Chances Come, Ney Mitch [snow like ashes series TXT] 📗

me to remember that we do not have all the time in the world. As such, what was the point of me wasting so much time in being at odds with a man when there could be peace between us?”

“Our father would be proud then.”

“I do not know about pride, but perhaps he might feel the slightest bit amused. In the circumstance, it would add a twinkle to his eyes, so at least I have that in my favor.” As we sat there, I had a revelation and my eyes opened even wider than before. “This is too foolish. Here I was, proposed to by a past favorite of mine, the proposal was disastrous and unwanted, and all that I can think about is Mr. Darcy and his lasting impression of me. My priorities are not resting in their proper place at all!”

“Perhaps they are, and they ought to be listened to. Lizzy, if you are thinking so little of Wickham’s proclamations of love that you are already forgetting about them and thinking of someone else, then that means you never fully loved him at all. And that is the surprising thing about this. Lizzy, I thought you held a deep affection for Mr. Wickham.”

“And the fault, therein, lies with my own vanity being affected and showing more affection than I felt rather than less. Jane, I never loved Mr. Wickham. I had a deep affection for him, and perhaps adoration, but I was never in love with him. At all. There were even times where I wondered if my heart was something that was not likely to be touched. Either way, he singled me out and flattered me. This stirred my vanity, I felt the compliment of his attentions and therefore, I allowed it to make me appear as romantically partial to him. He was handsome and fascinating, but I never developed the sense that he would ever have any sincere designs on me. Since I made this baseless assumption, I find security in thinking our relationship was a simple and impartial one. Yet, I was wrong. It led to me displaying sentiments to him that were larger than what I felt, and for him to be given encouragement, therefore. Jane, I was flattered by him and struck by his charms. And yet, that was it. I was never in love with him. Yet, after what Mr. Darcy told me about Wickham, there was no chance of me even liking him again.”

“What did Mr. Darcy tell you about him?”

“Jane, prepare yourself, for this news will shock you. But what I tell you must be done in the strictest of confidence. You can tell no one, for Mr. Darcy never gave me license to make this news public. Jane, promise that you shall tell no one.”

“I promise.”

Thus, I began to tell her the history of Mr. Wickham at Pemberly.

When I was done telling her, Jane was shocked, and her delicacy made it hard to reconcile the truth of Mr. Wickham to the image that he presented to us all, initially.

“Unbelievable!” she gasped. “For Mr. Wickham to have truly been that wild and wanton. I can scarce believe it!”

“So, you do blame me for speaking so warmly of Wickham?” I asked, still embarrassed over the past affection that I had for him.

“Blame you? Oh no. How could you have known about his vicious character? If indeed he was so very bad. But I cannot imagine Mr. Darcy creating such a history and involving his own sister too. No, it must be all true. Unless there has been some dreadful mistake, where interested parties slandered both men against each other, and therefore, mistakes and confusion has occurred that led to discourse between both men.”

“No, Jane,” I refuted, “we cannot make heroes of them both. That will not do, especially since one just tried to force his affections upon me.”

“Of course! How foolish of me! Yes, you are right.”

“There is only enough room to make for one good sort of man. And, for my part, I am inclined to believe that it is all Mr. Darcy’s.”

“Yes, it would be. Poor Mr. Darcy! And for Mr. Wickham to be such a man. Truly, it is frightening to the deceptions that we can come across in life. For there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance.”

“Yes. For between him and Mr. Darcy, one has all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.”

We were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Jane and Lizzy,” Hyacinth called. Hyacinth was our aunt and uncle’s eldest daughter. “It is time for supper and mother and father wished to know if you are dining downstairs with us or are eating in your room.”

“I shall eat in my room,” I called, “yet, Jane shall eat with you all.”

“You do not need my company?” Jane asked.

“I need more time to sort out my feelings. When given the time, we can discuss my findings when you have finished your dinner.”

“Very well.”

Jane went to the door, placed her hand on the knob, but she halted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

“Nothing so very serious,” she observed, getting a faraway look in her eye, “but I wish that I had been there when Wickham had tried to press his affection on you.”

“Why?”

“I want to believe that I would have done something. Or at the very least, I would like to believe that I would have. Also, with you being deceived by Wickham, I cannot help but connect it with my previous experience in being deceived by Caroline Bingley. I cannot help but see how my foolishness in that score might have led to you learning from my poor example.”

“My blindness toward Wickham is not your fault.”

“Perhaps, it is not. Or perhaps it is. We may never find out. Either way, between me not being there now, and me not protecting you from the deceptions in this world… I feel as if I have not been the best older sister to you.”

“Do not say