CHAPTER ONE
A TONGUE TOO QUICK
Elizabeth Bennet foundit hard to keep a secret. Especially one as big as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy asking her to marry him in the most arrogant and disdainful manner. So it was one fine spring morning, while walking home from Easter service, that she spotted her friend, Mr. Wickham, a charming and most lively gentleman, always eager for a jest, and smart as ever in his regimentals.
Mr. Wickham’s face lit with pleasure as he fell into step beside her. “How wonderful to encounter you again, Miss Elizabeth. Six weeks is far too long for our little society to be deprived of such agreeable company.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed at the compliment, delivered with just the right note of friendly gallantry. “You flatter me, Mr. Wickham, though I am very glad to be home. I trust you have been well?”
“Tolerably so. I confess, I have missed the pleasure of such stimulating discourse as only you can provide.” His blue eyes twinkled with interest. “Pray, how did you find your visit to Kent? I hope Mrs. Collins is in good health and spirits.”
“Poor Charlotte is well enough, though I fear her situation grows more trying by the day. Mr. Collins remains asridiculous as ever, spouting endless sermons about propriety and gratitude.” Elizabeth paused, savoring the moment. “But Mr. Wickham, you will never guess the most extraordinary, nay, the most absurd thing that occurred during my visit.”
He leaned forward with such interest that he nearly missed his footing as they turned onto Meryton’s busy high street.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth, what could possibly have occurred in the hallowed halls of Hunsford Parsonage to merit such excitement?”
“It is a most amusing tale. You must promise not to laugh too heartily.”
Upon Wickham’s solemn promise to keep a stern demeanor, Elizabeth said, “A certain gentleman proposed to me in a most pompous and odious manner.”
“A proposal? My dear Miss Elizabeth, you have been keeping secrets.” His voice dropped to a confidential tone as they lagged behind the other churchgoers streaming toward home. “Pray tell, which fortunate gentleman has lost his heart to you?”
“Fortunate?” Elizabeth laughed, the sound bright and sharp in the spring air. “I think not. It was none other than the great Mr. Darcy himself.”
Wickham stopped abruptly, wheeling to face her. “Darcy proposed to you? Now this is a tale worth hearing.”
“I could scarcely believe it myself,” Elizabeth continued, warmed by Wickham’s attention. “He appeared at my cousin’s parsonage, paced about like a man possessed, and then delivered the most insulting proposal imaginable.”
“Insulting?” Wickham’s brow furrowed as they resumed walking. “Even in matters of the heart, it seems Darcy cannot help but give offense.”
“Indeed! You would have been as appalled as I at his presumption. He began by informing me of his struggles—hisvery great struggles—against falling in love with someone so decidedly beneath his station.”
“Beneath his station?” Wickham’s voice carried a note of outrage that warmed Elizabeth’s heart. “How dare he suggest such a thing?”
“Oh, but it gets worse.” Elizabeth reveled in Wickham’s indignation on her behalf. “He spoke of my family’s unfortunate connections, the impropriety of my younger sisters, and the regrettable circumstances of my mother’s relations. He made it quite clear that accepting me would be a tremendous sacrifice to his better judgment.”
Wickham’s jaw tightened in a most gratifying manner. “The arrogance of the man knows no bounds. Pray, continue. I am eager to hear how you responded to such unconscionable behavior.”
“I refused him, of course!” Elizabeth’s chin lifted. “I told him he was the last man I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”
“Did you really?” Wickham’s eyes gleamed with admiration. “I would have given a month’s salary to witness Darcy’s face. I imagine he is unaccustomed to rejection. The shock must have been considerable.”
“His astonishment was quite gratifying,” Elizabeth admitted. “Though he recovered quickly enough to accuse me of unjust prejudice against him.”
“Prejudice?” Wickham stepped closer, his voice dropping further with genuine concern. “And what reasons did you give for your refusal?”
“I laid everything before him—his treatment of you, his cruel separation of my sister Jane from Mr. Bingley, and his insufferable pride.” Elizabeth’s voice heated with renewed indignation. “I spoke plainly of his arrogance and his selfish disdain for the feelings of others.”
“You mentioned me?” Wickham touched her arm lightly, his face filled with tender concern. “I hope my unfortunate history with Darcy did not cause you additional distress.”
Elizabeth felt a flutter at his gentle touch, so different from Darcy’s stiff manner. “I could hardly remain silent when faced with such hypocrisy. I told him I knew all about his shameful treatment of you—how he denied you the living your godfather intended.”
Wickham’s expression grew pained, but his eyes shone with gratitude. “Your kind heart does you credit, Miss Elizabeth. To think you would champion someone so far beneath Darcy’s notice…” He paused, seeming to struggle with emotion. “You cannot know how grievous it was to lose not only my promised future but also the man who had been like a father to me. Darcy and I were raised as brothers, you know. His father treated me as his own son, yet when he died, Darcy cast me aside without a thought for our shared childhood or his father’s wishes.”
“How perfectly dreadful,” Elizabeth said, her tender heart moved by his obvious pain. “That you should suffer such cruelty from someone who knew you so intimately makes his behavior all the more reprehensible.”
The sound of approaching voices interrupted their intimate conversation, and Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to see her younger sisters hurrying to catch up, their Easter bonnets bobbing with each quickened step.
