“If Darcy here wishes for a lively wife,” said Mr. Bennet, “I suggest one of my two youngest—they are both silly and ignorant girls, but I have it on good authority they are pretty and energetic, perfect for a reticent man. Surely, he can handle them.”
“Perhaps he can.”
“I might offer Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet casually, his sidelong look at Darcy more knowing than Darcy might have liked, “but I understand he doesn’t much care for her.”
Stricken, and knowing Mr. Bennet had heard something of Darcy’s unthinking comment that first night in Meryton, Darcy could not help but protest. “I know of no better woman than your second daughter, Mr. Bennet. It has been long since I felt anything other than esteem for her.”
Mr. Bennet regarded Darcy over his spectacles. “That is well then, sir. There are times when the best of us will speak in terms we should not, that we regret later. I hope my daughter understands your current sentiments, for it would do much to smooth things between you.”
“I believe she does, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy quietly.
Then he shook himself free of such thoughts and concentrated on the matter at hand. “While my cousin might continue to banter all day, serious business has brought us to you. I do not think we should delay our conversation any further.”
Catching Darcy’s seriousness, Mr. Bennet sobered at once. “I am at your disposal, gentlemen. What do you wish of me?”
“You are familiar with Mr. Wickham of the militia regiment recently quartered here?” asked Fitzwilliam.
“With five daughters,” said Mr. Bennet, not hiding the wryness in his tone, “you cannot imagine that I have not heard of him. My youngest girls, in particular, have gone around speaking exclusively of the officers in recent months, and Mr. Wickham’s name has been on their tongues more often than I care to remember.”
“As a matter of fact,” mused Bennet, catching Darcy’s eye, “I distinctly recall a morning visit where Mr. Wickham related some rather pointed tales aboutyou, sir.”
Darcy shook his head with disgust. “Miss Elizabeth has already spoken of his attempts to discredit me directly to her. I cannot imagine he waited long after I left the area to spread his tale to anyone who would listen.”
“I remember cautioning my daughters about it.” Mr. Bennet paused and shrugged. “I cannot say if they heeded my words, but the man’s story provoked more questions than answers, not that I would dream of approaching you for an accounting. It was not, after all, any of my concern.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, “it may now concern you more than you thought.”
“Wickham disappeared from his regiment about a week ago,” interjected Fitzwilliam. “The details are irrelevant, but his commanding officer requested my help in tracking him down. I went to Brighton to interview his fellow officers and learned a few pieces of the puzzle that concerned me.”
All trace of the languid gentleman disappeared, as Mr. Bennet leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. “Might I assume your concern has something to do with my girls?”
“It does,” replied Fitzwilliam.
As his cousin related what he knew, Darcy watched Mr. Bennet, noting how he listened intently, asking intelligent questions at the right points, but did not pursue useless tangents that would lead them nowhere. Given what Darcy had seen of the man, a father who was more apt to laugh at his daughters than correct them, he had not been certain how seriously he might accept their warning. While he might have his faults as a father, the picture he presented now was not of an uncaring man, unwilling to be moved from where he was comfortable.
“That is quite the tale, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Bennet not long after. “But I fail to understand why you believe my Lizzy is this Mr. Wickham’s target. The comments you relate are worrisome, but they hardly point to my daughter.”
“That is because you are missing information that would clarify everything, Mr. Bennet,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Wickham has a good reason—in his own mind—to target Miss Elizabeth. Few things will motivate him to any great degree; gambling and cards, the longing for wealth, and the face and form of a pretty woman are all things that Wickham lusts after, that he will bestir himself to pursue. And one other thing—vengeance when Darcy is his target.”
Mr. Bennet turned an appraising eye on Darcy, who nodded. “Yes, Mr. Bennet. That is why we suspect Wickham of targeting Miss Elizabeth. What you did not know was that I admire your daughter.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Bennet regarded him with no little diversion. “If you do, you have a strange way of showing it, sir.”
“That is because I allowed my pride to get in the way,” said Darcy. “You understand something of my level of society—I struggled with my fascination with her for some time.”
“We shall put aside the question of whether my daughter would be receptive to any overtures you might wish to make and focus on the subject at hand. Your assertions suggest Mr. Wickham has seen something of your admiration.”
“I suspect he did,” replied Darcy. “He saw me briefly on the street the day he made your daughter’s acquaintance, and if you recall, Miss Elizabeth was the only lady with whom I danced at Bingley’s ball.”
Mr. Bennet’s mien was awash with skepticism. “That is little enough evidence on which to base his suspicion.”
“It would be if you are not well acquainted with Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam. “Darcy is not inclined to dance much, and his singling Miss Elizabeth out speaks volumes.”
“Wouldhis action against my daughter wound you, Mr. Darcy?”
“Very much, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, never wavering. “While I do not believe Wickham has any inkling at all of it, when we were in Kent, I proposed to her.”
This caught Mr. Bennet by surprise, such that he gaped at Darcy. “Proposed? To my Lizzy?”
