Page 2 of Searching for Elizabeth
—that same morning—
George Wickham was making his way, on foot, to a little meadow where he was to meet Mary King. He consulted hispocketwatchto see how early he was, and he was relieved to see that he had plenty of time for a little hair of the dog. He had been worried about his ability to smile and flatter and charm the silly miss with his dreadful headache. He went to his cache tree, reached high up to the little hollow, and grasped his flask.
Sitting down next to the tree, he brought the flask to his lips for a satisfying and warming mouthful of whiskey. He was pretty sure that his headache was feeling better already. He closed his eyes….
A small sound caused Wickham’s eyes to fly open. He had honed his senses over the years, having had quite a lot of experience escaping enraged fathers or husbands, and even more experience hiding from angry gamesters he had fleeced.
Now, in this pleasant meadow outside of the bucolic town of Meryton, he expected the sounds of a woman approaching—and, indeed, there was a woman trudging along the narrow footpath he had used just a short time before. From where he sat, still and quiet, he could see that it was not Mary King, but rather was the much more luscious Elizabeth Bennet. Of course, she was not approaching him, but rather heading towards the most overgrown part of the forest. Strangely, she was carrying a small trunk!
Wickham narrowed his eyes at the oddity of the young woman lugging around what looked to be a fairly heavy trunk. Her face looked…distressed.
Wickham had admired Lizzy—a nickname he had heard from her many sisters—from the first day he had come to Meryton to enlist in the militia. She was the right amount of slender and the perfect amount of curvy, and best of all, she was a fiery little thing. He had always been positive that she had copious amounts of passion waiting to be unleashed, but although he had enjoyed flirting with her here and there, he had never attempted to seriously put his moves on her. She had no money, the tiniest of dowries, and no rich relatives willing to bribe him to keep quiet if he ruined her.
Perhaps more important, she was too intelligent to succumb to his charms. He had seen her immediate attraction to him—she was, after all, a woman, and she was not wholly impervious to his handsome face and elegant manners. But, although their conversations had increased his interest in Lizzy—she was a sparkling and witty woman!—theyhad seemed to decrease her interest in him.
But now, seeing Elizabeth upset and carrying that trunk, Wickham decided to follow her. He had no immediate plan to ruin her, but something was wrong, and knowledge was power, and Wickham might have time to gain a little knowledge before his tryst with the King chit.
All that sneaking around fathers, husbands, and dupes had helped Wickham learn to walk exceptionally quietly. He followed Lizzy until he saw her goal—a little cottage almost entirely hidden by a tangle of bushes and overhanging trees and climbing vines.
Wickham checked the time. He had no motivation to further his acquaintance with the lovely Lizzy, and he had ten thousand reasons to hurry back to meet with Mary King. But…
…Knowledge was power, and he carefully studied the area as he swiftly made his way back to the meadow. His knowledge of the whereabouts of this cottage and the apparent connection to Elizabeth Bennet may never come in handy, but you just never know.
Chapter 3: Darcy
— later, early afternoon —
Fitzwilliam Darcy checked his reflection in the looking glass of his dressing room at Netherfield Park. This was just a call, not a ball, so there was no need to look formal, but most of Darcy’s clothing was dark—black, dark gray, dark brown, dark blue or green—and somehow the pristine white of his shirt and cravat, combined with dark colored waistcoats and morning coats, made him look more formal than the dandies who combined brighter colors.
But he would do. He nodded to his valet, Smithson, and left his chambers; after moving down the stairs, he accepted his black beaver from the butler and left the nearly-silent house.
It was so nice to reside in the house without Miss Caroline Bingley’s constant chatter, which vacillated between fawningoverhimandmalicioustowardothers, both of which irritated him almost beyond his ability to remain civil. However, he did miss his friend’s amiable banter. Charles Bingley had gone to London for urgent business. He promised to be back in a few days, but he had not expected his two sisters and his brother-in-law to follow, half an hour later, in the Hursts’ carriage, so Darcy was not sure what would happen with the Bingleys.
But for now, he wascertainabout his own intentions: he had to warn Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And possibly take steps to protect her.Andhe had finally decided to attempt to court her. If she would allow it.
Darcy waited while his horse was saddled, and then he mounted and galloped through the fallow field before taking the road to Longbourn.
When he arrived at the house, it seemed a little more topsy-turvy than usual, if he could judge from all the raised female voices. Those voices instantly hushed, however, when he was announced and shown into the parlor. His searching eyes immediately determined that Elizabeth was not sitting among her sisters.
He hoped she was merely upstairs, or ensconced in her father’s book room, as she sometimes was. If she was out walking, it would be hard for him to find her; there were so many trails she liked to take, and he had only run into her twicein the weeks he had been in Meryton.
Those thoughts flitted through his head rapidly as he bowed to Mrs. Bennet and then to the room, generally. “I was hoping to call on Miss Elizabeth. Is she at home?”
Darcy could not miss the changing expressions on all of their faces. Mrs. Bennet went from a simpering smile to a surprised gape to a deep frown, all in the fraction of a second, and her face ended up settling on a wholly insincere smile. Jane, who had red, puffy eyes, looked upset but also guilty. Kitty looked surprised, and Lydia smirked in the most unpleasant way. Darcy noted that Mary was not there. He sighed; she would have been the only other Bennet girl he would have wanted to talk to about Wickham.
Mrs. Bennet answeredhis query, looking for all the world like a miscreant who was caught in some sort of bad behavior but eager to excuse herself and explain away any disapprobation: “Oh, no, Lizzy is not here. And Mary seems to be gone for the moment, as well. They are my most troublesome daughters, Mr. Darcy. Surely you could visit with Jane instead?”
Darcy saw Miss Jane Bennet blush and shift in discomfort. He wondered at her mother’s push to bring Miss Bennet to his attention, because she had always seemed to be set on securing Bingley forher eldest daughter. He was even more sure that something unusual was afoot at Longbourn.
Drawing himself up, he turned back to Mrs. Bennet and said, “Well, I need to relay important information to Miss Elizabeth, concerning something we spoke of last evening at the ball. Perhaps I could meet with Mr. Bennet instead?”
“Oh, yes, he is here.” Unlike the genteel women of his acquaintance, Mrs. Bennet did not ring for a servant; instead she called out in an unpleasantly high-pitched voice, “Hill!”
The housekeeper appeared again and politely led Darcy to the book room. She knocked,responded to Mr. Bennet’s permission to enter by announcing “Mr. Darcy,” and she exited swiftly, closing the door behind her.
Darcy was shocked by Mr. Bennet’s appearance. He had seen him just last night, but today he looked years older. Tired, cranky, without his usual sarcastic smile and dancing eyes,Mr. Bennet asked, “Well, Mr. Darcy, what can I do for you?”
“Mr. Bennet, I was concerned with some things that Miss Elizabeth said to me at the ball. She had gotten wind of a story that George Wickham likes to tell—a story that is based on a kernel of truth but that leaves so much out, I can characterize it as a baldfaced lie. And her attitude about Wickham mademe certain that Iought towarn her about his true nature.”
