“I must say, I am eager for him to depart,” she confessed.
“We have had rather an influx in new gentleman into our lives, have we not?”
“I should not count him as new,” Elizabeth countered. “Dusted off, perhaps.”
“I meant Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy,” her sister explained. Elizabeth smiled. She could not deny that their steward had surprised her as they’d conversed in the orchard. There was far more depth to him than she’d first assumed.
“I see. Well, I will say, Mr Darcy is not quite as stiff and impossible as I thought.”
Jane’s eyebrows rose with delicate surprise. “Indeed? I recall you were rather vexed with him after that business with the basket.”
“I was. But I had occasion to converse with him and find I have a better understanding of his person now. He is not the presumptuous, officious person I first thought him.”
“How fortunate that you have had opportunity to revise your opinion. First impressions can be misleading. Though I know how you loath to change your opinion on another person.”
“You make me sound prideful,” Elizabeth said, though it was not entirely untrue. She always considered herself a good judge of character and hated when she was proven wrong.
“Not prideful. Perhaps a little prejudice,” Jane said.
Before Elizabeth could protest, they had reached the crest of a hill that offered views across much of the estate. Below them, the path wound through a grove of oak trees leading to Longbourn, which rose in the distance. It was there that Elizabeth spotted the small party of riders approaching along the lower path.
“Jane, look there. Is that not Mr Bingley?”
Jane’s entire countenance brightened at the sight of the familiar figure on horseback, though she attempted to maintain her usual composure. “I believe it is. And he is not alone.”
Indeed, Bingley was accompanied by two other men. As they drew closer, Elizabeth recognised the taller of the two as Mr Darcy, but the third was unknown to her—a remarkably handsome young man with an easy seat on his horse and an air of casual confidence.
The parties converged where the paths intersected, and Bingley’s pleasure at encountering them was immediately apparent.
“Lady Jane! Lady Elizabeth!” He swept off his hat with genuine delight. “What a happy coincidence. The morning could not be more perfect for riding, could it?”
“Indeed it could not, Mr Bingley,” Jane replied.
“Allow me to present my companions,” Bingley continued. “You know Mr Darcy, of course. And this is Mr George Wickham, lately of Derbyshire. Wickham, may I present Lady Jane Bennet and Lady Elizabeth Bennet, daughters of our host, Lord Hartford.”
Mr Wickham urged his horse forward with practiced ease, offering an elegant bow despite being mounted. “Your ladyships honour me. I confess myself quite overwhelmed to find myself in the presence of such distinguished company.”
Elizabeth studied the newcomer with interest. He was indeed handsome—perhaps more conventionally so than Mr Darcy, with fair hair and an open, pleasant countenance. His manner was immediately engaging, possessing that particular charm that set people at ease within moments of meeting him. Yet something about his ready compliments, his too-smooth assumption of familiarity, struck her as slightly… calculated.
“Mr Wickham,” she acknowledged with polite curiosity. “Are you visiting long in the neighbourhood?”
“That depends entirely upon how welcome I find myself,” Wickham replied with a smile that was undeniably charming. “I am an old friend of Darcy’s—we were raised together, you might say. When I learned of his new position, I could not resist the opportunity to see how he was settling into country life.”
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Mr Darcy, noting the subtle tension in his posture. Whatever the precise nature of their relationship, it was clearly more complex than Wickham’s easy explanation suggested. After all, he had not even introduced Wickham but left it up to Bingley.
“How delightful that old friendships endure despite changes in circumstance,” Jane said.
“Indeed,” Wickham agreed, though his eyes held a gleam that suggested layers of meaning beneath the pleasant surface. “Though I confess myself surprised to discover how… elevated Darcy’s new position has become. Managing the affairs of an earl’s household is quite a responsibility.”
The comment carried an odd undercurrent that Elizabeth could not quite identify, but before she could pursue it further, the sound of approaching hooves announced another arrival.
Miss Caroline Bingley appeared around the bend, mounted on a glossy bay mare and dressed in a riding habit that proclaimed both expense and impeccable taste. Her smile, as she recognised the Hartford sisters, transformed from mere politeness to something approaching enthusiasm—though Elizabeth suspected it had more to do with their titles than their persons.
“Lady Jane! Lady Elizabeth!” Caroline’s voice carried that particular blend of deference and calculated charm that marked her interactions with anyone she deemed socially superior. “How wonderful to encounter you this morning. What a delightful party we make. I thought I would find myself alone after my companion returned to the house.” She glanced at her brother. “Louisa has been overcome by megrim, I am afraid.”
“What a shame,” Bingley said.
“Indeed. I had planned to take tea with her upon my return,” Caroline said, then turned to them. “But how impolite of me to speak of tea without issuing an invitation. Would you care to join me?”
