Page 7

Chapter Seven

T he carriage lurched over a rut in the road, jostling Darcy against the squabs, but he scarcely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet, her flashing eyes filled with righteous anger as she rejected his proposal with a vehemence that still burned in his memory. He cast a sidelong glance at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who sat across from him in companionable silence, apparently entirely occupied in watching the scenery outside the window pass by.

“You have been uncommonly quiet this past hour, Darcy,” the colonel remarked, breaking the silence at last. “Are you finally ready to tell me what really transpired in Kent, between you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

The carriage hit another bump, and Darcy welcomed the momentary distraction. He had told his cousin the bare minimum thus far, but the road to Meryton stretched long before them, and he might need Fitzwilliam’s aid when it came to dealing with Wickham. Better to unburden himself now, mortifying though it would be.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, and now that he had begun to speak, suddenly he did not know how to go on.

His cousin’s brows went up as Darcy fell silent again. “She is quite unlike the ladies of our acquaintance in town, is she not? Refreshingly direct in her conversation,” Fitzwilliam prompted.

“Refreshingly direct indeed,” Darcy replied with a grim smile. “So direct that she had no compunction in telling me exactly how arrogant and disdainful she found me when I offered for her hand.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mouth fell open. “You said that you proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth and she rejected you, but I did not think you could possibly mean it?”

“Oh, but I did.”

“And she refused you?”

“Most decidedly.”

The colonel leaned back against the squabs, his expression a study in astonishment. “I cannot credit it. I knew you admired her, but had no notion your feelings ran so deep. When did this occur?”

“The evening she did not come to dine, but sent a message that she had a headache. You will recall that I claimed illness also,” Darcy replied, his jaw tightening at the recollection. “I went to the parsonage to see her. I could restrain myself no longer.”

“Good God,” Fitzwilliam murmured. “No wonder you were in such dark spirits afterward. But what happened, Darcy? Why would she reject you so? The two of you clashed, certainly, but it seemed playful, and she is far from a foolish woman; she must have recognised the advantages marriage to you would bring her!”

Darcy winced. “I did point out those advantages,” he admitted unwillingly. “I… may have done so rather clumsily.”

To his annoyance, his cousin began to smile. “Oh, Darcy. What did you say? Insult her connections, did you?”

Darcy did not deign to answer that question, but heat burned his cheeks at the memory of his own arrogance. “It did not actually matter, Richard. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d written poetry worthy of Byron himself. She was predisposed to despise me, partially because of my own arrogance, yes, but also because of Wickham.”

“ Tell me Wickham wasn’t aware of your partiality for her!“ The colonel looked horrified.

“I believe he was not, but you are well aware of his ability to charm the birds from the trees, as well as his hatred of me. He joined the militia stationed in Meryton last autumn, and made it his business to spread falsehoods about me throughout the neighbourhood. Miss Elizabeth, I fear, was thoroughly convinced by his tales.” He hesitated, before essaying a rueful smile. “I suspect you, too, did me no favours, though perhaps you thought you were helping when you told her of how excessively I take care of my friends.”

Fitzwilliam stared at him, utter confusion evident in his expression.

“You spoke of Bingley and the unfortunate connection I extracted him from in Hertfordshire last autumn?”

“Yes?” Dread began to dawn on the colonel’s face.

“Miss Jane Bennet is her elder sister,” Darcy said flatly. “And I fear that my interference in that attachment was among the grievances Miss Elizabeth laid at my door.”

“I had no notion she was connected to the family in question,” Fitzwilliam said, distress evident in his expression. “She never revealed her relation to the young lady. Darcy, I am truly sorry. Had I known…”

Darcy raised a hand to stop his cousin’s apology. “The fault is entirely my own, Fitzwilliam. You merely confirmed what she had already suspected. In truth, my behaviour was unconscionable.” He stared out the window at the passing countryside, his expression bleak. “I approached her with an offer I believed she could not refuse, spoke disparagingly of her family and connections, and expected gratitude for the honour I was bestowing upon her.”

“Surely you did not express yourself so poorly,” Fitzwilliam protested.

“I did precisely that,” Darcy admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. “I behaved like an arrogant, entitled ass. Miss Elizabeth saw me clearly, while I deluded myself that my wealth and position would outweigh any objections she might have to my character.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam fell silent, digesting this unfamiliar picture of his usually composed and proper cousin. “And now you rush to Meryton to... what? Prevent her marriage to Wickham? Which I fully support, of course; no woman deserves to be saddled with that reprobate, certainly not one as lovely and spirited as Miss Elizabeth.”

“I must at least attempt to speak with her,” Darcy replied. “I don’t know if she ever read my letter, or believed it. She must be warned of his true character before irrevocable steps are taken.” If it was not already too late … but he pushed that thought away, unable to face it.

Fitzwilliam nodded slowly. “Have you considered our accommodations? Netherfield Park will be closed up, since Bingley returned to town, and I do not see this business being concluded in an afternoon.”

“I have given it some thought,” Darcy answered. “The inn at Meryton would be unsuitable. It is likely full of militia officers billeted there, and I would prefer to avoid any chance encounter with Wickham before I have spoken to Miss Elizabeth. Not least because of your stated intention to challenge him, cousin!”

“A wise decision,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “Though you are bent on spoiling my fun.”

“There is a respectable coaching inn in a village some five miles from Meryton,” Darcy continued, ignoring his cousin’s jest, or what he hoped was a jest. “We shall stop there for the night and proceed to Longbourn tomorrow.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded his assent, and they lapsed into silence once more. As the miles passed beneath their wheels, Darcy’s thoughts returned to Elizabeth’s accusations. Her words had struck him like physical blows: “Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner...” The memory of them still caused him to flinch inwardly. Yet they had also forced him to examine himself with merciless honesty for the first time in years.

It was nearly four o’clock when they reached the village of Little Whittling. The Rose and Crown proved to be a modest but clean establishment, and the innkeeper was clearly delighted by the arrival of such distinguished guests and their substantial luggage. Darcy secured a private parlour and two bedchambers, then ordered a light repast be brought up.

“I suggest we refresh ourselves before dining,” he said to Fitzwilliam as they were shown to their rooms. “I shall join you in half an hour.”

Once alone, Darcy turned about and quietly made his way back down the stairs. There was no time to waste. A sense of urgency drove him to action. In the inn stables, he stopped his man, Thompson, in the midst of unharnessing the horses.

“I’m sorry, Thompson, but we are not yet done. I need to travel on to Meryton. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

The man’s brows rose, but he touched his cap. “Aye, sir. Fifteen minutes.”

Darcy thanked him and returned to his room, where he hastily penned a note to his cousin:

“Fitzwilliam,

A matter of some urgency requires my immediate attention. I shall return by nightfall. Please remain at the inn; I shall explain all upon my return.

Darcy.”

He sealed the note and sought out the innkeeper, a ruddy-faced man with an obsequious manner.

“I must attend to some business,” Darcy explained, handing him the note. “Please see that Colonel Fitzwilliam receives this when he comes down. And should he inquire about hiring a horse to follow me, I must ask that you inform him none are available.”

The innkeeper looked somewhat confused but nodded his agreement, particularly when Darcy pressed several coins into his palm. “Of course, sir. Not a mount to be had for miles, should the gentleman ask.”

Satisfied with these arrangements, Darcy slipped out the side entrance while the colonel was still occupied with his toilet. He felt a twinge of guilt at deceiving his cousin, but this was a confrontation he preferred to manage alone. As Thompson brought the carriage around, Darcy settled himself inside and steeled his resolve. He must know, today, whether Elizabeth Bennet was yet Mrs. Wickham. He could not wait even another hour.

Lucas Lodge stood before him, a respectable if modest country house that seemed to embody the comfortable gentility of Hertfordshire society. Darcy adjusted his cravat and took a steadying breath before knocking. He had rehearsed his explanation for this unexpected visit during the carriage ride from Little Whittling, yet still felt uncomfortably like an interloper.

The door was opened by a maidservant who gaped openly at the sight of such a distinguished visitor. Darcy handed her his card with as much composure as he could muster.

“I should like to pay my respects to Sir William and Lady Lucas, if they are at home.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy and scurried away, leaving him standing in the modest entrance hall. Darcy clasped his hands behind his back and studied a rather unremarkable landscape painting on the wall, attempting to quiet the rapid beating of his heart. This visit was a calculated risk; the Lucases were known to be intimate with the Bennet family, and if anyone could provide him with accurate information about Elizabeth’s engagement, it would be they.

“Mr. Darcy!” Sir William’s booming voice preceded him into the hall. “What an extraordinary pleasure, sir! Quite unexpected!”

Darcy turned to find Sir William hurrying toward him, hand outstretched in welcome. Behind him followed Lady Lucas, her eyes wide with astonishment, and a young woman Darcy recognised as their daughter Maria.

“Sir William,” Darcy replied, accepting the handshake with what he hoped was an appropriately cordial expression. “Lady Lucas. Miss Lucas. I trust I find you all well?”

“Indeed, indeed!” Sir William beamed, though his eyes betrayed curious speculation. “But pray, what brings you to our humble corner of Hertfordshire? I had thought you still at Rosings with Lady Catherine, or perhaps in London.”

“I was required to attend to some business matters that have brought me to this part of the country,” Darcy replied smoothly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanies me, though he remained at our inn to rest. Having enjoyed your company in Kent, Sir William, I could not pass through the neighbourhood without paying my respects.”

This explanation was received with evident pleasure by Sir William, whose chest puffed up with importance at the notion that the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley had detoured specifically to call upon him.

“You do us great honour, sir,” Lady Lucas said, recovering from her initial surprise. “Please, come through to the drawing room. Maria, ring for tea.”

Darcy followed his hosts into a modestly appointed but comfortable drawing room. The furnishings, while not fashionable, bespoke a comfortable respectability that Darcy found himself appreciating more than he might have a few months earlier.

“I must congratulate you on your daughter Charlotte’s excellent match,” Darcy said once they were seated. “When I departed Rosings, Mr. Collins was in excellent spirits, and Lady Catherine spoke most approvingly of Mrs. Collins’s influence on the parsonage and its master.”

Lady Lucas’s face glowed with maternal pride. “Our Charlotte has always been a sensible girl. We have had such pleasing reports from her about life at Hunsford.”

“Indeed,” Darcy continued, seizing the opportunity to ingratiate himself further. “Lady Catherine mentioned to me more than once that Mrs. Collins has brought considerable improvement to Mr. Collins’s household. Her ladyship values practical good sense in those connected with her.”

Sir William nodded vigorously. “Capital, capital! And how did you leave her ladyship and Miss de Bourgh?”

“In good health, though perhaps somewhat disappointed by the early departure of the Collins’s guests. Miss de Bourgh had grown quite fond of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s company during her stay.”

The mention of Elizabeth’s name produced exactly the reaction Darcy had anticipated. Lady Lucas and Maria exchanged glances, while Sir William’s expression grew more thoughtful.

“I wonder,” Lady Lucas interjected, perhaps sensing an advantageous opportunity, “if you might honour us by staying to dinner, Mr. Darcy? It is nearly five o’clock, and surely you would not wish to travel back to your inn without refreshment.”

Darcy inclined his head gratefully. “You are too kind, Lady Lucas. If it would not inconvenience you, I should be delighted to accept.”

“Not at all, sir! We shall be delighted to have such distinguished company!” Sir William declared. “Nothing elaborate, you understand, but we pride ourselves on setting a respectable table.”

The conversation continued pleasantly enough, with Darcy carefully steering it toward local news and gossip without seeming too obviously interested in the Bennet family specifically. When they moved to the dining room a half-hour later, he had learned nothing of importance regarding Elizabeth’s supposed engagement, though his nerves were increasingly strained by the effort of maintaining his facade of casual interest.

The dinner itself was precisely what one might expect from a family of the Lucas’s standing: simple but well-prepared dishes served with obvious pride. Darcy complimented the meal sincerely, finding that his usual fastidiousness had been tempered by recent events. His thoughts strayed to Elizabeth’s accusation of his disdain for those he considered beneath him in consequence, and he made a conscious effort to engage with genuine interest in Sir William’s stories.

“And how do the militia officers enliven the neighbourhood these days?” Darcy asked during a lull in the conversation, attempting to introduce the subject with casual indifference. “I recall they were quite the sensation among the young ladies when I was last in the area.”

“Oh! They are to leave for Brighton within the fortnight,” Maria blurted out, then blushed when her mother shot her a quelling look. “Many in the neighbourhood shall miss their company exceedingly.”

“No doubt,” Darcy murmured, his pulse quickening. Here, perhaps, was his opening. “I understand some local attachments may have been formed during their stay.”

Maria nodded eagerly, clearly delighted to be the bearer of interesting news. “Indeed, Mr. Darcy! You will be pleased to hear that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has made a most advantageous match with one of the officers.”

Lady Lucas cleared her throat sharply. “Maria, I am sure Mr. Darcy is not interested in local gossip.”

“On the contrary,” Darcy said, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the sudden tightness in his chest. “I had the pleasure of furthering my acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth during her stay in Kent. She is a young lady of considerable merit. I should wish her every happiness in her choice.” The words nearly choked him, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. “When is the happy event to take place?”

“The first banns will be called tomorrow, sir,” Maria supplied, ignoring her mother’s disapproving glance. “The whole neighbourhood is talking of nothing else!”

Darcy nearly sagged with relief. Tomorrow . The banns had not yet been called. There was still time. “I wish Miss Elizabeth joy,” he said, taking a careful sip of wine to conceal the trembling of his hand. “May I inquire which of the officers has been fortunate enough to secure her affections?”

“Why, Mr. Wickham, of course,” Maria said. “They were…” she cut off suddenly, looking at her mother in surprise, and Darcy suspected Lady Lucas had just pinched her daughter under cover of the tablecloth.

“A very respectable match,” Lady Lucas said smoothly.

“Quite right, my dear, quite right,” Sir William agreed, though his eyes had not left Darcy’s face. His expression was thoughtful, almost speculative, and Darcy was uncomfortably reminded of the gentleman’s keen observation of him at a gathering in this very house several months ago. Sir William had pressed him then to dance with Elizabeth, had watched with evident interest as Darcy had engaged her in conversation. Had the man perceived his growing attraction even then?

Darcy cleared his throat, uncomfortable under Sir William’s scrutiny. “I must offer my congratulations to the couple when next I see them.”

Sir William smiled genially, though his eyes remained sharp. “Perhaps you will have the opportunity soon enough, Mr. Darcy. Do you plan to remain in the neighbourhood for some time?”

“My plans are not fixed,” Darcy replied cautiously. “Colonel Fitzwilliam and I may be required in town shortly.” He hesitated, then added, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “I had thought perhaps to call upon the Bennets tomorrow, after church. To pay my respects, as I have with your good family today.”

“I am sure they would be delighted to receive you,” Lady Lucas said, though her tone suggested some doubt on the matter.

The conversation moved to other topics, but Darcy found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. His mind raced with the information he had gleaned. The banns would be called tomorrow, which meant the wedding itself was likely less than three weeks hence, assuming no objections were raised. If he could speak with Elizabeth, perhaps...

But no. He had no right to interfere unless he could be certain she was being deceived. His previous presumption had earned him her justified contempt; he could not compound that error by attempting to dictate her choice of husband merely because it caused him pain.

Darcy was startled from his thoughts by Sir William addressing him directly.

“I was just remarking to Lady Lucas that you seemed quite taken with our countryside when last you visited, Mr. Darcy.”

The observation was innocuous enough, but the knowing look in Sir William’s eye suggested he remembered more than just Darcy’s polite observations of Hertfordshire’s pretty scenery. Had Elizabeth confided in Charlotte after all? Did Sir William know of his proposal and rejection?

“Hertfordshire has many natural beauties,” Darcy replied carefully. “Though I confess I did not fully appreciate them during my previous stay.”

Sir William nodded, a slight smile playing about his lips. “Sometimes we must return to a place with fresh eyes to truly see its worth, Mr. Darcy.”

The remainder of the dinner passed without further reference to Elizabeth or her engagement, though Darcy remained on edge, half-expecting Sir William to make some more pointed remark about his interest in the second Bennet daughter. When at last he took his leave, expressing sincere thanks for their hospitality, he felt quite exhausted from the strain of maintaining his composure.

“It was our pleasure entirely, sir,” Sir William assured him, walking him to the door. “And should you indeed call at Longbourn tomorrow, pray convey our regards to the family.”

“I shall,” Darcy promised, bowing over Lady Lucas’s hand. “And thank you again for a most... informative evening.”

As his carriage pulled away from Lucas Lodge, Darcy leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of profound relief. He had not come too late. There was still time to discover the truth of Elizabeth’s engagement and, if necessary, to reveal Wickham’s true character to her. Tomorrow would bring him face to face with her again, a prospect both terrifying and desperately hoped for. But first, he had to face Colonel Fitzwilliam and explain his unannounced departure. That, he suspected, would be no pleasant interview.

The Rose and Crown came into view just as dusk was settling over the countryside, the windows of the inn glowing with warm lamplight that would have appeared welcoming under any other circumstances. Darcy braced himself for the confrontation that surely awaited him inside. Colonel Fitzwilliam was not a man to be trifled with, and Darcy had no doubt that his cousin had discovered his deception very shortly after Darcy’s departure, and been simmering with fury since.

Thompson brought the carriage to a halt in the inn yard, and Darcy descended with a sense of foreboding. He instructed the driver to see to the horses and entered through the side door, hoping to reach their private parlour without attracting undue attention from the other guests. The corridor was mercifully empty, but as he approached the parlour door, he could hear the rhythmic sound of boot heels against floorboards. Colonel Fitzwilliam was pacing.

Darcy squared his shoulders and entered the room. His cousin stopped mid-stride and turned to face him, his expression thunderous.

“So,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice deceptively controlled, “the prodigal returns at last.”

“I apologize for my absence,” Darcy replied, removing his hat and gloves. “I left you a note explaining that I had business to attend to.”

“A note!” The colonel’s composure fractured. “A cryptic message informing me that you had business of such urgency that you must dash off without explanation, leaving explicit instructions with the innkeeper that I was not to be provided with a horse should I wish to follow you!”

Darcy winced. “I see he was indiscreet enough to mention that particular detail.”

“The man was quite forthcoming once I suggested that preventing a gentleman from hiring a horse might be construed as false imprisonment,” Fitzwilliam retorted. “What were you thinking, Darcy? We agreed to approach this matter together, yet you slip away the moment my back is turned!”

“I wished to gather information before we proceeded,” Darcy said, pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the sideboard. His hand was steady, but only through force of will. “I thought it best to do so alone, without drawing undue attention.”

Fitzwilliam snorted. “And you imagined that Mr. Darcy of Pemberley could enter any establishment in Meryton without attracting notice? You, sir, are a veritable beacon. Where did you go?”

“Lucas Lodge,” Darcy admitted, taking a careful sip of his wine, relieved to find it a decent vintage. “Sir William Lucas and his family are well acquainted with the Bennets. I thought they might provide insight into Miss Elizabeth’s engagement without necessitating a direct confrontation.”

Some of the anger drained from Fitzwilliam’s expression, replaced by curiosity. “And did they?”

“To some extent.” Darcy lowered himself into an armchair, suddenly aware of the fatigue that had settled into his limbs. “I learned that the first banns are to be read tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Fitzwilliam took the chair opposite, his earlier fury apparently set aside in light of this new intelligence. “We must attend the church service! When the banns are read, we can formally object.”

Darcy shook his head slowly, having already considered and discarded this plan on his journey back to the inn. “On what grounds, Fitzwilliam?” He took another sip of wine, his expression grim. “We have no legal grounds upon which to object, only moral ones.”

“Surely that is enough,” Fitzwilliam argued. “The man is a scoundrel, a seducer, a gambler, and thoroughly unfit to be any woman’s husband, let alone a gentlewoman like Miss Elizabeth.”

“I agree completely,” Darcy said. “But it is not for us to decide whom Miss Elizabeth may marry. She made it abundantly clear in Kent that she finds my interference in such matters high-handed and presumptuous.”

Fitzwilliam frowned. “This is different, Darcy. She cannot know Wickham’s true character; she must not have read your letter. I cannot believe she would consent to marry him otherwise.”

“Even if he compromised her, as Miss Bingley claimed?” Darcy rose and began to pace the room himself, unable to remain still with such thoughts churning within him. “Which is why I must speak with her directly, privately. I must make her aware of the kind of man she is considering binding herself to for life.”

“And if she doesn’t believe you? If she takes it as merely another example of your interference?”

“Then I shall have done all I can,” Darcy replied, though the very thought of failing caused a physical pain in his chest. “I cannot force her to accept the truth, nor would I wish to. Her independence of mind is part of what I...” He trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought aloud.

Fitzwilliam studied him with sympathy. “You truly care for her, don’t you? This is not merely a matter of preventing Wickham from causing more harm.”

Darcy stared into the fire, his expression remote. “I cannot bear the thought of her tied to such a man, Fitz. Nor can I bear the thought of sitting in that church tomorrow and hearing her name linked with his.” He swallowed hard. “I would sooner face Napoleon’s entire army than endure those few minutes.”

Fitzwilliam was silent for a long moment, his anger entirely dissipated now. “Very well,” he said at last. “We shall not attend the service. Instead, we will call at Longbourn in the afternoon. It would be irregular to arrive during church hours in any case.”

Darcy nodded, grateful for his cousin’s understanding. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Fitzwilliam warned. “There is the matter of explaining our presence in Hertfordshire to begin with.”

“I have considered that,” Darcy replied. “We shall say we are in the area on business and stopped to pay our respects, having so recently enjoyed Miss Elizabeth’s company in Kent. It is precisely what I told Sir William Lucas.”

“And then?” Fitzwilliam said. “We still have no certain knowledge that Miss Elizabeth will receive your information with an open mind.”

“No,” Darcy said quietly. “If she did read my letter, and chose not to believe what I said of Wickham…” he trailed off, having no idea what he would say or do if that should prove to be the case.

They fell into silence, both men contemplating the difficult day ahead. Outside, the last light had faded from the sky, and the sounds of the inn settling for the night drifted through the closed door: murmured conversations, the clink of glasses from the public room below, the creaking of floorboards as patrons retired to their chambers.

“We should get some rest,” Fitzwilliam said at last, rising from his chair. “Tomorrow will require clear heads and steady nerves.”

Darcy nodded, though he doubted sleep would come easily. “I am sorry for leaving you behind today,” he said quietly. “It was poorly done of me.”

“It was,” Fitzwilliam agreed, but there was no heat in his words. “However, I understand why you did it. Just do not make a habit of it, cousin. We face this together or not at all.”

“Agreed,” Darcy said, extending his hand, which Fitzwilliam clasped firmly.

“Goodnight, Darcy. Try to rest.”

Left alone in the parlour, Darcy remained by the fire, his thoughts too tumultuous for sleep. Tomorrow he would see Elizabeth again, for the first time since she had rejected him with such justified contempt; he did not count the brief meeting where he had all but forced his letter into her hand, giving her no opportunity even to speak. The prospect filled him with equal measures of dread and desperate hope. Would she even consent to speak with him privately? And if she did, would she believe what he had to tell her about Wickham?

Perhaps more importantly, what would he do if she did believe him, but chose to marry the scoundrel regardless? The thought was almost unbearable.

Darcy poured himself another glass of wine and stared into the dying embers of the fire. Tomorrow would bring what it would bring. He could only present the truth as he knew it and trust in Elizabeth’s intelligence and good sense. If she truly loved Wickham, no words of his would sway her. But if there was even the slightest chance that she was entering this engagement with incomplete knowledge of the man’s character, then he owed it to her to speak, regardless of how his interference might be received. Or if Wickham really had compromised her against her will, Darcy could offer a respectable alternative. He just did not know whether Elizabeth would prefer to marry the scoundrel who had compromised her, or the man who had failed to adequately protect her. Whom she had already declared to be the last man in the world she would ever marry.

Sleep remained elusive long into the night. His dreams, when they came, were filled with Elizabeth’s eyes, flashing with anger as she rejected him once more, this time with Wickham standing triumphantly at her side.