Page 9 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

T he Gardiners were gone back to London. Elizabeth was sorry they had left early but contented herself with the promise of a long walk. She asked for her cloak and, while she waited for Mr. Hill, tied the ribbon of her bonnet, pulling the fabric out into a jaunty bow.

Jane paused to watch her sister. “It is a brisk morning,” she warned.

“It is, but I have an errand or two that cannot wait.” Elizabeth smiled at her sister.

“Would you like company?” Jane asked. Only Elizabeth would ever hear the slight reluctance in the question.

Elizabeth answered carefully. “I had planned to call at the apothecary to replenish a few things we are in need of: liquorice root, peppermint, fennel. Mary mentioned that we are dreadfully low on some and completely out of others.” She held up a bit of paper. “She wrote me a list.”

“And you would like to pick it up yourself rather than send for it?”

“Indeed. And I intend to stop by the milliner’s for new ribbons. Lydia has managed to unravel nearly all of hers, and I think it best to purchase something sturdier this time.”

“Poor Lydia! Her ribbons seem to last no longer than a fortnight.” Jane’s smile was a fond one. They both knew Elizabeth was not seeking more ribbons for Lydia because she felt sorry for her. She was making a preventative purchase so that Lydia would not begin pilfering her sisters’ ribbons to replace her own.

“I should come with you,” Jane said.

“I would like nothing better,” Elizabeth replied, “but you have been ill and should take care not to become too chilled.”

“That was over a month ago, Lizzy,” her sister said, shaking her head. “I am quite recovered.”

Her sister was not a poor walker, but Elizabeth meant to set a quick pace. She always thought better when she was moving, and the girls’ maid, Sarah, was the only one at Longbourn who could keep up with her. “Too soon for my liking. And I know you do not like the cold.”

Jane nodded. It was true, but she also would understand what Elizabeth was about. “Very well, then—I shall let you manage those particular errands with Sarah. But will you at least take care to dress warmly?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do not fear, Jane. I will have my cloak and my scarf, and I intend to walk at a brisk pace. I suspect I may even be too warm by the time I reach the high street.”

“In that case, enjoy yourself, Lizzy, but do not stay out too long.”

Elizabeth finished dressing for the weather and stepped out of the house. The sky was a pale, icy blue as she set off toward Meryton with Sarah just a step behind. The chill in the air sharpened her thoughts, and as her feet carried her steadily forward, her mind drifted to recent conversations.

Jane had been gentle in her concerns about Mr. Wickham, but she tried to see the best in everyone. Elizabeth bit her lip, her thoughts growing darker. He had claimed that his respect for Mr. Darcy's father prevented him from sharing the details of their dispute. And yet, once Mr. Darcy had returned to London, Mr. Wickham’s supposedly confidential story had begun to spread through Meryton like wildfire. What kind of respect did that demonstrate?

She frowned, her pace unconsciously quickening. In her first conversation with him, Mr. Wickham had spoken with such sincerity, such openness, that she had hardly thought to doubt him. But now, her mind was filled with questions: why, if he respected Mr. Darcy's father so deeply, had he taken pains to ensure the story reached every ear in the neighbourhood? And why had he chosen to confide in her about it at all, particularly so soon after they were introduced?

Her thoughts swirled as she entered the apothecary and waited to hand Mary’s list to Mr. Jones. Her attention was divided between making pleasant conversation with the other customers she knew and the vexing recollection of Mr. Wickham’s pleasing charm. Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that she had been manipulated, and that made her angry.

With her orders fulfilled, she stepped out onto the street. And there, as if conjured by her thoughts, was Mr. Wickham himself, coming around the corner with an easy, confident swagger. His eyes lit up as they met hers, and his mouth curved into a smile that she now thought a little glib.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted, bowing with his usual flair. “What a fortuitous meeting! I daresay my morning has improved considerably.”

Sarah’s quiet sniff distracted Elizabeth for a moment, but then she returned his smile as politely as she was able. “Mr. Wickham,” she replied. “I trust you are well.”

“Very well, indeed,” he replied, his gaze flicking briefly toward Sarah behind her before settling on Elizabeth once more. “And you, Miss Elizabeth? I hope you are finding ways to keep warm despite the cold weather.”

She inclined her head. “I do find a brisk walk warming.”

Mr. Wickham chuckled. “Yes, I can imagine.” He leaned forward slightly. “I must confess, I hardly imagined I would have the pleasure of running into you today, what with the recent return of certain visitors.”

Elizabeth’s heart began to beat a little faster, but she kept her tone casual. “Yes, Mr. Bingley has returned with Mr. Darcy. And Mr. Darcy has brought his sister and cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Mr. Wickham’s expression did not falter, but Elizabeth fancied she saw a wary look appear briefly in his eyes before he composed himself.

“Indeed?” he asked lightly. “It must be quite the spectacle, to have Pemberley’s illustrious heir and his family gracing the streets of Meryton.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her silence seemed to make Mr. Wickham uncomfortable.

“I fear I have been rather too candid in my views of Mr. Darcy,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied, a slight edge creeping into her tone. “I was surprised by it. I had thought you wished to keep your grievances private out of your deep respect for Mr. Darcy's father.”

A distinct flicker of unease passed over Mr. Wickham's face, but he recovered quickly, offering her a disarming smile. “And so I do, Miss Elizabeth. But the truth has a way of slipping free, does it not? I cannot be blamed if others wish to share what they have learned.”

Of course, they had all learned it from him. She held his gaze, her voice steady. “Not at all, Mr. Wickham.”

A silence hung between them, taut and unyielding, until the lieutenant forced a laugh. “I hope I have not offended you somehow, Miss Elizabeth. I should dislike that above all.”

Elizabeth inclined her head very slightly, her gaze never leaving his. “I am not offended, Mr. Wickham, but if you will excuse me, I must be on my way.”

As she turned, she saw two riders approaching, their figures unmistakable even at a distance. Mr. Darcy’s rigid posture on horseback was as familiar as it was imposing, while Colonel Fitzwilliam’s relaxed demeanour provided a striking contrast. As they neared, Elizabeth noted the taut set of Mr. Darcy’s jaw when he saw Mr. Wickham.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said with a polite nod as he reined in his horse. “Wickham.” His tone was clipped, the single word heavy with contempt.

If Mr. Darcy’s presence unnerved Lieutenant Wickham, the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam made him visibly anxious. The colonel dismounted with an almost feline grace, his eyes glinting with a darkly amused sort of menace.

Elizabeth shivered.

“Wickham,” Fitzwilliam drawled, his voice rich with mock cordiality. “What an unexpected pleasure. You seem to have a knack for turning up where you are least wanted.”

Mr. Wickham’s confident facade cracked, his smile stiffening as he stepped back instinctively. “Fitzwilliam,” he said, his voice a bit higher than normal.

Colonel Fitzwilliam advanced a step, his expression darkening. “I believe you have some matters to discuss with Colonel Forster. Shall we?”

Mr. Wickham’s eyes darted toward Elizabeth as if seeking an ally, but she remained silent, her brow furrowing as she observed the interplay. The colonel’s grin widened, and he gestured toward the direction of the militia encampment.

“Now, Wickham,” he said, his tone firm but laced with an unsettling edge. “We would not want to delay. Colonel Forster will want to clear up the misunderstandings you seem to have with several of the merchants in town here.”

The man hesitated, but under the colonel’s pointed stare, he had little choice but to comply. “Of course.”

Mr. Darcy was watching the exchange without uttering a word, his icy gaze fixed on Mr. Wickham. With a final nod to Elizabeth, he turned his horse and followed the other men as they made their way toward the camp.

Elizabeth stood on the street with Sarah beside her, clutching her parcel and watching the men retreat. Her curiosity burned hotter than ever. Whatever secrets Mr. Wickham harboured, it seemed Colonel Fitzwilliam was more than willing to uncover them.

With that, she turned for home, her heart calming as she walked.

“Sarah,” she said slowly as they left Meryton and turned onto the path back through Longbourn’s village, “you made a noise when Mr. Wickham spoke to me.”

The maid did not reply, but then, Elizabeth had not asked a question. She did so now. “Do you know something of him?”

“I would not like to say, Miss Elizabeth,” Sarah replied.

Elizabeth stopped walking to allow Sarah to catch her up. “If you are concerned that I will not believe you, I can assure you that it is not the case.”

Sarah paused. “I believed you favoured the man.”

“I did at first,” Elizabeth told her. “That does not mean I cannot change my mind. What do you know?”

“Only what I hear.”

This was proving more difficult than attempting to keep Lydia at her needlework. “Which is?”

Sarah hesitated but finally spoke frankly. “That he is a gamester, and that he meddles with the servant girls. Mrs. Hill warned us never to be caught alone with him.” Sarah pursed her lips before saying, “And we are not to let the young ladies be alone with him neither.”

Mrs. Hill was always very careful with the servants in her charge. That she had given such explicit orders to the maids was significant. That she had included the Bennet daughters in her circle of protection was just as concerning.

The entire thing was shocking. Jane had been correct. Mr. Wickham had not been telling the truth, but she had been wrong in ascribing his motives to any preference he felt for Elizabeth. She was unsure what the lieutenant had hoped to gain by fooling her, but she suspected she had only been a way to seek revenge on Mr. Darcy by damaging the man’s reputation. And when she had not spread the story, he had done it himself the moment Mr. Darcy returned to London.

He had used her. Or attempted to.

As they entered Longbourn, Elizabeth took the basket from Sarah. “Go down to the kitchen to warm yourself and have something hot to drink,” she said with a smile.

Sarah bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. Elizabeth strolled to the small indoor stillroom and placed the herbs and the list on a wooden table for Mary. When she joined Jane in the drawing room, Aunt Phillips was just leaving to see Mamma.

“What did Aunt Phillips have to say, Jane?” Elizabeth inquired.

Jane appeared very unhappy. “That Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were in town today, making inquiries with the merchants.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “I saw them when I came out of the apothecary, as it happens. They were quite unhappy with Mr. Wickham. Were they inquiring about him?”

Her sister sighed. “It seems Mr. Wickham has been living beyond his means. Aunt Phillips says that he has run up nearly one hundred pounds in credit, far beyond his ability to pay. I fear he will soon find himself in a rather uncomfortable position.”

Elizabeth bristled anew. One hundred pounds was more than her father spent on each of them in board and pocket allowance for a year! It was certainly no small matter for a man of his position, for had he not admitted to her that he had no other means of support?

Or had that been a falsehood too?

She shook her head. “I cannot believe I was so ready to trust his every word. I defended him, Jane. Mr. Darcy warned me when we danced at Netherfield, and I would not listen.”

Jane touched her arm. “You could not have known, Lizzy. I did not see it either. I thought him quite agreeable, though Mr. Bingley said he was by no means respectable.”

Elizabeth’s expression hardened. “He is a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing. Apparently, Mrs. Hill has given strict orders that neither we nor the maids are ever to be left alone with him.”

“But why would Mrs. Hill—oh, Lizzy, do you think he has done something improper? That he has harmed someone?”

That was precisely what she thought. “I do not know for certain, but Mrs. Hill would not give such instructions without cause. She sees more than we realise, and I trust her instincts.”

Jane fell silent, her face pale. She turned toward the window, watching the leaves stir outside. “What will Papa do?”

“Papa?” Elizabeth let out a hollow laugh. “Nothing, I expect. You know how he hates exertion of any kind. He would sooner turn a blind eye than confront Wickham or even speak to Colonel Forster.”

“And Mamma . . .” Jane trailed off, her shoulders slumping. “She will likely refuse to believe any of it. He is so handsome and charming, after all, and she is convinced he has an interest in one of us.” She kindly did not say that it was Elizabeth.

The worst part of it was that there had been a brief moment in time where she had been foolish enough to think Mr. Wickham might make a pleasant husband, though she had never been very serious about it. Thank goodness for Aunt Gardiner who had spoken to her quite firmly on the subject, warning her that the match would be financially imprudent on both sides and that she had better guard her heart.

And so she had. Good, excellent Aunt Gardiner! “A man could be a brigand,” she said with a forced cheer, “and Mamma would still be thrilled to call him her son.”

“It makes me wonder what our own mother would have done.” Jane’s gaze turned towards the window.

Elizabeth glanced at her sister. “I have pondered the same, particularly when I received a certain proposal in November. Would things have been different if she or our father had lived?”

Jane nodded, a wistful look in her eyes. “Perhaps. But then we would not have our sisters.”

“Yes, that is true.” Mary, Kitty, and Lydia drove her to distraction most days, but she still loved them.

Jane’s hand found Elizabeth's, and she squeezed it gently. “Whatever we may think of Mr. Wickham, we are safe here. Papa may avoid confrontation, but he would never let anything truly harm us.”

Elizabeth knew her Bennet parents were far from perfect, but clearly, so was she. And besides, the very fact that she and Jane were still here, living as Bennet daughters in every sense of the word, proved that Mamma and Papa were both deeply, truly kind.

“We must speak with the girls,” she said firmly, and Jane agreed.

That evening, they gathered their younger sisters in Jane’s chamber. Elizabeth spoke first, choosing her words carefully. “Aunt Phillips brought us some news about Mr. Wickham today. Because of what she related, we must reconsider his character.”

“Oh, Lizzy,” Lydia scoffed, folding her arms. “What could my aunt have heard? Wickham is the most charming officer in the militia. He is handsome and clever and charming. He is practically perfect.”

“Perfectly indebted, perhaps,” Jane interjected gently. “He owes sums to the local merchants that would be difficult for any man to repay.”

Kitty’s face fell, but Lydia’s rebellious spirit remained undiminished. “What of it? He will make his fortune yet—I am sure of it. And when he does, we will be the first invited to every ball!”

Their protestations about propriety and the family’s reputation went unheeded until Mary spoke up calmly. “Lydia, Mr. Wickham’s debts would mean a life without all the things you love. No new dresses, no dancing, not even an allowance. He owes more than you have to spend for an entire year. There would not even be money for servants—you would be required to work.”

Kitty added, “And Cook has such calluses on her hands. You would hate that, Lydia.”

A shadow of uncertainty passed over Lydia’s face, and she fell silent, her youthful bravado seemingly quelled. Elizabeth, surprised and grateful, caught Mary’s eye and offered her a warm smile.

Silence stretched between the sisters as Lydia’s defiance wavered. Her eyes darted to the side, and she folded her arms, huffing softly. “It is all Mr. Darcy’s fault for coming back here to cut up our peace,” she declared. It was nonsensical, but so was Lydia.

Jane’s expression was gentle but resolute. “Mr. Darcy is not responsible for Mr. Wickham’s choices, Lydia. No one forced him to purchase things when he had no money to pay.”

“He has done us a great kindness by inquiring about Mr. Wickham’s debts,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Can you imagine how difficult the winter would be for the merchants he has cheated? For their children?”

Kitty, at least, appeared ashamed. Even Lydia shifted uncomfortably.

“I still don’t see why it matters so much. But . . .” Lydia sighed. “If you say that I should, I suppose I will stop talking about Mr. Wickham.”

Elizabeth smiled, reaching out to squeeze Lydia’s hand. “That is all we ask. We are family, after all, and we must protect one other.”

The sisters exchanged glances, a quiet understanding settling over them. For once, they were all in agreement, reluctant though Lydia was to admit it.

As they stood to leave, Jane’s soft voice broke the silence. “Thank you, girls. I would not have any of us hurt.”

Kitty and Mary left the room together, and Lydia sighed. “I suppose it would be better to wait for a man who can afford servants. Perhaps Captain Carter has an allowance.” She sailed out after her sisters, and Elizabeth chuckled as she shook her head.

“I suppose we have found Lydia’s standard for true love—a good modiste and a full complement of servants to wait upon her every whim.”

Jane laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing. “At least we know what to look for.”