Chapter 8 To Capture Mr. Darcy

“Mama has not yet told anyone. The engagement was just announced last night at dinner. She and Jane are to take tea at Netherfield this afternoon, and we are sent for provisions.”

“Ah, yes, I suspect with the prospect of a ball, the young ladies will soon be shopping for the latest accessories and accoutrements.” Lieutenant Denny addressed his observation to Kitty, who could only blush and giggle.

Mr. Collins reached the group, huffing and puffing, and producing an inordinate amount of perspiration. Mary appeared unaffected by the brief exercise. As he stood too close to Elizabeth, the faint whiff of his personal odor reached her nose, causing her to step to her side and nearly bump into Mr. Wickham.

“Forgive me,” she said, looking up at the tall man’s face who could only offer her a kind expression in return.

“There is nothing to forgive. One cannot hold a grudge against everyone who nearly bumps into their person, what would the world come to?”

Elizabeth laughed in spite of herself, then stopped as she realized she might appear to be flirting. But something about the easy manner and kind expression of Mr. Wickham seemed so refreshing after tangles with the liar, Mr. Darcy and the odious, Mr. Collins.

When Lydia announced they should begin shopping, with Lieutenants Denny and Wickham offering to accompany them, the ladies plus Mr. Collins began to farewell Aunt Phillips.

“Oh, before I forget. I want you all to come to my house this evening for a game of cards. I have invited the Lucases, and insist on my parlor being filled with the verve and vitality of young people. Say you shall come and bring Jane as well!”

“Will you invite Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, then? Look, there they are!” Lydia pointed to the two great men just entering town on horseback. Spying the familiar party of Bennets and friends, Mr. Bingley happily trotted his horse over but Mr. Darcy remained somewhat slower to approach.

“What a lovely, I say, lovely day! Never in my life have I seen the weather change so drastically on such a whim.” Mr. Bingley continued his effusions and greetings to the party at large and Elizabeth could not help but smile at the poor man giddy in love.

“Mr. Bingley, please do invite the officers to your ball. Why we have just met Lieutenants Denny and Wickham who have agreed to join us on our mission from Mama!” Lydia sang her demand in a happy way, thus reducing the abject rudeness of inviting people to another person’s ball in front of all parties involved.

“Certainly, they should come. I am extending the invitation to all of Meryton!”

Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide at his generosity, but then she considered with his father being in trade there was unlikely to be a prejudice against the middle class in a small, market town.

Behind her, Elizabeth felt Mr. Wickham slowly move away from her as Mr. Darcy approached the group. Another round of curtsies and bows commenced, and Elizabeth refused to look up at the man who might very well push her to tears if she was not careful.

“You are looking quite well, today, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy offered.

“Thank you, sir.” Still, she could not look him in the eye and her heart raced as a sudden desire to flee the area set upon her nerves. “Mr. Wickham, would you join me in this shop? I should like to look for a new pair of slippers for the ball.”

Lydia hurried to join Elizabeth and Wickham, which meant that Kitty and Denny joined as well. Only Mary and Collins remained speaking with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Aunt Phillips.

Once inside the darker shop, Elizabeth’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as Mrs. Pilkington came forward to wait upon their needs.

“Did I hear correctly there is to be a ball?” The plump and friendly Mrs. Pilkington complimented her most true customers and asked for the latest gossip she had already overheard.

“Yes! Jane is to marry Mr. Bingley and a grand ball is being held in her honor!” Lydia swooned. “I wish I might marry a man who would throw a ball in my honor.”

As Mrs. Pilkington encouraged the theatrics and ego of Lydia Bennet in an attempt to sell even more of her accessories, Elizabeth addressed Mr. Wickham.

“And now that you are aware of the ball, do you think your superiors will allow the militia officers to join us in our night of merrymaking?” Elizabeth asked earnestly, remembering she was indeed available for the first two sets.

“How long has Mr. Darcy been in residence with your sister’s intended? I take it he is staying at the estate?” Mr. Wickham perused an array of fancy buttons and hair pins in a case to his right as he asked his harmless question.

“Forgive my impertinence, but are you acquainted with Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth frowned as something about the smooth manner in which Mr. Wickham deflected her question, and asked for a deeply personal piece of gossip in return, appeared odd. Unfortunately, Lydia distracted Elizabeth with requests for funds to pay for the many purchases she and Kitty selected outside of the list their mother gave them. As Elizabeth began to argue, Lieutenant Denny announced he and Mr. Wickham must return to the regiment and they exited the shop as Mary and Mr. Collins entered.

By the time their purchases were negotiated and made, with an enormous amount of unhelpful advice from Mr. Collins, both Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy were not to be found as the party walked home. Kitty and Lydia skipped with high energy, swinging the proof of their purchases with gay indifference to their duller sisters. Mary walked with Mr. Collins, attempting to engage the man in conversation to no avail. And Elizabeth counted her steps to keep her mind clear of any thoughts about Mr. Darcy or Mr. Wickham and which man’s smile disconcerted her more.

When Elizabeth arrived home from Meryton with her sisters and cousin, an odd sort of energy seemed to fill the house. It was quiet. Too quiet. The younger girls began to flit about and talk about their purchases as Mary finally gave up talking with Mr. Collins and opened the pianoforte. Remembering she was to escape Mr. Collins by aiding her father, Elizabeth knocked and opened the door of his study at his answer.

“We met Aunt Phillips in town—” Elizabeth’s words faltered as she found yet another man sat in her favorite chair by the window, none other than Mr. Darcy! “What has brought you to Longbourn, sir?”

“Lizzie! Mr. Darcy has come to call upon me and share some interesting news about your visit to Meryton. Did you and your sisters engage in conversation with two militia officers during your excursion?”

Elizabeth slanted her eyes at her nemesis, the proud and haughty Mr. Darcy who would dare to come behind her back and tattle to her father. “We were introduced to them by Aunt Phillips.”

“And was one of the men a Mr. George Wickham?”

Elizabeth nodded, watching Mr. Darcy’s doleful face suddenly appear angry at the man’s mention, only to dissipate once more. “Yes, he was perfectly amiable and quite the gentleman in his regards.”

“You are never to speak to him without my presence.”

“Papa! We are to play cards at Aunt Phillips’s tonight! And she has invited the officers.”

Mr. Bennet picked up his quill and scratched a few lines on a piece of paper. “Then you will not be going to the card game and I shall send word to your aunt.”

Elizabeth turned on her father’s guest and accused him of interfering. “This is your doing. If I am not simpering at your feet I must be barred from any other man I might speak with? Will you have my father cast out my cousin as well? He seems quite keen to make an alliance.”

Mr. Darcy’s sad expression returned as her father admonished her for the outburst, a rare occurrence for both father and daughter.

“I am sorry, Father. But Mr. Darcy is not a man I would trust in any regard.” Elizabeth glared at the man in the chair before her, seeing his face change to one of pain at her words.

“I see that Wickham’s lies have already begun to spread. No matter what he told you about me, I have offered your father evidence that my accounts of our dealings are true.” Mr. Darcy offered Elizabeth a patronizing excuse for her behavior.

Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips and scoffed at Mr. Darcy’s dismissal. “Mr. Wickham said not a word about your past dealings with him. I am calling out that in all of our conversations and interactions, you, sir, failed to mention you were betrothed to your cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

Mr. Bennet, for his part, leaned back in his chair and thoroughly enjoyed the battle of wits before him, wondering what on earth had stirred his Lizzie’s passions so deeply. Many a boy had teased her for her ways, but a stranger from London refusal to dance a set with her and her hatred and vitriol grossly exceed what should have been the normal weight of the slight.

“And what conversation and interactions have you had with this man, Elizabeth?” Mr. Bennet chose to throw a log on the fire to see further crackling and pops.

Elizabeth stuttered, looking to her father and back at Mr. Darcy, then back to her father once more. “We, that is, Mr. Darcy and I . . .” Her eyes fell to the chess board behind the visitor, sitting on a shelf out of the way. “We played a game of chess, father. Two actually.”

“Two? And what was the score?”

“One to one, sir.” Mr. Darcy answered tersely.

“Well, then you two are due a rematch.” Mr. Bennet moved to recover the set from the shelf but Elizabeth stopped his progress.

“I will not play another game with this man. He is a liar and a cad. I once enjoyed his compliments, but now they remind of an ungrateful thief.”

Mr. Darcy stood, his full height scaring Lizzie none. “Ungrateful? Ungrateful? I have followed your every command, my lady, and still never quite met the ever highly placed bar of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Enough!” Mr. Bennet raised his voice reminding them he was indeed still in the room. Both of them breathing hard as a result of their anger, Mr. Bennet commanded a silence in the room until he saw them settle before he spoke again. “Elizabeth Bennet, explain to me now why you call this man a cad and a liar, and be direct, young lady, or you will find your freedoms suddenly curtailed in my household.”

The tone of her father’s voice did scare Elizabeth, as it was a register of his voice she had never heard. Not when she had ripped petticoats by climbing trees, not when she stole from the kitchens, and not even the time she lost track of her day and came home from a walk after dark. Swallowing the pool of saliva threatening to choke her where she stood, she finally spoke.