Wickham and I had a history, one that stretched back into our boyhood. My family had been generous with him and he had repaid our kindness with nothing but entitlement and greed.
I did not wish him to know I was here, for even after everything that had passed between us, he might still take it into his head to come begging to me. He had no shame.
So, I thought it best that I leave sooner rather than later.
And there was an odd interaction with James Bennet, one day, in Netherfield, in the morning.
It was odd, because there was no reason for James Bennet to be there in the morning, though he was. He was in Mr. Bingley’s bedchamber. I saw him coming out of it, and I saw Mr. Bingley catching him and laughing and straightening his cravat, though Mr. Bennet’s clothes looked rumpled and a bit worse for wear, as if he’d put back on what he’d been wearing the night before.
The men looked into each other’s eyes and then Mr. Bennet looked up and saw me, and his expression went ashen.
I did not know what to do in that moment.
A number of things were beginning to make sense to me, a number of very appalling things.
They all marched about in my head. Bingley and Danvers and Bingley tying my cravat and Bingley begging me to come here and the way Bingley looked at me sometimes, and I could not breathe.
So, I ducked back around the corner, even as I heard their hushed conversation.
“What is it?”
“Darcy. He saw us.”
“You leave Darcy to me,” said Mr. Bingley.
I had been going down for an early morning walk before breakfast, and I needed the fresh air more than anything now.
I went down another set of stairs and out a different door and began to walk quite quickly through the gardens of Netherfield. It was a murky sort of morning in November. I had on a long greatcoat I hunched into, and I tried to gather my thoughts.
I would leave now, waiting a fortnight be damned.
There was no way I could remain in this house or continue in the society of this man.
The feeling that I had right now was one of revulsion, but I had to admit that beneath it was fear. I didn’t want to admit that, because I supposed that if it came down to it, I might be likely to best Bingley in a physical altercation, but I did not wish it to come down to that, I supposed.
I did not wish to think I would have to fight him off.
Perhaps it wasn’t fair to think that. He had never pursued me, not really, and he had never attempted to do anything to me at all, and I could not say that perhaps he would simply stop if a person said no, like any decent man would, so… so…
My walking slowed. Yes, perhaps I was being too rough on the man.
Perhaps there was no need of fear.
But therevulsion.
That I could not shake and would not shake. I still must get as far from this house as possible and soon. I must cut this walk short, must rouse my valet (for he had arrived here, only not that first night), tell him to pack everything, and we must be on our way as soon as was possible.
“Darcy!”
I turned to see that Bingley was hurrying to catch up with me.
My stomach turned inside out. I thought of running from him, but I did not wish to seem a coward. Besides, I had determined I had little to fear from him. He had always been a polite and refined sort of man, in all my observations of him.
So, I stopped walking and turned and waited. Bingley rushed through the gloom of the morning to stand straight in front of me.
“You saw James leaving,” said Bingley. “And you must have all sorts of wild thoughts about why he was here.”
I tilted my head to one side. “You’re going to deny it?”
