She turned to see Mr Wickham approaching across the terrace, his evening dress immaculate despite the warmth that had driven so many guests outside. His smile held its usual practised charm, though something in his bearing seemed different—more purposeful than the easy confidence she had grown accustomed to.
“Mr Wickham. Are you not missing the dancing?”
“How could I think of dancing when the most accomplished lady at the ball has taken refuge out here?” He gestured towards the scattered couples who had also sought the cooler air, their quiet conversations creating a pleasant murmur against the night. “Besides, I confess I hoped for a moment of conversation without the press of so many ears.”
Elizabeth glanced towards the other guests, reassured by their presence. “I hardly think we lack for company, sir.”
“Company enough for propriety, yet few enough for discourse.” He moved closer, close enough that she caught the scent of wine on his breath. “I have been hoping to speak more freely about my connection to this neighbourhood.”
“Indeed? I confess myself curious about your history with Mr Darcy. You spoke at tea of being raised almost as brothers.”
Wickham’s expression shifted, the easy charm taking on a harder edge. “Brothers. Yes, I suppose that is one way todescribe it. Though I fear poor Fitzwilliam never quite saw it in such terms.”
“How so?”
“My father served as clerk at Pemberley for many years—a faithful, devoted man who gave his life to that estate. When Fitzwilliam was orphaned, naturally my father took on the stewardship and him with it. Suddenly he had the sort of son he had always wanted. Studious, serious, tidy—all the things I was not.”
The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable despite his attempt to mask it with casual observation. Elizabeth studied his face in the dim light spilling from the ballroom windows.
“That must have been difficult for you.”
“Difficult?” Wickham laughed, though the sound held no warmth. “To watch a stranger receive the attention and affection that should have been mine by right? To see my own father look upon another boy with such pride whilst I…” he trailed off, shaking his head as though dismissing unpleasant memories.
“Surely your father’s regard was large enough for both of you.”
“One would hope so. Yet actions speak clearer than words, do they not? When opportunities arose—education, advancement, recommendations—somehow they always seemed to benefit young Fitzwilliam rather than the steward’s actual son.”
Unease stirred in her at the calculated way he spoke. It did not align with what Darcy had told her. Though perhaps it was merely because they had different views on the same subject.
“And yet you both seem to have prospered. You hold a living, he has employment with my father.”
“True enough.” Wickham’s smile returned, though it did not reach his eyes.
Around them, the other couples had begun drifting back towards the ballroom, drawn by the music that had resumed inside. Elizabeth became aware that they were increasingly alone on the terrace, though she could still hear voices and movement from within.
“Lady Elizabeth.” Wickham’s voice had taken on a different quality—warmer, more intimate. “I must speak plainly, for I fear my opportunity may not come again.”
Something in his tone made her step back slightly. “Mr Wickham—”
“Please, allow me to finish.” He closed the distance between them, his eyes holding a fervour that made her increasingly uncomfortable. “These past days of acquaintance have quite overwhelmed me. I am not a wealthy man, as you well know. My living provides comfort but hardly luxury. Yet seeing you, speaking with you, I begin to believe that happiness might matter more than material considerations.”
“Sir, I think perhaps—”
“You are everything I could never have dared hope for in a wife. Beauty, intelligence, spirit—and yet beneath it all, such genuine feeling. I am quite beside myself with admiration.”
Elizabeth backed towards the balustrade, her pulse quickening with growing alarm. The last of the other guests had retreated inside, leaving them truly alone now. “Mr Wickham, you honour me, but this conversation is most inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” His laugh held an edge she had never heard before. “What is inappropriate about a man declaring honest feeling? Unless…” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Unless your affections are already engaged elsewhere?”
“My affections are my own concern,” she said.
“Are they? Or has someone else already claimed what I have been foolish enough to hope for?”
That is absurd,” Elizabeth protested, though heat flooded her cheeks. “But I must tell you, your proposal is beneath consideration.”
“Beneath consideration,” Wickham repeated, his smile turning cold. “How quickly we remember our stations when it suits us.”
“Mr Wickham, this conversation has become unseemly. I should return inside.” He moved towards the doors, and to her relief, he stepped aside with an elaborate bow. “Of course, Lady Elizabeth. Forgive my presumption. Perhaps we might continue this conversation another time when you have had opportunity to reflect upon my words.”
