For The Sake Of Her Happiness Page 7

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  Leaning against his window sill, he watched the picture of blues and purples that the setting sun had left in its trail. “No,” Darcy eventually surmised. “It shall not all be in vain.” True, he had aggrieved her during their encounter by stating his views of her family and by some of his actions in that respect. However, he did vow to make amends for it, and he was a man of his word.

  Darcy cast a glimpse at a sealed letter that sat at a nearby desk beside a flickering candle . On its envelope, in neat legible font, was the address of Charles Bingley. Within its sealed folds was a detailed confession of the truth. Nay, he did not do it because he hoped to gain her affections as a result of it. He did it because he could not stand to be the cause of distress for someone he had come to care for so greatly. Besides, his conscience would not allow him to watch on in silence after knowing that he had inflicted grief upon the good heart that belonged to Jane Bennet. Thus, all he wished, following this development, was a happy ending for the older sister and his dear friend – tidings that would hopefully return to Elizabeth Bennet the fire in her dark eyes, and the charms in her smile.

  And with that beauteous picture of her, lingering in his mind, Darcy came away from the window sill, a calmness filling him.

  Chapter 8

  The following day, Colonel Fitzwilliam called upon the cottage, bringing them an invite for dinner from Rosings and stayed on to personally accompany them back. Their company - especially Elizabeth’s - gave him great delight, it seemed. When she arrived at the receiving hall of Rosings an hour later though, the welcome therein was not the same. The residents of the mansion were expectedly detached in their reception, but Mr. Darcy appeared to lack his usual spirits too. He did greet her with a reserved smile, but there was an air of grimness about it - a grimness that oddly went missing while greeting the rest. Though eager to inquire into his intended letter to Mr. Bingley, she eventually dropped the notion, wondering if the sullenness might be a result of their fretful exchanges from the previous day.

  At dinner, Colonel Fitzwilliam took his seat beside her and it would have pleased Elizabeth just as well to be an audience to his amusing wit and chatter. However, on this particular evening, with Mr. Darcy seated opposite them, she was somehow unable to be as lively a companion as she would have otherwise been. To start with, her mind was more aware of his demeanour now. So much so that she perceived, from the corner of her eye, how he was sipping on his wine faster during that particular meal, than he usually did. And as if an exaggerated awareness of his presence was not unsettling enough, she could also sense his glances on them, steadfast as ever.

  That said, Elizabeth could not deny that she had been observing his behavior around Miss Anne too – at times, feeling a momentary discomfort when she noticed him indulging in pleasant conversation with his cousin while denying her the same courtesy.

  In this fashion did it continue for an hour, with little change in his temperament towards Elizabeth, despite her occasional attempts to engage him in a conversation. By the end of the meal, his temperament was broodier; and he would not even furnish his nods with his typically reserved smile, neither to her, nor to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  Until a probable cause for this change suddenly struck her - what if it was jealousy?

  The very thought sent an unfamiliar flurry of excitement in her chest. But, she hastened to bury it with reason. “Why work yourself into such excitement merely because of a few personal realisations from last night? His superior rank will ensure that his affections shall soon pass, and this will all come to nothing…”

  On a subsequent day, when they gathered at Rosings again, the scenes that unfolded were similar, with the exception that the unspoken emotions hovering about them seemed to have grown a shade more intense.

  At dinner, Mr. Darcy took the decided lead in a few conversations, as though ensuring that Elizabeth would not be sharing all of her revelry with Colonel Fitzwilliam alone. When she played music for the small audience later on, he made his dignified way towards the pianoforte, apparently reserving the prompt spot beside her for himself. And during the game of cards played thereafter, he was seated at her table, unlike how the arrangement used to be on the days prior.

  While Colonel Fitzwilliam remained oblivious to it all and was merely enjoying the pleasure of her delightful acquaintance. Elizabeth was not as imperceptive to Mr. Darcy’s actions any longer, nor to the true reasons behind them - and was left amused. True, she was no capricious young lady with the propensity to flirt; but neither was she an old maid with the tendency to turn down attentions being bestowed upon her by two eligible men.

  Yet, and all of that amusement aside, she did continue to feel the flutters of a very pleasant kind whenever her gaze crossed path with Mr. Darcy and a dull pang of an unpleasant kind whenever she spotted him mingling with Miss. Anne. As if that was not enough, it was at least twice that she caught herself ruminating over the prospects of an impending wedding between Mr. Darcy and Miss Anne, by the end of that night.

  Nonetheless, two whole days passed before Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy managed to chance upon each other in the orchard alone. And for the first time since their introduction, Elizabeth could sense that she quite welcomed his presence.

  How markedly had her impression of Mr. Darcy changed since their last encounter! “As a friend!” she swiftly reminded herself, since it would be futile to raise hopes for anything beyond. While his feelings might run deeply for her now, he was still a man of far greater consequence, and one whose regard for social standing and stature ran deeper.

  With a jittery sigh, she tucked a curl behind her ear and continued onwards, to meet him. “Mr. Darcy.”

  “Miss Bennet,” he greeted her with a cordial nod before crossing his arms in front of his chest, seemingly relaxed.

  A few routine exchanges about their well-being and the weather ensued, after which a brief lull came over them, the dilemma in their glances mirroring each other’s.

  “The letter to Bingley,” Darcy eventually broke the silence. “I have sent it to him, with all facts relayed, along with an earnest counsel that he ought to return to Netherfield at his earliest possible convenience.”

  Blessed relief cast a charming smile upon her lips, much like the one he had hoped to witness when he shared the news with her.

  “Thank you for being a man of your word.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Her spirits livelier than ever, the conversations seemed to flow freely thereafter with no hint of the awkwardness that used to be characteristic of their former conversations. And sometime later, Elizabeth felt emboldened to reveal in his presence a doubt that had stubbornly continued to persist at the back of her mind. Perhaps, it was the pervading air of informality, or maybe it was because she placed a slightly greater amount of trust upon him than she did before. She was wanted to hear from Mr. Darcy what might have transpired between himself and Mr. Wickham, and thus, his side of the story too.

  Of course, Elizabeth did try hard to set the notion aside, with a couple of stern reminders. “It is a matter that does not concern you,” her curious nature was reprimanded, “and one that he considers very personal to him.”

  Was there, thenceforth, a point in allowing general inquisitiveness to spoil the newfound cordiality?

  But none of those reminders would suffice in silencing the doubts permanently and during one particularly lasting spell of complacency the query trailed its way to her lips. “I have something to ask you, Mr. Darcy, if you would not object to my intrusion; it is with regard to Mr. Wickham.”

  Darcy stopped and turned to her, the sunny manner in his demeanour disappearing as steadily as winter’s daylight. “Mr. Wickham?”

  Studying his reaction, Elizabeth wondered if she ought to discontinue the subject at once, but it was evident she had roused his suspense far too much to be allowed to do so. “Yes.”

  “I observe you harbour some form of concern for him, ” his pitch was stoic, betrayi
ng none of his thoughts.

  “Concern? For his well-being, I might,” she defended her sensibilities with a short laugh. “As would anyone else who has heard of his story!”

  “Oh, please go on then, Miss Bennet.”

  “At Netherfield,” she paused, “Mr. Wickham narrated to me certain events, about himself, his past at Pemberley, and his afflictions.”

  “Afflictions?” he scoffed, “Oh, do tell me what great tragedy befell him. I am intrigued.”

  “Mr. Darcy?” It was her willingness to place faith in him that had caused her to bring up the subject. However, she could not appreciate the scornful tone with which he mocked the fortunes of Mr. Wickham. And it swiftly brought back all of the instances that she knew of, where he had referred to several others with similar arrogance and disdain. “I must say that those events, reflect upon your character quite unfavourably.”

  “Oh, now why would that be so?”

  “For it is your decisions that have been the sole cause of his afflictions! You were meant to be his friend, his patron; if so, how could you justify denying him what was meant to be his?” She queried with alarm, “Or, do you deny refusing him his rightful material prospects, and reducing his comforts to nothingness?”

  Contempt gleamed in Darcy’s eyes - the sort that she had hardly seen on him before. “Miss Bennet, based on your surmise, it appears my offenses are dire and numerous. It gravely pains me to realise that you would place such tremendous trust in his words and be prepared to discredit my character so!”

  “Well,” her patience was sorely vexed and her faith in him rattled, “do you not deem it unfair to blame me for my assumptions when you have but similarly condescended far too many people dear to me?”

  “Ah, you refer to the opinions I have shared about your family. If that is so, it is simply because I lack the ability to shower undue praise. As I have stated earlier, I abhor disguise of any sort. Tell me, Miss Bennet, would your assumptions have been different if I had the deceptive charms of the sort that Mr. Wickham possesses or the ability to conceal my feelings?” his tone rose, despite fervent attempts at retaining his composure. “You accuse me of being prideful, but are you not being prejudiced yourself, Miss Bennet, in judging me?”

  “Mr. Darcy” she confessed exasperatedly, “it is because I did not want my inferences to be wrongful or prejudiced that I sought your explanation at all.”

  A perturbing silence was their companion for the next few moments; after which, both Elizabeth and Darcy decided it best to continue, but not before their temperaments were calmed. It was thus at length, when the latter spoke up again. “Miss Bennet, I cannot defend myself without going into several details of our pasts and of how our families have been connected over the years.”

  “I am all ears, Mr. Darcy, and I do have the time.”

  They resumed their languid stroll together, while Darcy began recounting his unpleasant dealings with the man in question. “Mr. Wickham’s father was a decent man. He managed our estate, at Pemberley, with both efficiency and honesty. My father held him in great regard and looked upon his son, George Wickham, as a godson. He had Wickham educated at school, and thereafter at Cambridge too - a gentleman’s luxury his own father could not have afforded. My father thoroughly enjoyed the allure of Mr. Wickham’s pleasant company, and admired his character too. Assured that he would take up a profession in the church, he thence made fitting financial arrangements towards it.” His voice trailed off for a bit. “With the circumstances being such, it was thus years before I began recognising him for the charlatan he was, since he was cautious enough to conceal his vices, particularly in the presence of my father. As a younger man, and more wary, I, however, would not be deceived forever.”

  “Oh…”

  “Till the very end, my father remained committed towards the provision of a successful future for Mr. Wickham, and left him a promised sum of a thousand pounds along with specific statements in his will directing me to look to the man’s well-being. Five years ago, following the death of my esteemed father and the demise of his own father that very year, Mr. Wickham sent me a message stating he was not interested in pursuing a profession in the church. He requested for some monetary assistance so he might study law instead. Despite my instincts warning me, I did send him three thousand pounds to end the matter once and for all in return for his exclusion from any form of financial benefits from the church.”

  “And…”

  “And with every form of relation ceasing to exist between us, we rarely crossed paths following that incident. He lived in town for three years, I heard, barely pursuing an education in law, while gambling away the money. And when he exhausted his money and means, Mr. Wickham wrote to me once again, stating the false excuse of his unsuccessful venture into law to request my support so he might be ordained in church, reminding me of my father’s regard for him.”

  Darcy brought his stride to a halt, his arched frown fixed upon her expression. “You must now understand why I cannot be accused as the sole cause of his afflictions! I would not give in to his demands, so he grew increasingly hateful in his remarks against me - in person, and publicly too. I discontinued all manner of acquaintance with him; until last summer, when I was forced to handle a disgraceful ploy of his doing.”

  Elizabeth chose not to say or share much - though, she had plenty of dilemmas of her own. Mr. Darcy’s version of events appeared to be solely biased towards his own character while thoroughly defamatory of the other, as if an attempt to suppress any agreeable opinion she might have of Mr. Wickham, compelling her to scoff at its authenticity several times.

  However, the man’s profound remarks on her own bias would not entirely abandon her insight either. “You accuse me of being prideful, but are you not being prejudiced yourself, Miss Bennet, in judging me?”

  So, she reverted to the unsettling choice of listening on, as fairly as her emotions would allow.

  Having observed her countenance with regard, he wisely resolved against pressing the lady into revealing her undecided views just then. Besides, there was a final part to this tale that was yet to be told – the ugliest part of it all. “I am not aware of the nature of your sentiments towards him, Miss Bennet, but I shall caution you about another misconduct of his - a detestable one that I would never have brought up if the situation did not call for it.”

  Darcy briefly dropped his glance to the ground. “I have a sister I am very fond of, Georgina Darcy, who is many years younger to me. Following the demise of my father, our cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and I, were jointly appointed her guardians. From school, she was moved to a private establishment in London, which was set up for her a year ago. Last summer, Georgina travelled to Ramsgate with Mrs. Younge, the lady governing this establishment. As it so happened, Mr. Wickham made his way there too - all part of an elaborate scheme apparently, as we were to learn of his clandestine dealings with Mrs. Younge later. With her help, he cast a deep impression upon Georgina. Certain she was in love, and barely fifteen, it did not take them long to convince Georgina into eloping with him.” The skin on his jaws tightened from repressed ire. “It was purely by chance, that I met her a few days before the proposed date of elopement. Torn by guilt that came with betraying a brother who was no less than a father to her, Georgina confessed the plan and all that had led to it. I cannot begin to explain my angst at that point. I did not disclose the matter in public, out of concern for my sister’s repute, but Mrs. Younge was dismissed from her position and a stern letter was written to Mr. Wickham, who fled the place at once. I have little doubt that his aim was to gain access to Georgina’s sizeable fortune of thirty thousand pounds, and exact a revenge on me. He would have succeeded on both counts, had he not been stopped in time.”

  The emotions on his face took a stiff turn towards austerity. “Madam, this is an honest relation of everything that has transpired between us.”

  Overwhelmed by shock and disgust, there was not a single sound her mind could conjure up
in response to the depravity, if such a story were indeed true. “Mr. Wickham?” No, this was a man whose company she adored, and whose charms she had welcomed. “Lies! All lies!” she wished to cry aloud almost tearfully, from resentment. Then Mr. Darcy went on to add something further.

  “Of course, it might not be easy to believe all I have said, seeing how you are unaware of his history, and have thus remained unsuspecting of his intentions. So, I would understand your need for affirmation, if you chose to corroborate my account with my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Not only has the Colonel been a relative of mine, he is also one of the executors of my father’s will, and a guardian of my sister, Georgina. He has thus been aware of these events exactly as they transpired.” His smirk was eclipsed by an aura of melancholy. “If your prejudice against me renders my narration unreliable, you should seek his version of the account, which hopefully you shall not view with such bias.”

  Elizabeth watched on in utter shock. With such conviction was his concluding message delivered - specifically, the suggestion of consulting with Colonel Fitzwilliam for proof - that it immediately, and most definitively rendered it impossible for her to refute his claims. “I…”

  “I would also propose that you write to your father, warning him of Mr. Wickham’s deceptive nature; and the dangerous influence that such company might bring upon your younger sisters. Regardless,” he adjusted his starched collar, with sophistication. “I trust you to keep this matter a secret.”

  The issue was a sensitive one, pertaining to the honour of a young girl. False or otherwise, Elizabeth would have no reason to repeat the story elsewhere. “Yes,” she simply nodded, her mind still benumbed and her sensibilities dazed, “you have my word, Mr. Darcy.”

  With that assurance given, both Elizabeth and Darcy decided to bring their stroll to a prompt end - seeing how the alarming confessions had discoloured the shades of harmony that briefly existed between them.