Chapter Fourteen
“Goodday,”Charlotteechoed,linking her arm with Elizabeth’s and pulling her inside. “Can you believe the nerve of that man? Wagering on you?” She huffed in displeasure. “You were wonderful, of course, but most young ladies in Meryton would not know what to do in such a situation.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “I rather think that was the point. Mr. Wickham believed my reputed reticence with men must give way before his handsome countenance, and his friends were sure it would not.”
Charlotte shook her head. “They are officers, but they are not gentlemen. If they were, they would know better than to involve ladies in their foolish games.”
“I believe I am more offended that they played it so badly and presumed I would not notice,” Elizabeth replied. “But I will speak to Papa. There is something about this Mr. Wickham that I cannot like.”
“I will speak to my father as well,” Charlotte said quietly, “but I cannot promise it will do any good. Mama is . . .”
Elizabeth did not prompt her friend to speak of it. Lady Lucas was well pleased with her husband’s elevation from merchant to knight and felt that it entitled her children to marry very well indeed. Yet Charlotte had not had a single suitor, and at twenty-seven it seemed unlikely that she ever would. Charlotte’s unwed state was a constant reminder to her mother that their elevation had changed little other than her form of address. It made Lady Lucas both anxious and angry, and it had lessened Charlotte’s authority to speak on any matter of importance.
She wished for a man who would cherish Charlotte. Her friend’s features had not the charms that drew a man’s eye, perhaps, but her smile and her figure were lovely, and she was practical and kind and wise. She would make any man an excellent wife. Perhaps Uncle and Aunt Gardiner would allow her to bring Charlotte when next she visited. Surely there was a well-off tradesman among Uncle Gardiner’s acquaintance who was in search of just such a woman.
Nothing could be done for now, however, and Elizabeth had to admit to herself that she was still rather apprehensive about Mr. Wickham and the games he was playing.
A soft hand squeezed her own. “Stop it, Lizzy,” Jane said dotingly. “You are attempting to solve all the problems of the world again. I am sorry to say that despite your cleverness, you shall not accomplish such a feat on your own.”
Elizabeth glanced sheepishly at her sister, and Charlotte smiled before leaving them to seek Maria.
“I do not know what to make of Mr. Wickham,” she said to Jane. “I do not understand him, and it troubles me. That is all.”
“Lizzy,” Kitty said as she approached, “we have chosen two novels. Will you choose a third? Then we may all read each other’s selections.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Because you have asked so politely, I shall.”
Kitty smiled and returned to Lydia and Maria. “She says that she will.” There was a muffled response from Lydia before Kitty sighed. “I believe she will wish to choose one on her own, Lydia.”
“I suppose I had better make my selection before my youngest sister decides for me,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head.
“You are kind to use your choice for them, Lizzy,” Jane said. She was already holding Hortus Kewensis, a catalogue of the plants in the Royal Botanic Garden at Kew that she had borrowed many times. “They are so very disappointed about the ball.”
Elizabeth picked up and examined several novels. There were only so many evil barons and helpless damsels she could stomach, but she would indulge her sisters this once. They truly were unhappy to miss the ball. Although Lydia’s dismay was louder, she suspected that Kitty’s was the more sincere. She was only four months from her eighteenth birthday, but her father had held firm.
“Your mother and I did not draw up these rules arbitrarily,” he had said. “Your three older sisters all waited until they were eighteen, and so must you.”
Elizabeth had known how the entreaty would end. Her father truly hated to deny them anything, but by relying on his rules, he hid it well. When Jane had celebrated her eighteenth birthday, he had been on campaign whilst they remained in Lisbon, but he had left a letter for her. When Elizabeth’s turn came, they were already at Longbourn and she had been summoned to his study for a conference.
Papa had told her stories. During his time as an officer, he had seen too much—too many young women dishonoured, too many men willing to forgo their responsibilities. He did not feel at all comfortable allowing his daughters to enter the adult world. Therefore, she had been warned, the privilege was not absolute. The rules for proper behaviour were clearly set out, and his daughters expected to follow each and every one.
Elizabeth knew her father was not so severe for society’s sake, because he had little use for gossip other than to make sport of it. It was for their safety, which he guarded so assiduously that he attended assemblies and dinners and card parties when he would much rather be at home by the fire. Had Mama yet lived, he might not be so active, but Elizabeth believed he would.
It had been no bother to Elizabeth. She had only ever wanted to dance with Harry at a ball, and by the time of her eighteenth birthday, that chance was gone forever. Mary was still too afraid to break any rules her father set down. Kitty would also have no difficulty following Papa’s edicts. She was a tractable girl on her own and being out of Lydia’s shadow for two years would be good for her. Elizabeth doubted Lydia would fare as well, but then, she was only fifteen. There was still time for her to grow into better conduct, and once Kitty was out, Lydia would be Mrs. Keller’s sole charge, not a very enviable position for a girl inclined to recklessness.
She heard a bell jingle, and when she glanced up, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam were coming through the door. She was caught between the interruption of her ruminations and the relief that she should not have to meet with Mr. Wickham again upon exiting Clarke’s. Her expression must have been a curious one, for the men glanced at one another, and then Mr. Darcy stepped forward.
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked quietly.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Were the officers still gathered by the door?” she inquired.
His face clouded over. “From the militia? No, there is no one there now.”
“Good.” She began to explain but noted that Mr. Fitzwilliam was already in a hushed conversation with Charlotte. “What do you know of a Mr. Wickham?”
Mr. Darcy frowned. “I know he is a liar, Miss Elizabeth. Did he impose on you?”
“I would rather wait to canvas this subject, if you please. When we walk home, perhaps?”