An Assembly Such as This (17 page)

As soon as Bingley caught him up, Darcy slowed to a sedate pace and approached the group. None in the party had yet noticed them, the ladies’ view being blocked by the unknown gentlemen. A flutter of anticipation welled unbidden in Darcy’s chest as first Miss Jane Bennet and then Miss Elizabeth became aware of their arrival.

“Miss Bennet and, yes, all your sisters! How delightful to meet you!” Bingley greeted as he brought his mount to a halt.

“Mr. Bingley! How do you do, sir?” replied several of the younger girls, flushed with all the agreeable attention they were receiving.

“Sirs, we have just been forming a new acquaintance as we introduce our newly come cousin to Meryton,” Elizabeth explained over the giggles of her siblings. “May I present our cousin Mr. Collins, from Kent?” Aware that the black-clad gentleman had turned, Darcy briefly rested his eyes upon him and nodded. The walk into Meryton had done marvelous things to Miss Elizabeth’s downy cheeks, and the pleasure in her eyes, though not, he knew, for himself, was still wonderful to behold. He tore his eyes from her as she embarked upon her second introduction and essayed to attend to it.

That gentleman had not turned during the previous introduction but had maintained an attitude which kept his face averted from the horseman. It passed quickly through Darcy’s mind that his figure seemed familiar.
It cannot be…!

“…introduce Mr. Wickham, who has just joined Colonel Forster’s company.” Elizabeth beamed as the gentleman, in one fluid motion, turned and bowed.

Darcy froze in shock and anger. His face drained of all color save for his eyes, which flashed darkly at the new officer. Immediately sensing his master’s turmoil, Nelson began backing away and threw his head in growing agitation. Darcy’s movements were practiced as he brought the animal under control, but his focus continued to drill into Wickham’s reddening countenance. Unable to hold against Darcy’s furious scrutiny, Wickham flinched but smoothly disguised his reaction with a touch of his hat by way of a salute. With lips clasped in an unrelenting, grim line, Darcy returned the salutation with the merest veneer of civility and turned to Bingley, his mind and emotions in utter chaos.

Mercifully, Bingley continued his pleasantries with the ladies and gentlemen only a few minutes more before bidding the group adieu. To Darcy, the interview was interminable. He sat stiffly in his saddle, hardly knowing where to look, his mind reeling.

How can it be? Joined the regiment? Why? How?
Questions and suspicions flowed thick and fast.
Why here? Did he know I would be in Hertfordshire…follow me? His object, what can be his object?
As he reached down and pretended to adjust a stirrup, a wave of nauseating fear shook him to his core.
Georgiana! My God, has he done something to Georgiana and come to throw it in my face!
Darcy could not prevent the tremors of rage and fear that coursed through his body any more than he could forbid the sun to rise. His hands shook, the street seemed to tilt crazily, and all his being cried out to leap upon the devil whose discomposure of moments ago was now replaced with an air of modesty and congeniality.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth” — Bingley’s voice broke through Darcy’s turmoil — “please extend my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Collins, Mr.— Excuse me,
Lieutenant
Wickham. Your servant, sirs.” Bingley swept his beaver from his brow and, nodding once more to the ladies, nudged his mount into a turn back to the street. Recalled to his manners, Darcy did likewise, glimpsing as he did a questioning frown upon Elizabeth’s face.

How this must appear to her!
he thought regretfully as he followed Bingley out of Meryton. Familiar with Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s turn of mind, he guessed that she was examining the incident with dangerous zeal.
What will she make of it? Will Wickham offer to enlighten her? No! No, doing so would expose him, and that he surely cannot afford,
Darcy thought bitterly.
What does a lieutenancy cost? No, he can afford little, to have thrown in his lot with the army! But what of Georgiana?
His mind revolved back upon his fears for his sister. Had Wickham attempted to contact her, impose upon her in some way while her brother had been absent?

Bingley’s tone-deaf whistling of a popular love ballad warred with the tumult of Darcy’s emotions and emerged the victor. “You have my attention, Bingley,” he snapped, resolving as he did so to send an immediate express to his sister. “Cease and desist, I beg you!”

“You do not like the ballad, Darcy? It is all the rage, you know.” Bingley smiled imperturbably back at him.

Darcy lifted an imperious brow. “A ballad, you say? I rather feared that you were summoning the local cattle and expect to be inundated by your four-footed admirers at any moment.”

“Darcy! You exaggerate!” Bingley’s charge was met with a snort in a denial of any such tendency. “Well, I have never laid claim to musical talents, at least not in your hearing, but surely a man can be excused for holding forth when under the inspiration of such loveliness as I have just beheld.” Darcy misdoubted that he actually heard Bingley heave a lovelorn sigh. “How fortunate to have met them in the village! We might have missed them entirely.”

“Yes, that is so,” Darcy replied quietly as the fortuitous nature of the encounter broke upon him. He might have first come upon Wickham at a social function in the neighborhood. Forster’s officers seemed to be always about. It was very likely Wickham would be invited along with his fellows to round out a dinner party or liven an assembly. In such restricted society as was to be found in Hertfordshire, they would be continually in each other’s company! Darcy ground his teeth. “Intolerable!”

“What did you say?” Bingley brought his horse up short and turned to stare at his companion.

Darcy stared back uncomprehendingly, then realized that he must have spoken aloud the conclusion of his thoughts. “Charles, I must in all seriousness ask of you a great favor.”

Bingley’s eyes widened at the solemnity of his tone. “Anything within my power, Darcy, anything.”

A brief, reluctant smile creased Darcy’s face at Bingley’s ready agreement; then he took a deep breath. “I ask that you make it clear to Colonel Forster that his newest officer is not welcome at your ball next week.” The surprise and doubt on Bingley’s face caused him to hurry on. “I am fully aware of the position in which this places you and can only offer my deepest apologies for doing so. An explanation I cannot give, save to tell you that my acquaintance with Lieutenant Wickham is of long standing, his father, before his death, having been steward to mine, and that he has repaid my family’s generosity in a monstrous fashion which will forever stand between us.”

“Good heavens, Darcy! Can Forster know he has acquired such a scoundrel for an officer?”

“Doubtless he will in time. Wickham has never failed to reveal his true colors eventually, but his manner is so plausible, his ability to insinuate himself so uncanny, that the damage he means to inflict is done before his victim knows it.” Bingley’s gathered brows and shocked silence told Darcy that his purpose was answered. “You must, of course, do as you see fit concerning Wickham in all other respects. It is only for this ball that I ask your indulgence in fixing your guest list. If you must include him or suffer his company at a public function, do not think of me. I shall not be missed, I am convinced.” He looked aside, remembering the frown on Elizabeth’s face.

“Not be missed? Rubbish! The man shall not cross my threshold, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” Darcy replied simply, but his words seemed to cause Bingley an unwarranted degree of pleasure. “Bingley?”

“Oh, nothing! It is just so seldom that I can do
you
a real service that your occasions to thank
me
are very rare.”

Darcy almost smiled. “Perhaps I should allow you more opportunity, then, as it pleases you so.”

“Perhaps you should!” agreed Bingley, enough sincerity behind his laughing reply to give Darcy something else to think upon as they directed their horses down Netherfield’s drive.

The leaden feelings of apprehension that had plagued Darcy upon discovering Wickham in the shire were little relieved by Bingley’s assurances that “the man” would never be admitted to Netherfield. His past relations with Wickham militated against such complacency; he dared not rest until he had confirmed to himself that Georgiana was not, indeed, involved in some way with the man’s appearance in Hertfordshire. Therefore, immediately after dinner that evening, Darcy excused himself from the entertainments Miss Bingley had planned and withdrew to the writing desk in the drawing room. Drawing out a sheet of paper and finding the quill well pared, he dipped it into the inkwell and put it to paper.

He paused then, and found himself at a complete loss.
What shall I say? How shall I begin what can only bring her pain?
He set the quill into its stand, sank against the delicately carved back of the chair, and stared unseeing at the all but blank page before him.
Consider, man! Would you not have heard from Georgiana or her companion if anything were amiss? You excuse your temper, plead apprehension on her behalf; but truly, do you do well to seek your own peace of mind at the expense of Georgiana’s, and it so hard and lately won?
Darcy closed his eyes, his fingers working at the tension that seemed to have made a home in his temples since the afternoon’s encounter.
How should I proceed? If ever I were in want of advice…
His gaze traveled to his companions.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were deep in the pages of
Le Beau Monde,
while Hurst read aloud to them titillating bits of London gossip from a lately delivered newspaper. Bingley was trying his best to ignore their bursts of scandalized laughter and concentrate on
Badajoz,
his interest having been caught since their reading of it the day before. In this effort he was ill-fated, having been forced to look up repeatedly as Hurst now insisted upon regaling him every few minutes with the results of last week’s races and boxing matches. Darcy sighed heavily and turned back to his letter. There was no help to be garnered from that quarter, to be sure.

A rap at the door and the entrance of Stevenson, silver tray in hand, brought all activity to a halt. The tray, supporting a single letter, passed under breathless scrutiny until it was presented to Darcy. Recognizing the hand that wrote its direction, he swiftly took possession of the post and secured it in his coat pocket.

“A letter, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley’s query betrayed the power of a rampant curiosity.

“A letter, yes, Miss Bingley.” Darcy rose and bowed to his hostess and host. “If you will excuse me. No, don’t get up, I beg you,” he tossed to Bingley, who had begun to struggle out of his chair. In a few long strides he was out of the room and into the hall to the library. Shutting the door of that welcome sanctuary firmly behind him, he went to the hearth, stirred up the coals to a soft glow, and dropped into one of the chairs drawn close to catch the feeble warmth. With fumbling, nerveless fingers, he lit a nearby lamp and withdrew the letter from his pocket.

It lay there in his hands, and on his life, he could not find the will to loosen the seal. Turning it over several times, he read its direction again: “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Netherfield Hall, Meryton, Hertfordshire,” in the unmistakable hand of his beloved sister. What should he find within?
Dearest sister, are you destroyed?
In an agony of dread, Darcy leaned forward, took a deep, trembling breath, and quickly broke the seal.

Too much engaged…regard it no longer.
Darcy’s eyes scanned the paragraph again, fearful he had missed something.
Not have you dwell upon it…free…a lesson learned.
He collapsed into the comfort of the chair, his eyes closed, pressing the letter against his lips. The throbbing at his temple quieted as relief spread sweetly through his body.
Wickham has not troubled her further.
Evidently, his appearance here had nothing whatever to do with Georgiana. Darcy savored the alleviation of his fears for little more than a moment before turning once more to the questions of why Wickham was in Hertfordshire and how he would manage him. They seemed fated to meet commonly if he prolonged his stay at Netherfield.

“
If
I prolong my stay,” Darcy murmured to himself. No one would question his leaving for London. There was always the excuse of unexpected business. He was committed to remain for the ball, but after? Unbidden, a pair of utterly bewitching eyes set above a lovely, dimpled smile recalled themselves to his remembrance. Should he regret leaving? He looked down at the unfinished letter in his hand and lifted it again to the light.