Page 28 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

D arcy, usually the first of their small set to awaken, was surprised to find the dining room already occupied when he entered. When the newspaper that had obscured its occupant was lowered, Darcy was nigh on shocked to meet the eyes of Captain Frederick Wentworth.

“Ah, Mr Darcy, good morning. I hope you like strong coffee; I asked cook to…intensify it, if you will.”

“If she made it even stronger than I already take it, I wonder that your spoon did not stand up in it,” Darcy answered, taking his seat, determined not to reveal his disquietude at meeting the captain again, and in such close quarters.

Darcy had spent the evening in, attempting to convince himself of his having been the victim of the schemes of a fortune hunter, not the innocent bystander of an unwitting injurer, as Elizabeth’s tears had indicated.

His heart desired desperately to absolve her of her trespasses, but history had taught him that deceivers and mercenaries could give every proof of innocence.

His childhood friend Wickham had showed him that in a way that still pained him.

Literally.

And here was the man whom he had become so comfortable despising, the one who had been there first, the one who had upset all his dreams of future happiness. He could see now that Captain Wentworth was no villain; he was simply the tool Miss Bennet had used to wedge herself into his good graces.

“I would not know,” declared Wentworth regarding the stir-spoon,“I take it black.”

“A man after my own heart.” Darcy raised an eyebrow and his cup in salute before taking his first sip of the black tar the Jack Tar had poured him.

A hard swallow and a quick grimace, and his palate was acclimated to the point where he could drink the rest without revulsion.

The captain laughed at his response, then nodded with respect as Darcy continued to imbibe.

“You were not expecting to see me here this morning, I dare say, but youraffable MrBingley is a most generous friend. I found myself inclined to remain in Hertfordshire for a bit, and he was kind enough to invite me to stay at Netherfield,” Wentworth volunteered.

“Indeed, I was not, but it does not follow that your presence is unwelcome. I must say, however, I had expected you would be eager to return to your betrothed.”

“Ah yes, bad luck that. As I mentioned to Bingley, I find myself relieved of my obligations in that quarter. Received some information from Somersetshirewhich, unfortunately, meant I must sever the attachment.”The captain, though disciplining himself to sound sanguine, was clearly brought low by this circumstance .

Darcy did not know how to reply and so remained silent, save for a concerned expression and a small grunt of empathy.

How ironic, he thought, that the very man whom he had imagined had kept him from Elizabeth, the man whom he had wanted so badly to deplore, was now suffering exactly the same malady as himself.

Their ladies had proved untrue, their characters not what they claimed.

And he and Wentworth had both escaped their wiles before it was too late.

He wondered if his companion would see it that way.

“Which is why I do not rush back westward as had been my intention. Instead, I stay on here, and I find myself quite aching to be out of doors,”said Wentworth. “Shall we have any sport today, do you know?”

“I do not know. My only aim for the morning is to post some letters. I could send a servant, but I find it refreshing to ride out and do it myself. Are you a horseman, Captain?”

“I admit I am better at steering a ship than a steed, but I can hold my own.”

“Perhaps we shall ride together, then?”

Hours later, with Bingley in tow, the three men set out from Netherfield towards Meryton on horseback.

After Darcy’s trying night, he wanted nothing more than a punishing run through the fields and hills, but his companions were interested in something more sedate.

Thus, they trotted over the well-worn roads into town.

As if overnight, the main causeway had become practically flooded with redcoats.

The small militia regiment appeared to have swelled with new recruits.

Darcy thought of how giddy this might make the silly young Bennet girls, and no sooner had it entered his mind than the very creatures entered his line of sight .

Bingley, upon espying his angel amidst a small crowd, led them towards her directly.

All five sisters were there, along with two officers and two other men, one of whom wore the black garb of a curate.

From his seat high above them all, Darcy was unable to make out the faces of the gentlemen.

When Miss Bennet saw Bingley, she offered him a dazzling smile, while her next sister cast her blushing face down, hidden from view beneath a straw bonnet.

Darcy was beset by clamouring emotions at the sight of her.

He was awash with the usual gladness and relief he habitually felt at having her near.

Almost immediately, however, he became laden with indignation over her transgressions against him.

His gaze lingered only seconds before Wentworth dismounted and strode towards her, bowing over her hand and asking to be introduced to the gentlemen in their group.

The sensation creeping over him as the captain greeted Elizabeth so familiarly was new to him—it was uncomfortable, it was yearning, and it was almost angry.

I cannot be jealous, surely .

Darcy watched them. The captain was no longer engaged. Might he seek solace in Elizabeth? Might he wish to rekindle their former intimacy? The knot in his stomach forming at the thought only tightened as he listened to her next words.

“Captain Wentworth,” Elizabeth’s melodious voice began, “this is Captain Denny and his good friend, Mr George Wickham. Mr Wickham is to be a lieutenant in Colonel Forster’s regiment. They are to be stationed in Meryton for the winter.”

At the sound of that name, Darcy’s full attention and the full height of his ire were immediately directed towards the man who owned it.

George Wickham .He shot the man a look of such fury that it could not be mistaken by any in their two parties.

In return, the blackguard had the nerve to smirk and tip his hat to him, casually brushing his hand against his left shoulder as he lowered his arm. That was the last straw.

Would that I carried a pistol , Darcy grumbled within himself.

Without bothering to take his leave, Darcy turned his horse and rode away, finding the edge of the town and fulfilling his desire for that hard and fast ride over the fields.

“Who exactly is this Wickham fellow?” Wentworth asked Darcy as soon as the two were alone together that afternoon.

Bingley had chosen to stay in the company of the Bennet ladies, and Frederick had followed them all back to Longbourn, staying just long enough to pay his respects to Mrs Bennet before returning to Netherfield. Bingley, however, was in no such rush to return.

He had found Darcy wool-gathering in the library.

It seemed that the perfectly disciplined gentleman had already had a few fingers of brandy.

His face was a month of wet Sundays. Naturally, Wentworth poured himself a glass as well, hoping he could get to know Elizabeth’s beloved while his guard was down.

“He is an unprincipled rogue of the lowest order. A seducer and a slanderer and a thorn in my side,” Darcy answered without hesitation, glowering unseeing into the flames.

Wentworth had assumed it would take a bit of liquid persuasion before the quiet man would open up; apparently he had imbibed enough, for Darcy soon continued.

“He was the son of my late father’s steward and a favourite with all.

He learnt how to wrap people about his finger from a very young age, and even my father, wise though he was, was not immune to his wiles.

My father left him a generous living upon his death, which the blackguard spurned in lieu of ready cash.

And how has he repaid him? By injuring his children in a way I cannot even speak of.

” The hurt behind Darcy’s sneer was unmistakable.

“I wonder if Colonel Forster knows he has such a rapscallion among his ranks.”

“He cannot know. As I said, male or female, all are bewitched with the charming George Wickham. I am sure he has sold his hard-luck tale to his commanding officers to obtain their pity and favour, just as he has in every other area of his life thus far.”

“Hard-luck tale? He has suffered much misfortune, then?” Wentworth prodded.

“Oh, yes, his misfortune has been great indeed. Educated alongside me, raised with every conceivable advantage, even supported through Cambridge by my father. Given the opportunity of an income that would have sustained him for life. But, no, he chose to spurn such generosity and spend every farthing of his inheritance—all told amounting to four thousand pounds —squandered no doubt in brothels and gaming hells. And when that was gone, he insinuated himself back into my life in a manner so painful—” Darcy’s eyes were a storm beneath knitted brows, his mouth a grim line of fury as he contemplated the parts of the story he was unable to finish.

Wentworth could see no pretence in the gentleman’s air, and there was clearly more to the account than Darcy was willing to share.

Something roiled beneath the surface, and Wentworth recognised that he was not yet in a position to draw it up.

He wondered how much of the defensive wall he had perceived in the gentleman had to do with this constant source of treachery.

And how could he use this knowledge to help Elizabeth?