“Mr. Wickham,” said he, sizing him up with a glance, or so Elizabeth thought, “excuse me if I presume, but unless I am much mistaken, you are acquainted with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, are you not?”
Surprise flickered across Mr. Wickham’s face, then an expression that disturbed Elizabeth, one that she could only call calculation.
“Indeed, I am. I apologize, sir, for you have the advantage of me.”
“Gerald Hurst, husband to Charles Bingley’s sister, Louisa. Darcy is a friend of my brother—it was at Bingley’s request that Darcy was lately in residence at Netherfield Park.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Wickham with a look that was too knowing and a little disquieting. “I had heard something of Darcy’s friendship with a man of trade.” Mr. Wickham’s chuckle carried a distinct note of derision. “That is Darcy without a doubt—surround himself with those he considers inferior so that he may bask in his self-importance.”
Elizabeth stared at Mr. Wickham in astonishment. That she had no good opinion of Mr. Darcy had never been in question. In all the time she had known him, however, she had never considered his affection for Mr. Bingley anything but sincere.When Elizabeth voiced this opinion, however, Mr. Wickham’s response was almost patronizing, as if she were naught but a small child.
“Perhaps you may think that, Miss Elizabeth, but I assure you that this is a common pattern for Darcy. When in town, he mingles with those who are his equal or greater in consequence, but he enjoys feeling superior when among those he considers his ‘friends.’”
Though Elizabeth thought to question Mr. Wickham’s perception, she caught sight of Mr. Hurst. The gentleman had turned away from the officer, and the slight shake of his head made Elizabeth reconsider her words. This allowed Mr. Wickham time to turn to Mr. Hurst.
“Then you know Darcy well, do you?”
“Enough to know much of him,” replied Mr. Hurst. “Bingley is his friend, but I associate with him enough to have an accurate sketch of his character.”
“While I hesitate to contradict you,” replied Mr. Wickham, “I am afraid I have many years’ acquaintance to inform me otherwise. Darcy’s father was the best man I ever met, but his son is proud and disagreeable, and not at all averse to throwing off friends of longstanding.”
“By that, I must assume you refer to yourself.”
“Among others,” confirmed Mr. Wickham with a shrug. “My offenses include the withholding of a living that was designed for my support by his father, wishes that he ignored without hesitation.”
“Oh?” asked Mr. Hurst, skepticism clear. “You do not seem the sort who would take a clerical living.”
“It seems we shall never find out, since Darcy declined to do his father’s bidding.”
“And your ordination?” Mr. Hurst did not press, but it was clear he did not believe a word of what he was told. “If youpersisted, an ordination would unlock doors for you, though without a patron you would not obtain a living immediately.”
“With no support, do you suppose I could afford to attend the seminary?”
“Old Mr. Darcy died five years ago,” replied Mr. Hurst. “By that time, I judge you would have been old enough to attend and perhaps even graduate.”
“This is all amusing, but the dance floor awaits. Come, Miss Elizabeth, let us join your sisters.”
The exchange was confusing. Elizabeth assented, though she cast a glance at Mr. Hurst before the officer led her away, noting his placid, almost disinterested look. When his gaze slipped to Mr. Wickham, however, a hint of hardness appeared.
As they took their spots in the line, Mr. Wickham attempted to engage her in conversation, but Elizabeth had little head for it, for her mind was more disagreeably engaged. The points Mr. Hurst raised were excellent, subjects that Elizabeth had never considered. Beyond the gentleman’s assertion of Mr. Wickham’s failure to pursue his ordination or the timing of his education, one thought rose above them all. Mr. Wickham had claimed he would never defame Mr. Darcy because of the respect he had for his father. Why, then, had he spoken of it to Mr. Hurst, and why had he revealed the matter to Elizabeth in the first place?
HENRY BENNET WAS NOTa man who enjoyed much society, and when he did venture forth, it was for the privilege of watching his fellow men and laughing at their follies. A gathering at Sir William Lucas’s house was replete with such opportunities, for the gentleman was such an amusing study that even if their neighbors did not provide Bennet with fodder, the host certainly would. Bennet did not spendallhis time at theparty in such pursuits, but it was a benefit that made the evening bearable.
Perhaps it was the similarity in their indifference to such gatherings that drew them together, but later in the evening, Bennet found himself next to I. Hurst, and his society was not at all displeasing. After sharing a greeting, they began talking and, in time, became comfortable with each other’s company. I. Hurst was not much of a reader, though he had a few interesting insights about the works hehadread. As Bennet was a devoted bibliophile, that avenue of conversation was not of much interest to a man who preferred brandy to books. Where Hurst shone was in his droll observations of the company—several of his comments might have come from Bennet’s own mouth!
“We were all surprised by your return, sir,” said Bennet after they had been sitting together for a time.
As he expected, Hurst offered nothing more than a grunt at this observation. While Bennet had some notion and equal curiosity about the reason for the Bingley party’s departure, especially after the man had appeared besotted with his eldest, that query was about as far as he would push. Hurst did not seem the sort of man to pay much attention to such things, and though Jane’s spirits were depressed, he had never thought her feelings so developed as to suffer irreparable harm with Bingley’s decampment.
“Your daughters appear as lively as ever tonight,” said Hurst instead of reacting to his comment.
“Too lively by half,” agreed Bennet, taking a sip of his punch, wondering what Sir William had put in it. “It is the curse of a man with naught but five daughters to endure them with scarce a word of sense spoken.”
Bennet paused and gazed at his second eldest, feeling the easy affection and respect well up in his breast. “Then again, Lizzy has more wit than the rest, a genuine joy in an old man’slife. If she still tends to such talk as would interest a young lady, I forgive her of these little lapses, for she is as intelligent as any man.”
“Darcy seemed to think so. Why, I recall her meeting him with crossed swords when she stayed at Netherfield, and more than once she had him befuddled.”
“Is that so?” asked Bennet, turning to regard his companion. “I thought Darcy was far too interested in contemplating his lofty position to pay attention to a woman such as my daughter. It is well known in the community that he has no appreciation for her charms.”
