Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 1 (3 page)

‘It seems that Lydia has already found him,’ said Lizzy.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Charlotte. ‘Poor Mr Wickham.’

Lizzy, whose eyes were on her sister, at that moment saw Mr Wickham straighten up from his bow and she caught his expression. She gave a gurgle of laughter.

‘I think Mr Wickham is equal to Lydia,’ she said.

Charlotte looked at her curiously. ‘Lizzy, you like him, don’t you?’

‘I can hardly claim to like him when I don’t know him, but he looks to be a gentleman.’

‘You do like him, I can tell,’ said Charlotte teasingly. ‘Come, I will introduce you.’

At that moment the door opened, and all eyes turned towards it, for walking into the hall were the Netherfield party. Mr Bingley was with his two sisters and his brother-in-law. And along with them was another man, who was tall, handsome and well made, with a proud face and a haughty bearing.

At once the ripple of gossip went round the room.

‘Ten thousand a year . . . estate in Derbyshire . . . ’

His eyes fell on Lizzy and he looked at her coldly, as if she was beneath his notice. Her spirit rose at that, and she returned his gaze until at last he looked away.

‘Magnificent,’ said George Wickham under his breath. He had been watching the scene from across the room and he felt the stirrings of admiration inside himself. ‘Who is she?’ he said, more to himself than anyone else.

‘Oh, that’s my sister, Lizzy,’ said Lydia.

‘Lizzy?’ he enquired.

‘Elizabeth,’ said Lydia. ‘I suppose I should say, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Do you dance, Mr Wickham?’ she asked, hanging on his arm.

‘Yes,’ he said. Adding under his breath, ‘But not with you.’

The assembly room was full. The musicians were striking up the opening chords of a new dance and Elizabeth watched with beating heart as Mr Wickham made his way across the crowded room towards her. She felt breathless and she could feel that she was blushing. It made her feel awkward and she turned away so that he should not see. But when he did not join her, she at last looked up and saw that he had been waylaid by Sir William Lucas. She felt frustrated, because Sir William was introducing Charlotte to him. She could tell that Mr Wickham liked this new turn of events no more than she did but he could not do anything about it. After a slight hesitation he smiled politely and offered Charlotte his hand. Together they joined the dance.

Elizabeth shook her head in vexation. She had been looking forward to dancing with Mr Wickham. She was sure he would dance well and she loved to dance.

Even worse, she did not have a partner and so she was forced to sit at the side of the room. Gentlemen were in short supply, and she was not the only young lady to be left without a partner.

She amused herself by watching her sister, Jane, dancing with Mr Bingley. They made a handsome couple and Lizzy could see that Jane was entranced by Mr Bingley, just as he was entranced by her.

What a happy outcome it would be if they married
, she thought.

Her gaze moved on to Charlotte and Mr Wickham. They did not seem to be getting on so well. Their conversation had ended and they danced without speaking.

The dance ended and once again Elizabeth felt her heart beat faster. Mr Wickham was escorting Charlotte back to her parents but he had glanced in her direction and his one glance told her all she needed to know: He was going to ask her to dance.

She played with her fan, not wanting to watch Mr Wickham as he walked across the room towards her.

Her attention was caught by a mention of her name and to her surprise she found that Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were talking about her. Mr Bingley was telling Mr Darcy he should not stand about in such a stupid manner, but should dance.

Mr Bingley went up in Elizabeth’s estimation. It was rude of Mr Darcy to stand about instead of dancing, particularly when their were ladies sitting down. Not that she wished to dance with him. He was surveying the room as if he was better than everyone else there.

It soon became clear that Elizabeth was right in thinking this, for Mr Bingley was trying to persuade his friend to dance with her. She was embarrassed. She had no wish to beg for a partner. Besides, Mr Wickham was threading his way through the crowd and she very much wanted to dance with him. There was something open and good-humoured about his countenance and there was no denying he was handsome.

Mr Darcy’s reply caught her ears: ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt
me
.’

He said it as if he were the King of England and she were a peasant! At first she was affronted, but this quickly gave way to amusement as she realised how ridiculous Mr Darcy was. Elizabeth loved to laugh!

A voice at her elbow recalled her straying thoughts.

‘Something has amused you?’ came a charming gentleman’s voice.

Looking up, she saw Mr Wickham.

She smiled.

‘Will you dance with me? I am eager to hear what it is that has amused you, and made your eyes sparkle.’

The compliment was gracefully given and Elizabeth felt a thrill of pleasure. Mr Wickham was the most attractive man in the room – although, she was forced to admit, Mr Darcy was very attractive, also. But he was also proud and arrogant, whereas Mr Wickham was charming.

She accepted his hand and the two of them went on to the floor. There was a buzz of conversation as they were noticed, and Elizabeth realised they had become the centre of attention.

‘We seem to have caused something of a stir,’ said Mr Wickham, bowing over her hand.

Elizabeth curtseyed.

‘This is a small town, Mr Wickham, there is not very much to talk about. I am afraid you must accustom yourself to being spoken of.’

‘If it is the price I pay for dancing with you, Miss Elizabeth, then it is something I cannot complain of,’ he said.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he said it and Elizabeth was very well pleased with her partner.

The music began. Mr Wickham danced well. He was precise in his movements and Lizzy felt they were well matched in the dance. Their bodies echoed each other perfectly, moving in time together and complementing each other’s elegance.

The other dancers fell back a little to give them more space. As they did so, Elizabeth noticed Mr Darcy watching her. His expression was a curious one. He looked angry and disdainful, but there was something else there she could not quite catch. It was a look of desire. The thought perturbed her but it aroused in her a similar feeling, which she quickly fought down. He was abominable and absurd. She had no wish for his attention and she wished he would turn his disdainful eyes on someone else.

‘Mr Darcy seems very interested in you,’ said Mr Wickham, breaking into her thoughts.

‘Yes, to criticise me,’ said Elizabeth with a rueful smile.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Mr Wickham with a frown.

‘He is a conceited monster,’ said Lizzy, her cheeks burning as she remembered the conversation she had overheard.

‘Has he upset you?’ asked Mr Wickham. ‘If so, it was unforgivable of him.’

They parted in the steps of the dance and then drew back together again.

‘Oh, no, not really, he is not worth thinking about,’ said Lizzy. ‘It is just that – well, you asked me why I was smiling earlier on . . . ’

‘Yes, indeed I did, and I hope you will tell me what was amusing you.’

‘It was Mr Darcy.’

‘Mr Darcy!’ exclaimed Mr Wickham in surprise.

‘Yes, the same.’

‘I don’t suppose there can be many people in the world who find him amusing,’ said Mr Wickham.

‘Do you know him?’ asked Lizzy in surprise.

‘A little. But go on. You were telling me how he amused you.’

Lizzy laughed.

‘Oh, I should not laugh, it was too bad of him, but when Mr Bingley suggested he dance with me, Mr Darcy looked at me as if I were a slug and said, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”.’

Mr Wickham, who had looked surprised and then angry, burst out laughing, too.

‘Then all I can say is that Darcy is blind,’ he said gallantly.

But as Lizzy looked at Mr Wickham, she realised there was more than gallantry behind his words. He meant them.

His admiration more than made up for Mr Darcy’s rudeness. Here was a handsome, charming and agreeable man who clearly admired her. What did she care for Mr Darcy?

The dance came to an end, but Mr Wickham immediately claimed Lizzy for the next dance.

Once again, their partnership was noticed, and another buzz of conversation went round the room. Elizabeth heard but did not care. She was doing nothing wrong by dancing with Mr Wickham twice. She could not dance with him a third time, but twice was acceptable.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Jane was dancing with Mr Bingley for a second time, too. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if . . . But she stopped her thoughts there. She had only just met Mr Wickham, and Jane had only just met Mr Bingley. Even so, they were the most interesting gentlemen in Meryton and Elizabeth was enjoying herself.

‘You said you knew Mr Darcy?’ she said, as the dropped a curtsey to Mr Wickham and he bowed to her.

‘A little,’ said Mr Wickham, as the dance began.

‘I hope I have not offended you by laughing at him.’

‘You may be easy on that score. But I believe your opinion of him would astonish his friends, and perhaps it would astonish your neighbours.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Elizabeth, looking round her. ‘His manners might pass in a London ballroom, but here it is considered very rude not to dance if ladies are sitting down. I think you will find that my neighbours will not like his manners.’

‘Then Meryton is a place after my own heart, for the rest of the world is blinded by his fortune and consequence. But no matter. Let us not talk of Mr Darcy. He has not been a happy presence in my life and I would as soon forget him.’

Elizabeth immediately wondered what Mr Wickham meant, but as he changed the subject she did not feel she could ask. But she looked forward to knowing him better, so that she could find out what mystery lurked behind his words.

All too soon the dance came to an end. Mr Wickham escorted her back to the side of the room, where her mother was waiting.

‘Ah, Mr Wickham, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘You must come and dine with us next week. I depend upon it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Wickham, with a warm glance at Elizabeth. ‘I would like that very much.’

Mr Darcy, on the other side of the room, was not so pleased with the way the evening was going. No sooner had he told his friend Charles Bingley that Miss Elizabeth Bennet wasn’t handsome enough to tempt him than he regretted it. He had been in a bad temper because he did not like country assemblies, but there had been more to it than that. He had seen Bingley enjoying himself and he had felt envious because he knew that Bingley had something he lacked, an ability to make himself instantly agreeable, and an ability to enjoy himself.

Mr Darcy cursed himself for it, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was not comfortable with people he did not know. He could not start a conversation with them because he didn’t know what to say. Oh, he could talk about the weather, of course, but what was the use in that? Everyone knew what the weather was like. And that was the problem: Bingley could talk about trivial subjects because he did not despise them, but Mr Darcy found them boring. And yet, what else could he talk about when he found himself with people he didn’t know? He could not ask after their families, for he did not know their families. He could not talk about shared acquaintance because there were no shared acquaintances. And so he stood there, at a loss, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, and because of this he grew angry – angry with himself, for not being able to find something to say; and with life, for putting him in such an absurd position in the first place. He also grew frustrated, for he saw other, lesser men, conversing easily and appearing to great advantage, while he appeared proud and disagreeable.

Indeed, he had heard people calling him exactly those names after he had slighted Miss Elizabeth. And the worst of it was, there was some truth in the words. It had been rude of him and he was sorry for it. He had spoken in the heat of the moment, more to stop Bingley pestering him than anything else, and as soon as the words were spoken he thought them churlish. Even worse, he had a suspicion that the lady might have overheard him.

It would not have mattered, except that, as soon as he had said she was not handsome, he had discovered that in fact she had fine eyes, for as she walked past him she had turned them towards him for a moment. The light in those eyes had aroused an instinct in him he had not known he possessed. It had wakened a sleeping part of him and made him interested in life. And it had etched itself on his memory, so he knew he would not forget it.

He was almost tempted to change his mind and dance with her, but he was forestalled by another gentleman seeking her hand. George Wickham!

Darcy struggled to maintain an even temper. It was bad luck finding George here. They had been playmates as children, but George had grown up wild. He appeared to have come into money, and he looked like a gentleman, but that was only on the surface. Darcy suspected that Wickham would never change.

But Wickham’s dissipation did not appear on his face. Indeed, it was a handsome face. George was another one who found it easy to converse with strangers. But, unlike, Charles Bingley, George Wickham was not a good man at heart. He had been loved by Mr Darcy’s father, and spoilt by him, even though he was the steward’s son. He had been given every advantage – a good education and the promise of a valuable living, so that he could support himself comfortably when he became a man - but he had squandered those advantages.

And now he was dancing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the one woman in the room that Darcy wished to dance with.

Darcy felt the stirrings of jealousy and his eyes followed the couple as they went out on to the floor. Elizabeth moved with grace, her lithe figure being shown to great advantage in her simple muslin gown. Her dark hair was shining and it set off the white ribbon in her hair.

If only he had not been so uncomfortable in strange company, he could have been the one to win her hand. If only he had not spoken so sharply to Bingley . . . if only he had taken his friend’s offer of an introduction . . . then he could have been leading Miss Elizabeth on to the floor.

His jealousy intensified. There was something about her that provoked him and attracted him. But he had missed his chance, and Wickham had taken it.

He tried to calm his feelings by appealing to his pride. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet was nothing to him, he told himself. She was not an heiress, she did not come from an old family, she had no claim on his notice.