning to bestow a warm smile on him. He smiled back, observing with fascination as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. He watched her slender throat quiver as the welcome liquid cooled her.

“Mr. Darcy?” she said, lowering her glass and gazing at him seriously.

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked huskily.

“Will you marry me?”

For a moment, he was struck dumb, and then he found himself laughing with a mixture of disbelief at her audacity and gratitude at her mercy.

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, I would be honored to become your husband.”

She flushed fiery red now, noticeable even in the lunar light, and chuckled softly. “I realize that was entirely impertinent of me, but it seemed you were unsure how best to move forward…”

“Indeed I was, and I am grateful that you chose to put me out of my misery.”

He could not stop smiling at her, his spirit glowing with ecstasy. He would marry Elizabeth Bennet! “Perhaps I could speak with your father? I have not seen him within; is he perhaps in the card room?”

“I fear that my father is at Longbourn overseeing my youngest sister,” Elizabeth explained, reaching out to tuck her petite hand in his arm. “Mr. Bennet has decided to curtail her activities significantly, and Lydia is most displeased.”

Darcy gazed on his new intended in surprise and delight. He would never be ashamed of Elizabeth, but her family was not always well behaved. It was most encouraging to hear that Mr. Bennet had decided to intervene to improve the behavior of his family.

“I will call on Mr. Bennet tomorrow morning, if that suits you,” he murmured, lifting her gloved hand and kissing it fervently.

“That suits me very well, Mr. Darcy.”

***

Mr. Bingley smiled down at Miss Bennet as the third set of dances for the night began at last. He had danced with Miss Mary and Miss Kitty for the first and second sets of the evening, eager to show his attentions to his love’s sisters. Miss Mary had always seemed a dull young woman, prone to moralizing but without anything of interest to say. Tonight, he had been inspired to discuss the needs of the local tenants and had been rewarded when the girl had provided several useful and practical suggestions about how to tell the difference between true need and malingering.

Miss Kitty had seemed strangely chastened, and their dance together had been largely silent, but she was, at least, an excellent dancer. Bingley loved dancing for dancing’s sake, so he was happy enough.

And now finally, Miss Bennet!

“How are you this evening, Miss Bennet?” he asked as the musicians began playing music suitable for a country dance.

“I am very well, Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied, gazing up into his face and awarding him a lovely smile. “It is pleasant to see so many happy people here tonight.”

“I hope that you count yourself among that number?”

“I do. I enjoy dancing very much, Mr. Bingley, and Netherfield is beautiful tonight. Miss Bingley has done a remarkable job with all the arrangements.”

Mr. Bingley considered these words as the steps separated them, and renewed the topic when they came together again. “I am overjoyed you find Netherfield to your liking, Miss Bennet. Do you truly think that my sister’s work is excellent?”

Jane lifted one beautiful eyebrow and nodded. “Indeed, Miss Bingley is most accomplished in making plans for dances like this one. I am not familiar with balls in London, but I do know that to make provisions for the musicians, and the flowers, for the refreshments and the card room, require a careful attention to detail. I am certain that I would not do as well as your sister has done.”

Bingley nodded thoughtfully and silence fell between them for a full minute.

“I daresay I have not been cognizant of how much work the two balls have been here at Netherfield,” he mused. “I confess to being quite angry with my sister for … for all that occurred last autumn, but perhaps I have also taken her skills and hard work for granted?”

Jane’s gloved hands touched his own, and they twirled silently past one another while the eldest Miss Bennet considered her response.

“I suppose it is all too common to focus on an individual’s weaknesses and discount their strengths, though in truth, I used to concentrate on virtues to the exclusion of considering vices,” she finally said, softly enough that only Bingley could hear her over the music. “I daresay it is best to be somewhere in the middle.”

“At the bottom of the pendulum,” Bingley murmured.

***

Darcy found himself, with some embarrassment, actually weeping with relief as he stood over the fire in his room, Georgiana’s last two letters in his hand. He had skimmed them to assure himself that they were indeed from his dear sister, though he had refrained from reading every word with care. It was entirely disgusting to think of his sweetling pouring out words of adoration to a man whose only desire was to gain Miss Darcy’s dowry and strike a blow against her brother.

But all that was past. The letters were retrieved and, as he threw them into the flames, destroyed forever. Now that his most vital purpose regarding Wickham was at an end, he had every intention of completing what should have been done long ago. George Wickham would pay for his crimes.

The door opened softly, and he looked up to observe his cousin, Anne, in the doorway, who was regarding him with grave eyes. “Are you well, Darcy?”

“I am,” he responded shakily. “I find myself enormously happy, for I am to marry Elizabeth, and relieved, because the letters have been retrieved, and furious at Wickham for being a cancer on the earth.”

Anne’s eyes lit up. “Elizabeth has accepted you! Oh, Darcy, I am overjoyed for you!”

Darcy stood up, and in a rare moment of fervor, embraced his thin cousin. “I am overjoyed as well, though in truth, it was I who accepted her. She asked me to marry her!”

Anne gaped inelegantly and then laughed in delight. “My dear Darcy, she will keep you on your toes, most definitely! What a remarkable young woman!”

“Indeed she is,” he agreed, his face glowing with delight. “I am the happiest man on Earth, Anne. But I could spend hours speaking of Elizabeth, and yet there is work to be done. I have destroyed Georgiana’s letters, but there are several others here, all from women who thought themselves the objects of Wickham’s adoration. Should I destroy those as well?”

Anne shook her head decidedly. “No, give them to me, and the League will return them to their rightful owners. The women must be assured, with their own eyes, that they are destroyed.”