There was indeed something more, and that ‘something’ had to do with Mr Darcy. She enjoyed vexing him, unsettling him, seeing an expression on his face that was not his usual mask of arrogance.
“You enjoy Mr Wickham’s admiration, sometimes expressed too openly for my taste, admit it—but you would wish for Mr Darcy to occasionally appear as if he admires you too,” Charlotte said at last, almost as if echoing Elizabeth’s own thoughts—though not entirely, for while Elizabeth merely wished to provoke or unnerve him, Charlotte believed shesought admiration. And suddenly, Elizabeth was unsure who was closer to the truth, and the uncertainty irritated her.
The evening became even more unpleasant when Miss Bingley approached them, her disdain barely concealed. “So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite taken with George Wickham! Miss Lydia has spoken all evening about him and asked me endless questions. I am sure he conveniently forgot to mention that he is the son of old Mr Wickham, the late Mr Darcy’s steward. Let me offer you some friendly advice—not to believe everything he says. His proclamations about Mr Darcy mistreating him are completely false. On the contrary, Mr Darcy has always been exceptionally kind to him, despite Mr Wickham’s disgraceful behaviour towards him. I do not know all the details, but I do know Mr Darcy is entirely blameless.”
Elizabeth was furious, but she measured her tone and hid her anger by smiling, saying, “It seems that you do not know what Mr Wickham has done to Mr Darcy. By your account, you accuse him of nothing worse than being Mr Darcy’s steward’s son—a fact which, I assure you, he told me himself,” Elizabeth replied sharply, even though it was not true.
“Oh! Of course, he had no reason to hide from you the fact that he is Mr Darcy’s steward’s son,” Miss Bingley retorted with such venomous sarcasm that Elizabeth flushed. Turning to leave, Miss Bingley cast her gaze towards her brother and Jane, who were dancing again. “Oh, I see your sister is short of partners, expecting my brother to save her every time.”
“What was that?” Charlotte asked, equally shocked and displeased by Miss Bingley’s tone.
But Elizabeth remained silent, for to share her thoughts with Charlotte would mean confronting the fear that had been gnawing at her for days—a fear that arose each time one of the Bingley sisters directed their attention towards Jane.
Chapter 2
Netherfield, at three o’clock in the morning, was finally silent; the last carriages had departed from the house, and although the earlier commotion had served as a good excuse for remaining awake, in the quiet that now settled, Darcy was forced to recognise that sleep eluded him for far more profound reasons than the noise. He had dismissed his valet, though his preparations for the night were not yet begun.
The evening had been both exquisite and exasperating. Each time he beheld Miss Elizabeth, he nursed the hope that some extraordinary occurrence—a miracle or calamity, some dramatic event—might either tear down the barriers between them and compel him to declare his love and offer her his hand or get into his carriage and leave the country and that marvellously exasperating lady forever.
He was amazed at how swiftly matters had unfolded—from the reluctance with which he had accepted Bingley’s invitation to Hertfordshire to the startling impression ElizabethBennet had made upon him almost from their first encounter. Realising how much he admired her left him stupefied yet oddly content to feel so deeply. But as her family became more involved, the situation descended into something resembling a disaster.
Elizabeth grew more impressive with each meeting, showing her sharp mind, quick wit, humour, and love for life. But her family ruined any hopes. Her mother, lacking grace and manners, would do anything to see her daughters married, especially the eldest, who was indeed beautiful yet clearly wished to ensnare Bingley. Yet, despite this goal, she never seemed genuinely interested in him. She was distant, rarely smiled, and only tolerated his company. Then, he met her youngest sisters, who openly flirted with officers without restraint.
Darcy had initially intended for his sister, Georgiana, to join him at Netherfield. But the day he saw Wickham in Meryton, he had hastened to send her to London from Pemberley, where she had spent the last couple of months. He wished her to be with family who might protect her, should the need arise. The sheer misfortune of encountering that man nearly drove him to quit Hertfordshire altogether. Still, with her bright smile and playful banter, Elizabeth had stopped him from leaving. He wanted to know how much her family’s future mattered to her, for he would have proposed marriage without hesitation had she been willing to sever ties with Hertfordshire entirely. Yet such a subject was dangerous as long as he did not know her exact feelings towards her family, its delicacy demanding a tact he did not possess. And that was precisely the moment he regretted Georgiana’s absence. With her beautiful smile and honest gaze, she would have befriended Miss Elizabeth and discovered more about her inclinations, wishes, and dreams than he could ever have done.
He could not help imagining her as the mistress of Pemberley, presiding over his home with the same elegance and natural grace his mother had once embodied. In London, he imagined her dazzling society, her sharp mind and radiant presence captivating his friends and family. She needed little to perfect her natural distinction—a few new gowns, a skilled maid, and the jewels of his late mother, which waited for the future Mrs Darcy.
However, the path was not straightforward, and obstacles appeared at every step. Bingley’s sisters had implored Darcy to intervene and speak sense to their brother, who they insisted was being used by Miss Bennet for his wealth. Though their entreaties barely concealed their true motive—a desire to see their brother marry into a family of more significant consequence—Darcy had feigned agreement, for he, too, harboured concerns. He resolved to speak to Bingley before breakfast the next day.
As he prepared for bed, Miss Elizabeth’s image rose unbidden, her graceful figure vivid in his mind. He saw her dancing at the ball, her movements imbued with rare elegance and a personal style that added to her general charm. Yet, suddenly, another image overlaid her perfect form, dancing with rare grace. A few days prior, at Bingley’s insistence, they had gone to Lucas Lodge, to an engagement at which Miss Bennet would be present. To Darcy’s profound displeasure, in the music room, he had spotted Miss Elizabeth at the pianoforte, singing while Wickham turned the pages.
The sight had filled him with anger. Could evenshehave succumbed to the charms of that scoundrel? But only moments after, he saw her smiling and conversing with other officers, naturally and without any hint of flirtation, and it reassured him. As he moved to join the group around her, Wickham crossed his path—deliberately, Darcy now realised. Their collision wasplanned. Although Wickham had bowed his head in mock deference, Darcy could not restrain himself from murmuring in a low voice, “On the hunt?”
The words had scarcely left his lips before he regretted them. Wickham had surveyed the room with a sneer and replied, “Here?” His disdainful gaze and the hatred that had flashed in his eyes were more worrying than chilling.
He departed shortly thereafter, leaving Bingley behind, eager to breathe the fresh air. Yet, on his way back to Netherfield, he wondered with dread whether Wickham had surpassed the stage of being a mere scoundrel and libertine and had entered a realm where he might prove truly dangerous for Darcy or his family. His behaviour at Darcy’s solicitor’s office, where he had demanded to see the elder Mr Darcy’s will, had been so shocking that he had to be forcibly removed. Penniless, it was no wonder he had joined the militia to survive the winter in this obscure corner of England.
Darcy sighed. His father, the elder Mr Wickham, had been honest and loyal to the Darcy family. Still, many tales were told at Pemberley about his mother. And the son, unfortunately, seemed to have inherited her traits. And here he was, profoundly indifferent to the ladies without a substantial dowry that populated the country yet feigning interest just to play with them.
Darcy still lamented that he had not challenged that scoundrel to a duel, but with the colonel around, that had proved impossible. Yet the idea never left his mind. While the thought that Wickham might endanger Miss Elizabeth in any way made him sick, he could do nothing, as any attempt to warn her about Wickham’s character had failed. His only confidence was in her honest nature and keen observation that would not let her fall into a disastrous trap.
Chapter 3
With deliberate care, Elizabeth left her room, her steps light and cautious as she descended to the hall below. To seek solitude was rare for her, yet this morning, she found herself unable to endure the overwhelming cheerfulness that had pervaded Longbourn since their return from the Netherfield ball the previous evening.
Even the housekeeper, typically measured in her demeanour, bustled up and down the stairs, tending to the gown Mrs Bennet had commanded Jane to wear, ensuring every detail was flawless. The air was charged with anticipation, the servants themselves caught up in the general buzz, while Mr Bingley’s name had been spoken at least a hundred times since the household had stirred from sleep.
They were expecting Mr Bingley to propose. Mrs Bennet, with her incorrigible will, had swept the entire household into a frenzy about the forthcoming engagement, which, unfortunately, was nothing more than a wish in her mind forthe moment. Elizabeth tried to temper her sister, but Jane was already under their mother’s spell, and her own desire for that event to occur was just as strong.
Elizabeth glanced with a certain apprehension at the drawing-room door, unable to face either her mother or her sister, and at the library, where her father was taking a rest after the late breakfast. He was the only person in the house who might have understood her unease, yet she was also avoiding him. What could she say to him? That she had seen no signs of an impending engagement? Or that, with each encounter she had with one of Mr Bingley’s sisters, she had begun to sense that their evident disdain for the neighbourhood was gradually extending to include Jane.
Only on the path to the Meryton did she begin to breathe fully again, needing that moment of solitude to gather her thoughts, calm her fear, and even find words to temper Jane’s expectations. Elizabeth loved her sister deeply; their affection was a matter of common knowledge to all who knew them. Yet, on this particular morning, she found herself estranged from Jane’s happiness, her heart weighed down by a disquiet she could not overlook.
At the end of the ball the night prior, her watchful eye had fallen upon Mr Bingley’s sisters with a clarity she had neither sought nor welcomed. As her sister danced with their brother, their malevolent glances at Jane had shocked her to her core. The two had conferred in hushed, urgent tones before retreating from view, only to reappear moments later, deep in conversation with Mr Darcy. Together, the trio had directed long, meaningful looks towards Mr Bingley and Jane; Elizabeth had seen enough to kindle a profound unease that seemed to seep into every corner of her being.
Since then, she had struggled to dismiss the weight that pressed upon her heart. Strangely, the buoyant atmosphereat Longbourn served only to deepen her discomfort. That Mr Bingley’s family disapproved of his growing affection for Jane was obvious; what remained uncertain was the extent of their power to act on their displeasure.
Immersed in these melancholy reflections, she was unaware of another’s approach until it was too late to avoid. Startled, she raised her eyes to see Mr Darcy, still some distance away, who, like her, was approaching the crossroads near Meryton.
