Impertinent Strangers

Her Declaration

Getting lost in a good book affords the surest means of improving one’s mind as well as fueling one’s imagination with a sense of adventure. All the better if said book should happen to be of a romantic bent.

Touched by the conclusion of the story she had been reading for days, Elizabeth contentedly closed her book. How close she was to her journey’s end she could not say, for she had never traveled that way before. She stole a glance out of the carriage window and commenced admiring the evidence of spring’s awakening flashing by.

What a lovely day for traveling this has turned out to be, she silently considered. The bright sun on her face was pure bliss. Elizabeth smiled.

Time away from Longbourn was always met with an ardent spirit on Elizabeth’s part. Most of her time spent away from her father’s home was passed in town with her dearest uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. This occasion would find her in Kent. The visit could not have been better timed as far as she was concerned. Nothing of any genuine excitement was underway at home what with the militia off to Brighton.

Indeed, the militia’s recent removal from Meryton, and along with it the departure of the handsome Mr. George Wickham, had been factored into Elizabeth’s decision to visit her intimate friend Charlotte Collins, née Lucas. Even though the reasons that Elizabeth should not have been disheartened by Mr. Wickham’s leave-taking were plentiful, she was decidedly affected all the same.

For one, she had been gently advised by her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, for whom she held a particular regard, not to fall in love with that young man. Elizabeth assured her aunt that she had not and that she would not, so convinced was she that she had been and would always be the ruler of her own heart, even though Mr. Wickham was beyond comparison the most agreeable man she had ever met.

Secondly, in courting Miss Mary King, whose grandfather’s death had made her the mistress of a fortune of ten thousand pounds, Mr. Wickham had effectively abandoned his affections for Elizabeth with scarcely a second thought. She concluded, however, that the speed with which she recovered from his defection was the surest testament to the fact that her heart had remained untouched. That did not stop her from consoling her vanity as needed every now and again in the ensuing weeks and months.

I suppose had I been the recipient of a fortune of ten thousand pounds, I might have been his only choice, Elizabeth always liked to tell herself.

Nonetheless, the memories of him were the closest symptom of love she had ever suffered, and she cherished them as keenly as would any young woman who had ever been in the throes of her first infatuation. And when remembering all the times she had spent in Mr. Wickham’s amiable company, and recounting in her mind all the honeyed words that flowed from his lips in unabashed adoration of her, she did so with a fond heart and a warm smile.

If I could but meet a gentleman who possesses half of Wickham’s charms and amiability on this trip, then I should have no cause to repine.

The first day passed much the same as the second day of her arrival. On the third day, the Collinses received a much-anticipated invitation to dine at Rosings. Taking advantage of the pleasant weather, they walked the half mile or so across the park in companionable silence. That was until the manor house appeared on the horizon, at which point her party members’ enthusiasm was scarcely contained.

With each step that Elizabeth took as she ascended the stairs of the palatial home she thanked heavens that she was her friend Charlotte’s guest and not the other way around. Best described as a sensible woman, at the age of seven and twenty, Charlotte had recently married Elizabeth’s cousin, Mr. William Collins. He was the complete opposite of Lieutenant Wickham. Indeed, a pompous man, he was not only a strain on one’s eyes, but his voice also set Elizabeth’s nerves on edge. More than once since the start of her visit she had congratulated herself on escaping the sentence her friend ardently embraced, by rejecting his hand in marriage. The thought of finding herself married to the toady man who towered over them was enough to turn her stomach.

Her mother had protested fiercely against the injustice of having such a child—one who spurned the hand of the man who would one day inherit every material possession the Bennets of Longbourn now called their own. He may throw us all into the hedgerows as soon as he pleases once my dear Mr. Bennet passes away, was her mother’s most ardent complaint.

The second of five daughters, Elizabeth knew she had an obligation to marry, the more favorable the match the better for all her family. But she did not mean to be a martyr. Her strongly held conviction did not lessen the guilt that would make its presence known from time to time, and thus she made an unspoken pact with herself that the next time she would think long and hard before spurning an offer of marriage should one be presented to her again. Charlotte had mentioned that there was to be more than one single gentleman in attendance at that evening’s gathering. May at least one of them be amiable, Elizabeth silently prayed.

Echoing footsteps were the only sounds to be heard as Elizabeth and her party passed through the ostensibly adorned halls on their way to the parlor. Every step gave Elizabeth an uneasy impression of whatever else she might expect once they arrived at their destination. Having heard such high praise of Lady Catherine de Bourgh—the grand lady of all the richness that now stretched before her—from her sycophant cousin over the past few days since her arrival at the parsonage, she did not know whether to be awe stricken or amused, reverent or repulsed. Elizabeth hoped she would be pleasantly surprised.

Otherwise, it is going to be a long evening.

When at last they were ushered into the room where the grand lady of the house and two others were sitting, the servant quickly escaped when the former rose to receive them. Charlotte graciously presented her friend Elizabeth to Lady Catherine, who in turn introduced Elizabeth to her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, and Miss de Bourgh’s companion, Mrs. Jenkinson.

Talk gradually progressed from the weather—what it had been and what it was to be—to the topic of Lady Catherine’s concerns with the local villagers. The welcomed reprieve gave Elizabeth a chance to study the room as well as its inhabitants at leisure and silently compare what she now saw to the glorious exultations by her cousin since first making his acquaintance when he visited the Bennets in Hertfordshire.

Her attention was immediately arrested when two gentlemen came into the room.

There you are, Nephews, cried Lady Catherine. Her countenance evinced fondness that was absent in her tone. Where have you been? I was afraid that dinner might be delayed owing to your tardiness. The two of you know very well that I do not like to be kept waiting.

Neither of the gentlemen acknowledged their aunt’s impolitic rebuke. Their eyes were fixed on Elizabeth. Feeling very conscious of their gaze, Elizabeth felt her heartbeat stir a little with the sudden awareness of the promising turn in the evening’s events.

Lady Catherine threw a look in Elizabeth’s direction. These are my nephews, Colonel Fitzwilliam— She had barely uttered his name when the apparently older of the two men boldly strode forward and bowed.

At your service, Miss— he began, his eyes expressing his piqued interest.

Yes, of course, her ladyship interrupted, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. She is a guest at the parsonage, her ladyship stated rather condescendingly. Quickly resuming her imperious air, she proudly declared, And this is my other nephew, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.

Her ladyship’s manner gave Elizabeth to consider that this nephew must be looked upon as someone of great consequence. He shook his head a little as though the mention of his name recalled him to the fact that he had been staring at Elizabeth from the moment of his arrival. Unlike the colonel, who seemed just that sort of gentleman who fell easily into conversation wherever he went, Mr. Darcy said nothing.

The newest members of the party took their places in the room, and there they all sat, a captive audience as Lady Catherine returned to her instructive discourse on the goings on in the local village and how Mr. Collins, her vicar, should fashion next Sunday’s sermon for the betterment of the parishioners.

The one advantage Elizabeth derived from her ladyship’s loquaciousness was that Mr. Darcy seemed genuinely interested in all his aunt had to say, and he had stopped poring his eyes all over her, which suited Elizabeth perfectly well, for now it was her turn to study him.

Elizabeth did not like to stare, but how could she do anything except stare when in the company of such a man as her ladyship’s nephew Mr. Darcy? She saw in his manner a man of sense and education and in his appearance all the best parts of beauty. Until that moment, she had considered the colorful Mr. Wickham to be the most handsome man of her acquaintance. Wickham’s beauty was nothing in comparison to Mr. Darcy’s.

She smiled a little inside of herself over the notion that in Mr. Darcy were present all of Mr. Wickham’s elegance and beauty and in the colonel all of the gentleman’s charms and affability.

The prospect of Mr. Wickham now being the standard by which she compared every gentleman of her acquaintance was not without its disadvantages. Whether nostalgia or idleness was the cause of the empty place inside of her she could not rightly say. Again, she smiled. If her heart had been wounded by Wickham’s easy defection, it would surely be mended in the company of the colonel and Mr. Darcy.

When the Rosings party went into the dining parlor, Elizabeth was seated next to Mr. Darcy at the lavishly adorned table. Of the two of her new gentlemen acquaintances, she had much rather she were sitting opposite the younger man, and the colonel was sitting next to her. Under such convenient circumstances, she might enjoy pleasant dinner conversation as well as steal the occasional glance at the handsome Mr. Darcy, whose brooding air merely added to his good looks.

Despite his exceptionally good looks, she did not think she had ever met anyone who was so taciturn in her life. Determined to draw him out, she said, Mr. Darcy, I am in the fortunate position of claiming an acquaintance with another gentleman who hails from Derbyshire. Perhaps you know him as well. His name is Mr. George Wickham.

The disturbance in Mr. Darcy’s theretofore unreadable expression was palpable. Apparently he did not appreciate the topic, but Elizabeth could not find it in herself to regret causing him discomfort. Any reaction on his part was better than nothing.

He sat up straighter, taller. His voice seemingly restrained, he finally uttered, Wickham!

Indeed, I had the honor of making his acquaintance in Hertfordshire.

Wickham is blessed with such happy manners that he is sure to make friends wherever he goes. Whether he is capable of retaining them is rather unlikely.

Surprised that the decidedly reserved gentleman would speak so harshly of another to a perfect stranger, Elizabeth arched her brow. Oh my! Has the gentleman been so unfortunate as to lose your friendship?

He most certainly has, Darcy declared.

Lady Catherine said, What are the two of you discussing, Darcy?

He cleared his throat. Nothing of consequence, I assure you, Lady Catherine.

Nonsense. Did I hear you mention that wild George Wickham’s name? Tell me at once, for I insist upon having my share in the conversation.

Darcy pretended not to hear his aunt, which only encouraged Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy and I were discussing my having made Mr. Wickham’s acquaintance in Hertfordshire. He is most agreeable—would you not say so as well, Charlotte?

Charlotte, a plain-spoken woman, stiffened a little as though being drawn into such a contentious debate was the last thing she wanted, but as Elizabeth was her guest, she could not reasonably hold her tongue. She dabbed her crisp linen napkin at her lips before speaking. Her voice measured, she said, Mr. Wickham made quite an unforgettable impression upon all of us when we made his acquaintance last autumn.

Lady Catherine said, I find it entirely insupportable that such a man should be received by any decent family—regardless of their standing in society. She looked at Elizabeth pointedly. You are aware, young lady, that his father was the late Mr. Darcy’s steward, are you not?

Elizabeth shrugged. Having just made Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance, I can rightly say I did not know that before now, but I do not know what any of that signifies. What can his father’s occupation have to do with Mr. Wickham’s reception into the homes of decent people, your ladyship? He is, after all, an officer, which must surely open doors that might otherwise be closed to him. Here, Elizabeth looked at the colonel. Along the course of the evening, she had discerned that he was the son of the Earl of Matlock—Lady Catherine’s brother. The second son.

I will only say that such a man is not to be trusted, Lady Catherine affirmed. I know not the particulars, but that ungrateful young man used my nephew Darcy very ill. Is that not true, Nephew?

I will say, despite our being raised together at Pemberley as though we were of the same blood, what with his being my own father’s godson, that gentleman and I suffered an irreconcilable parting of the ways.

Elizabeth saw him toss a furtive glance at his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was now rather silent. Darcy continued, And that is all I will say on the matter.

Her ladyship seemed content with her nephew’s strong stance and thus chose to further instruct Elizabeth on how she ought to act. You must write to your father and tell him that George Wickham is never to be received in his home ever again, for his daughters’ sake as well as his own. Do I correctly recall that you are the second eldest of five siblings—all daughters?

Indeed, Elizabeth answered, lowering her eyes, feigning greater interest in her dish than was called for.

The same must be said of all your family. They are not to receive George Wickham. You have two uncles I believe I heard Mr. Collins say.

Indeed, your ladyship. I have one uncle who lives in Meryton and another who resides in town.

An uncle who resides in town? Yes—I suppose he keeps a house in town as most gentlemen are wont to do.

Actually, my uncle lives in Cheapside near his warehouses.

Lady Catherine’s countenance tightened with dismay. Cheapside? Do you mean to say you have relations who earn their living by trade?

Pretending to take no notice of the disturbance her declaration had incited in the air, Elizabeth nodded. Yes, your ladyship.

Jerking her head in the vicar’s direction, the proud lady declared, Mr. Collins, when you spoke of having made the Bennets’ acquaintance in Hertfordshire, you said nothing of this to me.

Collins tugged at his collar. I beg your pardon, your ladyship, said he, his complexion turning a deep shade of red.

Lady Catherine went silent for a moment, no doubt to digest this troubling tidbit. She tasted her food and seemed pleased to find it to her liking.