Yet Elizabeth could not help but feel that his attentions toward her were marked by a particular consideration. When he addressed her, his tone softened, and his remarks seemed shaped to invite her opinion rather than to display his own. She answered readily, pleased by the exchange, and conscious, though she did not dwell on it, that his regard felt both flattering and sincere.
This impression was made all the stronger by Mr Wickham’s behaviour when the supper was over. Resisting every attempt of Lydia to draw him away, Mr Wickham took his place in the drawing room next to Elizabeth and took the first opportunity of speaking to her alone.
“I hear congratulations may soon be in order for Miss Bennet,” he remarked.
“We cannot say so yet,” Elizabeth replied with a caution she did not really feel. “Though I hope itmay be so. If such an arrangement comes to pass, I believe Jane would be very happy.”
“I shall offer my fullest congratulations if it does,” Mr Wickham said quietly. “And that is why I thought I ought to warn you. There may be interference.”
Elizabeth looked at him in surprised alarm. “Interference?”
“From those who believe themselves entitled to direct the attachments of others,” he said carefully.
Elizabeth did not require further explanation. “You mean Mr Darcy.”
Mr Wickham inclined his head slightly. “I would not wish to speak ill of anyone, but his opinions are not always exercised with kindness.”
Elizabeth’s resentment, already well prepared, rose readily. “I have long suspected that he does not wish Mr Bingley to form an attachment that does not satisfy his own requirements for wealth and status.”
Mr Wickham sighed. “He is very much governed by ideas of consequence. He believes all his acquaintances should have only the finest connections.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That has certainly been my impression.”
“As you know,” Mr Wickham added, “I have long been acquainted with the family. How I wish they might all have been as good as old Mr Darcy! Alas that it is not so. All Darcy’s other influences are as prideful as himself. Particularly his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “I know her by reputation, thanks to my cousin.”
“Then you know she is not a woman easily denied,” Mr Wickham said. “She has long intended her daughter for him.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I hope she is a good match.”
Mr Wickham returned the smile. “I have heard she takes after her mother.”
“You mean she is ill tempered?” Elizabeth suggested lightly.
He laughed. “I would never presume to speak ill of a lady. Still, one forms opinions.”
His gaze lingered on Elizabeth with great warmth. “For myself,” Mr Wickham continued, “I believe a good match requires more than fortune or family. Intelligence and liveliness of mind are far better recommendations.”
Elizabeth felt the compliment, though she wondered at it. Mr Wickham must know as well as she did that such warmth was dangerous. “If only such concerns were all one needed to consider,”Elizabeth said lightly. “I consider myself sadly deficient in another concern that many gentlemen cannot help but consider — that of a substantial dowry.”
Mr Wickham held her eyes. “A flaw indeed,” he said, “but never one that could be considered a deficiency in yourself.”
Before the conversation could proceed further, Lydia seized Mr Wickham’s arm with unceremonious enthusiasm. “You promised to dance with me,” she declared.
Mr Wickham submitted with good humour, and Elizabeth found herself left with Mr Denny, who requested a dance with cheerful simplicity. She accepted, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
As they moved about the room, Elizabeth could not help but reflect on the evening. Mr Wickham’s attentions had been agreeable, his conversation flattering, and his manner entirely engaging. She knew better than to indulge in such reflections too freely. Prudence, she reminded herself, must be her watchword.
Still, as she watched Mr Wickham humouring her sister as Lydia laughed and danced without restraint, Elizabeth could not deny the lingering impression of charm, nor the quiet regret that such a connection, however pleasant, could lead to nothing more.
Chapter 4
Darcy paced through the library at Netherfield Park, wishing he might find something to engage him and knowing better than to expect it. In their tidy but sparse condition, the shelves reflected the character of the house itself: handsome, comfortable, and designed for sociability rather than study. He selected a volume almost at random, more from habit than anything else, and seated himself near the window, where the fading light of the afternoon fell across the page.
All the same, he did not read. As they had done repeatedly of late, his thoughts returned to the arrangements already in motion. Netherfield would soon be left behind. After considerable persuasion from his sisters and more measured advice from Darcy himself, Bingley had agreed to remove the household to London for the winter.
Only now, after the decision had already been made, did Darcy feel distinctly ill at ease with his part in it. At the time, urging Bingley away hadappeared the sensible course. After all, distance often clarified affections. If an attachment were genuine, it would survive absence. If not, it was better discovered early.
