Page 22 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

E lizabeth slumped in relief as she reached her room and closed the door. Between Lydia’s recitation of the fish she had won and the fish she had lost and Mr. Collins’s recounting of his gaming experience tonight and his astonishment at her aunt’s hospitality, her ears were nigh on to bleeding.

The day had left her nearly wrung out as it was. Event after event had unfolded almost precisely the way it had in her visions, leaving her more disturbed than she had been yesterday. When Mr. Wickham had sat down next to her and regaled her with his tale of how Mr. Darcy had wronged him, she had been able to recite it nearly word for word.

And, as if these repetitions were not enough, her mother was behaving oddly towards Mr. Collins; she had apparently spoken of Elizabeth’s morning rambles in such a way that Mr. Collins viewed them favourably, and she had pushed them to walk together to Meryton. Unfortunately, it seemed likely that Mama had chosen her least favourite daughter for the task of marrying Mr. Collins. Hopefully, Papa would gainsay such a marriage or she could divert Mr. Collins’s attention in a different direction before the man actually proposed.

With a sigh, Elizabeth pulled on her nightgown and crawled under the blankets, awaiting her sister.

Jane’s knock sounded on the door, and she called for her to enter. They had exchanged astonished glances when Mr. Wickham had been introduced but had been unable to speak privately about Elizabeth’s dream since.

“Lizzy, I was never so surprised in my life as when Mr. Denny introduced Mr. Wickham,” Jane said as she slid under the covers and sat next to Elizabeth.

“That makes two of us,” Elizabeth said dryly. “What do you think it was, Jane? My dream, I mean?”

Jane frowned. “I do not know. I have not heard of anything of the sort. It is like something in a fairy tale.”

Fairy tale. The words triggered another recollection. Mr. Darcy had said something about time behaving in a nonlinear fashion. What had that been?

Come to think of it, why had Mr. Darcy left the group to go speak to that old woman? He and Mr. Bingley had not returned to receive Mrs. Phillips’s invitation, but Elizabeth clearly recalled them attending the party the night before.

“Did you not say that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy attended Aunt’s Phillips’s party?” Jane mused. “Your dream was not entirely accurate.”

“In my visions, they did not always attend, but I have no idea why that should change.” Unless.... Were Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley also experiencing this repetition?

Jane clasped her shawl tighter around herself. “I wonder how long this phenomenon will continue—will you have a vision of tomorrow also? Or was there something important about today?”

Elizabeth shrugged helplessly. “The only unusual things about today were spending time with Mr. Collins and meeting Mr. Wickham.”

Jane smiled. “Mr. Wickham seems most congenial.”

“He does, yes.” Elizabeth hesitated. “But is he?”

Jane paused in the act of plumping a pillow. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth drew her knees up, hugging them to herself. “He told me of his connection with Mr. Darcy tonight.”

“I thought it seemed as though they knew each other,” Jane said.

Elizabeth barked a laugh. “They certainly had strong reactions, did they not? Mr. Wickham went positively whey-faced, and Mr. Darcy glared daggers at him before immediately leaving and speaking to that old woman.”

“What old woman?” Jane asked, her brow furrowed.

“The woman down the street—she was nearly bent double and appeared to be lacking necessary resources.” Elizabeth frowned. “I wonder where she is staying. None of our tenants would be so obviously experiencing privation this early in the season.”

Jane put a cold hand on hers. “There was no old woman, Lizzy.”

“Of course there was,” Elizabeth said, drawing their hands under the covers. “Who did you think Mr. Darcy was speaking to?”

“He appeared to be talking to himself—I assumed he was overly distraught after encountering Mr. Wickham.”

Elizabeth stilled. “You did not see her?”

Jane shook her head wordlessly.

Icy pricks crept up Elizabeth’s spine. Mr. Darcy had clearly been interacting with the woman. Concentrating on the face of the woman, she was able to recall the flashes of vision that pertained to her; Mr. Darcy had several times gone to speak to her or helped her up when she stumbled. But, just as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were not always in Meryton, the old woman was not always present either.

“Well, regarding Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, grasped Jane’s hand as though it were an anchor in the midst of her questions about reality, and then detailed Mr. Wickham’s story. “It seems fairly clear-cut, except....”

“Except what?”

“Perhaps I am simply too cynical for my own good, but when I asked why he had not sought legal redress, Mr. Wickham said that out of his love for the father, he could never sully the Darcy name. If that were true, why was he telling such a damaging tale to one who is little more than a stranger? He does not know whether I will spread the tale all over Hertfordshire.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “I do not like Mr. Darcy, but I am not sure that he is as bad as all that.” Yesterday, when she had spent the afternoon in bed, she could not help but question her own perceptions of the man. He was serious, dour even—and yet, she had clear memories of a brilliant smile on his face.

“It does seem odd,” Jane agreed. “But I doubt he had any malicious intent—it probably shows what an excellent judge of character he is that he recognised a safe confidant in you.”

Elizabeth suppressed a groan. Jane always saw the best in others, but it made it difficult to determine whether her concerns were reasonable. “I suppose that may be true. We shall simply have to spend more time with him to see whether he is trustworthy or not.”

Jane smiled at her. “I doubt that would be a hardship. There were a great many disappointed young ladies when he chose to sit next to you.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes in thought. Why had Mr. Wickham chosen to sit next to her? Lydia and Kitty had showered him with attention when they met, and both girls had saved open seats next to them in hopes of being favoured. “I certainly did not attempt to draw him in.”

“You smiled at him. That was likely sufficient.”

Elizabeth snorted delicately. “It was likely that he simply saw someone with whom he was already acquainted.”

“Then why did he not simply accompany Mr. Denny to sit by Lydia and Kitty?” Jane pointed out teasingly.

“I do not know.”

Their talk drifted to the party and its participants. Eventually, Elizabeth’s thoughts returned to the other gentleman who had been on her mind as of late.

“What do you think of Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked Jane. “We have seen him in close contact at Netherfield now, and I am curious to hear if your opinions have changed.”

Jane gave her a bewildered look. “You spent far more time with him than I did. My opinions of him are the same as they have been for quite some time: he is tall, shy, and perhaps a bit proud, but not unkind.”

Elizabeth nearly reminded her sister of the man’s initial insult—she would not have considered such a comment to be “kind.” However, Jane had already decided that Mr. Darcy had simply been having a bad evening that night; Mr. Bingley’s dearest friend could not be wanting.

“What do you think of him?” Jane asked.

“I do not know,” Elizabeth admitted. “If I had spoken to Mr. Wickham before my visions, I would have thought him to be proud indeed―” Disgust and anger filled her as a memory of the same conversation rose up within her. She had indeed thought Mr. Darcy a man of the worst sort in some of her visions. But.... “I cannot make him out. I have seen him solicitous of others. Yet, I have also seen his pride.”

“Perhaps he is merely aware of his status and family name,” Jane suggested.

Elizabeth gave her a look. “His status and family name do not at all excuse the way that he struts around Hertfordshire, refusing to speak to anyone he deigns beneath his notice,” she said firmly.

Why had Mr. Darcy stopped to speak to a beggar woman? Was it merely to escape Mr. Wickham?

“I am certain that further acquaintance with him will lead to a clearer view of his character,” Jane said.

“I doubt it,” Elizabeth replied. “Frankly, I am surprised he has spent as much time in Hertfordshire as he has. After his obvious distaste with the inhabitants―”

“You mean his shyness,” Jane said firmly. “Mr. Bingley says that his friend is not comfortable in social situations but is quite congenial when he is surrounded by friends and family.”

Elizabeth nearly protested out of habit. “Still, even if it is distaste for the situation and not for those who are present, he does not need to act as though he is better than everyone.”

Jane clasped her hands in front of her on the bed. “I do not think he is acting as though he is better; I believe Mr. Darcy is just so uncomfortable that he avoids speaking to anyone. Perhaps he is accustomed to others trying to take advantage of his wealth and connections.”

For a moment, Elizabeth tried to put herself in Mr. Darcy’s shoes. He had inherited his estate at a young age; perhaps some had thought that his youth would leave him unwary and subject to various schemes.... Had he fallen prey to unscrupulous persons? Had he been pursued by every single young lady in the ton and their relations? After all, only his dour mien had prevented her own mother from hunting him like a wolf after a sick elk.

“I shall consider your perspective further,” Elizabeth promised.

Jane smiled. “Do try not to judge him too harshly. Mr. Bingley likes him quite a lot.”

“And you would not wish me to be at odds with his dearest friend lest it affect your marriage prospects,” Elizabeth teased.

Jane looked down modestly. “I do like Mr. Bingley—he is kind and generous and truly cares about others.”

“Do not worry, Jane. I shall not do anything to annoy Mr. Darcy any more than he has annoyed me.”

Jane gave her a stern look, and Elizabeth laughed.