Page 12 of Timing Is Everything

In the tumult surrounding her father’s death, Elizabeth had nearly forgotten Mr. Wickham’s grievances. It was clear that neither gentleman had a desire to see the other. Although Mr. Darcy had greeted the rest of the officers with respect, he barely spared a nod for Mr. Wickham.

Unfortunately for Wickham, he had already entered through the door before he noticed Darcy standing in the receiving line. It would be impossible to turn tail without drawing attention to himself, though he did spend as little time as possible before quietly making an exit through the back of the house so that he would not need to pass by Darcy again.

Elizabeth was not sure when her head started to ache. All that she knew was that she wished her friends and neighbors would all be so considerate as to find their way out the door. Three hours of forced complaisance was much too long. She felt like she was suffocating in her own home. Needing some room to breathe, she slipped into her father’s study, closing the door behind her. She had not even had time to cross the room before the door was opened again, allowing Mr. Darcy to slip inside.

“Are you well?” he asked, gently.

“I do not think that is possible at this moment,” Elizabeth answered.

“Is there anything I can provide you for your present relief?”

Elizabeth shook her head in the negative, while raising her hand to rub her temple.

“Do you have a headache?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied softly.

“When my sister has a headache, she finds it soothing to take down her hair.”

“We still have company.”

“You can pin it back up before leaving the room.”

Elizabeth knew she should probably make more of a protest. Instead, she let Darcy guide her onto the settee that was placed before the fire. As she reached for her first hairpin, he stopped her hand with his own.

“Please, allow me.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“It is not appropriate. What if we were to be seen?”

“What if you were to recline your head against the back of the settee? I could then stand behind you. The back of the settee would be between us.”

When she was well rested the next morning, Elizabeth would ask herself how she had so easily allowed such a liberty. At the time, though, she really was very tired, and her head ached horribly. As the pins were removed, Elizabeth could feel some of the tension draining from her body. As she calmed, her mind wandered over events of the day. She spoke before giving full consideration to her thought.

“Why do you hate Mr. Wickham?”

Darcy’s hands momentarily stilled. As they started working again to remove the last few hairpins, he inquired as to her meaning.

“I have seen the manner of your greetings,” she explained. “Or, I should say non-greeting.”

“We have a long and complicated history,” Darcy replied with a sigh. “He did not grow into the man I thought he once was.”

“Is it because of jealousy?”

“Do I have a reason to be jealous of Mr. Wickham?”

“He claims you were jealous of the attention paid to him by your father.”

“No,” Darcy sighed. “No matter what attention my father paid to George as a child and a young man, I was never in doubt of my father’s love for me.”

“Then why did you deny him the living when it fell vacant?”

“How do you know about the living?” Darcy asked, puzzled.

“He told me.”