“I am surrounded by the witless and infirm,” said Darcy. “If I remain among you, I am certain you will afflict me with whatever ails you.”
“Not at all, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, shaking away the last of his mirth. “We merely jest to relieve the tension.”
Fitzwilliam became utterly serious, the cold, ruthless campaigner that Darcy knew he could be. “When we find Anne and her paramour, there will be gravity enough for us all. If it is Wickham, I mean to ensure that he never preys upon our family again. While I respect your father and understand your reluctance to act against him, this is no longer a Darcy manner alone.”
“As yet,” replied Darcy, “there is no proof other than your instincts that it is Wickham with Anne.”
“No, there is not,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “Circumstances may alter what we do when we find them—this I acknowledge. If itisWickham, however, no pleas of clemency on his part or thoughts of your father’s affection for him will stay my hand. If he has attacked our family, he will reap the whirlwind.”
Darcy nodded, unable to disagree with his cousin’s sentiment. “I concur.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, and they fell silent, each considering the situation. It was difficult to say if his cousin was correct, for while Wickham would jump at the chance to secure Rosings for himself, his most recent circumstances were not conducive to him making the attempt. Unless he had resigned his commission and spent the previous weeks persuading Anne to attempt his mad scheme.
Why Anne agreed to it was easier to reconcile, given what Darcy had learned of his aunt’s iron control over her daughter. Surely no one could live in prison all their lives, whether the bars were iron or gilded and etched with angels. The more Darcy thought about his cousin, the more he became convinced that she grew tired of Lady Catherine’s tyrannical rule. It was a subject he meant to raise with Anne herself.
Chapter IX
Kitty Bennet was the Bennet sister most likely to lack confidence.
It was a facet of her character of which Kitty was not unaware, though she did not think it was surprising. In a house ruled by a nervous mother and an indifferent father, she had often thought it would be the easiest thing in the world to fade into the background, just as Mary did so often. Mr. Bennet favored Elizabeth, and to a lesser extent Jane, while her mother’s favorites were Lydia and Jane. Kitty could see why everyone loved Jane, for her character was such that it was impossible not to esteem her the moment one made her acquaintance. As for Elizabeth and Lydia, well Kitty supposed it was Elizabeth’s cleverness, so like her father’s, and Lydia’s liveliness, much like that of her mother.
Kitty had never wished to fade into the background, and she certainly did not wish to become as bookish and isolated as Mary. Kitty sometimes thought that Lydia abused Mary more than she ought. Mary was not deficient, though her interests were not Kitty’s. Kitty admired all her sisters for different reasons, even if she did not wish to emulate them.
One thing Kitty was not was stupid, though she sometimes gave the impression of obliviousness. Many times, her mother favored Lydia over her, to the point of allowing Lydia free rein with her possessions or even indulging in actions that might earn Kitty a reprimand. It was not fair, but she did not suppose that ever crossed her mother’s consciousness. This business of Lydia going to Brighton was an example of that, for Kitty suspected that her mother would not be so supportive if the invitation had come Kitty’s way instead of Lydia’s. Kitty coulddo nothing about that, of course, though it pained her to be excluded when she was two years older. A part of her wished her father would forbid Lydia from going, for then she would learn how it felt to be denied.
In the present circumstance, Mr. Wickham’s actions confused Kitty, and she wished to withdraw to Longbourn. Yet Lydia was being her usual pigheaded self, refusing to depart until she puzzled out the meaning behind Mr. Wickham’s behavior.
Mr. Wickham was not one of Kitty’s favorites, though Lydia had praised him to the skies until he showed interest in Mary King. Though she could acknowledge his handsome features, there was also a shifty look about him, one that suggested he understood the effect of his looks and used them to his advantage. It was nothing upon which Kitty could ever put her finger, but it made her cautious in his presence.
Now, however, the man appeared to be showing his true colors, for his means of brushing Lydia aside was unkind, even from a man who did not believe he needed to impress the local populace any longer. Then he walked south down Meryton’s main street, his attitude that of one who was looking for something. Or someone. Kitty did not know what he was about or for what he searched but given his behavior she did not wish to have anything further to do with him.
“Come, Lydia,” said Kitty for what seemed the fifth time. “Mr. Wickham has changed, and you did not like him much before he went away. Let us return to Longbourn.”
“I shall not go away until I know what he is doing,” replied Lydia.
It was not an angry reply or a cold retort, both of which Lydia often employed. It was a complete disregard for Kitty’s opinion and wishes. Kitty was intimately familiar with Lydia’s single-minded focus on whatever caught her attention. It still hurt when Lydia so carelessly discarded her opinion, but it wascertainly not enough to cause particular pangs, given how often it had occurred in the past.
“Look, he is returning,” said Lydia.
Kitty noted her sister was correct, for Mr. Wickham had reached the end of the street and had turned to make his way back into Meryton. Frustration marred his features, for he wore a scowl that rendered his handsome mien ugly. Kitty was almost afraid of him.
Then he appeared to change in an instant, for he caught sight of them, and a calculating expression replaced vexation. A moment later he changed again, for he smiled at the sight of them as if he had not just dismissed them moments before. With a greeting on his lips, he approached, the same man he had been when he had been a member of the regiment. With a start, Kitty realized it was a mask he donned with as much efficacy as he put on his trousers or his coat.
“Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia,” said he, bowing before them. “How do you do?”
Lydia could be such an empty-headed flirt sometimes, for she forgot at once how this man had treated them. “We are well, Mr. Wickham. It is so nice to see you return.”
“Thank you.” The man paused and then said: “I find myself in a bit of trouble, ladies, for I have lost my companion.”
This provoked Lydia’s interest. “You were traveling with someone else?”
“I was,” confirmed he. “She is a young woman, perhaps five and twenty.”
A grin appeared on his face and he stepped forward as if to offer a confidence: “She is rather thin and pale, and sickly and cross besides. But a friend asked me to escort her to her mother’s home, which is why we are here—our path leads further to the north.”
“A woman you say?” asked Lydia.
She had not appeared happy to hear that Mr. Wickham was traveling with a woman but had perked up at the inference that Mr. Wickham had no interest in her out of the common way. Kitty was not so certain, for it was most improper for a man and a woman unrelated to be traveling together alone. Would anyone put a beloved relation into so improper a situation?
