“So, Mr. Wickham,” said he pleasantly, “Mr. Darcy tells me you left Derbyshire some years ago. I wonder what profession you first pursued – before circumstances led you to the militia.”
The question was lightly put, but not a careless one.
Wickham’s smile did not falter, though it altered – becoming broader, easier, as if prepared for explanation.
“I had every intention, sir,” he replied, “of pursuing the law. It seemed a respectable course, suited to my inclinations, and one that promised independence.”
Mr. Bennet nodded. “Indeed. A sensible ambition. One hears, however, that the militia is not commonly a man’sfirstchoice.”
Colonel Forster, who had been standing nearby, shifted his weight and laughed lightly. “Circumstances, Mr. Bennet, are often more persuasive than preference. The militia has welcomed many able men who might otherwise have distinguished themselves elsewhere.”
“Quite so,” said Mr. Bennet. “Yet it is more usual, I believe, for younger sons to take such a path – men who can rely upon family connections, or at least some independent income. The pay alone, I am told, is hardly sufficient to recommend the profession.”
Wickham inclined his head. “It is not a lucrative calling, certainly.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet agreed mildly. “Which suggests that a man must have found his alternatives still less so.”
There was a brief pause.
Elizabeth, who stood near the table under the pretext of arranging cups, had ceased to move. She kept her eyes lowered, but her attention was fixed.
Darcy, who had thus far remained silent, became aware of her attention at once. The thought that Wickham had already shaped her understanding of their history sat ill with him. Wickham had never been inclined to account for his own failures – of that Darcy was certain – and yet he found, to his surprise, that he cared how Miss Elizabeth judged him.
He spoke. “You told me,” he said, turning directly to Wickham, “that you intended to use the money you received to complete your studies.”
The room quieted.
Wickham’s expression shifted – only slightly – before he recovered it.
“That was my hope at the time,” he said. “But hopes are not always fulfilled.”
“No,” Darcy replied evenly. “They are not.”
Colonel Forster stepped in at once. “Whatever his earlier disappointments, I can vouch for Mr. Wickham’s conduct since joining us. He has acquitted himself well – with diligence and spirit.”
“I do not dispute that,” Darcy said calmly.
Mr. Bennet lifted his brows. “Then the matter is settled – or at least postponed. One’s past seldom explains itself so neatly as one hopes.”
Wickham smiled again, more narrowly this time. “I am grateful for your forbearance, sir.”
Darcy did not respond.
Across the room, Elizabeth at last moved away, her expression composed, though her thoughts were anything but settled.
Darcy watched her go.
***
The chairs were arranged with some ceremony, music books fetched, candles adjusted. The evening, which had already proved eventful enough, now assumed the air of cultivated leisure which Mrs. Bennet prized so highly. Performances were proposed, accepted, and expected.
Elizabeth and Jane were persuaded at once.
Jane hesitated only a moment before taking her place at the pianoforte, and Elizabeth sat down at the instrument, the music placed before her. Miss Bennet’s composure was nearly perfect – nearly – yet Darcy, watching with an attention he had not intended, observed the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the careful way she settled herself, as though conscious of every eye upon her.
She was nervous.
It was not a failing that diminished her; rather, it rendered her more affecting. Darcy saw the quick breath she took before she placed her hand upon her heart as if to protect herself.
