Page 11

CHAPTER NINE

T he militia had gone away from Meryton for a month—training exercises abroad or so they were told—but soon they were back and Elizabeth was reunited with Mr Wickham.

The Philipses invited her and Jane for tea the moment the men could join them all, but Jane refused.

The last month had seen her ushered into a pervasive sadness that led her to refuse any invitations, so Elizabeth went alone.

The first visit went well, during which Mr Wickham entertained them all with tales of drills gone wrong and food gone rotten and bedrolls too wet to sleep upon.

The second visit, a week later—which struck her as odd, for how could he not have found time to steal away for a tea or a meal or a walk?

—was cut short by a messenger whose appearance Elizabeth did not think much of.

The third visit was delayed by the return of Mr Bingley, for Mama insisted that Elizabeth stay home to receive him.

She had rather hoped that Mr Darcy would accompany him, but was told he was delayed in town.

He would be back by week’s end, though he would not come to Longbourn, a fact whispered to Elizabeth by Mr Bingley as they parted ways one evening.

Elizabeth attempted not to be overly bothered by that, instead concentrating her mind on the fact that Mr Bingley and Jane seemed as enamoured of each other as ever.

Everyone expected a proposal soon, and Elizabeth hoped they were all correct in that.

When next she saw Mr Wickham, he appeared at Longbourn’s door with a split lip and a black eye, and was ushered into the parlour with excited concern. After a time, he begged Mr and Mrs Bennet to allow him to speak with Elizabeth alone, and they obliged.

Elizabeth gestured to a chair, one she could not help but notice had grown frayed from use, and wondered if her mother had noticed or had not the resources to attend to it. She sat across from Mr Wickham in what was typically Jane’s seat, looking over his injuries once more with shock.

“What happened to you?” Elizabeth asked. “Was it a training accident?”

He shook his head, which he then dropped. “I have got myself into a bit of a fix.” When she did not ask more, he looked up and said, “My gambling has not paid off of late.”

“Gambling?” She had not been aware of this pastime.

“This,” he said, pointing to his half-shut eye, “was a reminder that I need to settle my accounts.”

If gambling had led to such an injury, it had to be more than a casual pursuit or a small sum. “Was this some sort of warning? Or a punishment?”

“A bit of both.” He ran his fingers through his light hair, mussing it but not seeming to notice. “I must, I am afraid, ask for money from your family. An advance, if you will, on your dowry.”

She blinked a few times while she absorbed that request. “How—how much do you need?”

“Three thousand pounds.”

“Three—” The words emerged in a squeak, and she took a moment to gather herself. “Did you speak of the sum of my dowry with my father?”

He pursed his lips. “There was mention, but I am sure there is more than the one thousand he suggested.”

“There is one thousand pounds settled on each of us from our mother, who is, as you might have noticed, very much alive.”

He barked a bitter laugh. “Well surely you must have something! I mean, look about! Your family have been on this estate above a century, surely…”

His words died as he noticed the same shabbiness that she herself had noted earlier.

Elizabeth scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion and leant towards him. “My father does not have more. He has five daughters, and the money must be divided between?—”

“Your father could sell off part of his lands.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying this man whose easy charm had been replaced by bare desperation, and a chill ran through her. “No, he cannot. The lands are not his to sell.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“The estate is entailed.”

“Entailed? It cannot be.”

She nodded. “It is.”

Mr Wickham was on his feet, thrusting one pointed finger towards her. “You deceived me!”

“I— How?”

“You never said you had no money.”

“You never said you were in debt! From gambling no less!”

He began to pace. “Your father will have to find the money or I…I cannot marry you.”

“What?”

“Those are my demands. Meet them or I shall call off the engagement.”

She gasped, unable to comprehend this turn of events.

Who was this man? He had appeared so smooth, so handsome, so generous, but he was none of those things now.

And how could she have allowed herself to fall for his lies?

How could she marry a man who would make demands after his own folly?

She did not truly know him, nor did she desire to.

She rose, fully in control of herself now. “Consider it done. You are released, with pleasure. I refuse to marry someone who only asked for my hand in the hopes of obtaining a fortune. One that he planned to squander.”

He had a hold of Elizabeth’s throat in a flash. “You will do no such thing!”

She attempted to back up, but the sofa was at her legs. She feared his tightening grip might leave a mark. Or worse. Where was her family? Could no one hear her distress?

“Stop,” she gasped out. “Let us discuss it.”

He dropped his hand but did not back away.

Instead, he kissed her suddenly and hard, grabbing strands of her hair to hold her in place, the pain of the yanking intense and her shame profound.

Then, still kissing her, he let his hands drift down her back until they grabbed her bottom, squeezing tight.

She tried to scream, tried to push him away from her, but could not extricate herself until he stepped back, a smirk on his face.

“You will get that money or I shall tell the world that I ended our engagement due to your infidelity. You have one week.”

He backed farther away and then made for the door, and Elizabeth sank back onto the sofa with despairing relief. Relief he was gone. Despair for what he had wrought.

This was Elizabeth’s first kiss. Her first kiss!

She had waited all her life for this moment, but it had been painful and humiliating, and she never wished to be kissed again.

She touched her lips, which still ached from the press of his against hers.

She wanted to bathe, to wash away the scent of him.

Her fingertips drifted to where he had held her throat, and she fought back tears.

What was she to do? She was engaged to this man who, it turned out, was violent and greedy and dishonourable.

She could not marry him. She would not! But to refuse him now would lead to humiliation and even the destruction of her family, not to mention the end of her sisters’ hopes of good marriages.

She heard her father in the hallway speaking to him. “Mr Wickham, leaving so soon?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, his voice smooth as if all was well.

It was a talent that terrified Elizabeth more than anything else that had transpired that afternoon.

“Thank you for tea. Your home is always so warm and welcoming. I shall have no chance to return for the next week, but I look forward to our next visit.”

When her father entered the parlour, Elizabeth was yet shaking, and she had no doubt her father could perceive her distress.

“Lizzy, what is the matter?”

“N-nothing,” she said, too ashamed to admit how fooled she had been—how fooled they all had been. “I am tired is all.” She rose and excused herself over Mr Bennet’s protests, then ran to her room and buried her head under the pillow.

For the next few days, Elizabeth hid herself away, living in silent fear and regret.

The rest of the family permitted her to be alone, presuming to imagine she was merely missing Mr Wickham.

Jane gave her the occasional worried glance, but was too much distracted by Mr Bingley and his attentions to think of it overmuch.

At last, after much cajoling by her younger sisters, Elizabeth was talked into leaving her bedchamber and accompanying them to the shops in Meryton, which she insisted had to be brief.

They had only just arrived in the town and her sisters were bickering about whether to first go to the bakery or the shop that sold fripperies when Mr Denny came round the corner.

His face flushed when he saw her, and he told the man accompanying him to go on without him.

“Miss Elizabeth, might I have a word with you?”

Elizabeth, a feeling of dread in her gut, told her sisters to make haste into the bakery and that she would join them in a moment. Once Mr Denny had had his say, she ran into the bakery, telling Kitty and Lydia to come with her at once back to Longbourn.

They returned to Longbourn to find the house in an uproar. Mr Bingley had at last proposed. Though Elizabeth wished to share in the felicitations for her beloved sister, she was too undone. The commotion allowed her to sneak away, and she cried in her room and shook through the night.

“Are you not happy for me?” Jane asked her in the morning.

Jane was dressed but Elizabeth was yet abed, a reversal of their usual circumstances.

“You disappeared from our celebration. I thought you liked Mr Bingley.” Her clear blue eyes searched Elizabeth’s face, and were set with such concern that it pierced Elizabeth’s fragile composure.

She began to cry, absently wondering how many tears she could possibly have left in her.

“I am a terrible sister. I-I am thrilled for you. Of course—” But she could no longer speak.

Jane took a seat next to her on the bed. “What is it, Lizzy?” She asked, holding Elizabeth and rocking her as she had when they were children. “You have acted strangely ever since Mr Wickham was here.”

What did she know? Nothing. She could never have guessed, and Elizabeth could not tell her.