An uneasy feeling settled in Elizabeth’s stomach. “How did he respond?”
“He seemed amused. As if Mr. Darcy’s courtship of you were some sort of joke.” Lydia shrugged, already losing interest.
“Did he mention how he knows Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth kept her tone carefully neutral.
“Oh yes! He said they grew up together at the Darcy estate in Derbyshire. Pemberley, I think he called it,” Kitty said. “I got theimpression they are not currently friends. There was something in the way he said the name, carefully, you know? As if it pained him.”
Their mother swept them all inside, then her attention was solely on Jane. Elizabeth had no chance to ask more about this mysterious Mr. Wickham.
That evening, after Jane was abed and the house quieted, she stood at her dressing table studying the seven pieces of Mr. Darcy’s drawing arranged into one almost complete image. Seven pieces that convinced her that she was falling in love with him.
And now, there was a man in Meryton who knew Mr. Darcy from childhood, who was amused by his interest in her. Surely, it meant nothing. Old acquaintances often inquired after each other’s lives. Mr. Wickham’s amusement could have been simple surprise that serious Mr. Darcy was pursuing someone of her rank, much lower than his.
But his humor did not sit well with her.
What sort of man was this Mr. Wickham? Lydia called him too serious, too proper, not entertaining enough for her taste. But could not the same be said of Mr. Darcy when Elizabeth first met him? Had she not judged him harshly based on a single impression, a single misstep?
How foolish it would be to impute sinister motives to a stranger based solely on his supposed separation from a former friend. Perhaps any awkwardness between him and Mr. Darcy was merely the natural distance that came from different paths in life.
Elizabeth caught herself mid-thought and smiled ruefully at her reflection. When had she become so quick to defend Fitzwilliam Darcy? When had she stopped looking for faults in his character and started thinking the best of him?
The answer was simple: when he had shown her, piece by piece, drawing by drawing, exactly who he truly was.
Grinning, she spun in a circle, grateful that she had moved past the assembly completely. She looked only for the good in him now and found it in abundance.
“I will meet this Mr. Wickham with an open mind,” she said to her reflection. “I will not judge him. I will form my own opinion, as I did with Fitzwilliam. And I will trust what I know of Fitzwilliam’s character. Whatever history lies between them, I will not allow it to poison what I feel. Not without cause. Not without proof.”
She straightened her shoulders and turned from the mirror.
Three daysafter their return to Longbourn, the eighth piece was delivered. Elizabeth had been expecting it. Darcy promised.
Her father watched her with undisguised curiosity as she unwrapped the familiar brown paper. “The campaign is getting close to completion, I see.”
Her breath caught.
The final corner piece was as detailed as the first seven. Only the center piece remained. The heart of the drawing.
“Well, what do you make of it, Lizzy?”
Holding it carefully, she replied, “He cares very much about what this image says.”
“And what does it say?”
“That he values what happened between us, Papa.”
Her father was quiet, studying her face. “You have fallen in love with him, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth could not deny it anymore.
“I think I have,” she said. “My feelings for him are…well, I have never felt this way for any other. I think the ninth piece will decide it. One way or another.”
“Then I hope, for both your sakes, that it shows what you wish to see.”
“There are seven days until the ball, Papa. There, he will place the final piece in my hands. I find that I can hardly wait.”
“Do you have doubts?”
“I…I…” She hesitated to get her thoughts in order. “One of the officers, Mr. Wickham, claims prior knowledge of Mr. Darcy. Lydia and Kitty describe him as a serious man with proper conduct. Yet, he asked about me personally when he learned that Mr. Darcy is pursuing me, implying with a show of amusement that Mr. Darcy’s courtship is only a bad joke.”
