I found that I did not know what to say.
This must be a falsehood,I thought.This must not be true. This cannot be true.
“But I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Because he has the means to ruin her now, if he should ever tell anyone what occurred. For some reason, he’s kept his awful mouth shut about her. I don’t know if he thinks it will save him or not. The colonel and I, when we went after him, Miss Darcy was our primary concern. We let him slip away, and then he turned up in thedamnable militia at Meryton of all places. I should have killed him then, I suppose. At the time, it seemed so messy. He has styled himself as if he’s a gentleman, and what am I to do? Challenge him to a duel? He doesn’t deserve that. He’s a thief, is what he is. But if I just shoot him down like a thief, or string him up, then I must tell everyone what I am about, and then I must ruin my own sister. So, therefore, I say nothing. I do nothing. And he does whatever he likes.”
I was silent. I gulped at my tea.
He wasn’t even holding his tea anymore. He glared into the fire, and neither of us said anything.
My mind was racing, because I did not know what to think. It seemed entirely wrong, that was the truth of it. I had thought Mr. Wickham to be the perfect picture of what a gentleman should be. He was so well-mannered, never gruff or silent like Mr. Darcy. He was polite and handsome and complimentary. Mr. Darcy said all manner of uncomplimentary things, and he was so very arrogant.
Yes, Mr. Wickham liked you or acted as though he did, and Mr. Darcy did not. Perhaps you are simply shallow, Elizabeth.
“We should not speak of this,” said Mr. Darcy abruptly.
I lifted my gaze to his. “Should we not?”
“We shall not make it to sunrise if we keep at such topics,” he said. “I am very out of sorts now.”
I wanted to ask about the inheritance that Mr. Wickham claimed he was owed, that he claimed that Mr. Darcy had prevented him from receiving. I wanted to ask other questions.
But even now, I was realizing that Mr. Wickham had once told me he would never harm the reputation of the younger Mr. Darcy because of the love he bore the man’s father, and that Mr. Wickham had done nothing but slander the son, no matter what nobility he had claimed, what devotion.
And I did not wish to have any more of those revelations, so I reached down to bring out two books I had brought along. “Yes, I thought we might grow bored with each other’s company. I brought these in case we would like something to amuse ourselves. I thought we could take it in turns reading aloud from them.”
“Ah, that’s brilliant, Miss Bennet,” he said, sounding relieved, sounding grateful. “Hand that over to me. I shall read first, if you like.”
“Which book should—”
“Doesn’t matter. Either one.” He beckoned with his fingers, agitated.
Maybe it was the tea. We had been drinking ever so much tea. It kept one awake, but it did tend to make one a bit excitable also if one overindulged.
CHAPTER SIX
fitzwilliam
We were yawning when the sun rose. We had been keeping each other awake, something that had necessitated sitting quite close to each other so that we could nudge the other if we noticed the other growing tired. We’d read for hours, passing the book back and forth, only pausing a few times to make trips back to get more wood for the fire from the woodpile that was behind Rosings.
I had put my hands on her in ways I likely oughtn’t have, clutching her shoulder to shake her once, and another time, I had touched her face in a way that might have been termed a caress.
But nothing had happened, in the end, and I could not say whether this was because I had kept myself in check, or whether it was because she did not like me, or whether it was because of being wrapped up in blankets around a fire in the out of doors.
Maybe it had been that discussion of George Wickham, if all things were taken in balance.
We got up and snuffed out the fire. We poured leftover tea on it and kicked dirt over the embers. We were laughing a lot at that point. Sometimes, being awake for a very long time can makeeverything seem funny. I’ve noticed it before, I have to admit, though usually staying up late is done in a bit of merriment.
After that, we basked in the sun, savoring our triumph.
It was Friday.
We had done it.
“Well, I suppose we should go to breakfast,” said Elizabeth, yawning and stretching. “And then we shall see how long we can stay awake. At some point we shall fall asleep, and then, when we wake up, we shall hope we can keep moving forward in time.”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, come to breakfast at Rosings, then?”
She laughed at me. “I can’t do that. Everyone would realize we’ve been together all night.”
