Page 81 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

She would no longer have to work so hard to interpret Mr. Wickham’s actions to determine whether he was acting with propriety. Elizabeth realized with shame that she had been taken in by his charm and physical magnetism. She had been flattered by his easy affection and excited by the possibilities he presented. He had been the most eligible suitor she had found, or so she had told herself. She knew, had always known, he may leave the moment he heard about Papa Oliver. Until she told him, she could pretend he would not care.

A man who could give her a diamond hair comb, though, must be wealthy enough to care about her birth. If he had lied about his estate as it seemed he may have lied about the church living, how could he afford the comb? And why had he courted her? Did he think she was an heiress, or had he been courting her for a purpose other than marriage?

Elizabeth began to grow angry. Mr. Wickham had been far too familiar from the moment they met. She had been a simpleton and had caused Matthew and Dinah to worry. Now her aunt and uncle would also worry.

As did Mr. Darcy.

He had said he was at the ball to speak with her. Mr. Bingley must have told him what she had admitted that day in Meryton, that she intended to receive Mr. Wickham.

Mr. Darcy had worried about her safety enough to attend a ball with people far beneath his notice. Why? Why did Mr. Darcy care at all what happened to her? It must have been for Mr. Bingley’s and Jane’s sakes. Then why had he not sent Mr. Bingley in the first place? Why had he come himself?

Realizing she had put down her brush and stood with her hands on her hips, fingers tightened into fists, she loosened them. Her breaths came too heavy.

She had made so many mistakes since coming to London. Matthew had saved her almost as soon as she had arrived as a reckless fifteen-year-old. Had she learned nothing since then? Elizabeth had allowed Caroline Bingley to use her ill from the beginning. She had not permitted her to change her name to Eliza, but she had stopped wearing her charm bracelet, even at home. She had to agree it was not suitable for balls and card parties, but she had been only fifteen and homesick yet so desperate for acceptance that she had put aside her best reminder of home. She had allowed Miss Bingley to be cruel to her because she was sometimes kind.

Elizabeth would never regret her friendship with Miss Bingley for one reason only. Yes, Miss Bingley had cheered her for many months and had been a decent friend. Yes, she had experienced many enlightening and still-cherished conversations with Mr. Darcy, a man she would not have met except through Mr. Bingley. Yes, her cousin was in love with Mr. Bingley and had come to town more often because of him, allowing her to fully reconcile with Elizabeth.

Spending time with each of these people had also caused her substantial pain. She thought she might be willing to have never met any of them.

For a single reason, though, Elizabeth could not regret her fraught friendship with Miss Bingley. Miss Darcy had desperately needed her that day after her father had died. For that one day, to help that grieving girl, she would not have changed anything. For all she knew, Mr. Darcy’s sister had changed and was now as cruel as he was, but for that one day, she had been sweet and innocent, and she had allowed Elizabeth to help her. That day was one Elizabeth could reflect on as a day she had done something right. Although she had made many mistakes before and after, that had been a heartbreaking, necessary day.

More relaxed, Elizabeth went to her portfolio of sketches and flipped through the loose pages until she found some of Miss Darcy. After she had given all her drawings to the girl’s brother, she had hastened to redraw them before she forgot her face. She flipped another page and saw that very brother. He smiled at her with a fine crinkle next to his eye. A lock of his wavy hair fell over his forehead. It was this man who had captured her heart. She cared for him in a different way than she had Mr. Wickham. A calmer, steadier, deeper way.

Thinking of Mr. Wickham now made her feel shameful and more childish than Mr. Darcy had ever made her feel, even when she had been fifteen. She knew she had not loved Mr. Wickham. She had not been ready to marry him or even to allow him to kiss her. If Mr. Darcy had spoken years ago the way Mr. Wickham had…She could not imagine it. She would have been shocked, as she knew he had never thought of her as anything but a friend. She had practically been his best friend’s little sister at that time, so constantly was she with the Bingley family.

Elizabeth slapped her portfolio closed. She had gone from having a tendre for Mr. Darcy when she was sixteen to being hurt and humiliated by him when she was seventeen. When she was eighteen, he had confused and angered her. What would happen when she turned nineteen next month? Would he find a new way to hurt her? Or would she find that she had misunderstood him two years before?

She was afraid of what would happen to her heart if she discovered he was the good man she used to think he was. She could not afford to really fall in love with him. It would not be a childish feeling again. It would not be a placeholder for a future love. It would mean a life as a governess or as a poor spinster, with nothing but the memory of him for company.

Chapter Thirty-Five

That evening, dinner had been uncomfortable, and once she was alone with her aunt and uncle, away from servants, they had discussed Mr. Wickham. She confessed she had reluctantly accepted a gift from him and that she had tried more than once to return it without success. Her uncle took charge of the item and promised to return it himself, which relieved her greatly. She had no desire to see the man again.

Elizabeth was surprised to learn that after Mr. Bingley had spoken with her uncle at the Emporium, they had both traveled to Mr. Darcy’s townhouse for further information and proof.

“Mr. Darcy was most gracious. He was eager to lay out all the facts and had only this morning retrieved documents from his solicitor that showed Mr. Wickham’s signature to give up any claim to a Kympton living in Derbyshire and in receipt of three thousand pounds. Another page showed he earlier accepted one thousand pounds as part of his godfather’s will.”

“It is all true then,” Elizabeth whispered. She had by then thought it possible, but she had not truly believed Mr. Wickham had so thoroughly lied to her.

“It is all true. Mr. Darcy also showed me documents of Mr. Wickham’s collected debts in the amount of about fourteen hundred pounds. He had no physical proof of the man’s unsavory dealings with women, but he said he could get sworn statements if needed from several fathers whose daughters Wickham had ruined and abandoned. Mr. Darcy said he personally supports more than one of Wickham’s children financially.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. When Mr. Bingley had said Mr. Wickham used women ill, how had she not immediately considered illegitimate children? The lying scoundrel!

“I am sorry, Lizzy. This blow must be doubly hard for you…considering your work at the hospital.”

She nodded, hearing what he had not said: he had not brought up her own illegitimacy. Neither he nor her aunt had ever spoken of it, to her relief.

“I am well, Uncle. I feel foolish, of course. May I retire now?”

“Of course. Get some rest.”

Aside from helping at the Foundling Hospital the next morning, Elizabeth stayed home for the next few days. It rained Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and she found she did not at all mind being stuck inside. She turned over every look and word and touch in her mind. She felt ill. Mr. Wickham had been calling on her for only a week. He first called on a Tuesday, and the following Tuesday was the ball at which he had abandoned her. She was now grateful he had left town, but she worried he would seek her out when he returned, as he had promised. One week had been more than enough time in his company.

What would have happened had Mr. Darcy not come to town when he did? Why was he in town so early? She had listened enough to Jane to know he had not spent a great deal of time in London over the past few years. He was likely bringing his sister to school, but they had arrived at least a week before term began. Whatever reason he had come, Elizabeth owed him much.

By Sunday, Elizabeth had begun to wonder whether she would see Mr. Darcy again. Surely, he would attend Mr. Bingley’s wedding in the autumn. That was a long way off, but she knew it was for the best. She had allowed herself to sketch him as he had appeared at Mrs. Humphrey’s ball. She had not felt it at the time, but as she played the scene back in her head—using her artistic skills of observation—she was sure he had a kinder look about him, a gentler demeanor than she had seen in years.

He must have known he was delivering a blow to her ego—and her feelings, he must have thought—so he had tried to deliver the news compassionately. But Mr. Darcy was not compassionate, was he? Not the Mr. Darcy of the past two years.