Page 58 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Thursday, November 28, 1811—9 Days after Tuesday

Mr. Collins was pointedly ignoring her. Something that Elizabeth would have seen as excellent luck, were it not for the fact that said avoidance was only increasing her mother’s anxiety.

When Lydia and Kitty proclaimed that they wished to go into Meryton to see what had kept Mr. Wickham from the ball, Elizabeth rushed to join them. Someone needed to keep an eye on them, especially when they were around Mr. Wickham, and sitting in the house with a petulant Mr. Collins was less than preferable.

Lydia and Kitty skipped down the path, nimbly avoiding puddles and chattering away about how much more fun they would have had if Wickham had attended the ball on Tuesday.

Elizabeth’s heart swelled as she recalled how adorable they had been not ten years ago engaged in that selfsame action. Back then, she had been glad to join them. It was only later as they aged without maturing that annoyance had set in. Watching them hop around obstacles now, Elizabeth was reminded that they were hardly more than children; something Mr. Darcy had pointed out but that she often forgot. Maturity could still come. But first, she had some bridges to mend.

With that thought, she challenged the two to a jumping contest: whoever could successfully jump over the most puddles before reaching Mrs. Finchmeier’s fence would win.

And so it was with laughter and an occasional cold splash that they reached Meryton.

“Fifty-three!” Lydia cried upon reaching the fence. “I win!”

“You cheated,” Kitty complained. “Some of those were only half-puddles.”

Lydia crossed her arms. “No one but you cares. If the puddle is split in the middle, it counts as two puddles.”

“Not if you are jumping onto an island in the middle!”

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh as the congenial moment evaporated. “Perhaps we could resume our contest on the way home. We can agree upon a set of rules after we visit Aunt Phillips.”

“Yes, why don’t we?” Lydia said. “I can beat you again then, Kitty.”

Elizabeth linked arms with Kitty before her sister could respond. “Are you still practising your drawing?” she asked Kitty. “Charlotte has been helping me with mine, but I still cannot manage people. Hands in particular are quite difficult, are they not?”

Lydia frowned as the conversation shifted. She stalked ahead of them, head swivelling as she searched Meryton’s main street like a pirate looking for a rich merchant vessel. Near the end of the street, she caught sight of her desired treasure: Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham were strolling out of Clarke’s library.

“Denny!” Lydia called, hurrying to reach the gentlemen before Elizabeth could even draw breath to suggest a bit more decorum.

“Good morning, Miss Lydia,” Mr. Denny said, bowing over her hand and then greeting the rest of them. Mr. Wickham likewise greeted the group.

Lydia batted her eyelashes at Mr. Wickham. “Why did you not attend the ball on Tuesday night? We were short gentlemen again and more than one lady had to sit out.”

Mr. Wickham bowed floridly. “A thousand apologies, Miss Lydia. I had considered going, but someone had to take dispatches to headquarters.”

Lydia pouted, and Kitty immediately followed suit.

“Could not someone else have done it?” Lydia asked.

The man smiled at her. “Someone else could have, but I decided that, as the newest member of the regiment, I truly ought to assist in such a manner.”

“May we escort you ladies wherever you are going today?” Mr. Denny asked, holding out an arm.

Elizabeth smiled. “It is kind of you to offer, but there is no need to put yourselves out,” she hurried to say before either of her sisters could answer.

Lydia glared at her.

“It is no imposition to spend time with ladies as lovely as you three,” Mr. Wickham added.

Lydia took Mr. Denny’s arm. “We would be glad for your escort,” she said defiantly.

Rather than start a fight on the street, Elizabeth merely accepted Mr. Wickham’s arm when he offered it. Better her than either of her younger sisters. Mr. Denny held out his other arm for Kitty, and, with ill-grace, she took it.

Elizabeth hesitated, trying to decide how best to handle the snake. None of her previous conversations had affected his behaviour. Then again, they had been geared towards scaring him off Miss Darcy rather than scaring him off her sisters.

“I apologise if I was too forward,” Mr. Wickham said kindly. “I do not wish to push myself in where I am not wanted.”

Elizabeth smiled tightly. “No apology is necessary, Mr. Wickham.”

“I must confess that I had a particular reason for wishing to speak to you,” he said with faux sheepishness.

“Oh?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. If she had not known that he was a practised liar, she would have been fooled into thinking he was nervous.

“When we met last week, I noticed that Mr. Darcy seemed at ease with you,” Mr. Wickham said.

Elizabeth’s jaw tensed. If this idiot thought she would stay quiet while he maligned Mr. Darcy, he was entirely mistaken. “Yes. He arrived in Hertfordshire shortly after Michaelmas, and I spent several days at Netherfield while my sister recuperated from a severe cold.”

“Ah. I see. Then you are familiar with his ways?”

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “His ways?”

Mr. Wickham nodded sombrely. “He is, unfortunately, a proud man. I have heard it near-universally mentioned in the barracks.”

“I see.”

“I am rather intimately connected with the family, you see, and I have a rather vested interest in them.”

As Mr. Wickham began his spiel about Mr. Darcy senior being his dearest friend and her Mr. Darcy denying him his inheritance, Elizabeth walked faster and only her sisters dragging Mr. Denny into the milliner’s brought her to a halt. Reminding herself that she was trying to build bridges with her youngest sisters, not complain about their choices, she entered the shop after them prepared to look at those same ribbons for the hundredth time. At least shopping would halt Mr. Wickham’s discourse and give her time to consider how to respond.

“Mr. Darcy does not seem like the sort of gentleman to behave in the manner you suggest,” she said once they exited the shop and resumed their walk. “After all, men who are driven by family pride are more often scrupulous in the execution of their duties rather than negligent in discharging them. However, if you can prove the truth of your assertions, my uncle, who is a solicitor, would be more than willing to assist you. In fact, we are going to his house now. I imagine he will be home at this hour and most willing to hear your tale.”

Mr. Wickham cringed ever so slightly. “Oh no, I dare not bother such a respected member of the community. There was just such informality about the bequest that―”

“Mr. Wickham, if you are unwilling to speak to my uncle who can assist you, I do not know what else I may do,” she said with a touch of impatience, the heat of her anger warring with the cold air and likely turning her cheeks even redder.

“I was not—I did not mean to imply that I was only walking with you to obtain an introduction to Mr. Phillips.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows nearly shot up. Not only did he know precisely who her uncle was, but he was willing to admit it. “I cannot imagine why you wished to speak to me then.”

“Merely to ascertain whether Mr. Darcy has already turned the community against me. He delights in slandering my name, despite the fact that his father was my dearest friend.”

Elizabeth forced her lips to turn up politely. “To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Darcy is not in the habit of bandying about his personal business. Unless you have confided in someone else, I doubt that anyone in town, save for myself, is even aware such a bequest exists.”

“It is the way of statused individuals to pretend their faults do not exist,” Mr. Wickham said sorrowfully.

Elizabeth nearly punched the man. “Come, Mr. Wickham, you cannot expect someone who is new to the community to speak of such personal details with his inferiors, do you?”

“I am glad,” he said confidingly, though his eyes watched her. “I had feared that I would be driven out.”

She shrugged. “I doubt anyone in Meryton will drive any of the militia out, though people are, understandably, cautious of the militia members.” She gave him a winning smile. “Soldiers are, after all, here only until they are reassigned or the regiment is moved. You are too wise to consider such precautions as personal persecutions, though, are you not?”

Mr. Wickham made some trifling reply, and Elizabeth was able to turn the conversation to what he thought of the militia in general, all the while counting the buildings between her and her aunt’s house.

Why had she ever thought him handsome or gentlemanly?

Returning home had been exhausting. Elizabeth had heartily repented of suggesting the puddle game as Lydia and Kitty fought over the merits of every puddle and the trip ended with Lydia pushing Kitty into one of the larger puddles “by accident.” Kitty had fallen and splashed muddy water all over herself and Elizabeth.

Had Elizabeth not promised to show her sketches to Kitty, she would have locked herself in her room for the rest of the day with a headache. However, in the interest of pursuing the one bright bit of conversation from the day, Elizabeth changed her clothes, collected her sketchbook, and fortified herself for an afternoon of Mr. Collins stiffly ignoring her while she attempted to speak to Kitty.

Fortunately for everyone, not long after Elizabeth reached the drawing room, Charlotte arrived. Her dear friend had visited yesterday after Mr. Collins’ proposal and had promised to return today and, once more, distract Mr. Collins. Elizabeth gave Charlotte an extra hug in gratitude for sacrificing herself.

Not half an hour into her conversation with Kitty, a letter arrived for Jane from the inhabitants of Netherfield. Her older sister grew pale at the contents and, by means of significant looks, Jane pulled Elizabeth upstairs to her bedroom after Elizabeth promised Kitty to return soon.

“Lizzy, what do you know about this?” Jane asked, thrusting the letter at Elizabeth and then sitting on her bed, hands folded properly in her lap. “Miss Bingley says the whole party has left Netherfield by this time and are on their way to London without any intention of coming back.”

Elizabeth skimmed through it, then scoffed. “I expect Miss Bingley is stating wishful imaginings, nothing more.”

Jane slipped a handkerchief from her sleeve and began twisting it.

Elizabeth sat down beside her sister. “Truly, Jane, Mr. Darcy has said nothing about his sister and Mr. Bingley. I do not believe this is something he would have concealed from me, given some of our conversations and the overall frankness of our friendship. Miss Bingley merely wishes to marry Mr. Darcy, and she hopes that one marriage between the family will lead to another. Unfortunately, neither marriage is likely to occur.”

“Mr. Darcy is uncommonly fond of Mr. Bingley,” Jane murmured.

Elizabeth smiled wryly. “He is indeed. In the past, Mr. Darcy might have determined to arrange Mr. Bingley’s marriage; however, he has learnt the error of his ways. I do not believe he will meddle. At least not on Miss Bingley’s behalf.” She put her arm around Jane and pulled her close. “If Mr. Bingley is a worthy gentleman, he will return, regardless of what Miss Bingley says.”

“I would not wish him to disoblige his family,” Jane said, the furrow deep between her brows.

“You must decide for yourself then, and if, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters outweighs the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him.”

Jane’s lips curled up in a faint smile. “How can you talk so? You must know that, though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate.”

“Good. Then let Mr. Bingley decide whether he is willing to endure their disapprobation. If not, he is not worth the heartache.” She kissed Jane’s forehead. “I will be with you whatever comes.”

Jane smiled. “Thank you, Lizzy.”