Page 6 of Rumours & Recklessness (Sweet Escapes Collection #1)

Chapter 5

G eorge Wickham strolled contentedly down the main street in Meryton. Despite having denied himself the pleasure of a ball full of beautiful women and another man’s table the previous night, he had no cause to repine. He had the esteem of his fellow officers, the cards had fallen favourably for him the night before, and so far, nearly every drawing-room in town was open to him. The one exception was a place he did not wish to visit anyway.

Denny and Carter had joined him, and the trio canvassed the town, amusing themselves in talking to pretty girls and listening to the morning’s gossip. Wickham’s sharp ears caught the name of his youthful rival, and out of curiosity, he stopped. What had the old man gotten himself into?

Several young ladies stood giggling nearby. Wickham smiled ingratiatingly at the red-headed Miss King, who blushed and cast her eyes downward. If the rumours he had heard were true, he should be getting to know this young lady a little better. The girls chattered incessantly about the Netherfield ball. Listening with affected carelessness, he learned that the reserved and unlikeable Darcy had finally been persuaded to dance with someone other than his hostess, entirely against his wont when not in Town. Darcy allowing himself to become sociable in a backwater place like this? The event was remarkable enough in itself, but his partner’s name was on everyone’s lips. Miss Elizabeth Bennet?

Wickham smirked. He knew that particular lady held no kind thoughts for the gentleman. He cherished a private laugh as he imagined the verbal darts Miss Elizabeth might have lobbed at his former patron’s heir. What could have brought that about? he wondered to himself.

Perhaps old Darcy was trying to escape some of the other gold-diggers, but Miss Elizabeth was a peculiar choice. Proud Darcy stooping to dance with the daughter of a modest country gentleman? A lovely one, to be sure, but not one inclined to the blind flattery he was used to. His imagination wandered pleasantly, picturing a scene where Darcy was enamoured with a woman he could not afford to have. What a change that would be!

A noisy commotion down the street heralded the arrival in town of the two youngest Bennet sisters, as well as the youngest Lucas girl. That buxom strumpet Lydia Bennet led the charge. When her eyes lit upon him, she bustled up directly. “Oh, Mr Wickham! How we missed you last night! Me and Kitty were determined to dance with you, but as it was, there were plenty of officers, and we danced every dance anyway!” She artlessly fluttered her eyelashes at him, then coyly bestowed the same look on both Denny and Carter.

“Miss Lydia,” he greeted her suavely. He knew he would get an unvarnished recounting of last night’s ball from this source, if he were only patient enough to wade through the twaddle of her gossip.

Lydia Bennet did not disappoint. She began to regale him with the number of partners she and her sisters each had, the names of the officers present, and the disappointed looks of some of the girls who had to sit out. She also mentioned “that dull Mr Darcy” asking her unhappy sister for a set, but only as an aside.

“Oh, and then, this morning! Mr Wickham, you’ll never guess! Tell him, Lydia,” her older sister urged.

Lydia’s eyes brightened more, as if she had just remembered the most interesting morsel of gossip. “It’s too much fun! Only think, Mr Darcy is engaged to my sister!” The girls squealed in glee.

“E-excuse me?” he stammered. “Darcy! Engaged to… Miss Elizabeth, I presume?”

“Oh, yes, but he is so dull. The fun of it was that our cousin, Mr Collins tried to propose to Lizzy first, but Mr Darcy came up and announced his engagement to her instead, and so Mr Collins could not marry her after all. I suppose Mr Darcy wanted to talk to Papa this morning, but Papa fell off his horse, you see, and would not get out of bed.”

“Lydia, he is unconscious!” Kitty at least had the decency to be scandalized at Lydia’s cavalier treatment of their father’s condition.

“Oh, bother, Kitty!” Lydia waved dismissively. “Mama was just in at Mrs Long’s, and they say that Mr Darcy is sure to bore Lizzy to death but that she will be practically the richest woman in England. I do not know that Mr Darcy is so very rich. After all, he brought but one servant with him when he came to Netherfield, so says Aunt Phillips. But Mrs Long says his estate is so very vast and that he even has a house in London near Grosvenor Square. I shall ask her to take me shopping after she is married! Why, only think of the gowns I shall have! Oh, and the balls I shall attend in London, cannot you just picture it?”

The wheels were spinning in Wickham’s mind. This turn of events could present a brilliant opportunity. He needed to find out more. Smoothly, he offered his arm to Lydia and asked permission to see her home.

D arcy galloped out of sight of Longbourn as hastily as four legs could carry him, then settled his mount into a dejected walk. The burst of humiliated energy faded, leaving only morose gloom. She hated him! How could he have missed it?

His mind replayed every event, beginning with her arrival at Netherfield to tend her sister a month ago. She had toyed with him, baited him, flirted even. His eyebrows creased. Or was it flirting? Had she, even then, despised him? Could her capricious humour, bent only on amusing herself and provoking him, be misinterpreted?

Why? What could she find so offensive about his person that she would set out with so violent a dislike? He thought darkly of Wickham. That scoundrel’s lies could have contained anything, twisted and contorted to suit his fancy. He could well imagine what sordid version of events he might have relayed to a willing audience.

Still, Wickham had only been in town a fortnight, and it seemed likely that her disapproval of himself had its foundations before then. He would have hoped that a woman of Miss Elizabeth’s calibre should know better than to believe unflattering gossip about an honourable man without some foundation. Wickham, however, had found a favourably disposed listener in her. That could only occur if she had already believed him to be essentially flawed.

Angrily he dismissed the errant notion. How could she find him lacking? He had shown her every courtesy! He had tried to discourage Miss Bingley’s sarcastic attentions to her. He had shown interest in her sister’s welfare. Confound it, he had even asked her to dance—more than once! The idea that her reluctance to stand up with him traced to profound dislike rather than the coy flirtatiousness he had assumed stung him more than he liked to admit.

His good sense told him he ought to turn tail and run, now while he had a chance. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley need not cater to the whims of a woman who did not want him! Goodness knew there were plenty of others who would only too gladly take her place!

His reputation would not suffer unduly—after all, it was she who had denied the engagement, not he. No one would press a breach of contract suit under such circumstances. In this situation, he thought wryly, there was no one even to speak up for the lady at all, save perhaps the unknown London uncle.

Thinking of her, alone and defenceless, his heart began to ache. Despise him though she might, he loved her still. He had allowed himself to glimpse a future with her in it, and he could not, would not abandon her with her reputation in tatters. Because of him, she would be ruined, and then what would her fate be? Married off to some tradesman? The second wife to a third-rate gentleman with four unruly children? Or worse yet, a poor relation, a ward of that fop Collins, who was such a little-minded man that he would not treat the woman who had refused him graciously.

No. He had embroiled her in the precarious situation in which she now found herself. He would see her to a respectable end of it. A desolate sigh escaped his lips. Elizabeth!

He clenched his eyes shut, then set his mouth into a rigid line. The only thing to be done was to convince her of the truth somehow. One way or another, he had to convey to her the depth of Wickham’s depravity, to let her know that he was not a man to be trusted. For what if she did trust him, turn to him even now? He shuddered to think what else could befall her, vulnerable as she was.

She was an intelligent woman; she would value sensible discussion. He was confident that she could be brought to reason if he were only given a chance to plead his case. Unhappily, he doubted she would be willing to speak with him again anytime soon. He had done quite a thorough job of blasting that bridge. What could be done? She would likely not listen to Bingley as a character witness—would she have, she had ample opportunity to have already done so. Nothing less than full disclosure would do.

He groaned. Could he trust her fiery temperament with Georgiana’s history? He had been willing to trust her with his own future. He had left himself no other choice. He wandered the twisting paths of Hertfordshire until at length he came to a crossroads. With a soul-stirring exhale, he turned his horse reluctantly back toward Netherfield.

B ingley trotted up to his front gate and dismounted, passing his reins to a stable boy. He hoped his sisters were otherwise occupied—he did not look forward to satisfying their curiosity about their neighbours at this moment. Caroline especially would be discomposed, to put it lightly. Glancing surreptitiously toward the dining parlour where he had left her, he stepped softly toward his study.

“Brother! You have returned!” He cringed and turned around as his sister’s overly welcoming tones bubbled down the corridor. She had not been in the dining parlour, of course, but the drawing-room. Caroline looked about her in dismay. “Where is Mr Darcy?”

“Darcy had… some business to attend to, I believe. I expect we shall be seeing him shortly.”

Caroline cocked her head in chagrin. “But what business could he possibly have? Really, Charles, I thought we were all set to leave for London. I cannot bear another day in this dreary place! What could possibly have called him out, and why do you not assist him so that we may leave sooner?”

Bingley turned his back, unwilling to disclose the morning’s events just yet. “It was a private matter, Caroline. Please excuse me. I have urgent business myself.” He firmly closed the door of the study, leaving her pouting outside.

He composed his letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly, grimacing at his own barely legible scrawl. Well, it would have to do for now. He sealed the missive and called for his butler to have it sent express to London.

Ten minutes later, when he emerged, he spotted two of the housemaids in close whispers. Their eyes widened when they noticed him, and they scurried off to their duties. So, he thought, it has already begun. The entire house knows. How was it that the servants always managed to spread word even faster than the post?

A sudden slamming door from above stairs alerted him to another fact. Oh, no. Caroline knows too . Swallowing hard, he braced himself for the explanation she was surely about to demand. Suddenly, inspiration struck. He had taken one wild risk but was not yet equal to a second. As he watched her clambering distractedly down the stairs, her face red and seething, he snatched his hat from a footman and slipped back out the front door.

E lizabeth fled the house when her mother returned home. She could not bear the boisterous gushing of her mother’s every maternal feeling. Try as she might, she could not dissuade her mother from attempting to begin the wedding plans. She sought refuge again in her solitary retreat by the stream. Even there, Mr Darcy would intrude.

His indignant anger returned to her memory. She felt at least satisfied that she had discomposed him as greatly as he had her. Helpless frustration burned at her. Would she really be forced to marry that arrogant man? Not if he had given credit to any of her words by the stream! Darcy, however, was trapped as neatly as she by the entire town’s gossip. At least, she thought grimly, if my name is to be linked with a man’s, the man has some attractions and is not repugnant like Mr Collins!

She had to admit that he was very easy to look at. Had he refrained from insulting her at every turn, she felt she could have once found him devastatingly handsome. He was tall and strongly built, as an active man full of vigour ought to be. He owned dark rich hair that had just a hint of curl, which she knew to fall low and unruly over his brow when he was just returned from riding—not that she had noticed or anything. His eyes were also soft and dark and kindled with fine intelligence. That was another mercy, she supposed. Though she did not like him, at least she could respect his intellect and discourse. He was far less annoying to talk to than her cousin—when he did speak.

Elizabeth was not an avaricious woman, but an income such as Mr Darcy claimed would allow his wife many luxuries. Perhaps Mr Darcy’s estate was even large enough to allow her to avoid him for days at a time. A rueful smirk curled her mouth. That is hardly likely, as we would undoubtedly squabble over exclusive rights to the famous Pemberley Library! Despite herself, she gave a short little chuckle. Perhaps she and Mr Darcy did have one thing in common, after all.

Soft footsteps behind her and a comforting hand on her shoulder turned her bitterness to a relieved smile. “Hello, Charlotte.”

Her friend greeted her warmly. “Dear Lizzy, I heard the news. I am so sorry.”

Elizabeth gave a broken little laugh, then sniffed back her tears. “Pray, what news have you heard? We have an abundance of it this morning.”

Charlotte’s face broke into an easy grin. “Everything, I believe. Maria stopped by the house on her way toward Meryton. I came as soon as I could get away. Oh, Lizzy… are you well? It must have come as such a shock to you!”

“Indeed!” Elizabeth wiped her cheeks—belatedly, she realized she was still using Darcy’s handkerchief. She shoved it down the inside of her sleeve, hoping Charlotte had not had a chance to inspect its initials. “I am recovering from the shock now. It has been a very trying day! First, poor Papa…” She choked back a sob, then reached again for the unfortunate handkerchief.

Charlotte was the kindest and wisest of friends, next only to Jane in Elizabeth’s heart. She wrapped an arm around her dear friend without requiring more words of explanation. Elizabeth wept shamelessly on her shoulder.

After a short time, Elizabeth calmed herself again. “I still cannot believe that both Mr Collins and Mr Darcy would speak so; without warning and in front of so many!” Elizabeth tried to lighten her mood with a forced laugh.

Charlotte pursed her lips, deep in thought. “How do matters stand now? I assume you have accepted Mr Darcy in lieu of Mr Collins?”

“Heavens, no!” Elizabeth retorted. “You know how ill I think of him, and I know he truly feels the same for me. Surely, he will want nothing to do with me after this morning. Besides, I do not believe I could be happy with such a man, Charlotte.”

“Why ever not, Lizzy? In one day, you’ve had two eligible men, one of them very eligible, offer you a respectable home, security and protection. You should be thankful. Many are not so fortunate.” Charlotte finished with a soft wistfulness

Immediately Elizabeth felt guilty. As justified as she felt she was in her anger, before her was her friend who would have been most appreciative of either of the two offers Elizabeth had spurned. Well, perhaps not Mr Collins’ offer, but Charlotte would be too practical to turn down any other eligible match. Charlotte was not romantic, which was fortunate, for neither was she beautiful. Charlotte was a warm, caring woman of sense who deserved a wonderful husband, but at the age of seven and twenty, her odds of finding such were slim to none.

“I am sorry, Charlotte,” Elizabeth answered miserably. “You must think me the most wretchedly ungrateful woman alive!”

“Indeed, I do not, Lizzy! I understand why you were upset. As things are though… what do you intend to do? You cannot refuse to marry Mr Darcy now!”

Elizabeth sighed hopelessly. “I believe I already have! As for what is to come next... I do not know, Charlotte. I just do not know. Would it be very much talked of, do you think?”

Charlotte gave a short chuckle. “Oh, no more than usual, considering the richest, most eligible bachelor around has engaged himself to the most celebrated beauty in Hertfordshire! What do you think, Lizzy?” Charlotte’s eyes twinkled teasingly.

Elizabeth groaned and dropped her head back onto her friend’s shoulder. “I feared it would be so.” She sniffed into her handkerchief again. “You are wrong about one thing, though, you know. Jane is so much more beautiful than I,” she teased back half-heartedly.

Charlotte became serious. “Lizzy, you say so because your mother tells you that. Jane is striking, but anyone looking twice would prefer you. Do not underrate yourself so. I say this as Jane’s friend as well. She is everything wonderful, but you have such beautiful eyes, and your hair is so lovely the way it curls over your forehead! You are not a conventional beauty perhaps, but you are so lively and endearing, you are the one I would pick, were I a gentleman,” she finished with a wink.

Elizabeth smiled with genuine gratitude at her dear friend. “What a pity for us both that you are not, then! Such a handsome gentleman you would make, and with such a genial address!” Charlotte laughed, and Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “What would I do without you, dearest Charlotte? You always know exactly how to cheer me up!”

“What would you do? Oh, let me see… well, certainly you would offend a good many more gentlemen. Also, how would you ever determine how to make over your bonnets after Lydia has torn them apart? You certainly would never have learned my trick for tying herbs or the best way to get the mud out of your hems to avoid angering Mrs Hill….” Charlotte’s list was cut short when Lizzy playfully jabbed her in the ribs, giggling.

The two sat companionably for a bit. After a while, Charlotte began to make her excuses, as she was wanted at home. “Lizzy, before I go, I must implore you—consider carefully what you must do. Do not let your opinions of Mr Darcy sway you away from a most prudent match. To refuse now could ruin your reputation, to say nothing of your family! Do try to find out the facts and be certain of him before taking such a drastic step. Mr Wickham is amiable enough, and he seems to have been very wronged by Mr Darcy but remember, we do not know all the particulars. Please, Lizzy. I do not want to see you hurt for no good reason.”

Elizabeth blew out a frustrated breath. “You begin to sound like Jane! But for you, Charlotte, I will try to act prudently. I have difficulty believing I could be wrong about Mr Darcy. His actions have always led me to a single conclusion about his character, but if the damage to myself is potentially as serious as you say, I will take care that I act with discretion. Let it not be said that I was foolhardy. I expect you will find, however,” here Elizabeth heaved a weary sigh, “that after the way I spoke to him, Mr Darcy will not return, and all such worry will be for nought.”

Charlotte pursed her lips, studying her friend. “Perhaps,” she murmured slowly. They squeezed hands chummily, and Charlotte turned to go. Remembering something, she turned back. “Oh, Lizzy? Do you think I ought to invite Mr Collins to our house for dinner? It would get him out of your way for a while.”

Elizabeth nodded vigorously, her eyes widening in recognition of her friend’s genius. “Do, please! With my thanks!” Charlotte left her friend in a much better mood than she had found her. Elizabeth put her arms stiffly out behind her and reclined on her rock, her attitude reflective. She blew deliberate little puffs of steamy breath into the air, finding the pursuit calming to her nerves.

After a time, the din of cheerful giggles slowly approached. Elizabeth tried to ignore it for as long as was possible. Lydia and Kitty had returned. She was not insensitive to the fact that had they not run off to Meryton, the entire affair of the morning might yet have been hushed up. Irked that her sisters’ uncontrolled gossip and dissolute ways had worsened her situation, she resolved to disregard them until she felt she could confront them coolly.

A smooth masculine voice caused her to jump. “May I join you, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr Wickham’s welcome tones inquired.

Composing herself as best she could, she replied, “Of course, sir. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I hear congratulations are in order, Miss Bennet,” he smiled amicably as he sat beside her, looking far more at home on her rock than Darcy had. “May I wish you every joy?”

“Your wishes would fall on deaf ears, I am afraid, Mr Wickham,” she retorted scornfully.

He arched his eyebrows in conciliatory surprise. “Really? Pray, tell me the matter. We are good friends, are we not? Are you not pleased with the engagement?”

She bit her lip. Caution whispered to her to keep her confidences close for the moment. Her situation at present was delicate, as Charlotte had so prudently reminded her. She found herself by all appearances betrothed to a man she did not like, an opinion shared by the gentleman before her. What did she dare relate to him?

She wished to openly confide in him, depending on his mutual disdain of Mr Darcy to ease her conscience for treating him so contemptibly. However, it would not do to fan the flames of the present situation, no matter how sympathetic the listener. There would be nothing that Wickham could realistically do to help her out of the predicament, and careless talk had done enough harm for one day. The less said, the better.

“Only that it has all come as something of a shock,” she supplied hesitantly.

“I can well believe it!” he laughed. “Imagine my surprise at hearing your news this morning! Why, only a few days ago, you abused Darcy rather roundly, did you not?” His eyes challenged her to agree with him. In fact, Wickham was quite delighted with this turn of events. He intended to prod her for weakness, wondering if his own circumstances stood to gain somehow.

“I… I believe Mr Darcy has his flaws,” she admitted carefully. “Do not most men?”

“Aye, that is true, but Mr Darcy has more than his share of pride! Along with it, though, he has ample blessings which could more than make up for lack of sterling character, does he not?”

Elizabeth bridled at his implication. “Do you mean to suggest, sir, that I would accept Mr Darcy merely for his wealth?” she snapped, with more irritation than she had expected. “That I would count a man’s character and address of no consequence and blindly accede to the unscrupulous quest for material possessions?”

“Well,” he nodded disarmingly, “did not you? And who can blame you? Darcy is favoured by the fortunes of birth, and why would any sensible woman not wish to ally herself with such a one? For where, Miss Bennet, does prudence end and avarice begin?”

She narrowed her eyes cautiously and considered her words. “I concede the point, Mr Wickham, that we do not all have the luxury of marrying without regard for fortune. Handsome or plain, it is true we all must have something to live on. I have, however, long believed that nothing but the deepest love could persuade me to matrimony.”

“Oh! Is that so? Well, then, Miss Bennet, I must beg your pardon. I had been under the impression you did not much like my old friend, but I see I was mistaken. I am glad you can love and still see a man's faults, for a blind love is a foolish one. You might do much good, you know, as Mistress of Pemberley. Perhaps you can alleviate the concerns of others that Darcy has neglected. I am not the only one with grievances, you must know.”

Elizabeth straightened, her gaze turning curiously upon her companion. What could he possibly mean? Wickham smiled genially and went on.

“Perhaps you may even help select a suitable husband for Georgiana. Mark my words, Miss Bennet, she will need a firm hand to make her a tolerable member of society, and Darcy spoils her, you know. He will consider none but the best connected, most fashionable young men for her. You ought already to be aware of the Darcy temperament, though, as it will take a lively, capable woman such as yourself to keep the old man in check. Take heart, Miss Bennet. I am sure the love of such a spirited woman as yourself will transform him into a most pleasing fellow indeed.”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks tingling. What on earth was Wickham insinuating? The assumption that she was in love with Mr Darcy was humiliating enough, but to hear that others would assume she meant to manipulate him and that a domineering wife would perhaps even be necessary for such a man! Should she be frightened of Mr and Miss Darcy? Wickham painted them as an imposing pair, too fond of their own way to be amiable. Elizabeth didn’t know what to think, but she could not imagine being other than miserable in a marriage with a dictatorial spouse. She liked her autonomy far too well to yield easily.

Her tumbling thoughts were arrested by another voice calling her name. “Hullo? Miss Elizabeth? Ah, there you are. I thought I heard you.” Mr Jones rode around the corner of the house, near the stables. He dismounted his horse and began to rummage in his saddlebags.

Elizabeth was grateful for the interruption. She liked Mr Wickham, but she was not yet ready to talk to him—or anyone else, for that matter—about Mr Darcy. His suggestions had unnerved her, and she needed time to think. Rising and brushing off her skirts, she flicked her eyes to Wickham as he gallantly offered his arm. She took it, smiling rigidly, and began to make her way to Mr Jones.

“Miss Elizabeth, how does your father? Is there any change?”

“Not at present, thank you. I was sitting with him just above an hour ago. My sister Jane is with him now.”

Jones nodded and came forward, carrying a small jar with a wired lid. Elizabeth cocked her head, curiously. He noticed her look and held the jar up with a shy smile. “Leeches,” he informed them. “As near as we know, he has an ascendancy of blood to the head, so these ought to be of some help.”

Elizabeth shuddered. She hated looking at the vile creatures, but she trusted Mr Jones’s advice. Mr Jones also carried his familiar satchel, which she knew to contain any number of his mysterious concoctions. “May I offer you some tea before you go up?”

“No, thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I would like a private word with you, though, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Of course.” She smiled at Mr Wickham. “I thank you, sir, for your company. Do please call again soon? I am afraid I must see to my father.”

He nodded graciously. “Until tomorrow then, Miss Elizabeth.” He gave a deep bow and departed.