Elizabeth thought it was foolishness, but she could not refuse him. Accordingly, she took the eyeglasses and put them on, although it took a moment to adjust the side pieces around her ears and not catch her curls.

  She blinked and then looked through the lenses.

  Suddenly everything looked cleaner and brighter.

  “Good heavens,” she breathed out. “I can see the strands of your hair.”

  Darcy smiled and she blushed. She had never seen a man in such detail. He was very handsome.

  She looked around the library. “And the individual books,” she said. She looked at the table beside her, she could see all the items clearly. It was miraculous. “You are right, Mr. Darcy. I need spectacles.”

  She stood up, eager to see everything better, but the sudden movement made her vision swim. Immediately he was beside her and she clutched his arm for support. But after a moment, she steadied herself, released him, and stepped aside. “I cannot believe the difference,” she said. “Does everyone see this clearly?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know how bad your vision is.”

  “It cannot be completely bad,” Elizabeth said. “Because I have always been able to read.”

  “But do you hold your books closer than others do?”

  “I never noticed,” she said, still astounded by the difference two pieces of curved glass could make. She walked over to a bookcase and removed a book. She looked at the print on several pages. “It looks wrong. The words are not clear.”

  “Perhaps you do not need spectacles for reading.”

  “Perhaps not,” she said, removing the glasses and looking at the book again. “There. I can see it clearly now.”

  She handed Mr. Darcy the eyeglasses. “I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Darcy. You have changed my life for the better.”

  He said only, “I am glad to be of service.”

  * * *

  On Sunday, Darcy sat in church, trying to attend to the sermon, but all he could think of was Elizabeth Bennet, who now smiled at him in greeting every time they met.

  Beautiful, good-natured Elizabeth Bennet with her bright, intelligent eyes and clever insights. He tried to remind himself of how atrocious her family was, how his friends and family would not accept her or her relations, how she was not prepared to become Mistress of Pemberley.

  She could learn, he thought.

  And once his family met her, surely they would recognize her worth.

  Or was he merely telling himself what he wanted to hear?

  Darcy looked down at his gloved hands in his lap. He must be logical, disciplined. He should not let his passions get the better of himself.

  Darcy knew he did not know Elizabeth well enough to propose marriage. He must wait and observe, considering all his options before he committed himself.

  Marry in Haste, Repent in Leisure was a common phrase because it was truth, and he was not a man to act hastily.

  * * *

  Mrs. Bennet was not happy to see Jane and Elizabeth return. “You should have stayed a week complete,” she said. But her annoyance was mollified, somewhat, when she learned that Mr. Bingley had spoken about hosting a ball.

  Mr. Bennet was pleased to see them, particularly Elizabeth, who was his favourite daughter. Evening conversations had been insipid without his two oldest daughters’ participation. He invited Elizabeth into his study to play backgammon. During the game, she mentioned the possibility of her needing eyeglasses and about Mr. Darcy’s letting her borrow his valet’s spectacles.

  Mr. Bennet said, “I like Mr. Darcy better now.”

  “So do I,” Elizabeth admitted. She still thought his manners were overly formal, sometimes brusque, but as she had gotten to know him better, she did not judge him as harshly as she had before. She did not, however, mention seeing Mr. Darcy sans clothing. As amusing as that mishap had been, and not as scandalous as it could have been considering her poor vision, she did not want to alarm her father.

  They played for several minutes and Mr. Bennet said, “My mother wore a pince-nez.”

  “She did?” Elizabeth said, as she moved her checkers. “I never knew that.” Her grandmother had died before she was born.

  Mr. Bennet smiled at a memory. “I remember one time when I was a child, hiding her pince-nez when I was in trouble, but then my father thrashed me. I deserved it.”

  Elizabeth said, “Where would I get spectacles?”

  “There might be some in Meryton. And if not, you can go to London. Perhaps you should visit the Gardiners after Christmas. I will write to them.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said. As much as she was anxious to get eyeglasses as soon as possible, she had lived without them for nearly twenty-one years. Surely a few weeks would not matter. “I was amazed by the difference the spectacles made.”

  Mr. Bennet rolled his dice and counted his checkers’ movement. “And I am sorry I did not notice your trouble earlier.”

  She nodded, accepting his apology. How could he have noticed when there had not seemed to be a problem?

  But Mr. Darcy noticed, she mused. There was much more to that man than she had originally thought.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The following day brought a new guest for the Bennet family – Mr. Bennet’s distant cousin, Mr. Collins who would inherit Longbourn when Mr. Bennet died.

  Mrs. Bennet fussed and complained for she hated the entail and by association, Mr. Collins as well.

  But Mr. Collins, when he finally arrived, was not the grasping monster of Mrs. Bennet’s imagination. Instead, he was a solid, overly polite young man of twenty-five. A single young man with a position as clergyman for Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mrs. Bennet began to rethink her dislike and started planning which of her five daughters he might marry. Not Jane, of course, because in her mind Jane was to marry Mr. Bingley, but Elizabeth would do nicely.

  “Sit by Mr. Collins, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet ordered. “Ask him about his sermons. And smile. Always smile. And do not talk as much. It is the way I caught your father.”

  Elizabeth did not feel like smiling. Mr. Collins was a bore who talked about his patroness with nearly every breath. Lady Catherine said this, she said that, she bought some expensive item, she thought he should get married. As that lady had said, “A clergyman should marry to set an example for his parish.”

  Mrs. Bennet thought this was wise advice. “I think all young men should marry. As soon as possible.”

  Lydia giggled. “I wish you would tell the officers that, Mama.”

  At this, Mr. Bennet stood to withdrew to his study. “Would you like me to accompany you?” Mr. Collins offered.

  “No, sir. I would rather you continue edifying my daughters.”

  Mr. Collins nodded, flattered, and Elizabeth inwardly groaned. She began to count the days until Mr. Collins would leave.

  The next day, Lydia wanted to walk to Meryton and Elizabeth agreed to accompany her. She wanted to see if any of the shops sold eyeglasses. Mrs. Bennet insisted that Mr. Collins go as well, and in the end, Jane and Kitty came, too. Mary, the wisest, managed to avoid the excursion by saying she needed to practise the pianoforte.

  Elizabeth trudged along the road, trying to ignore Mr. Collins’ constant conversation.

  Once in town, she stepped into one of the shops. Lydia and Kitty looked at the ribbons, Jane looked at pens and ink, and Mr. Collins looked at the hard candy. Elizabeth asked the proprietor Mr. Wyatt, who stood behind a counter, if he sold spectacles.

  “I do have a few pairs,” he said and sent his boy to fetch a box from the back room.

  “Spectacles?” Mr. Collins asked with a frown. “For yourself, Cousin Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, sir.” She hoped that he would find the spectacles extremely unattractive and then withdraw his attentions from her.

  Within a few minutes, Elizabeth had tried on several pairs and was now the proud owner of new spectacles. She looked at her reflection critically. Not so bad, she thought. She did not look too much like an owl. And when she looked around the room, everything in the shop looked brighter and more beautiful, except for Mr. Collins. She would prefer not to see his every detail. His teeth were quite yellow.

  Lydia when she saw her said, “Oh, Lizzy. Those are dreadful. You look like an old maid.”

  At this, a gentleman who had been standing near them, spoke up. “I beg your pardon, miss, but I could not help overhearing and even though propriety would have me silent, honesty makes me speak.”

  This gentleman was tall and handsome with a genial air.

  He said, “The spectacles are charming and make this gentleman notice your beautiful eyes.”

  Elizabeth blushed at his flattery.

  Lydia demanded, “Who are you? Do we know you?”

  Then Mr. Denny came into the store. “There you are, Wickham, already getting acquainted with the Bennets, I see.”

  “I am not yet acquainted,” Mr. Wickham admitted. “But I hope you will remedy that and introduce me to your friends.”

  Elizabeth thought he had a nice smile.

  Mr. Denny was a soldier in the local militia, a frequent guest of their Aunt Phillips, and well known to Lydia and Kitty. He was not tall or handsome, but he was a cheerful, pleasant man, eager to dance at evening parties, which was enough to make her sisters approve of him. He performed the introductions and explained that Mr. Wickham had recently accepted a commission with the militia.

  This was all Lydia needed to forgive their new friend’s prior impudence. “Oh, that is marvellous!” she cried and clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to see you in your red coat!”

  They spoke for a few minutes inside the store, but then stepped out into the street. There was some talk of having both men join them at the Phillips’s.

  Then the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street.

  Bingley spoke first, addressing Jane and herself. He said he was on his way to Longbourn to inquire after Jane’s health. “But I see that you must be feeling better, Miss Bennet.”

  Mr. Darcy bowed as well, but then he noticed Mr Wickham and Mr. Denny and his countenance changed, becoming more guarded. Elizabeth thought it extraordinary that she could now read his expressions so clearly.

  Mr. Wickham seemed disconcerted also. His face grew red, as Mr. Darcy’s grew pale.

  Elizabeth surmised that they must know each other and that they did not like each other. Elizabeth wished she could see into their minds as well as observing their faces.

  Mr. Wickham after a moment, touched his hat in what appeared to be a sarcastic salutation.

  Darcy returned it, barely, and then turned his horse away.

  As soon as Mr. Bingley saw what was happening, he said his farewells and followed his friend.

  Once Darcy and Bingley were gone, Mr. Wickham seemed to recover himself. He was all smiles as he accompanied them to Mrs. Phillips’ house. Once there, Lydia and Mrs. Phillips begged the officers to stay, but they claimed pressing business and took their leave.

  “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Phillips said once all her nieces and Mr. Collins were inside. “I will ask Mr. Phillips to invite both those officers to a gathering tomorrow night, after dinner, and then you can spend as much time with your new friend as you wish. Mr. Wickham certainly is handsome, is he not?”

  That evening, Elizabeth spoke to Jane privately to see if she had seen Mr. Dancy and Mr. Wickham when they first met. “I did not,” Jane admitted, “For I was looking only at Mr. Bingley.”

  “As you should,” Elizabeth teased. “But I do wish I knew why Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham hate each other.”

  “Hate seems a strong word.” Jane tended to think everyone was good and kind.

  Elizabeth said, “You did not see Mr. Darcy’s face. I did. And for a moment it looked like he would enjoy running Mr. Wickham through with a sword.”

  “And you were able to discern all this with your new eyeglasses? Do you think they have magical qualities?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said, accepting her sister’s teasing with good grace. “My powers of analysis are very much what they were before, but now I see more clearly and have more information to interpret. And Mr. Darcy definitely –” she changed the word for the benefit of Jane’s sensibilities, “dislikes Mr. Wickham.”

  * * *

  Darcy could hardly contain his displeasure. George Wickham was in Meryton, conversing with Elizabeth Bennet. That blackguard. Darcy paced across his bedroom, clenching and unclenching his hands, wondering what he should do.

  Should he warn Elizabeth?

  He did not think she would be as gullible as his younger sister, but he hated the idea of Wickham taking advantage of her or her sisters. Wickham was a silver-tongued devil without an ounce of conscience. He would lie and cheat to get what he wanted.

  Darcy ran his hands through his hair, wishing there was a way he could let Elizabeth know the truth about Wickham. He considered writing her a letter, but she had told him not to do that again.

  But how could he tell her when there was no convenient way to talk to her privately now that she was no longer at Netherfield?

  He would have to find a way, he thought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next evening at Mrs. Phillip’s party, Mr. Wickham singled out Elizabeth to talk to her. Rather than play whist, he sat beside her.

  Elizabeth was flattered. Mr. Wickham was easily the most handsome man in the room and he was superior in his person, his countenance, air and walk.

  They began by discussing the weather, but then he asked about her spectacles. “I almost did not recognize you without them,” he said lightly, with a smile that said he was joking. He looked at her face and gown as if he appreciated her extra efforts in dressing.

  Elizabeth said, “My mother does not approve of them. They are currently in my reticule only to be brought out if there is an emergency.”

  He nodded and glanced in her mother’s direction. “Would you like me to tell her about Lady Ranleigh who has one hundred pairs of spectacles, all differently designed? She matches them to her gowns.”

  Elizabeth said, “A hundred pairs? Truly?”

  “Of course not. I made up the story entirely,” Wickham confessed with a charming smile, “but if you think it might be beneficial –”

  Elizabeth shook her head, amused by his absurdity. “No, thank you.”

  They spoke briefly about Meryton and his first impressions of the town. “It is a sweet town, with everything one could want.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “I am enchanted.”

  Elizabeth looked down at her gloved hands. When she looked up again, she saw that Mr. Wickham was looking about the room.

  “Are you looking for someone?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Looking to avoid someone, actually. I wondered if Mr. Darcy would be present tonight, but I am relieved to see that he is not.”

  “No,” she said. “He would consider himself too grand to dine with my aunt and uncle Phillips.”

  “Has he been staying at Netherfield long?”

  “About a month,” Elizabeth answered. “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.”

  “Pemberley. I know it well. I was born on the estate and spent my youth there.”

  Elizabeth was surprised. “Then you must know Mr. Darcy well.”

  “Too well,” he said cryptically, then added, “No, I should not tell you my woes. You would not believe me.”

  “I believe I can be impartial.”

  He shook his head. “No, everyone admires rank and position. They think the Master of Pemberley can do no wrong. No one would believe my dealings with Mr. Darcy. It is best if I keep my peace.”

  His tone implied some nefarious doings. Elizabeth knew she was not the only one who had been disgusted by Mr. Darcy’s pride. His actions at the Assembly and later events had offended many in Meryton. Elizabeth had begun to view him more charitably, but she was interested to hear what Mr. Wickham had to say. “You are the best judge of that,” she said. “But if you choose to tell me, I will listen without prejudice.”

  His eyes softened. “You have a good heart. Thank you.”

  Mr. Wickham then processed to tell her his history, how his father was the late Mr. Darcy’s steward and how he had been a favourite of that Mr. Darcy. “He was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. He paid for my schooling and wanted me to go into the church for my profession. He left me his best living in his will, but the present Mr. Darcy chose to give that living elsewhere.”

  “Good heavens,” Elizabeth said. “I am surprised that Mr. Darcy would not honour his father’s wishes. What could be his motive?”

  “He hates me,” Mr. Wickham said flatly. “He resented his father’s love for me, and when he had the opportunity for revenge, he took it.”

  Elizabeth was astonished that Mr. Darcy would be so petty, but then, what did she truly know of him? She remembered the look on his face when he saw Wickham. “Did you have no legal redress?”

  “No, for the terms of the bequest were too vague. I was forced to support myself by other means, hence my becoming a soldier now.” He smiled. “But it is a good, active profession. Perhaps I am not meant to be a gentleman of leisure.”

  Elizabeth admired his attitude, but she found his story disturbing. “No wonder you don’t wish to see him,” she said.

  “I would rather not,” he admitted. “I would hate for an unpleasant scene to arise, especially at a private home such as this. But I am no coward. I will stand my ground in Meryton. If Mr. Darcy wishes to avoid seeing me, he may leave. I have nothing to hide. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  But what of Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth thought.

  She mentioned the matter to Jane that evening. “Do you think what Wickham says is true?” Elizabeth asked. “Could Mr. Darcy be such a villain?”

  “Perhaps there was a misunderstanding,” Jane said.

  Elizabeth was still troubled. “It seems like much more than a misunderstanding, but whom should I believe?”

 

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