“Indeed. He has even been known to brawl, my dear Miss Bennet.”
“Perhaps you are speaking of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s actions among the regulars. Military men might very well be misunderstood when they are among civilians,” Mr Gardiner put in. “You yourself might be misjudged for things you have to do in the line of duty, Mr Wickham, that we civilians would not understand.”
“Sadly, I am not speaking of things he has done while in training or in the line of duty. I am speaking of when he comes to London. I have heard of several occasions where he was in a public house and was reduced to fisticuffs after too many drinks. One cannot trust such a man,” Mr Wickham said. “And you already know the reputation of Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth said nothing more on the subject, for the lights dimmed, and people began to quiet around them in anticipation of the performance. She was not sorry to be spared the necessity of replying. She would hardly have known what to say. It was strange that he would bring up such private matters about Colonel Fitzwilliam. Was he jealous?It was arrogant of her to think it, surely, and yet she hardly knew how else to interpret his actions. It might be taken as a compliment if he were, and yet Elizabeth would have much rather been given the compliment of rational trust and respect.
They listened in silence for some time, but Elizabeth was shocked to discover that conversations continued around them. Indeed, the chatter was a constant backdrop against the music, which she would have enjoyed very much if not for the interference.
She shifted in her seat, and Mr Wickham leaned over to ask her if she was all right. “I am well, but I wish everyone would be quiet so we could hear better. Is it always like this?” she whispered as softly as she was able.
“You show that this is your first time at the opera, my dear Miss Bennet. I wish everyone was of your frame of mind, but you see, attending an opera is not really about the performance on the stage, but in the audience. Everyone comes to the theatre to see everyone else and to be seen.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What nonsense! If I wanted to parade myself around the town and share gossip, we could have very well gone to Vauxhall, or some other public place.” She looked at the stage, her heart going out to the ones who had poured their souls into bringing the opera to life. “What about them? If I had devoted my whole life to making music, I would be devastated that people were not even listening.”
“How very right you are, Miss Bennet. I wish there were more women like you — who were more worried about the mind and true beauty than what the latest gossip was.” He took her hand and pressed it, making her very uncomfortable. Did he forget her uncle was seated right beside her? “We would all do well to be more like you.”
She took her hand away from his and clasped her hands firmly in her lap. Elizabeth resolved to forget her unease and listen to the music. She closed her eyes, and for a little while, she was able to separate all the chatter from the melody rising to the roof, which was perfectly built for the acoustics to echo through the auditorium. Elizabeth opened her eyes, her chin lifted as she gazed at the ceiling. She wished she could have gone to the very top floor and listened from there, far above the useless chatter.
For the rest of the evening, Mr Wickham was very charming. He said nothing more about the Darcys or Colonel Fitzwilliam. He made her aunt laugh and paid intelligent compliments to her uncle. As they were leaving to climb into the carriage, Mr Wickham had them enthralled by a story of his days in the militia training camp.
He was so charming that she had nearly forgotten his awkwardness in discussing Mr Darcy and his sister.Almost.It was odd that he felt the need to keep bringing up the wrongs Mr Darcy had done him, and so publicly. Though his openness might be taken as a compliment, Elizabeth rather thought morediscretion might have become him better. She found herself a little relieved when Mr Wickham was dropped off at his cousin’s home, a lodging house, and she might think over the evening in relative quiet.
“You are very quiet, Lizzy. Is everything all right?” her aunt asked, giving her a knowing look from across the carriage.
Elizabeth glanced at her uncle, who was starting to doze, thanks to the late hour. “I think so. Perhaps you and I can have a chat when we return home?” she asked. She did not necessarily want to discuss her true feelings in front of her uncle. He might not understand.
“Yes, of course.”
Elizabeth looked out the window at the mist rolling in, filling the streets with an eeriness that she could not escape. Was it simply the weather that was playing on her emotions, or had Mr Darcy’s presence really upset her that much? He had been nothing but cordial to her, if not a little aloof. Then again, that could be down to her coldness toward him. His sister seemed nice enough. Miss Darcy was to be pitied for having so cold and uncaring a brother, at least if Mr Wickham was to be believed. And to think that Colonel Fitzwilliam was a drunkard and a carouser! Somehow, she could not quite believe it of him. But she would have to take his charm with a grain of salt, she supposed. Even her aunt had instructed her to treat him with caution.
When they arrived home, Mr Gardiner went straight to his room, while her aunt accompanied her to the guestroom she had been given. “What is it, my dear?” her aunt asked as soon as they were alone.
“It is nothing really, just a feeling I’ve had. I assume you heard Mr Wickham’s caution against Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“I did,” Mrs Gardiner replied. She sat down with a huff on the chest at the foot of the bed and let out a breath of relief as she slipped her shoes off. “Did you think there was anything to his warning?”
“Perhaps it is nothing more than vanity, but I could not help but think him jealous, that perhaps he was trying to warn me off so he could have me all to himself.” She shrugged, shaking her head. “Of course, I have no experience with men fighting over me. And indeed, I do not think it because of any merit I hold on my own, but because of the inheritance.”
Elizabeth sank onto the little stool in front of the vanity. “How does one know if a gentleman is genuine or not, aunt? I confess, I am starting to think that men are consumed with avarice, and fall in love with fortunes instead of women.”
Her aunt gave a short laugh. “Careful, Lizzy. That savours strongly of bitterness,” she warned.
And perhaps she had allowed bitterness to seep into her heart, little as she might wish to admit it. “I wish I could give this inheritance to Jane. She is already in love with Mr Bingley, and I am sure he is in love with her. They would put it to good use.”
“Oh, my dear,” her aunt said and grabbed both her hands. “You should not despair of your good fortune. Jane will be cared for well enough, with Mr Bingley’s fortune. But you — you deserve to make a good match just as much as she does.” Her aunt tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “Do not sell yourself short.”
“I shall try, aunt, and yet I despair of finding a good man. Which of them cares about anything but the legacy left me by my great uncle? Even Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned he must marry an heiress. I suppose an earl’s son has certain expectations forhis life, and I cannot begrudge him that. But what would happen if I were poor again?”
“You’ve never been poor, my dear.”
“Well, if I had nothing more than a dowry of a thousand pounds, then? And you cannot pretend that Papa has any great wealth. Compared to many of the ladies we’ve met this Season, we are scarcely genteel.”
“Money is not everything, Lizzy, although it does help. I cannot give any advice except to say that the man who could overlook fortune in favour of character is a rare breed indeed.” She patted her hand and rose. “If that is the sort of man you want, then you may have to hold out for quite some time.”
Elizabeth said good night to her aunt then and turned to face the vanity mirror. Perhaps she should wait out the five years it would take to have the inheritance released upon her twenty-fifth birthday. Her mother would have a fit of apoplexy if she ever voiced these sentiments aloud. But the more she was forced to play this game of husband-hunting, the more tempting the idea became.
Chapter 19
