“You may be assured of my silence on the subject,” said Elizabeth, quite forgetting that she should not ask.
Mr. Wickham was caught in indecision briefly, but soon he leaned closer. “It is a sad story. For you see, Miss Darcy is inlove with me and I with her. But Darcy will hear nothing of our marrying.”
Quite taken aback, Elizabeth could only gape at the officer for several moments. Then, before she could answer, the Netherfield party entered the room on Mrs. Hill’s heels, and Elizabeth saw the exact moment when Mr. Wickham and Mr. and Miss Darcy became aware of each other. Mr. Wickham turned even more morose, but the Darcy siblings’ reactions were striking in their contrast. Mr. Darcy appeared furious, but his sister turned a little white with apprehension. Then her brother spoke softly to her, and her cheeks regained the color of resolve.
“You see?” Mr. Wickham’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “She pines after me but puts on a brave face to please her brother. We are both suffering, but until she is eighteen and can choose her own destiny, there is no hope.”
Elizabeth was shocked. “You suppose that Miss Darcy will agree to marry you when she comes of age?”
The shrug spoke of quiet hope but seemed calculated. “I cannot say, though I cannot relinquish the dream.”
Not knowing what to make of it, Elizabeth examined the officer before her. Mr. Wickham spoke of hope and Miss Darcy’s pining, but Elizabeth could see nothing of it. Nothing in her reaction upon seeing him suggested unrequited love, but apprehension. Furthermore, there was such a vast gulf between them—she, the granddaughter of an earl, while Mr. Wickham’s descent was decidedly common—that any union between them must be highly problematic at best. No woman of that lineage and position in society would contemplate such a union. Even Elizabeth, who was only the daughter of a minor country squire, could not imagine marrying so decidedly beneath her!
All at once, Elizabeth noted Mr. Wickham’s study, as if he was waiting for her response, and she realized she had beenquiet for several moments. Though uncertain what she should say to him, Elizabeth decided a cautious reply was for the best.
“That is unfortunate, Mr. Wickham. I hope that you will recover from your disappointment.”
Elizabeth could see at once that he was not pleased with her comment. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but I do not wish to recover. Rather, I wish the freedom to follow my heart, for the woman I love to follow hers.”
“Do you not consider it a most unequal match?” asked Elizabeth. When his countenance darkened, Elizabeth hastened to add: “I am not insulting you, Mr. Wickham. But the truth is that Miss Darcy is the granddaughter of an earl—do you suppose that I, as the daughter of a simple gentleman, could aspire to marry a man of Mr. Darcy’s consequence and position in society?”
“You wish to attract Darcy’s attention?” demanded Mr. Wickham with some heat, as if shocked by the very notion.
“Not at all,” replied Elizabeth. “It was merely an example to illustrate the chasm between us. If I, as a member of the lower gentry, cannot aspire to a man of Mr. Darcy’s prominence, how could you, as the son of a steward, aspire to his sister? I do not mean to offend, but you are not a gentleman, Mr. Wickham.”
Something she said offended Mr. Wickham, despite her assurances otherwise. The man’s expression never faltered, but his eyesglittered, revealing a cold glint in their depths that was quickly extinguished.
“I must own that I am disappointed, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Wickham, his voice growing icy. “I never would have expectedyou,of all people, would cling to such notions as barriers between the classes.”
“Perhaps you have not experienced life in gentle circles, Mr. Wickham. As a gentlewoman, I would not wish to marry below my station. A modest gentleman, even a parson would beacceptable, but for a gentlewoman to marry so low is simply not done.”
Mr. Wickham’s expression remained neutral, then he brightened, though Elizabeth thought his sudden joviality was feigned. “Then I commend you for it, Miss Elizabeth, though I advise you to fix your attention on some other man. Darcy is far too proud to pay attention to you or anyone of your acquaintance.”
“And I have never suggested that I wished for Mr. Darcy’s attentions,” replied Elizabeth. “I merely mentioned it as a comparison, not ambition.”
“Very well. For my part, I hope you will indulge my fantasy. It is said that love conquers all—I shall not allow my desire to die until all hope is lost.”
Not knowing what to say, Elizabeth did not respond. In time, Mr. Wickham drifted away to where Lydia and Kitty were holding court with Mr. Denny and Mr. Sanderson. On his way, he stopped and exchanged a few words with Mr. Darcy, comments that did not look at all cordial. Then he joined his fellow officers, but Elizabeth could easily see that he was not participating in the discussion so much as watching Mr. Darcy, sardonic amusement etched on his features. With a start, Elizabeth also noted him watching Miss Darcy, who was situated with Mrs. Bennet. The moment Mr. Wickham moved closer to his sister, Mr. Darcy stepped nearby, appearing the very picture of a man guarding his charge. Mr. Wickham managed to make a comment to Miss Darcy, then she saw Miss Darcy snapping back, then Mr. Darcy got involved and said a few harsh words. Mr. Wickham threw a rueful glance at Elizabeth, then moved away.
That glance stayed with Elizabeth, for she could not understand what it meant. It seemed to suggest that Mr. Wickham was being unjustly persecuted, and he wishedElizabeth to know, but she was not certain that was what happened. There was something amiss here, something of which she was not aware, something between the Darcys and Mr. Wickham beyond the living or their previous connection. It bothered her, for she suspected Mr. Wickham had not told her everything. Perhaps he had even lied.
UPON SEEING THE SMIRKINGvisage of George Wickham when he entered Longbourn’s sitting-room, Darcy felt his fists ball up in rage. Every doubt, every instinct that had warned him to distrust this family returned to his mind, screaming at him to take his sister and leave this place forever. To host George Wickham, of all men, in their home as if he was not an adder skulking in the grass ready to strike was almost more than he could bear.
Then sanity reasserted itself, and Darcy did his best to calm himself. Wickham was adept at appearing the gentleman, though not so adept at acting like one, and was quite capable of insinuating himself into the lives of those who did not suspect him. That Miss Elizabeth had ignored Darcy’s warning bothered him, but given her frame of mind that night, Darcy supposed it should not be a surprise. If the Bennets chose to associate with such a man of degraded principles as Wickham, the consequences, Darcy thought, were on their heads.
“I suppose that I should have expected Mr. Wickham to come here,” said Georgiana softly, drawing Darcy from his bleak thoughts.
Darcy shrugged. “Wickham is accepted in the neighborhood, so it is natural that he would visit.”
Georgiana turned to look at him, and Darcy noted something in her expression he could not identify. “Mr. Wickham is accepted? How can that be?”
Uncertain, Darcy said: “He is adept at portraying himself as something he is not, Georgiana. You have enough experience with his manners to know that.”
“Miss Darcy, how wonderful it is to see you,” said Mrs. Bennet.
As the Bennet matron drew her in for a closer conversation, Georgiana glanced back at Darcy, her look telling him that she had something more to say. What it was Darcy did not know; he pushed it aside in favor of watching Wickham, determined to do everything he could to foil whatever intrigues he was now plotting.
For a time, Wickham appeared content to stay with Miss Elizabeth. Darcy watched, seeing their close conversation, wondering that Miss Elizabeth, who he knew was as perceptive as anyone, could not see through him. Their conversation appeared secretive and personal, and for a time, Darcy suspected her of admiration.
