Rapacity & Rancor Read online

  “It must have been misplaced,” said a woman. Lizzy couldn’t identify who from the crush of the crowd.

  “I tell you, I left it right where it was easy to see, but it is gone. Someone has stolen it.”

  There was a murmur of unease as the crowd echoed what Lizzy was feeling. She instantly recalled Madame St. Croix’s words from earlier, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was something more to the thefts than anyone realized. Was there a common link? Or was Mrs. Hofstetter’s necklace missing for another reason, and had Madame St. Croix simply been targeted for being French?

  It seemed more than coincidental, and Lizzy’s mind continued to work over the problem long after the ball had ended, and she and Jane were back in the room at Longbourn, having talked through the evening before Jane fell asleep. Lizzy wished for the same, and she closed her eyes, determined to count every sheep in the fields of Longbourn if necessary to attain restful slumber.

  2

  Lizzy’s heart fluttered as Mr. Denny approached with a soldier whom she had yet to meet. She knew he had been in Meryton as long as the other soldiers, but she’d had no occasion to cross his path yet, since she wasn’t one for flirting with the soldiers like her sisters were. Still, she had noticed the handsome young man with his artfully arranged dark curls and soulful eyes. When he paused before them, his smile was warm enough to curl her toes. She held out her hand as Mr. Denny made the introductions.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Jane Bennet, this is George Wickham. I do not believe you have interacted with him yet?”

  “No, we have not,” said Lizzy, gasping softly when the other man took her hand and pressed his lips against the back of her glove. It was an unexpected reaction to such a banal touch.

  “Indeed we have not, for I would never forget two such lovely ladies. Of course, I have seen you around before, but we have had no opportunity to meet. When I saw you approaching this day, I practically insisted that my dear friend, Mr. Denny, introduce me to you.” His gaze moved hastily to Jane before quickly returning to Lizzy. “To both of you.”

  “We were on our way to our aunt’s house for tea before stopping by the store. Would you care to join us?” asked Lizzy.

  Jane seemed surprised by the forward invitation, but if Mr. Denny or Mr. Wickham found it too bold, they showed no signs of it.

  “We shall be delighted. Mrs. Phillips does have the most exquisite lemon scones, Wickham. You shall have to try them. “

  “I do look forward to it, though I have no taste for lemon.” He grimaced. “It was often served where I grew up at Pemberley. Lemon was a favorite of Mr. Darcy’s. The senior Mr. Darcy, not the younger one. That man is sour enough without needing to add lemons to the equation.” He flushed. “Pardon my blunt speaking.”

  Lizzy giggled. “Are you referring to Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

  Wickham frowned. “You know of him?”

  “I know him as well as one can know one who refuses to make themselves open to being known.” At his look of confusion, she said, “He was at the ball last evening. Did you not attend and see him there?”

  Wickham frowned. “I was busy with duties. Alas, I was unable to attend. Had I been, I would have boldly asked for at least two dances on your card.”

  Lizzy felt like her face was on fire, and she flicked open her fan to generate a breeze. “I certainly would have been daring enough to grant the request, Mr. Wickham.”

  He smiled, his pleasure obvious. “Indeed, that is the Darcy to whom I refer. Would it surprise you to learn we grew up almost like brothers?”

  Lizzy’s eyes widened. “Indeed, it would.” There were many questions on the tip of her tongue, though far too impertinent asked. She wondered how a man who’d grown up like a brother to Darcy could become a soldier in the militia.

  He looked sad for a long moment. “My father was Mr. Darcy’s trusted advisor and steward. Mr. Darcy had quite a soft spot for me, and when my father died, he took me in. He educated me and treated me like a child of his own.” Mr. Wickham’s gaze darted around for a moment, and he lowered his voice quietly, ensuring only Lizzy heard as they slowed their pace while nearing Aunt Phillips’s house. “I do believe Mr. Darcy actually loved me all the better than he did his own son. That was quite tragic really, and it left Mr. Darcy jealous and angry with me. As soon as he had the chance, he struck out with revenge in mind.”

  Lizzy gasped, though she shouldn’t be shocked that Mr. Darcy had done such a thing after seeing his display the night before. “What did he do?”

  They were hanging back now, and they would soon have to join the others to enter her aunt’s residence, or there would be questions as to why they were dawdling. “His father had promised me a living as the vicar at Kympton, but when he died, Darcy denied me my due and sent me away.”

  Lizzy was outraged on his behalf. “How dare he.”

  Mr. Wickham sighed. “Perhaps he did me a kindness. Before his betrayal, I had operated under the assumption that all men kept their word, and life would always be fair. I believe I would have been a good vicar, but perhaps I wouldn’t have given practical, worldly advice, for my eyes had not been opened. I shall never know, of course, for I had to make my own way in the world.”

  “It looks like you have done so smartly, Mr. Wickham.” She nodded as she sent him a confident smile, looking up as Aunt Phillips appeared in the doorway. “We must go in.”

  “Yes, we must.”

  Lizzy led the way, still outraged on Mr. Wickham’s behalf. Throughout the tea, he told her more about Darcy, painting a picture she found easy to believe. He’d been a harsh, demanding child, always considering Mr. Wickham far beneath him, and try as his father had, along with a series of governesses, since none had been able to stomach the Darcy heir for long, none of them could instill humility or compassion.

  By the time they had finished tea, she was quite certain her initial opinion of Mr. Darcy had been far too generous. He wasn’t simply prideful. He was arrogant, cruel, and enjoyed watching those beneath him suffer. She was appalled to have a man like that in Meryton, and further appalled that he was apparently a close confidant of the man Jane was clearly growing a tendre for.

  As they finished tea, Jane and Lizzy stood up. “We must go by the shop. We promised Mrs. Hill we would bring her a few things, though I suspect she took pity on us and set us the task so we would have an excuse to leave Longbourn. Mama’s nerves are frayed, so she has requested a quiet day,” Jane said that with a delightful smile, and as always, it made everyone else in the room smile too. It was a rare person indeed who was impervious to Jane’s cheerful demeanor when she displayed it—which was often.

  “We must depart as well,” said Mr. Denny, looking regretful. “We have duties to which we must attend as our leisure time is ending.”

  Mr. Wickham nodded, and he paused, running his hand lightly down Lizzy’s arm in an impertinent fashion she quite enjoyed. “I would very much like to see you again, Miss Bennet.”

  She beamed at him. “You should come for tea tomorrow if you are free then. I am certain Mr. Denny can help you find Longbourn, as he has been a guest in the past.”

  He smiled. “I very much look forward to that, and I shall do my best to ensure I am free. Until we meet again, Miss Bennet.” He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back of the glove again before releasing her.

  He was quite dashing, and she thought of him as she followed Jane to the general store. Perhaps she could have spent all day indulging in girlish fantasies of Mr. Wickham, setting aside the practical matter that a soldier could hardly afford to keep a wife without a sizable dowry to make it a possibility, so any long-term romance between them was doomed, but she was distracted when they entered the general store, overhearing a conversation between Jeffrey Barker, who owned only tavern in town, and Henry and Etta Spruill, who ran the general store.

  “Whoever the brute was, he must have had a handcart or been quite strong, as those barrels weigh about seven st
one each.” Mr. Barker was a jowly man, and his cheeks moved in an almost hypnotic fashion as he spoke.

  “Pardon the intrusion, but of what do you speak?” Lizzy asked, unable to curb her curiosity.

  If Mr. Barker found it impertinent, he didn’t refuse to answer. “Some blimey… Some bloke stole an entire barrel of whiskey.” He looked angry for a moment, and then he laughed. “I’d be much more upset if it were the expensive stuff, but this is the rotgut served to the drunks who’re too pissed to notice.”

  He flushed suddenly, his ears turning bright red. “Pardon the language, ladies.” Now looking shy, or more likely just chastened, though Lizzy had not taken him to task for the lapse, he quickly muttered an excuse and rushed from the store.

  3

  Lizzy was impatient with excitement, pacing around the sitting room until she saw a flash of red coming up the drive. Then she hastily took a seat at the settee, sending a death glare to Kitty when her little sister would have sat beside her. Muttering something distinctly unladylike, though the words were incomprehensible, Kitty chose the opposite settee instead, throwing herself down with what appeared to be abject despair in a faithful display of true teenage drama.

  She could hear their guests’ voices in the hallway. Seconds later, Mr. Denny, Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Olson entered the room. After appropriate greetings, she was unsurprised when Mr. Wickham sat down beside her, though he left a proper space between them. She had been hoping he would take that seat, and she was gratified he had.

  At that moment, Jane came in. “Pardon me for being late, Mr. Bingley—” She trailed off as she looked around. “Where is Mr. Bingley?”

  Lizzy frowned. “I do not know. Did you expect him?”

  “I was. I invited him for tea this afternoon.” She looked briefly disappointed before rallying herself and crossing the room to take a seat in one of the free chairs. “I am certain he shall turn up.”

  Before Lizzy could share her assurance that she doubted Mr. Bingley would miss a chance to spend time with Jane, there was another knock at the door. Only when she heard the rumble of more voices as they spoke with Hill did she realize Mr. Bingley wasn’t coming alone. He must have brought Mr. Darcy with him, and she stiffened with dismay.

  Abruptly, she realized Wickham was stiff as well, and she patted him on the knee discreetly for a moment, trying to send him a silent sign of support as his nemesis entered Longbourn’s sitting room. Mr. Bingley seemed at ease, but Mr. Darcy looked like he wished to be anywhere else. When his gaze fell on Wickham, he paled and appeared like he might be on the verge of bolting. She supposed a guilty conscience could do that to one, and she hoped he gave into the impulse.

  After a moment, his spine stiffened—a feat which should have been impossible with the imagined broomstick taped to it—and he crossed the room. He displayed the perfunctory level of manners as he took a seat beside Lizzy in the armchair nearby. Mr. Bingley was sitting on the other seat near Jane, and Lydia was soon handing out teacups.

  At first, conversation was stilted, but then Charles, Jane, and Kitty seemed to find their groove. Mr. Denny and Mr. Olson were both talkers as well, and Lizzy was content to remain quiet, observing Mr. Darcy’s discomfort with amusement she could hardly stifle.

  Mr. Wickham was at his most charming, and at first, she was charmed by it. It was only when she caught him sending a challenging glance to Mr. Darcy before he reached out to blatantly touch her wrist in a far too familiar fashion that she realized perhaps Mr. Wickham wasn’t as enchanted with her as he was with shocking or annoying Mr. Darcy. She frowned at the thought and quickly moved her wrist away from his fingers. “More tea, Mr. Darcy?” she asked in a cool tone.

  He had been stirring his cup for a while, but she’d yet to see him lift it for a first sip. “I do not require more now. Thank you, Miss Bennet.”

  She nodded, turning to Mr. Wickham. “Would you like more tea, Mr. Wickham?” Her voice was noticeably cooler to him than it had been, but he didn’t seem to realize.

  “If poured by your lovely hand, I would happily drink a liter of it.”

  Mr. Darcy snorted softly, covering it with a cough, and Lizzy had the unexpected urge to look at him and share a laugh. His recognition of Mr. Wickham’s charming superficiality in no way mitigated what he had done to the other man though, so she had no wish to regard him as any sort of ally.

  When they had finished tea, Lydia said, “I would find a walk refreshing. Would anyone like to join me?” Mr. Denny immediately volunteered his services, and Mr. Olson quickly invited Kitty to walk along with him as well.

  “I am always up for a walk,” said Lizzy, recognizing she needed to play chaperone.

  “I shall walk with you,” said Mr. Wickham.

  Lizzy nodded, accepting the invitation with not nearly as much enthusiasm as she’d had while she awaited his arrival less than an hour before. Now that she could see past his charming veneer, she wondered what was authentic about Mr. Wickham. Perhaps Mr. Darcy had good reason to dislike the man, but she could find no justification for withholding the living his father had promised. If only the man had put it in his will instead of just making his intention known, assuming his son would carry out his duty.

  Realizing how Mr. Wickham had been abused, she found herself softening toward him again and accepted his arm when he offered it as they started walking. Mr. Darcy was not with the party, and she told herself she didn’t care where he ended up. Perhaps he was already headed back to Netherfield, or maybe he was in the sitting room still discussing trivialities with her mother. She could hardly imagine he would voluntarily stay behind to spend more time with Fanny Bennet, and she giggled at the thought.

  Mr. Wickham smiled. “May I know what has entertained you so, Miss Bennet?”

  “I was simply imagining Mr. Darcy at the mercy of my mother for a time, just the two of them.”

  He shuddered. “Your poor mother.”

  “Perhaps poor Mr. Darcy.”

  As they shared a laugh, Mr. Wickham paused for a moment. He reached into his jacket, looking around furtively. “Pardon this, but I find myself in need of something to brace me after the experience of sharing the same air in the room with Mr. Darcy for almost an hour.” He unscrewed the lid of the silver flask he’d removed from his coat and took a long drink. He eyed it hesitantly before looking at her. “I don’t suppose you…?”

  Lizzy frowned. “No, thank you.” She struggled not to sound scandalized at the offer. She tried to view it as flattering instead, that Mr. Wickham might assume she was a girl who was prone to dance along the edges of the rules of society. That wasn’t entirely untrue, but she had no interest in tasting the foul-smelling alcohol in his flask. She wrinkled her nose as he screwed on the lid. “Does it always smell that bad?”

  He laughed. “With what I can afford on a soldier’s salary, it does.”

  She patted his arm. “In that case, I am doubly sorry for what Mr. Darcy has done to you, if that is all you can drink.” Sharing a laugh, they continued together, and though she didn’t find him as charming as she had before, she still found Mr. Wickham quite likable, especially when contrasted with the disdainful Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  4

  Lizzy occupied herself the next day with her usual morning walk and then spent part of the day reading in the library with her father. Jane had been invited for tea at Netherfield, so she wasn’t there to speak with her. Lizzy missed her confidant, and though she loved her younger sisters, she didn’t share the same bond with any of them.

  Mary was far too serious and pedantic to invite close confidences, and Lydia was too capricious and careless, often blurting out any thought that crossed her mind. She was a beguiling delight, but she wasn’t a good person with whom to share secrets. Kitty was far too young and lacking maturity yet, though Lizzy thought she saw moments of quiet contemplation in her younger sister. She had hopes Kitty might yet grow up to be a fairly sensible young woman if she didn’t choose to emulate Lydia too much.

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nbsp; It wasn’t that she had a secret to share, but she did want to discuss Mr. Wickham, and what feelings he inspired in her. She wished to share with Jane how she had grown briefly disenchanted with him, and how she couldn’t seem to recapture the same spark of excitement to be in his presence after seeing how he had to adopted a more flirtatious manner to irritate Darcy rather than to show his appreciation for her.

  There was a knock at the door, and Lizzy rose from the chair, opening the door to the library as Mrs. Hill opened the front door. She looked over her shoulder and saw a young man wearing Netherfield livery standing there. He nodded to Mrs. Hill and held out something in an envelope before turning and leaving.

  Mrs. Hill closed the door and handed it to Elizabeth. “This has come from Netherfield, addressed to your mother.”

  “Thank you.” Lizzy didn’t let a little thing like that bother her. She broke the seal and opened the letter. She read briefly before telling the housekeeper, “Jane is staying overnight at Netherfield.”

  Fanny had sent Jane out on one of the plow horses, though the weather had clearly been about to turn, with laden clouds in the sky that suggested rain could start at any moment, and it had done so within minutes of Jane’s departure. It had been by Fanny’s design, of course, hoping this outcome would occur, and they would be forced to ask Jane to stay the night due to inclement weather.

  Lizzy had hoped they would simply send her home in a carriage instead, both to stymie her mother’s efforts just for the sheer joy of doing so, but also because she wanted to speak to Jane. She didn’t want to be selfish though, and if this gave Jane a chance to spend more time with Mr. Bingley, who was surely back from hunting by now, how could she resent that?