“That was well deduced.”
“If we are offering appreciation,” said Elizabeth, “let me thank you not only for acting to acquaint Mr. Bingley with the truth, but your intention to deal with Mr. Wickham.”
“For that, I am not certain I deserve thanks, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy sighed and offered a slight smile. “It has long been my practice to avoid even the thought of Wickham when I could; now I understand that was an error.”
“Have you written to your uncle?” asked Elizabeth.
“The moment we arrived at Netherfield,” confirmed Mr. Darcy. The gentleman shrugged. “My uncle has never cared for Wickham, and he knows much of my dealings with him. I have little doubt he will act on my recommendation.”
“Then I think it is appropriate to mourn what Mr. Wickhammighthave become, rather than the end he chose of his own volition.”
“That is more wisdom than I have ever possessed when it pertains to Wickham.”
“Sometimes, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, allowing a soft smile, “it is easier to attain wisdom at a distance.”
Mr. Darcy nodded but changed the subject. “I must own to no little astonishment. You are correct that I came to Meryton with the determination to deal with Wickham—consider my surprise to arrive in Meryton to find the townsfolk already baying for his blood. Will you not share how you managed it?”
As it happened, Elizabeth was not at all opposed to it. She gave her account, stressing that she used gossip as her weapon of choice, but noting that she descended to it for a loftier purpose. Then she recounted the discussion with Colonel Forster and confessed that it would have been easier had she simply approached him.
“It may have been easier,” said Mr. Darcy. “Yet I cannot but suppose it would not have been so efficacious.”
“How so, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth, curiosity washing over her.
“Wickham has an almost uncanny ability to sense when sentiment is turning against him,” explained Mr. Darcy. “Had he any notion that the colonel was investigating his activities, he would have disappeared at once and without a second thought. The way you did it gave him a false sense of security, prevented him from fleeing because it wasyouwho was speaking of him.”
Elizabeth considered this. “I had never thought of it in such terms.”
A shrug was Mr. Darcy’s response. “That conclusion is based on my knowledge of Wickham, an understanding that you do not possess. It is no surprise you would not have considered it.”
With a smile, Elizabeth arched a brow. “Then I stumbled upon a means to ensure Mr. Wickham was caught by accident?”
“Rather by design, though a design you could not know would be effective,” said Mr. Darcy.
At that moment, the gentleman appeared to realize something. He was grave for a moment, but then he turned back to Elizabeth in an air of confidence.
“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, “but your mother’s manner toward me differs from what it was in the autumn. Can you explain what has changed?”
Unfortunately, Elizabeth had no chance to explain, for her mother interjected, silencing the entire company. “Mr. Darcy! Is it true that you proposed to my daughter?”
SHOCKED AS HE WAS,Darcy could muster no response. A glance at Miss Elizabeth revealed that she was unable to look at him, her entire face blooming like the reddest rose.
Then understanding came, though Darcy could not fathom how it had happened. The difference in Mrs. Bennet was because of the knowledge that Darcy had proposed to her daughter—to a woman such as Mrs. Bennet, a proposal was a subject she could not overlook. As Miss Elizabeth was under the influence of profound mortification and unable to speak, Darcy knew the response would need to be his.
“Yes, Mrs. Bennet, it is true,” said he.
In responding, he had shocked Miss Elizabeth, for she peered at him, eyes wide, mouth a little parted, incomprehension written on her brow. A glance around told Darcy that the rest of the family was watching with interest but no surprise—however it had come about, they all knew of Darcy’s failed proposal. Mr. Bennet, he noted, was even grinning with anticipation, and perhaps even a little amusement at his daughter’s expense.The only ones appearing shocked were Bingley and Georgiana, though he noticed his sister was surprised, not distressed.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” wailed the Bennet matron, “I am appalled at what my thoughtless daughter has done. She can be as stubborn a girl as ever existed!”
“That is hardly the way to get him to consider her again,” said Mr. Bennetsotto voce.
Bingley snorted a laugh, and though Darcy was tempted to do the same, he held his countenance. Mrs. Bennet fixed her husband with an annoyed glare. “It isyourfault, Mr. Bennet, for you have filled Lizzy’s head with books and independence, something no young woman has any business learning.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Bennet,” said Darcy, drawing all eyes to him again, “your daughter’s intelligence and ability to give a good account of herself are among the qualities that attracted me to her. If I wished for a compliant wife, I could find candidates by the dozen in London.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Bennet. “There appears to be one man in England who does not put stock in the things society holds so dear.”
“Indeed, I do not,” said Darcy, for the first time suspecting he could esteem Mr. Bennet. “You have raised an excellent daughter, for she is poised, confident, intelligent, and of a magnetic personality.”
