“I am grieved for you,” she said, and meant it.
“You are kind.” He looked at her directly then, his expression serious. “May I ask, has Darcy been honorable in his conduct? Sincere?”
The question shocked Elizabeth to her core. However, his concern, not jealousy, made Elizabeth pause rather than giving him the set-down he deserved.
“Why would you ask such a thing?”
Mr. Wickham was silent, his jaw working as if he were struggling with some internal debate. Finally, he let out a slow breath and met her eyes.
“Miss Bennet.” He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting its careful arrangement. “Forgive me. This is far more difficult than I anticipated.”
“What is difficult, Mr. Wickham?”
He looked toward the horizon, his hands clasped behind his back in a manner that suggested he was physically restraining himself. “I tell you this, not out of spite, but out of genuine concern for your welfare. I have seen Darcy do this before.”
Her fists settled on her hips. “Do what, precisely?”
“Court women.” He swallowed before continuing. “Please, allow me to finish. I do not mean that he flirts or pays attention since any gentleman might do that with no consequences. I mean that he pursues specific women in a very particular way.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, though she forced herself to give the appearance of calm. “Go on.”
“He singles out the most challenging woman in whatever neighborhood he visits. The most intelligent, most spirited,the one least impressed by his wealth and status.” His voice dropped. “The one, forgive me for being so frank, who dislikes him initially.”
He paused, and Elizabeth saw a muscle jump in his jaw. “He pursues her relentlessly with devotion until she adores him instead of loathing him. And then…” He cleared his throat. “Then he leaves her. Cold. Without explanation.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Delighting, I believe, in how thoroughly he has conquered what seemed unconquerable.”
“You are suggesting that Mr. Darcy toys with women’s affections for sport?” Elizabeth asked, her voice shaking. “That is a serious accusation, sir.”
Mr. Wickham’s shoulders sagged. “I have seen it happen. More than once.”
“Where? When?” Elizabeth was livid, expecting him to have no proof.
Without hesitation, he replied, “In Kent, primarily. Darcy’s aunt has an estate. Rosings Park. There was a lady named Miss Olivia Mason. She was stunningly beautiful, intelligent, and well-educated.
Elizabeth clasped her hands together to still them. “What happened?”
Mr. Wickham’s fingers twitched at his side. “He pursued her. Walks in the garden, meaningful conversations, the sort of attention that makes a woman hope.” He stopped, shook his head slowly, his expression tortured. “In time, she fell completely in love with him. I saw it myself when I visited Rosings last year. Then Darcy left for London without a word. Never wrote. Never returned.”
“How do you know?—”
“I saw them together. I saw how he looked at her, how he sought her out. And I…” He stopped, pressed his fingers to histemple. “And she is not the only one, Miss Bennet. That is what troubles me most. There is a pattern.”
“Others?” The word came out as barely a whisper.
“Miss Margaret Smythe.” He spoke the name gently. “Daughter of a curate near Rosings. Two years ago.” He began pacing in short, agitated steps. “Darcy paid her marked attention during one of his visits. The entire household remarked upon it. Then he left, and she was…” His voice caught. He stopped, stood still with his back to Elizabeth. “The association ruined her.”
When he turned back, his face was drawn. “No respectable man would court her after being so publicly attached to Darcy. Her father had to arrange a marriage to a tradesman to save her reputation. She had sisters, you see. Younger sisters.”
His hands formed into fists.
Elizabeth’s stomach began to churn. Her pulse raced.
Mr. Wickham was already continuing, the words pouring out of him now as if, having started, he could not stop.
“Miss Constance Hampton,” he said with tenderness. “Sweet girl with a bit of fire. Last spring.”
He shook his head slowly, his expression sorrowful. “When her brother confronted Darcy about his intentions…” Mr. Wickham’s jaw clenched. “Darcy laughed and departed for London immediately.”
“Laughed?” Elizabeth could barely utter the word.
