“Everyone at Netherfield knows, and naturally, Jane does too,” Elizabeth fudged.
It was not a complete falsehood. Janedidknow, because Elizabeth had told her. Being the unquestioning sort, her sister had not asked from where the information had come. However, Janemighthave informed Mr Bingley of it, and thus the residents of Netherfieldmightall know the truth about Mr Wickham.
Jane and Mr Bingley’s courtship was flourishing, as everyone in the area was aware. He appeared in Longbourn’s front drawing room almost every day. At first, itwasdifficult for Elizabeth to broach the topic with Jane, to joyfully encourage her sister to speak of her feelings, but she was trying to be the person shewishedshe was—a girl less envious and bitter. As Jane confided in her, and as Elizabeth provided reassurance of Mr Bingley’s devotion and advised her sister to make her feelings for him a bit more obvious, their sisterhood remained as healthy as Jane’s romance. In an equation that did not quite make sense, the more goodwill and succour Elizabeth expended upon her sister, as well as on those other projects undertaken, the more she had for herself. At the very least, it left her with less energy to dwell upon her own sorrows.
Slumber and appetite remained elusive, however.
“This is terrible,” Charlotte said.
Elizabeth agreed. “I could never have supposed a man so congenial could behave so wickedly. But then, we have always been warned of the danger of trusting in good looks alone.”
“Perhaps he has since repented of his evildoing,” Charlotte suggested. “He must have been just a boy.”
Her sensible friend’s belief in the man’s possible reformation led Elizabeth to impart what several others in the community had already learnt; Mr Wickham was untrustworthy in the payment of debts. In Elizabeth’s opinion, this was the news her neighbours—many of them being overfond of the card tables and small wagers—needed the most. Sir William Lucas was one of those who enjoyed the entertainment, much to his eldest daughter’s disapproval.
Providentially, in this, Elizabeth was able to impart information that was from someone besides Mr Darcy. Her campaign to make known the truth of Mr Wickham’s character had been taken up by others. “Mrs Lyford told me that her son Ernest—who is leaving for Kintbury soon, as you know—demanded payment for a wager Mr Wickham lost last week, but Mr Wickham said he had no recollection of it! He made a joke of the whole thing and quite embarrassed Ernest. It was only a shilling or two, and he believed the man’s word was good enough on such a small sum. Can you imagine Ernest Lyford inventing a false debt?”
“No, I cannot,” Charlotte said, much alarmed.
“Mrs Lyford said that under ordinary circumstances, her son would have never mentioned it, but after hearing that Mr Wickham is not known for his honesty, he is warning his friends.”
“Shocking!” Charlotte said. “The lieutenant must be naturally bad! I wonder whether Colonel Forster knows?”
“That, I have not heard. I hope someone of reputation and authority informs him.”Such as your father, Elizabeth thought, but did not say.
“I suppose we ought not to believe anything Mr Wickham has said regarding Mr Darcy.” Charlotte cast her a sly look. “By the way, I saw you go out on the terrace at the ball,andI saw Mr Darcy following you.”
Elizabeth had long since prepared a response, should any one mention it. She rolled her eyes. “He was hardly following me. I did see him, as well as many others. It was so hot in the ballroom! Miss Bingley ought to have opened a few more windows! I suppose Mr Darcy also required a period in the cooler air. We spoke of inconsequential matters for a few minutes. I almost thought he might ask me for a set, but he did not. Did you see him dance with any lady beyond his own party?”
Elizabeth wanted to know who Mr Darcy had stood up with, but she had not dared ask her sisters for fear of betraying her growing feelings.
“He did not, as far as I know. I saw him later in the card room. I missed his return to the ballroom, as I did yours. I looked for you again and again, until finally, your mother told me you had returned home.”
As much as Elizabeth did not like to lie to her friend, there was no choice. “I do not know what it was that evening, but I found the ballroom excessively hot. I then stayed out of doors for too long. It gave me the most dreadful headache, and I was forced to beg a ride home in one of Mr Bingley’s carriages.”
“Eliza! Did you wander off the terrace in the dark?”
“There were lamps,” Elizabeth said, striving to sound sheepish. “They made the garden look so pretty. I did not go far, but too much of the icy air after so much heat quite ruined my evening.”
Charlotte shook her head in disgust. “Your ‘rambles’ will be the death of you someday. When will you learn?”
“Come now, Charlotte, Mama’s lectures were more than enough. Besides, there was no potential bridegroom in attendance, was there?”
This question set off Charlotte into her usual anxieties regarding potential spouses, and Elizabeth was content to let her go on regarding all who had attended and their relative suitability.
It had been a week of seeing neither hide nor hair of Mr Darcy; the snow had prevented the Netherfield party’s dining at Longbourn, and Mr Bingley arrived alone ever after. She walked out every day and always made the path to the folly her route. It was not as though she expected him to be there; he was scrupulously proper, and it would not have been right to turn their chance meetings into assignations. In fact, had he done so, she would have been forced to stop going out altogether; she had taken enough risk as it was. She would do nothing to jeopardise whatever brief interlude of freedom she had remaining.
Still, ElizabethmissedMr Darcy. She missed talking to him and endlessly thought of their brief moments of contact—when he had held her hand or offered her his arm. Again and again, she pictured his smile, so rarely bestowed it became a treasure she would cherish for the rest of her life.
As though this newfound yearning was not bad enough, he managed to show he cared for her, even in his absence. The next time she went to the folly, she found a number of pillows, perhaps a subtle reminder of her little joke. A padded footstool and exceedingly comfortable chair appeared the following day, and the day after that, a chaise longue joined the rest—should she wish to nap again, she supposed. On Friday, there was a small table with a basket of cold refreshments perched upon it, and each day thereafter, it was refilled with fresh dainties and delicacies. Whenever she went, the folly fireplaces were burning warmly, and the wood piles replenished. She would not have been surprised had a maidservant and a cook materialised. It was almost as though she lived in a fairy tale, the way touches both large and small were continually added for her comfort and pleasure.
Elizabeth knew, as if he had left a note, that he was trying to give her something for which to be thankful, some little encouragements.
This morning, a new and popularly admired novel had been lying upon the table. She had opened it at once, hoping against all reason that she would find a message hidden in it. There was not. It would be inappropriate, considering they were not lovers. They were not even supposed to be friends, in the strictest sense. But he could leave a book there, convenient at hand should she care to read it.
“Eliza, I have repeated myself twice. Whatever is the matter with you?”
With a start, Elizabeth tore her thoughts away from Mr Darcy and her ever-increasing, hopeless feelings for him.
