Page 32 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
DARCY
I was disappointed not to find Elizabeth on Oakham Mount the morning after my proposal.
The thought crossed my mind that her absence might mean she had already been sent to her uncle’s house in London.
If that were so, I needed to find some way of confirming it.
And if she was indeed in London, then perhaps I could abandon any pretence of attending this damnable ball and instead find a reason—any reason—to follow her there.
Without Elizabeth in attendance, there would be little point in my going, especially since Miss Bingley would doubtless attempt to use it to her advantage.
“I could dance with one of her sisters instead, I suppose,” I said to Mithras as I petted his neck just how Elizabeth had done a few days before. “One of the younger ones, since Bingley will wish to dance those sets with Miss Bennet.”
Something held me back from going to Longbourn immediately and demanding an answer.
After I had paced the summit for some time, absently wondering if Elizabeth was not merely delayed, I finally returned to Netherfield.
I was in an ill mood, missing Elizabeth’s company already and wondering how I would tolerate the time until I could see her again .
At breakfast, when Bingley announced his intention to ride to Longbourn to enquire after Miss Bennet’s health, I said I would accompany him—at least as far as Meryton.
I chose my words deliberately, knowing such phrasing would discourage Miss Bingley from joining us.
She had opened her mouth to speak when I first offered to go, but at the mention of Meryton rather than Longbourn, she promptly thought better of it.
A short time later, we set off towards the village on horseback. As it was still somewhat early for calling, we were in no hurry and took a leisurely path around the estate before riding on to Meryton.
There, we were surprised to see four of the Bennet sisters—Elizabeth notably absent, at least to me—accompanied by a tall, portly man dressed in the traditional black of a clergyman.
Before we could reach them, they were joined by two officers in red coats and another man in civilian attire, his back turned to us.
Bingley dismounted first, and I followed behind more slowly.
As he made his way towards the ladies, I paused to tie our horses to a rail in front of the village shop, which also served as the local post office.
Having ridden Mithras hard that morning in search of Elizabeth, I had chosen to ride one of Bingley’s horses instead.
As it turned out, that decision proved fortuitous.
The man in civilian dress was none other than George Wickham.
The sight of him struck me like a blow. My breath caught, and in the next instant, my entire body went rigid. Bingley had already reached the ladies by then, but I barely registered their greetings. My eyes were fixed on Wickham, who turned at Bingley’s gesture and froze as our gazes locked.
His face drained of colour.
Mine, I was sure, had flushed with heat.
Rage surged through me—sudden, blistering, and barely restrained as I recalled our last encounter.
My fists clenched at my sides, and I had to force my jaw to loosen before I ground my teeth.
Blood thundered in my ears, the tension winding across my shoulders like a spring drawn ever tighter.
This was the man who had tried to ruin my sister—who had lied, manipulated, and nearly destroyed her happiness for his own selfish gain; who would have ruined her without a thought; who would have taken her from me for material benefit.
I took a single step forward, the rush of blood in my ears drowning out all else, every instinct clamouring for me to confront him here and now. My hands curled into fists—but I forced myself to stop, to draw one slow, deliberate breath before moving or speaking.
No. I could not do so now, not without harming my sister’s reputation.
However, I recalled Elizabeth’s words—her concern for her sisters and her efforts to guide them away from the flattery and danger posed by men like Wickham.
If I truly meant to be part of her family, I owed it to her to stay and offer her sisters—one day to be my own—protection from such men and the havoc they so often left in their wake.
I would not allow Elizabeth’s sisters to be taken in by a cad when I could protect them.
Swallowing the fury that rose in my throat, I advanced with measured steps, every nerve taut with the urge to strike him full upon the jaw.
I was certain I had met the two officers at the dinner when Miss Bennet was taken ill, yet their names escaped me.
Before the silence could lengthen, Miss Lydia stepped in with cheerful confidence, neatly carrying us past the formality of introduction.
As I watched her, I idly compared her to Elizabeth.
There were similarities in spirit—both lively, bold, and quick to speak their minds—but Lydia lacked her sister’s discernment and depth.
Still, I suspected she had noticed the tension between Wickham and me, and a thought crossed my mind: could she, perhaps, be trusted with a hint of the truth ?
“Mr. Darcy,” she said brightly, “have you met Captain Carter and Lieutenant Denny? They have just been introducing us to a new recruit—a Mr…” She turned back to the civilian, blinking as though puzzled. “Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten your name, sir?”
The feigned innocence in her tone was masterful, and I could not help but wonder if it was intentional. If so, it was a subtle strike to Wickham’s pride—a man who prided himself on being memorable, especially to impressionable young ladies, particularly those barely out of the schoolroom.
Wickham’s expression faltered for the briefest of moments before he pasted on a smile. A flush crept up his neck as he replied, voice slightly forced, “It is Wickham, Miss Lydia. George Wickham.” His attempt at charm landed with considerably less effect than usual.
Then, with a smug glance in my direction, he added, “And Darcy and I are old friends, wouldn’t you say, old chap?”
Again, I struggled to constrain my anger at his audacity. I felt the blood surge in my ears, hot and pounding. Involuntarily, my jaw clenched, and I took a step closer, barely restraining the fury that tightened every muscle in my body.
“We have not been friends in many years, Wickham,” I said, my voice clipped and low, each word saturated with disdain as I spoke just for him. “Do not presume to suggest otherwise.”
Just then, a cold smile curved my lips—though it bore little resemblance to true amusement. “So,” I said, adopting an air of deliberate indifference, “you have joined the militia, have you? How enterprising of you.”
I paused just long enough to ensure he felt the weight of my next words.
“I shall have to write to Colonel Fitzwilliam—you remember that my cousin Richard is now a colonel in the Horse Guards,” I added for the benefit of our audience.
“He will be most intrigued to learn of your new… profession. The militia, of all places. Tell me, what became of your lofty intentions to study the law? ”
His silence spoke volumes. Without a word, Wickham turned on his heel and stalked off. The officers and ladies exchanged glances, clearly unsettled by the exchange. Only the cleric seemed unaware of what had transpired.
Captain Carter stepped closer to me, his expression guarded.
“There is clearly bad blood between you two,” he said in a low voice meant only for me.
“But tell me plainly—will it affect his service in the militia? He said he was down on his luck and needed a profession, but the colonel will not tolerate a man who brings disrepute to the regiment.”
I met his gaze squarely. “Wickham is a blight on polite society,” I said quietly, my tone cold but firm.
“He may keep up the appearance of a decent soldier if closely watched, but I would not trust him an inch. At Cambridge, he was accused more than once of cheating—both in cards and at his studies—and he left behind a trail of unpaid debts, both debts of honour and those with merchants.”
Captain Carter frowned but said nothing, so I continued.
“He is a practised seducer,” I added, dropping my voice even lower, wanting to be sure the others did not hear.
“Whilst I have never heard of him forcing himself on anyone, he is ruthless in his pursuit of young, impressionable women. He abandons them as soon as they serve his purpose, with no thought for the ruin he leaves behind. He thrives on charm and manipulation—particularly when his victims are too innocent to see the danger. He was my father’s godson, and my estate supports more than one of his bastards. ”
The officer’s expression darkened. “That is grave indeed. I will make certain the colonel hears of it.”
“Do so carefully,” I warned. “Wickham has been known to my family for many years, and as you observed, there is no love lost between us. One of his preferred tactics is to malign those he envies or resents—especially my family. He is skilled at weaving falsehoods with just enough truth to make him appear innocent and others at fault, regardless of the truth of the matter. ”
I paused, steadying my voice.
“He could do real harm to those who cannot easily defend themselves against his slander. I would not have his lies taken as truth.”
The thought twisted in my gut. Although I knew Wickham had gone no further than a kiss to Georgiana’s hand, even the hint of scandal could destroy her before she ever had a proper debut. I could only pray that my warning would be enough to counter anything he might say.
The captain nodded at my words, and then he and the lieutenant took themselves off, claiming a sudden need to speak to the colonel.