Page 19 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
She knew that this morning she would finally bundle her sister into their carriage and travel back to Longbourn. She smiled when she thought about breaking the news to Mr Smith and Tom, the carriage driver and footman who had conveyed the sisters to Netherfield two days before. When she had checked on their well-being, they had informed her that they preferred the “posh” accommodations at Netherfield to the smaller rooms above the stables at Longbourn.Sorry, fellows,she thought.Time to go home!
CHAPTER 9
5 November 1811
After the short carriage ride back to Longbourn, and the warm hugs of her parents and younger sisters, Elizabeth felt that her life had slipped back to what should have been comforting familiarity…but what actually seemed to be pointless monotony. She was quite angry with herself for feeling so restless, so wanting to escape her mother’s demands and her youngest sisters’ ridiculous quarrels and even her father’s routine (and insulting!) teases.
Other than devoting herself to speaking more with Mary, encouraging her next younger sister’s wider reading and discussing with her both news and literature, Elizabeth felt surprisingly discontented with her home…and her life. Two days after her return, she jumped at the suggestion that all the sisters walk to Meryton that afternoon.
Even though she had walked extensively the day before and had already climbed to Oakham Mount that very morning, Elizabeth felt eager to keep to a brisk pace rather than to her sisters’ stroll. In order to satisfy her own need for speed but also to appease the requirements of decorum, she walked back and forth from the youngest sisters to Mary and Jane; by the time they reached Meryton, her zigzag route meant that she hadwalked much farther than the mile between Longbourn and the shops.
“We need to pick up Papa’s package from the bookshop,” Mary said, and Elizabeth happily nodded. Elizabeth had been slowly reading her way throughTravels in the Island of Iceland, a brand new book that she found riveting. Mr Martin, the bookseller, knew that she could not yet borrow the book from the town’s circulating library, and he knew that she would make good on her promise to come and pay for the book once she had saved enough pin money.
She swiftly moved to fetch the book and turned eagerly to the journal of the third expedition while her sisters picked up their father’s book order. When Mary informed her that they were ready to go on to the milliner’s, Elizabeth said, “If you will all stay safe together, could you just come back again for me after the milliner’s?”
Mary smiled knowingly. “I know you love your lava fields and mountains and—what were those hot springs that explode upwards called?”
Elizabeth laughed, “Geysers.”
“We will leave you to your dearest loves, sister.” Lydia giggled at Mary’s tease, but Mary put her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze of support.
She clutched at Mary in a brief but fond hug. “Thank you,” she whispered into her ear.
A few minutes after her sisters left, she heard the bell on the bookshop door ring as the door opened. All her awareness was on the page, but some part of her heard Mr Martin come back into the front, as he always did at the bell’s signal. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked.
Elizabeth did not look up from her book, not even as she turned the page.
She flinched when she heard the oily words of a practiced charmer: “Miss Elizabeth, I have been longing to become better acquainted. Now that you are not amongst the entire flock of Bennet ladies, this is my chance.”
Mr Wickham!
Elizabeth did not know his voice well, but the words themselves somehow identified the man. Her eyes flew up into the bright blue gaze of the beautiful, hateful man.
She said, “Sir, please cease addressing me here in a shop, when I am not amongst family.” She closed the book and re-shelved it carefully, and then she moved to Mr Martin. “Please stay here, sir,” she whispered to the shop owner.
Of course, Mr Martin did so, and his gaze upon Mr Wickham turned cautious.
Mr Wickham’s voice seemed warm and comforting, but she knew better. He said, “Miss Elizabeth, I mean you no harm, I assure you. You can have no worries about me.”
“Sir, I have asked you politely to desist. If you need to speak to me or any of my sisters, please apply to my uncle, Mr Philips.”
“I imagine I know who poisoned you against me!” Mr Wickham muttered.
“See here, sir,” Mr Martin said, “if you are not here to purchase a book, I ask that you leave my shop.”
Mr Wickham’s smile flickered, but he turned to Mr Martin with it restored in full, and somehow Elizabeth felt that his charm was almost a palpable force reaching out to ensnare people. Mr Wickham said, “Of course, sir. I will leave immediately after I relay an important message to Miss Elizabeth.”
Turning his smile back onto her, Mr Wickham said, “I would never have wished to address such a sensitive topic in front of a shopkeeper, but you seem determined not to allow me the discretion of a more private chat.” He paused, as if waiting forElizabeth to change her mind and step away from Mr Martin, but instead she edged just a little bit closer to her lifelong acquaintance.
Mr Wickham sighed and said, “Miss Elizabeth, I feel certain that you are infatuated with Mr Darcy, but I assure you that my old friend would never have honourable intentions towards someone of your level. He will toy with you and then leave you to the neighbourhood’s disdain.”
Elizabeth drew herself up, wishing to emulate the expression of hauteur Miss Bingley used, and she said, “I am infatuated with no man, and how dare you insult a respectable gentlewoman in front of a valued member of the community? I am even more shocked that you would dare to insult an honourable man such as Mr Darcy. As I said before, please cease speaking to me, and remove yourself, as Mr Martin asked.”
At some point in her speech she had heard the bell ring, signalling someone’s entry into the shop, and now Elizabeth looked towards the door. She expected to see her sisters, although she little wished for them to be in the same space as Mr Wickham. But her breath caught in her throat as she realised that before them stood Mr Darcy.
“Mr Darcy!” she exclaimed. And realising the warmth in her voice, Elizabeth promptly blushed. For a fraction of a second, she hoped that Mr Wickham would not notice the blush and interpret it as a sign of her feelings for the man—feelings she attempted to keep squelched, not only unexpressed, but also unacknowledged even to herself. But she need not have worried, because Mr Wickham whirled and stepped away from her, his skin paling and his smile, for once, wiped away.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy said warmly. Then his voice turned cold and clipped as he said, “Wickham!”
