She was at the point of concluding that there had never been a less satisfactory visit to Meryton when the day at last took a turn for the better with the sighting of a group of red-coated militia officers across the street. There was a gentleman of particularly handsome mien and charming address among them. No acquaintance could have provided so satisfactory a meeting as Mr Wickham, who hurried to meet her with a highly complimentary degree of eagerness as soon as their eyes met.
As they exchanged bows and greetings, Elizabeth felt as though the encounter might yet make up for all the disappointments she had suffered that day. Any person of taste would enjoy speaking with so skilled a conversationalist as Mr Wickham, and it did not hurt that he always seemed so very pleased to be talking to her.
Nor was that day an exception. “Miss Elizabeth, how delighted I am to see you today,” Mr Wickham remarked, pairing the words with a warm, intimate smile. “I was so very sorry not to dance with you at the Netherfield Ball, for I had been looking forward to it considerably.”
Elizabeth would have thought it rude to inquire into his absence, but at such an invitation, it was not necessary to resist her curiosity. “You are very kind, Mr Wickham,” she said. “Indeed, I should have liked to dance with you as well. It is such a shame you could not attend! I hope you were not unwell?”
He shook his head. “No, I thank you for your concern. But it was a different matter entirely. You, who know how I have suffered, will understand perfectly. As the date approached, I thought better of putting myself in such close contact with Mr Darcy. Though I have nothing for which to reproach myself, how could I justify spoiling such an event? Mr Bingley has done nothing to me, nor yet the good people of this neighbourhood. It would have been very wrong of me to allow an unpleasant scene to arise.”
“You are too good,” Elizabeth told him. “I only wish more gentlemen would be as conscious of the effects their actions may have on others as you are.”
“It certainly would be a different world if it were so,” Mr Wickham agreed. A look of plaintive regret crossed his face. He must certainly be thinking of Mr Darcy, and of how much he had lost to that gentleman’s caprice. Elizabeth was angry all over again to think of it.
“Just think if we could change the world to our liking,” Elizabeth suggested laughingly, wishing tocheer him. “First, we shall arrange for all people to be honest and caring, of course, but then we may move on to more frivolous concerns. I think I shall order the weather to be fine whenever I wish to go walking, and for more and more flowers to bloom each spring.”
As she had hoped, Mr Wickham laughed at this. “I should like a world arranged by you more than any other, Miss Elizabeth.”
“No, no,” she protested. “I have seen very little of the world, and cannot be expected to have things all my own way. You must help me. What decrees shall you order, Mr Wickham?”
He tipped his chin up, putting one finger to it in a pose of mock gravity that made his face more handsome than ever. “Hmmm. First of all, I believe I shall make the stream that passes by our encampment run with the finest sherry.”
Elizabeth chuckled, though she could not help thinking that such a wish was not entirely in good taste. All the same, she had put poor Mr Wickham on the spot, and it would not do to press him for an answer and then immediately disparage the answer he had given her. “Such a change will be very popular with all the gentlemen of the militia, I am sure.”
“Indeed it would,” Mr Wickham agreed. “Though likely rather less so with all the innkeepers.”
“So it is in life,” Elizabeth said. “Any change comes with some gains and some losses, and we can only do our best to keep them in balance.” She bit her lip, thinking of Charlotte, and the choice to which Elizabeth could not reconcile herself. Charlotte thought her gains would outweigh her losses. Elizabeth could only hope her friend would not feel differently once she had Mr Collins for her companion all the days of her life.
Mr Wickham laid a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “You are suddenly very solemn.”
“It is nothing,” Elizabeth said. “I was only thinking of a friend who has lately become engaged.”
To her surprise, Mr Wickham did not remove his hand from her arm. Elizabeth felt herself blushing. The contact was perfectly respectable and conducted in broad daylight. She need not feel ashamed of it. Yet there was something strangely intimate in the touch of his hand, and how steadily he looked into her eyes. “I know what I should really wish, if I could,” Mr Wickham said then. “I should wish that marriage was simply a matter of following one’s inclinations, with all other considerations forgotten.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, looking up at him. “Indeed, that would be a better world.” How little he had said — and yet how much he seemed to mean!
It was odd that Mr Wickham still did notremove his hand from her arm. He must know as well as she did that any romantic connection between them was quite impossible. Her dowry was far too small to support a family, while Mr Wickham had nothing but his pay from the militia. It would not be a kindness to either of them to dream of what could have been. Indeed, she would do better to distance herself now, before they had a chance of developing the deeper friendship that alone could determine whether a true partiality might exist between them.
Even as Elizabeth was withdrawing her arm from Mr Wickham’s hand, she felt an odd shivering sensation, as of someone watching her. Turning to look, all the improvement in her spirits was spoiled in an instant when she saw she was quite correct. Someone was watching them with a look of stern judgement that amounted almost to disgust. Mr Darcy stood not twenty paces away, frowning intently.
He did not try to conceal his attention, but turned and strode away when he saw her gaze. The expression on his face before he turned away was thunderous.
“That is my fault, surely,” Mr Wickham said softly. “Mr Darcy’s jealous dislike of me has driven him to such a point that he hates to see me received by any persons of quality. I am sorry to poison his opinion of you.”
“No, you must not apologise,” Elizabethprotested. “You are not responsible for Mr Darcy’s poor behaviour, but more particularly, it is not true. Mr Darcy has disapproved of me ever since our first meeting, when I did not so much as know the name of Wickham.”
Mr Wickham gave her a charming smile. “I had always suspected Mr Darcy’s tastes to be the very reverse of my own. Now I know it to be true.”
At this, Elizabeth looked away, not knowing how to respond to something so very close to a declaration of partiality. She therefore did not reply to the compliment at all. “It has been very pleasant speaking to you, Mr Wickham, but I am afraid I ought to return home now.”
He gave her a graceful bow. “Then I shall simply have to hope we will meet again soon. Farewell, Miss Elizabeth.” And with that, he turned and strolled away, rejoining the other officers.
The road home from Meryton was not more cheerful than the road to it, but Elizabeth had at least the advantage of a fresh reason for her wrath. She judged Mr Darcy in absentia all the way back to Longbourn. The man seemed to live for judging those he considered beneath him. Probably he was in Netherfield Park now, smugly thinking of his own superiority and thinking of new ways to persecute poor Mr Wickham.
Chapter 2
Supper at Netherfield Park was always elegantly served and cooked to a turn, but Fitzwilliam Darcy hardly saw the food that graced his plate. Nor could he bring himself to enter into the conversation around the table with much attention. His thoughts remained fixed with unwelcome persistence upon the events of the morning, resisting every attempt he made to direct them elsewhere.
Despite his best efforts, his mind remained in Meryton, fixed on a most unwelcome sight: Elizabeth Bennet, standing in open conversation with George Wickham. Then, worse still, his hand lingering on her arm, as though he had any right to touch her.
