And had he fallen any shorter of the mark than when judging Miss Elizabeth Bennet? He knew her to be a fighter from their time together at Netherfield Park. She challenged almost everything he said with a biting wit and sometimes just biting. How could he have believed that the same woman who had made such sharp remarks while dancing with him at the Netherfield ball would put aside all prejudices because he was honoring her with his proposal?

Darcy stared into the fire and remembered the evening at Rosings when Elizabeth was sitting at the pianoforte. They had a pleasant, almost playful, exchange in which she accused him of trying to frighten her, and he teased her in return, but concluded by praising her playing. If Aunt Catherine had not interrupted the conversation, he would have said more. But before she resumed her playing, Elizabeth had looked at him with a puzzled expression that he had interpreted as her wanting to know him better so that she might understand him better.

He would have to put these thoughts from his mind for the time being as he had promised Georgiana that they would spend the holidays with the Smythes before returning to London for her last term at seminary. After that, he would be free to make the journey to Pemberley, and the view of the Peaks with their ever-changing landscapes would restore his spirits. Because of the lingering memory of Elizabeth sitting outside the parsonage clutching his letter to her bosom, he refused to be devoid of all hope, and if there was a solution to be found, it would be found at Pemberley.

Chapter 10

Shortly after Lizzy and Jane returned to Longbourn from their travels, Lizzy was finally able to unburden herself as to what had transpired at the parsonage. Jane’s response was to be expected. Because of his place in society, she was greatly surprised by Mr. Darcy’s offer of marriage and equally dismayed by the mode of his declaration. However, it was merely in the blink of an eye before she went from chastising the gentleman for assuming so much to feeling sorry for him.

Jane was even more surprised when Lizzy acquainted her with all of the facts concerning Mr. Wickham and Miss Darcy. She now believed the very worst about him, and she would shortly have proof of it.

The Bennet family had very good relations with their servants, but it was Mrs. Hill whom they loved and trusted. Because of her many years of service to the family, there were very few topics that were not freely discussed in front of her, and Mrs. Hill understood that any confidences shared with her would remain within the confines of Longbourn. However, Mrs. Hill often shared news of what was going on in the village and the surrounding farms because every piece of gossip was quickly circulated amongst the servants of the farmers and shopkeepers.

“I was talking to the Smart girls,” Mrs. Hill began. “All four of them was hired by Miss Bingley when she come to Netherfield, and while the Bingleys were there, they hardly shared a thing of what was going on abovestairs, afraid they was of being sacked. But now that the lot of them are gone, they could hardly wait to get all of it out. But I doubt that you two would be wanting to hear such tattling.”

“Oh, how wrong you are, Mrs. Hill. We want to hear every juicy morsel, and nothing should be left out,” Lizzy said, laughing. Although Jane had resigned herself to the fact that Mr. Bingley and she would not see each other again, Lizzy understood her sister would want to hear everything she could about him.

“First of all, Martha said Mr. Bingley was as nice as could be, and the only thing that could put him in a sour mood was two rainy days in a row so he couldn’t go out riding. What Martha said about the others was that Miss Bingley was never happy with their work and was always complaining, that Mrs. Hurst went along with anything her sister said, and that Mr. Hurst couldn’t be kept from the port wine no matter what his wife said to him. The only juicy piece of gossip was that Miss Bingley was flirting with Mr. Darcy all the time, but he wasn’t paying her no mind. She heard that from Jeremy Stockard, who was hired on as a footman. He could hardly believe that people were willing to pay him good money to stand by a door with a powdered wig on his head, so the ladies wouldn’t have to open it themselves. But that’s what Miss Bingley wanted, so he lined his pockets and kept his mouth shut.

“I says to Martha, ‘Well, there’s not much news there. It’s just as you’d expect,’ and she said that was true but there was a surprise, and that was Mr. Darcy. Now, I know you don’t like Mr. Darcy, Miss Lizzy, but it seems that he was a good friend to Mr. Bingley, and when Mr. Bingley decided to have the ball, well, there was no way it could happen without some help. So Mr. Darcy sent a letter to wherever he lives in Derbyshire, and the cook, butler, and a wagonload of servants come down to get everything ready for the big night. And all of Mr. Darcy’s servants went on and on about how good it was to work for him and Miss Darcy. Well, I never would have believed it from what I heard about him from the time at the assembly when he snubbed Miss Lizzy.”

Jane looked at Lizzy out of the corner of her eye. It seemed as if evidence was building that her sister had seriously misjudged Mr. Darcy.

“But that’s nothing compared to what’s being said about Mr. Wickham,” Mrs. Hill said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Sally Smart, who works for the Drapers, says Mrs. Draper has been crying on and off for days because Mr. Wickham didn’t pay any of his bills. What Sally said was that Mr. Draper had ordered some expensive heavy fabric and a brass clasp from London for a cloak that Mr. Wickham wanted made special. He told them he’d pay them when he got paid, but he never did, and Mrs. Draper is afraid he never will. And once word got out that Mr. Draper hadn’t been paid, others from the shops said they were owed money too. But they hadn’t said nothing before with Mr. Wickham being an officer and a gentleman and all. But Mr. Corbin said, gentleman or no, he’s writing to Colonel Forster. He wants his money.”

There was more news, equally bad, about Wickham taking liberties with some of the local girls, as well as extensive gaming debts and displays of bad temper and drunkenness. If only half of the rumors were true, Wickham was as vile as Mr. Darcy had described him.

Both sisters were truly distressed by Mrs. Hill’s news, but Lizzy was heartsick. She could hardly bear to think about how she had taken sides in Wickham’s favor and at the expense of Mr. Darcy. Now, she completely understood the look of disgust on his face before he left the parsonage and the necessity of his writing that awful letter.

“Lizzy, I can see what you are thinking. But it was not only in the matter of Mr. Wickham on which your dislike of Mr. Darcy was based. You had other provocations.”

“Yes, I did. However, in the light of all that I now know, it can be argued that I am a terrible judge of character.”

Jane was beside her sister in a moment. “You are too harsh. The Wickhams of the world succeed because they excel at deception. He succeeded in fooling everyone, Lizzy.”

“Except Mr. Darcy. Apparently, he never succeeded in fooling Mr. Darcy.”

Chapter 11

Darcy and Georgiana celebrated Christmas with Lord and Lady Smythe at their country estate in Sussex. Their daughter, Agnes, and Georgiana attended seminary together and had become the closest of friends. The Smythes were having a ball to celebrate their daughter’s eighteenth birthday, but the dance had another purpose: to serve as a practice ball, as both Agnes and Georgiana would come into society when the London season began in earnest in May. Darcy watched the event with mixed emotions. His sister had emerged as a beautiful butterfly from the cocoon he had kept her in these past five years. After admiring how gracefully she danced with the young swells and how easily she mingled with all the guests, he realized that he would soon have to set this butterfly free.

After the holidays, brother and sister returned to London in preparation for Georgiana resuming her studies for her final term. From that point on, everything she needed to know would be learned as young people had always learned them, by trial and error, and she would know heartache and joy, success and failure, and the peaks and valleys of being in love.

Georgiana was excited about their return to town as her brother had hired a Madame Delaine who would assist her in acquiring all the clothes and accoutrements necessary for her debut. That decision had been made after his last visit with his sister to the milliner. Seeing his growing impatience, the owner had suggested he employ Madame, who would relieve him of all such duties. Shortly thereafter, the pair began making the rounds of London’s finest shops.

For the past year, a departure had been made in Georgiana’s education. After demonstrating a mastery of those subjects expected of a daughter of one of England’s great families, her brother had agreed to find another outlet that might possibly satisfy his sister’s seemingly insatiable curiosity about nearly everything, and she had been enrolled in Mrs. Margaret Bryan’s Academy, where she was instructed in mathematics, philosophy, and the natural sciences. Because the academy was located at Hyde Park Corner, Georgiana received her instruction in the morning and divided her afternoons between her German tutor and dancing and music masters.

Each evening, Georgiana came into her brother’s study to tell him about her lessons, more or less to get that subject out of the way so that she might discuss the much more important things in her life, such as fabrics, bonnets, the latest styles, etc. Darcy looked forward to their evenings together and their evolving relationship. He was feeling more like a brother and less like a guardian.

“Will, have you ever been in love?”

Darcy was no longer surprised by Georgiana’s questions, as they were becoming a regular feature of their after-dinner conversations. When he first heard the question, he immediately thought of Elizabeth Bennet, but quickly put her out of his mind and replaced the dark-haired, dark-eyed Elizabeth with the first woman who had ever touched his heart, the beautiful Christina Caxton.

Seven years earlier, after having finished their studies at Cambridge, Darcy and Richard Fitzwilliam had traveled to the Continent during the Peace of Amiens, a two-year interval in the wars between England and France, to begin their tour of the great cities of Europe. With letters of introduction in hand, they had traveled from one exciting destination to another, and one of their stops was at the Chateau de Crecy in Champagne where Christina had been living following the sudden death a year earlier of her husband, a British wine broker, who had foolishly walked behind a horse.

The chemistry between Christina and Darcy was immediate and sparks flew. Five years Darcy’s senior, Christina was the perfect lover for a young man of twenty-one, who was more than willing to be educated. A pattern quickly emerged where Christina would visit a friend and suggest that an invitation be extended to Darcy and Fitzwilliam, and the affair would resume. Richard found that creating diversions so that Christina and his cousin could be together provided him with his own opportunities for romance. But it had all came to an abrupt end on the road to Pau, a spa in the south of France, when Darcy had received news of his father’s death.

“Will, you are smiling. You have been in love,” Georgiana said, before practically jumping out of her chair and joining her brother on the sofa. “Please, Will. Tell me all about her. Please.”

“Ah, if you insist, I shall tell you. She was like a goddess. Eyes like emeralds, teeth like pearls, skin of the purest ivory, all surrounded by a halo of gold, a walking, talking jewel case.”

Georgiana looked at her brother and frowned. “You are teasing me.”

Actually, that description was very close to accurate. He remembered with great fondness the last time he had seen her—every inch of her. She was standing in front of him like Botticelli’s Venus telling him it was time for him to leave while it was still dark. He had convinced her to return to bed, and they had made love again and fell into a deep sleep with his body conforming to hers. When he left that morning, he had no idea that was the last time he would ever see her.

“Why do you say that I am teasing you? Cannot my first love be as beautiful as Helen of Troy or at least as handsome as some of the women in the novels you read?”