“I know my mother would be delighted to renew their acquaintance when circumstances permit,” Wickham replied. “She speaks so fondly of their friendship during my father’s years at Pemberley.”
“I trust your mother is comfortably settled?” Bingley inquired with his usual concern.
“At Pemberley still, in fact,” Wickham said, his gaze fixed deliberately on Darcy. “In the dower house—Rose Cottage. Darcy was kind enough to honor my father’s long service by allowing her to remain. A gesture of remarkable generosity.”
“How kind indeed,” Bingley said warmly. “Exactly what one would expect from Darcy—a man of great integrity where family obligations are concerned.”
Wickham’s smile remained fixed, though something cold flickered in his eyes. “Quite so. Darcy has always been most particular about family matters. My mother enjoys the isolation of Rose Cottage.”
Rose Cottage. The scene of his uncle’s murder. Darcy was tooyoung to remember much. His mother refused to speak of his uncle’s family, other than that he’d married beneath his station.
Of course, he wasn’t cruel enough to remove Mrs. Wickham from Pemberley after her husband’s death. Ralph Wickham was Pemberley’s trusted steward, and Darcy’s father was George Wickham’s godfather. The previous generation maintained friendly ties, and indeed, Darcy had once treated George as a brother—before the younger Wickham showed his avarice and dissolution. Within a few months of his father’s death, George had wasted away the settlement from Darcy’s father’s will, refused the living provided at Klympton, and squandered a law degree.
The last straw was that sordid affair with Georgiana.
A situation Darcy would do anything to keep private.
The conversation had taken a direction that made Darcy deeply uncomfortable. Wickham began inquiring into the local families and their daughters.
“I’m eager to make the acquaintance of local families, especially the gentlemen of consequence,” Wickham was saying. “I find myself always drawn to good society and pleasant conversation.”
“Then you shall be admirably served here,” Bingley assured him. “We have encountered the most delightful people. The Lucases are charming, the Philipses most hospitable, and the Bennet family quite exceptional in their?—”
“Bennet, you say?” Wickham’s interest sharpened. “A numerous family, I trust?”
“Five daughters, all quite lovely, though each possessed of distinct charms. The eldest, Miss Bennet, is universally acknowledged as a beauty. I danced several sets with her at the last assembly.”
Darcy felt something cold settle in his chest at Bingley’s innocent enthusiasm.
“And I suppose the younger four are similarly charming?” Wickham inquired with faux innocence.
“Oh, yes, the second, Miss Elizabeth, is of the most lively sort, possessing the most engaging wit and intelligence.”
“Elizabeth,” Wickham repeated thoughtfully, and Darcy caught the subtle shift in his expression. “I confess I have always favored that name above all others. Something so… musical about it. Such an elegant choice for a young lady of refinement. Would you not agree, Darcy?”
Darcy met his gaze coolly. “I rarely form opinions about names.”
“No? How curious. I find them most revealing.” Wickham’s smile grated on Darcy’s nerves. “Tell me, are there other young ladies of that name in your charming neighborhood? I find myself curious about local society, and I confess a particular interest in making the acquaintance of anyone who shares such a lovely appellation.”
Bingley considered this with the earnest attention he applied to all social inquiries. “I believe Miss Elizabeth Bennet is the only one of that name in our immediate circle, though I could not speak to the broader district with certainty.”
“How fascinating.” Wickham’s satisfaction was subtle but unmistakable to anyone who knew him well. “I shall be most eager to make her acquaintance. When one encounters such a charming name, one naturally hopes the bearer will prove equally enchanting. May I inquire about her middle name?”
“Sadly, we do not know her baptismal record,” Bingley said, looking past them. “Perhaps you may inquire of the young lady herself. There are the Bennet sisters now, with Miss Lucas. We should greet them—they are among our nearest neighbors, after all.”
Darcy turned to see a group of young ladies making their way along the street with packages and market baskets. The sight of Elizabeth Bennet sent an unwelcome jolt through his carefully maintained composure.
She walked slightly apart from her sisters, her expression thoughtful rather than animated. When her eyes met his across the street, Darcy detected a coolness that reminded him uncomfortably of their last encounter. Her gaze held none of the warmth shedirected toward her companions, and he found himself the object of what could only be described as polite but determined indifference.
“Ah,” Bingley exclaimed with obvious delight, “here are some of our charming neighbors. Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! How fortunate to encounter you.”
The ladies approached, offering curtsies as Bingley introduced each sister and Charlotte by name. Darcy forced himself to bow correctly, though he found it difficult to meet Elizabeth’s gaze directly. When he did, the coolness he encountered suggested his offense at the assembly remained fresh in her memory.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” Jane Bennet said warmly, though her smile dimmed when addressing Darcy. “How fortunate to meet you today.”
“Most fortunate indeed,” Bingley agreed, his attention fixed entirely on Jane. “Allow me to introduce our friend, Lieutenant George Wickham, recently joined to the militia. Wickham, the Misses Bennet and Miss Lucas.”
Wickham executed a perfect bow. “Ladies, I am honored. The beauty of Hertfordshire has been greatly understated, I see.”
