Elizabeth felt something shift in her chest at these words. He had called on them. Of course he had.
"Shall we go in to dinner?" Mrs. Gardiner suggested, mercifully ending the awkward pause.
They processed into the dining room with all the formality of a much grander establishment. Elizabeth found herself seated across from Mr. Darcy, with Jane and Mr. Bingley at opposite ends of the table—whether by design or accident, she could not say.
The first course was served in near silence. Mr. Bingley appeared wholly occupied with not staring at Jane. Jane kept her eyes fixed upon her plate. Mr. Darcy maintained his usual reserved manner, though Elizabeth noticed he spoke briefly to Mr. Gardiner about the quality of fire and the condition of the child and maid.
Elizabeth found herself desperately curious. What were they doing in Bath? It was the very question that had plagued herthroughout the night. The last she knew, Mr. Bingley had been in London, and Mr. Darcy divided his time between Town and Pemberley. It seemed an unlikely coincidence that they should both be here now.
As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Gardiner set down her fork and turned to Mr. Darcy. "If I am not too forward, sir, what brings you to Bath?"
Darcy appeared momentarily taken aback by the question. He glanced at Mr. Bingley, then back to Mrs. Gardiner. "Estate matters, principally. Some personal business as well." His eyes flicked briefly toward Elizabeth. "And rest. I found London and Derbyshire rather...taxing of late."
"Ha!" Mrs. Gardiner smiled. "That is not so surprising. The Darcys have always had a large estate to manage."
Darcy's brow furrowed slightly. "The Darcys? You speak as though you know something of my family, madam."
"Yesterday, when I told you I grew up in Lambton, I should have added that I knew your father."
Elizabeth nearly dropped her fork and stared at her aunt in astonishment. She had spoken of Mr. Darcy to Mrs. Gardiner on several occasions, yet never had her aunt hinted at a personal acquaintance with his father. It had always seemed a matter of knowingofhim—and of the great estate of Pemberley—rather than knowing the man himself.
"You knew my father?" Darcy leaned forward, his reserve melting into genuine interest.
"I did, though not well. I left Lambton early—when I married Mr. Gardiner—but I still visited in the early days of my marriage. I knew when he had his son, which would be you, and I also heard from my cousin when he had his daughter years later."
"Georgiana," Darcy said softly.
"Yes. I hear the resemblance between you two as children was uncanny."
To Elizabeth's astonishment, Darcy laughed—a real laugh, warm and unguarded. "We looked like twins until she was five years old. Since then, she has favored my mother’s look more than my father’s."
Elizabeth stared. This was not the stiff, proud Mr. Darcy of Hertfordshire. This was someone else entirely—someone who smiled when he spoke of his sister, whose entire countenance softened at the mention of his family.
A brief silence fell over the table. Then Mrs. Gardiner said, almost thoughtfully, "Speaking of twins, there was another boy who lived with your family. I do not remember his name now, but he was said to be almost a twin to you in appearance."
The change in Darcy's countenance was immediate. The warmth vanished, replaced by something harder. Elizabeth noticed it at once, though he seemed to wish to conceal it.
"Wickham," he said, his voice flat.
"Yes, I remember now. Is he the son of Mr. Wickham? Your father's steward?"
"Yes." Darcy's jaw tightened. "You knew Mr. Wickham?"
Elizabeth’s brows rose despite herself, her fork poised midway to her lips. Each new detail her aunt revealed drew her a little nearer in her chair, surprise flickering across her features before she schooled them into composure. How very well her aunt seemed to know the Darcy family.
"Oh, everyone in Lambton knew Mr. Wickham when I was growing up. If you needed flowers, he had a small shop you could visit. Too bad one of those torrential rains destroyed it. I believe it was after that misfortune that your father employed him as steward."
Some of the tension left Darcy's shoulders. "The elder Mr. Wickham was a good man. He taught me the value of working with one's own hands, of understanding the land one manages. My father valued him greatly."
"And his son?" Mrs. Gardiner asked. "Where is he now?"
Another shift in Darcy's expression—something between sorrow and anger. "The last I saw him, he was a member of the militia in Hertfordshire. I had not heard from him in some while until I encountered him there." His voice carried an edge of bitterness. "We are no longer on speaking terms."
He glanced toward Elizabeth as he spoke, then looked quickly away.
Mrs. Gardiner's eyes moved to Elizabeth as well. Elizabeth could see that her aunt had read some meaning into the exchange, but she said nothing.
The conversation turned to safer topics after that. Mr. Gardiner enquired about Mr. Darcy's travels. Mr. Bingley spoke enthusiastically about the architecture of Bath, though his gaze kept drifting to Jane. Mrs. Gardiner mentioned the upcoming concert at the Assembly Rooms. Elizabeth contributed little, her mind too occupied with what had just transpired.
