Free Fault or Virtue: An Imaginative Retelling of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' by April Karber Page A

and she saw him stiffen at the sight of Wickham and then
retreat back into the shop. Wickham noticed her distraction but did not see Darcy.
Elizabeth didn’t know whether or not to trust her eyes.
    “Are you alright, Miss Elizabeth?” Wickham asked.
“I am, Mr. Wickham. I wonder, I know that the militia have been invited to the
Netherfield Ball, will you be in attendance?” She was not wholly ashamed for hoping that
he would seek to secure at least one dance with her.
“Oh, indeed you must come, Mr. Wickham!” squealed Lydia.
“I intend to go, yes,” his answer sent Lydia and Kitty into hysterics, “but I regret
being unfamiliar with the host. His name is Bingley, is it not? He must be a most gracious
gentleman to have invited so many people he is unfamiliar with.”
“He is indeed,” Elizabeth answered, “but his manners are so easy that I daresay he
will be well acquainted with all in attendance by the end of the evening. His sister Miss
Bingley and his friend Mr. Darcy will also act as hosts.” She risked a glance at Wickham
and saw his complexion turn instantly white at the mention of Darcy. My eyes did not
deceive me.
“Darcy of Pemberley?” he choked.
“Yes, are you familiar with him?” she was beside herself with curiosity.
“Indeed, my family has been connected with his for ages. My late father was his
father’s steward. We grew up together, Darcy and I.” He slowly returned to his normal
self with some notable effort.
“How fortunate you will be reunited then,” she coaxed.
“I am afraid it will not be a happy reunion. You see, I am afraid we have drifted
apart since his father’s death.” He looked so sad in that moment that Elizabeth
wholeheartedly regretted pressing the subject.
“I am sorry, Mr. Wickham. That is a shame.”
“That is not the half of it, Miss Elizabeth.”
His lively looks returned, he shocked Elizabeth with a terrible story of how his
inheritance and prospects were stripped away from him, how he was forced to join the
militia as a means of income as soon as Darcy became Master of Pemberley. Elizabeth
    !
$$!
could not but believe the sincerity of the man in front of her. He was indeed harmed,
frightened, and haunted by his former master. His claim that it was jealousy that lost him
his position, however, she did not quite believe. She had never glimpsed anything of
jealousy in Darcy’s character. Pride, yes, ridiculous pride she had viewed. She trusted
that Darcy had different reasons for denying Wickham his position, even though she was
sure he had no right to do so. She felt for Wickham, he had never been anything but
charming and attentive. Now that I know Mr. Darcy better, what am I to make of this
story? It could all be true, she realized. Neither man, in truth, did she know well enough
to believe.
    “Will this affect your stay in the area, Mr. Wickham?” Her voice betrayed her
concern.
“His home is Pemberley, he can banish me from nowhere but there.”
Elizabeth shivered involuntarily as his eyes met hers. She found them as open and
engaging as his character and expression. Pale blue, shining, and difficult to forget.
    Elizabeth sought the solitude of her childhood swing and repeated Wickham’s
story over and over again in her head. She felt that something could not be right about it,
she was sure that some part of it was left out. When she was not occupied with his story,
she was occupied by the lovely memory of his smile and warm blue eyes. Soon, however,
the light blue eyes faded into deep dark blue pools with a depth that she had never seen
anywhere else before. How could Wickham’s eyes seem so dull in comparison? Why had
Darcy’s eyes struck her so?
    Darcy paced back and forth in the Netherfield library. He slammed his wrist on
the desk. Wickham! Will I never be free of him? Has he not done enough? He could not
stand the memory of his walking so close to Elizabeth, and in such a familiar way.
    Elizabeth was so lost in her thoughts that