Longbourn
Elizabeth
The next day, the ladies decided to walk into Meryton. Jane, feeling quite like herself again, longed to be out of doors. Mr. Collins asked to accompany them, and though they had received their fill of him the previous evening, they agreed. He neverceased talking, so conversation with him—or anyone else—was nearly impossible. The only time he fell silent was when he ate. The man consumed enough to feed two, slouching over his plate and filling his mouth until it could hold no more.
He offered compliments on everything served at table, from the boiled potatoes to the pheasant. At one point, he inquired whether the estate employed a cook. Mrs. Bennet’s stiff reply confirmed it. She seemed affronted at the suggestion that her daughters might set foot in a kitchen. Elizabeth wondered whether her mother understood that a wife with no cookery skills would be of little use to a man such as Mr. Collins.
They departed soon after the morning meal. Lydia and Kitty bounded ahead, their heads bent together in eager discourse. Mr. Collins and Mary followed. He offered his arm to the lady, and she accepted. His ramblings began the moment they set out and continued the entire way to Meryton. Elizabeth and Jane brought up the rear, the former keeping a sharp eye on the pair ahead, hoping to gauge her sister’s opinion of their cousin.
“You seem rather contemplative today,” Jane observed. Elizabeth quickly told her sister everything she had overheard the night before. Jane sighed deeply.
“Mama has ever been thus, Lizzy. Why is it a surprise to you now? Yes, she desires wealthy husbands for her children, but a wealth of good looks is just as important to her. Have you never heard her tell Mrs. Long how she wishes for handsome grandchildren? Yet even Mama will not turn away Father’s heir.”
“I wonder what Mary thinks of him,” Elizabeth mused. “On the surface, they seem well suited. I do not speak of their appearance, but rather their interests. Mary is pious and morally inclined. Marrying a clergyman would be logical. But look—observe her posture. She is rigid and holds herself well apart from the man. Perhaps she dislikes him.”
“It has been less than a day—impossible for any of us to form a clear opinion.”
Elizabeth nodded. “You are wise, Jane. We had best watch and wait.”
They entered Meryton to find Kitty and Lydia speaking with Mr. Denny and an unfamiliar, handsome man in a blue coat. Upon reaching them, Mr. Denny introduced Mr. George Wickham to the walking party. He was a fine specimen of the male sex, with dark blond hair and startling blue eyes. His features were perfectly proportioned, without the slightest hint of asymmetry.
“I mean to join the militia,” he told them. “Miss Lydia assures me I will look better in a red coat, and my friend Denny promises good employment and agreeable company.”
Lydia batted her lashes. “You are most welcome to Meryton, sir! Why, my aunt is to have a card party on the morrow. You should come!”
Mary hissed, “Lydia, you cannot offer invitations on our aunt’s behalf!”
Their sister laughed. “Fie! We are to take tea with her. We can ask then.”
Jane drew in a sudden breath, and Elizabeth turned to see what had caught her attention. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were approaching on horseback. A gasp from Mr. Wickham made her turn back to him. His face had gone pale, and he swallowed hard. Another glance at Mr. Darcy told Elizabeth the two men knew each other—and that their acquaintance was not a friendly one. Mr. Darcy’s face was dark with fury, his features twisted in anger. He appeared frightful, and for a moment, she could see why others might find him unappealing.
’Tis a good thing his heart does not match that countenance.She watched as he turned his horse and galloped away the moment he reached the edge of the high street.
“On second thought, Denny, I had best move on.” Elizabeth turned once more to regard Mr. Wickham. He looked uneasy, even frightened. “Miss Bennet, can you tell me when the post coaches depart?”
“The incoming coach will not arrive until late this evening at ten o’clock,” Jane replied. “It departs at seven in the morning. And the mail coach has already come and gone today.”
Mr. Wickham looked dismayed. “I came in the colonel’s private coach alongside Denny,” he said. “I suppose I ought to go and arrange a ticket at once.” He bowed and walked away. Denny called after him, offering a parting wave to the ladies.
“What do you suppose that was about?” Lydia pouted. “I want him to stay! He is the handsomest man I have ever seen.”
“’Tis not as though he would like you,” Kitty grumbled. “You are a child!”
The girls bickered as the party made their way to the haberdashery to complete their errands. Mr. Bingley had not followed Mr. Darcy but instead dismounted and joined them. He could offer no explanation for his friend. Elizabeth meant to ask Mr. Darcy as soon as she could.
Darcy
He kicked his mount into a gallop, racing towards Netherfield Park as swiftly and safely as he could.
He is here. How on earth…But it did not matter. He would write to his cousin and summon him to Hertfordshire atonce. There was a chance Richard could reach Meryton before Wickham escaped. Did the village have a post coach or mail coach? He did not know.
He reined in his horse before the stables and dismounted. A groom came forward, and Darcy handed off the reins with a nod of thanks then hurried inside. He gave little thought to his appearance—he must surely look wild—and took the stairs two at a time until he reached his chamber. In two strides, he crossed to his writing box.
Opening it, he withdrew a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped his ink bottle. He dipped a quill only to find it needed mending. With a muttered curse, he tossed it aside and seized another. This one served, and he began to write.
Richard,
Wickham is here. I saw him in Meryton. Make haste, for I do not believe he will remain now that he has seen me. Our months of searching may be at an end.
