Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (22 page)

She pushed Mr Wickham away from her but it was too late. Mr Darcy had seen her in the arms of Mr Wickham and she had no chance to explain, for with one haughty lift of his eyebrows he turned on his heels and disappeared back down the steps that led to the cabins.

‘Well, well, what a surprise. I did not know that Darcy was on board,’ Mr Wickham said. ‘A lot of people would be impressed by that, but we know better.’

Elizabeth steadied herself against the side of the ship, for she did not want to risk another stumble, and said coldly, ‘Where a lot of people feel something, it is often correct. Did I tell you that Mr Darcy was at Rosings when I visited Mrs Collins over Easter?’

Mr Wickham looked surprised and he said, ‘No. You did not.’ But then he recovered himself and he said with a smile, ‘What did you think of Lady Catherine? Did you like her imperious manner?’

‘She was inclined to be imperious, it is true,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But my friend, Mrs Collins, assures me that Lady Catherine’s advice is always sound. She keeps the village in good order and makes sure the villagers live together in harmony.’

Mr Wickham frowned at this and he did not look pleased.

Elizabeth continued.

‘Colonel Fitzwilliam was also there. He is Mr Darcy’s cousin. Do you know him?’

Mr Wickham shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

‘Yes. I have met him. He is a very gentlemanlike man. Unlike Mr Darcy.’

‘Oh, I am not so sure about that,’ said Elizabeth, fixing Mr Wickham with a meaningful look ‘I think Mr Darcy improves on acquaintance.’

Mr Wickham began to look concerned.

‘Do you really think so?’ he asked uncomfortably.

‘I do,’ said Elizabeth firmly.

Mr Wickham recovered himself. He banished his look of concern and put a smile back on his face.

‘I am glad he can give at least the
appearance
of civility, for I dare not hope he is improved in essentials,’ he said with an ingratiating smile.

Never had his charm been so mistimed, for now it disgusted Elizabeth instead of attracting her. She saw it for the false thing it was.

Oh no,’ she replied airily. ‘In
essentials
, I believe he is what he always was.’

She gave Mr Wickham a meaningful look which he could not fail to understand.

He looked alarmed, but then he covered it as best he could. He mumbled something about having to leave her as he had matters he must discuss with someone, then he made her a bow.

Elizabeth dipped her chin but did not curtsey.

She was glad to see him go.

‘How well do you know that man?’ asked the person who had retrieved Mary’s book: Mr Manningham.

‘We were acquainted with him in Meryton,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Why?’

‘He does not have a very good reputation,’ said Mr Manningham. ‘If you know him, I apologise for my words, but if not, I think it only right to warn you that he runs up debts wherever he goes. He has had to leave the militia because his debtors were catching up with him and he now intends to join the regular army so that he can escape his creditors in England.’

‘I wondered what he was doing on a ship to the Continent,’ said Elizabeth thoughtfully. ‘The last I heard of him, he was heading for Brighton.’

‘He had to leave Brighton very quickly. He lost heavily at cards and could not pay what he owed. My cousin is a member of the militia there,’ Mr Manningham explained. ‘The regular army was recruiting, for now that Napoleon has returned to Paris the army needs more men, and Mr Wickham expressed an interest. He is to join the army when he reaches the Continent.’

Mrs Gardiner had been looking at Elizabeth curiously throughout this exchange and now she invited Elizabeth to take a turn along the deck.

Elizabeth, sensing her aunt wished to speak to her, agreed.

‘This is a sudden turnabout,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘I thought you were very fond of Mr Wickham. I am glad you have not succumbed to any finer feelings for him, as he is ineligible, but even so, I did not expect to see you stand by while he was maligned.’

‘Dear Aunt,’ said Elizabeth, holding her bonnet on with her hand, for the wind seemed likely to whip it away. ‘I have learnt from a reliable source that Mr Wickham is not the man we thought he was. I believe he is not a respectable person. I cannot say more; or, that is, I should not, for it would betray a confidence which is not mine to betray.’

‘This is very mysterious,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘However, I will not press you. I trust you, Elizabeth, and I trust your judgement. If you say Mr Wickham is not respectable then I believe you. It is unfortunate, then, that he is travelling to Brussels, but we do not need to see anything of him when we are there.’

‘I think that would be best,’ said Elizabeth.

Mrs Gardiner gave her another curious look but then allowed the matter to drop. She expressed a wish to retire to her cabin, but Elizabeth did not want to go below. She knew that, somewhere beneath her feet, Mr Darcy was occupying one of the cabins and she did not want to risk bumping into him. She only hoped she would be able to disembark at Ostend without seeing him.

Once they arrived in Brussels, she felt sure their paths would not cross. Mr Darcy would be mixing with the cream of society and Elizabeth’s entertainments would be at a less exalted level.

Even so, she was beginning to wish she had never been invited to Brussels. Things had been bad enough when he had haughtily handed her his letter. Now they were ten times worse.

Mr Darcy returned to his sister’s cabin with his emotions churning. The last person he had expected to see was Elizabeth Bennet. He had thought her safely at home in Meryton. All his feelings for her had been reawakened on seeing her. He had thought her ordinary looking when he had first met her – not handsome enough to tempt him – but now he thought her one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance. He had been hurt by her rejection of him. Yes, let him admit it, if only to himself. His feelings, as well as his pride, had been hurt, for underneath all the haughtiness there lurked the real, beating heart of a man who was not easy to know, but a man who was worth knowing.

He had been angry with her when she had rejected him. He had been insulted that she would believe so poorly of him that she would think he had deprived Mr Wickham of a valuable living. And he had done what he could to correct matters by writing her a long and detailed letter.

It had cost him a great deal of time and emotion to write that letter. He had taken up his quill pen late at night and thought deeply about what he could say and what he must conceal. In the end, he had trusted her enough to reveal everything, even that Mr Wickham had tried to elope with his sister. He had done it so that Elizabeth would understand why he hated Mr Wickham, and he had done it in the expectation that she would then hate Mr Wickham too.

But what did he find, only a few weeks later? He found her embracing Mr Wickham, openly, on the deck of a packet ship. What could it mean?

His first thought was that she was as bad as her sister. He told himself he had misjudged her, thinking her witty and intelligent, because he had fallen in love with her fine eyes. He had given her virtues she did not possess. He had thought her better than her family but she was nothing of the kind. She was just as bad as the rest of them - her silly mother and her flirty sisters. They were all as bad as each other.

But once his anger and hurt began to subside he thought the matter over more calmly. Elizabeth was no flirt. She was mischievous at times, it was true – how he loved that teasing smile that brightened her eyes and brought out their full loveliness! – but never a flirt.

Then what could be the reason for it?

A cold feeling invaded the pit of his stomach.

There was only one reason a respectable young lady would embrace a gentleman in public and that is if they were married.

Was it possible? Could Elizabeth have married George Wickham, after everything she knew about him?

The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified into ice as a horrible thought occurred to him. What if she had not believed his letter? What if she thought he had made it all up?

She was angry with me for separating her sister from Mr Bingley and so she disbelieved everything I wrote in my letter
, he thought
. Then it was all for nothing.

He went into his own cabin and sank down onto the bunk.

How could this nightmare have come to pass?

It was the worst of all possible worlds.

How had it happened?

It had happened because of his own pride and arrogance, and his refusal to admit any fault.

He thought again of his proposal and he saw it in a totally different light. He had insulted her. He had insulted her family. He had told her that she was beneath him – that she was not good enough for him – but that he would condescend to marry her anyway because he could not help himself.

What woman of any spirit would accept such a proposal?

What young lady with any pride or self-respect would listen to a man who behaved in such an ungentlemanlike fashion —

His thoughts stopped in horror.

Ungentlemanlike.

That was the exact accusation Elizabeth had flung at him, and he had rejected it, thinking her rude or impertinent – anything but seeing her for the intelligent young woman she was, who was absolutely
right
.

He had
not
behaved in a gentlemanlike manner.

And what had he done when she pointed it out? Had he apologised? Had he corrected his address? Had he progressed in a more civil and gentlemanlike manner? No! He had been astonished and so he had said nothing. And when she had finished speaking he had stormed out of the room.

Abominable behaviour!

He should have apologised. He should have corrected himself. He should have taken a moment to collect his thoughts and then he should have told her that he was in love with her; that he was enchanted by her; that she had bewitched him, body and soul. He should have told her about all the little things that attracted him: the way she moved, her elegance, her good humour, her wit, her sparkle, her intelligence, her fine eyes . . . Oh! Those eyes. A man could lose himself in those eyes.

And the following day, what had he done? Had he gone to her in all humility, apologised for his brutal treatment of her and told her of his love for her?

No. He had written her a long and haughty letter in which he had justified all of his actions. In short, he had spent ten pages dismissing everything she had said and telling her that
he was right
and
she was wrong
.

No wonder she had not believed him when he told her about George Wickham.

He had wondered about it at the time, for she had not approached his cousin, as he had said she might. He had asked Colonel Fitzwilliam about it particularly, and Colonel Fitzwilliam had confirmed that Elizabeth had not approached him.

Mr Darcy had taken that as a sign that she believed him and that she did not need confirmation of his words from someone else. But he saw now that it had been quite the opposite. She had not believed him and she had been so sure it was all lies that she had not even bothered to approach his cousin. He could not blame her for that, since the truth about George Wickham was incredible to anyone who did not know it for a fact. She had dismissed it as a lie – and in so doing, she had felt sympathy for George Wickham because she believed he had been maligned.

He remembered her words in defence of that gentleman.

On this subject, what can you have to say?
she had challenged him, her eyes flashing with righteous indignation.
In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon others?

Her words took on a new significance in the light of recent events. His recital about George Wickham’s offences had not convinced her of Wickham’s villainy. Instead, she had seen it as another
misrepresentation
and a desire to
impose upon others
. She had felt sorry for Mr Wickham and this was the result.

He put his head into his hands and groaned.

By writing that letter, he had thought to turn Elizabeth against George Wickham for ever.

But instead of turning her against George Wickham, he had driven her into Mr Wickham’s arms.

Unaware of the tortured thoughts going through Mr Darcy’s mind, Elizabeth was standing on the deck next to her uncle and her sister, Mary. The sails were billowing out in the wind and cracking as they filled with every new gust. The crew were going efficiently about their business as they coiled ropes, climbed the rigging or did whatever else was necessary for the crossing. The sea broke in spumes of white foam against the prow of the ship and overhead the gulls soared on the air currents.

Mary was still talking to Mr Manningham and Elizabeth was surprised at the change in her. Mary was the plain one of the Bennet sisters. She did not have Jane’s lustrous blonde hair or classical beauty. She did not have Elizabeth’s fine eyes or Lydia’s pink cheeks or Kitty’s pretty cheekbones. But in any other family she would not have been considered plain, she would have been considered tolerable. And out on the deck, with the wind and the sun putting colour in her cheeks, she was almost pretty.

Her air was more lively, too. At home she was dull and plodding. She read her books and moralised with a dour air, but here, where Mr Manningham listened to her thoughtfully instead of mocking her or telling her to be quiet – the reaction of her parents and her younger sisters – her tone of voice was becoming less moralising and Elizabeth realised with a start that Mary’s voice could actually be quite musical.

This was a big surprise, since Mary was not a musical young lady, despite practising the piano for hours every day.

It was the one bright spot in the sea voyage and Elizabeth was glad that at least someone was enjoying themselves, for her own pleasure in the voyage was over.

When the ship finally dropped anchor at Ostend, Mr Manningham asked if he might have the honour of calling on them when they reached Brussels to enquire after the family’s health and to make sure they had not taken any harm from their sea voyage.

Mr Gardiner said he might. Bows and curtseys were exchanged. Then Mr Manningham rejoined his party.

‘A very agreeable young man,’ said Mrs Gardiner.

‘Yes. I thought so, too,’ said Mr Gardiner.

‘I will be glad to see him again in Brussels. Will not you, Mary?’

Mary attempted to give a moralising reply, but there was a lightness in her voice that was not usually there and she could not prevent her happiness from shining through her prosiness.

There was time for no more conversation. There was a bustle as all the necessary commotion of disembarking took place. The gangplank was lowered and the passengers started to leave the ship.

Elizabeth caught sight of Mr Darcy rising from below but he did not see her, for she and Mary were standing at the far end of the ship. He was accompanied by a pretty young woman whom Elizabeth guessed to be Miss Darcy. Elizabeth liked the look of her. She was very lovely and she was dressed in the most exquisite pale blue pelisse with a delightful bonnet topped by a feather and trimmed with a blue ribbon. She hung on her brother’s arm in a delightfully trusting way and Elizabeth was pleased to see how solicitous he was of his sister. He helped her on to the gangplank and held her steady when it swayed, following her at a close distance so that he could catch her if she should stumble.

Elizabeth felt a lump rise in her throat.

That solicitous care could have been for her, had she been less vehement when he proposed to her at Rosings. She almost wished she had accepted him.

But no. He would not have welcomed her aunt and uncle – people from trade – to Pemberley. And besides, he had ruined the happiness of her dear sister Jane.

Elizabeth went towards Jane, who was at that moment emerging on to the deck.

Jane had spent some of her time in the fresh air on deck with Elizabeth and Mary but she had spent much of it in the cabin, attending to their mother who had complained since setting foot on the ship. Mrs Bennet had fancied herself sea sick when in truth she had eaten too much at breakfast.

But now the family were all together again and, escorted by Mr Gardiner, they left the ship.

Elizabeth laughed as the gangplank swayed beneath her feet. The movement was unexpected but exciting. She caught hold of the ropes at either side, which formed a kind of banister, and she managed to steady herself and safely leave the ship.

Mrs Bennet, coming behind her, waved her arms around alarmingly and nearly toppled over the side, but Mr Gardiner caught her and they all managed to reach dry land without any mishap.

‘I have booked a room at the inn for tonight,’ said Mr Gardiner. ‘Then we will travel on to Brussels tomorrow.’

Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief, for she had seen Mr Darcy hand his sister into a carriage and it had already set off in the direction of Brussels, so now she need have no fear of meeting him again unexpectedly at the inn.

Mr Wickham, too, did not linger in Ostend. He joined a large group of officers. From their jovial conversation, which reached her on the breeze, they were all leaving Ostend at once, for they had to join their new regiments at the earliest possible opportunity.

Elizabeth’s party refreshed themselves in their chambers and then took a meal. Afterwards. Elizabeth asked Jane if she would like to walk down the lane. Jane agreed, and Mr Gardiner sent his footman to accompany the young ladies, to protect their reputation and ensure their safety.

The leafy lane was very pretty. The leaves were unfurling their leaves, which were lime green with the start of spring, and the ground beneath their feet was sandy. The sky was blue and the birds were singing. It was a pleasant change from the deck of the ship.

Here Elizabeth told Jane about everything that had happened.

‘How unfortunate,’ said Jane, as she heard about Elizabeth stumbling against Mr Wickham. ‘But it cannot be helped.’

‘No. Only I wish it had not happened. I cannot bear Mr Darcy to think ill of me. If you had seen his face, Jane . . . ’

Jane squeezed her hand sympathetically.

‘I think you like Mr Darcy more than you admit, Lizzy,’ said Jane.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘Because you worry about what he thinks of you, and you want him to think well of you.’

‘I must admit, Jane, that my feelings towards him have undergone such a transformation that I now think him one of the best gentlemen who ever lived – or I would, if he could overcome his abominable pride. But it spoils everything. And so, although I must admit I would like him to think well of me, I cannot truly regret him, for he looks down on some of the people I hold the dearest and he has spoilt your happiness, perhaps forever.’

‘No, this is going too far,’ said Jane. ‘Mr Darcy has never done
me
any harm, except that he has upset my beloved Lizzy.’

Elizabeth caught herself up sharply, reminding herself that Jane did not know Mr Darcy was responsible for separating her from Mr Bingley. And Jane must never know, for it would make her unhappy.

They reached the end of the lane and they turned round and walked back to the inn.

As they did so, Elizabeth wished that Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham had remained in London, and that the gentleman who had decided to visit Brussels had been Mr Bingley instead.

Elizabeth stole a look at Jane. Even without the presence of Mr Bingley, Jane looked better than she had for some time. The novelty of the trip and the interest of new places was working its charm on her. Perhaps, in Brussels, Jane would be able to forget Mr Bingley. Perhaps she would even find a new object of her affections.

Perhaps I will, too
, thought Elizabeth, attempting to laugh herself out of her low spirits.
Perhaps, in time, I will be lucky enough to meet with another Mr Collins!

This was so ridiculous that she chuckled to herself, and she was glad of that burst of laughter. It fortified her against the trials to come. For although she was looking forward to her stay in Brussels, she knew that Lydia would embarrass her, and that chance meetings with Mr Darcy lurked around every corner.