Wickham snorted, the ugly sneer on his face seeming to sayHave you ever seen a young lady weaker than Miss Darcy?
Elizabeth pushed her shoulders back, her jaw jutted forward in the same manner he had noted the two times she refused to dance with him. Leaning over on the pretense of searching through the pages of music, she whispered to Georgiana, "You have nothing to prove to anyone, and especially not to that man. Play no more."
Georgiana was shy and diffident in many ways, but she did not like to be told what to do. Her expression tightened, and she lifted her chin defiantly—the same tenacious look their father had in his most stubborn moments. Turning to face her audience, she looked pointedly at Elizabeth. "I would be delighted to play another."
Elizabeth slipped off the bench and stood on Georgiana's other side, the mischievous quirk in her lips revealing that she had maneuvered his sister to do exactly as the situation required. Darcy shook his head in appreciative awe, his gaze lingering on the curl of Elizabeth’s lips. He ought to have kissed her when he had the chance. Lord knew he still wanted to.
Georgiana launched into a piece which startled him to his senses. Wrenching his attention away from Elizabeth, Darcy attempted to focus on the performance. It was difficult with Elizabeth only an arm’s length away. When he peeked at her, the smile greeting him made his clothing feel too tight.
He looked away before he made a spectacle of himself. He imagined himself in the coldest, dullest place imaginable: his aunt Catherine’s drawing room where a beautiful piano nobody in her household played sat neglected in a corner.
Georgiana displayed the infallibility of her fingering and added her soprano voice to the greatest advantage. She was radiant. The longer she played, the stronger her voice became. Even Mr. Bennet appeared in the doorway, his eyes closed, his head bobbing and swaying along with the ebb and flow of the music.
Everyone clapped enthusiastically except Wickham. He looked as though he had swallowed sour wine.
Georgiana swiveled to face her audience, her head high. Wickham was nobody to her—had been nobody for a while—and now it was plain that any influence he held over her had disappeared with the high notes of her aria.
Darcy’s chest swelled with pride. After fifteen minutes in Elizabeth’s company, look how Georgiana’s courage rose. Elizabeth had done that.
As if to crown Georgiana’s triumph, a ray of sun peeked through the clouds and shone through the window across the worn carpet.
“It stopped raining!” she exclaimed.
Richard stepped forward. “We ought to return to Netherfield while we can.”
Bowing to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Darcy added, “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“You are always welcome, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Such pleasant company is always welcome in our home. Perhaps we shall see you on the morrow?” Mrs. Bennet’s eyebrows raised in twin question marks.
“Of course.” To his amazement, Darcy realized that he looked forward to returning.
He took Elizabeth’s hand, her fingers small and strong against his. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he bent closer and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Her lips parted, and she sucked in a breath. Her cheeks pinked a bright hue—Darcy’s new favorite color. His lips tingled for more, but he suddenly realized a resonant silence had fallen over the room.
He looked up to see the ladies of the house clutching one hand over their hearts, their heads tilted, smiling eyes watching him and Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet fanned her face vigorously.
It was the disbelief on Wickham’s face that filled Darcy with the most satisfaction. His foe’s smooth manners and slick speech no longer had any effect on Elizabeth. She had made her choice—and she had chosen Darcy. It was the sweetest, most perfect revenge.
Wickham shuffled his feet, his smile forced. “We would hate to get caught in the rain again. We had better depart as well. Ladies.” He bowed gallantly, albeit a touch stiffer than before.
The youngest Bennets pleaded for him and Mr. Denny to stay longer, but he ignored every objection. “I am expected at my regiment in Ramsgate. I fear I shall not be able to return for some time”—he looked at Darcy—“if ever.”
Darcy nodded. Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia would be safer without that wolf slinking around. Now that he knew they were not unprotected, Wickham had to abandon any ruinous ideas he may have plotted against them.
With one last smile at Elizabeth, Darcy finally released his hold on her hand to step into the hall.
Miss Bennet ushered Wickham and Mr. Denny out of the drawing room to stand in the hall with Darcy. She returned to console her bereaved youngest sister, who was lamenting both the wallpaper in the room and her lack of proposals.
Mrs. Hill came bustling out of the kitchen, Darcy’s coat draped over her arms. “Pardon me, sir, but I took the liberty of drying your coat in the kitchen where the stove is warmest. It is mostly dry.” She handed it to her husband, who held it up for Darcy to shrug into.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hill, Mr. Hill” he was rewarded with matching gappy smiles.
Wickham shot him a confounded look. His coat dripped from the coat rack by the door. The tables had turned. “I do not know how you did it, Darcy, but you won.”
Darcy had never seen Wickham so discontented. Maybe now that Wickham had failed to take Darcy’s fortune, his sister, his good name, the woman he loved… he might direct his energies to his own improvement. Darcy hoped so.
With a nod, he and Wickham parted ways. Gone was the resentment Darcy had held against that man for years. In its place, he found peace.
He had been a fool to spurn Elizabeth as he had done, to avoid her and insult her family when a more intelligent man would have begged her for a dance, her friendship, her heart, her hand.
