Page 22 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

Elizabeth

E lizabeth stared after Mr Darcy’s retreating figure, her brow furrowed in disbelief. Never in her life had she felt such utter confusion. Mr Darcy - so famously composed, so measured - had just departed in a flurry of disarray, his usual calm shattered in the most extraordinary fashion.

She had not the slightest notion what had provoked such a display.

A quick glance behind confirmed that no one else seemed to have noticed his abrupt exit.

The assembly remained absorbed in their amusements, and Lydia, ever heedless, was flitting toward the militia with unrestrained glee.

Elizabeth followed, though she had neither patience nor interest in watching her sister flirt shamelessly under their mother’s approving gaze.

“Lizzy!” Lydia sang out. “You must meet Mr Wickham!”

Elizabeth stopped mid-step. She must have misheard. Wickham? Surely a coincidence - Wickham could not be such an uncommon name. It was true she had never come across it before, but she was rather sheltered in her acquaintance. It was a coincidence, nothing more.

“Lizzy!” Lydia now tugged her eagerly by the arm, dragging her toward a cluster of red coats. Elizabeth slipped free of her sister’s grasp and approached with her chin held high.

“Lizzy, this is Mr Wickham and Mr Denny.”

“Lieutenant Wickham,” he corrected smoothly, bowing. “A pleasure, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Lydia has spoken warmly of you. I was sorry to hear you and your sister had been unwell.”

Elizabeth offered a polite, tight-lipped smile. How familiar they seem, she thought uneasily. Lydia gazed up at him with the kind of wide-eyed admiration she usually reserved for ribbons and balls.

“I do not believe I’ve heard your name before, sir.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Lydia interjected before he could respond. “He came with the militia - oh, you and Jane missed all the excitement! They looked so fine in their uniforms. It was glorious.”

“Indeed. And where are you from, Mr Wickham?”

“Derbyshire,” he said easily. “Though it’s been some time since I’ve seen it. I have been travelling for some time, even before I joined the militia. It does not feel like I have a home at all.”

Elizabeth felt her blood chill. Derbyshire? Could it be possible? The very name Darcy had once spoken with such vehemence - the man he seemed to hate above all others - stood now smiling before her?

No wonder Mr Darcy had fled.

“Derbyshire?” Lydia mused. “Isn’t that where that dreadful Mr Darcy is from, Lizzy?”

“Darcy?” Wickham said, brows raised. “Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

“I’ve no idea what his first name is,” Lydia laughed. “He seems the sort to have been born a ‘Mr’ - doesn’t he, Lizzy? He arrived at Netherfield last month, and he is very dull indeed.”

“You know Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

She watched him carefully, noting each movement about the man’s face. He did not seem alarmed by her question, and certainly seemed to show no fear at hearing that the man was here. Would a man not have some trepidation at being in such proximity to one who had pinned him against a wall in fury?

“Know him? We were like brothers once. Grew up side by side at Pemberley. We even attended Cambridge together.”

“You are not friends still?”

“We are no longer acquainted, regrettably.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lydia chimed in. “He’s insufferably dull. So serious and stiff. You’re not missing anything, I promise.”

“Hush, Lydia,” Elizabeth snapped, her voice low. “Mr Darcy is a good man.”

She glanced around - Bingley was watching her curiously from beside Jane.

Wickham’s smile faltered just slightly.

“You seem quite close. If I may say so, Miss Elizabeth, caution is often the better part of wisdom.”

“Thank you for the advice. Now if you’ll excuse me - I feel rather faint. Lydia, come with me.”

“What? Lizzy, I…”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth hissed. “Now.”

“Goodbye, Mr Wickham!” Lydia called cheerily as Lizzy looped her arm through hers, almost dragging her away. “We’ll see you at the Netherfield Ball!”

“Save me a dance,” he said, smiling after them.

They offered only the briefest curtsies, tangled arm in arm, as they turned away.

“You will see him at the ball?” Elizabeth asked sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Of course! Mr Bingley said he’ll invite the whole regiment. He told us while you were talking to Mr Darcy. Honestly, Lizzy, why did you defend him? He insulted you!”

“He is…reserved.”

“He practically called you ugly. That’s the worst thing a man can say to a woman! Mr Wickham would never speak of a woman in such a way. He told me I was pretty.”

Elizabeth stopped short.

“When? How much time have you spent with him?”

“Oh, just a little. He walked Kitty and me home the other day - when you were still abed. Well, he and Mr Denny together, but I much prefer Wickham and made sure that I walked alongside him.”

“And Mama?”

“At home, of course.”

“Lydia, you must not be alone with him again. Do you understand?”

“Why? Are you jealous, Lizzy? Kitty has her eye on Denny, but I’m sure there’s someone else just as handsome that you can have. I do not know where they find them but…”

“No,” Elizabeth said, her tone sharp. “That’s not it. You must promise me, Lyddie. Please.”

Lydia blinked at her, surprised by the urgency in her sister’s voice. She moved back a little, staring at Lizzy carefully, eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“I do not know. I simply have a terrible feeling. I never ask you for anything. Please, I beg you, listen to me this once.”

“I cannot just…”

“If you do this for me, I’ll forgive you the money that you owe me. Do you remember I paid for several yards of ribbon? And those new buttons you wanted so desperately?”

Lydia hesitated. Lizzy sighed, knowing that her sister would not be so easily bribed.

“And you may have my new bonnet,” Lizzy offered. “I have worn it only twice.”

Lydia mulled over this offer for a few seconds, before folding her arms and setting her jaw in that way she always did when she wanted something.

Lizzy braced herself for whatever her sister was about to ask of her.

She had played a poor hand in showing her concern so openly, for now Lydia knew that she would agree to whatever was asked of her.

“And your gloves. The lace ones.”

“Done,” Elizabeth agreed quickly, putting an end to the negotiations before Lydia asked for the entirety of her wardrobe.

They walked arm in arm back to Netherfield. Lydia continued her idle chatter, seemingly forgetting all about Mr Wickham.

Elizabeth could not help but wonder if she had just saved her sister from ruin.

∞∞∞

When they returned to the house – and Elizabeth had given Lydia the promised treasures – she retreated to her room.

She pulled the diary free, opening it where she had last read it.

She had put it away after the passage involving Mr Darcy’s poor sister, and tried to fool herself that she would return it to him without reading the rest.

How prudent it had been, after all, that she had read it.

If she had not, she would never had known about this Mr Wickham, and perhaps she would have found herself charmed by his easy manners and handsome countenance.

It was thanks to Mr Darcy that she had some insight to the truth of his character, and though she could not warn her sisters without explaining how she had come to this conclusion about a total stranger, she could at least see that she did her best to keep him away from them all.

What other secrets did the diary possess?

She traced her finger along the outside, her heart hammering as it always did when she looked at it. She opened it to where she had last paused; the terrible aftermath of Mr Wickham’s liberties with Miss Darcy. She could not believe that he was here – that fate had placed this diary in her hands.

We have returned to Pemberley. The journey was the most unpleasant of all my life.

Georgiana is a shell of herself; she could not stop weeping, though she tried her best to conceal her grief from me.

When she slept, I saw a glimpse of the girl she was – still is – before Wickham wove his spell on her.

Her features are still so very young, and it turns my stomach to think a man could look upon her and see anything other than a child.

I do not know how to document my grief.

This is my fault; if I had submitted to his request, given him the money he craved even after he squandered that which I bestowed upon him, he would have left my family alone.

Even now, I have thought of offering him more in the hope that he will not tell the world of what he did.

I would give anything to protect Georgiana and her reputation.

Such a gentle, kind soul does not deserve the derision of the world, nor the cruelty Wickham would gladly inflict knowing that it, too, pained me.

I do not know where to turn; any shred of trust I had left in the man has gone. Any trust I had in the world or the goodness has others has gone, too, and it will never return.

Elizabeth lowered the diary for a moment.

So much of Mr Darcy’s demeanour had been explained by this one terrible incident, and she could not help but wonder what he had been like before.

It would be a fantasy to think he was nothing as he was now – and, she found herself thinking, she would not want him to be completely different.

She was growing to understand his nature, and though he was the furthest thing from perfect, he was not the villain she had originally painted him as in her mind.

She blinked, the realisation too startling to dwell on for long.

She began to read again, flipping the pages on a little. The situation with his sister felt too tender, too raw for her intruding eyes. She knew the truth of the villain; Mr Darcy, whether he knew or not, had given her that invaluable enlightenment.