Page 40 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

She smiled at him. “It is easier to manage when one is surrounded by friends.”

He beamed at her and motioned for her to precede him downstairs. “Aye, Miss, that it is.”

The front parlor was warm; the fire recently tended to. Charlotte turned from the window, where she stood contemplating the dreary view through the glass pane.

“The maid will bring in the tea once it is ready,” Hill said with a departing smile, closing the door behind him.

Charlotte’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “Hill seems to think we have matters of great import to discuss.”

Elizabeth could not be happier to see her friend. They caught up on the goings-on of their households since their last conversation, poured tea, and settled in for a cozy tête-à-tête.

“How are you getting on with Mr. Robinson?” Charlotte asked perceptively, looking over the rim of her teacup at Elizabeth in a way that added weight to her question.

Elizabeth sighed. “I do not know how I would manage if he were not here. Along with sorting through Papa’s letters and sending correspondence to people on the continent with knowledge of the company, he has tried to prepare us as well as he can for what is to come without alarming Mama and my sisters.”

“They do not know you could be cast out of Longbourn?” Elizabeth shook her head. “That is negligent, even for your father. Does he think it will be easier for them if they are surprised with the news?”

“I think he has convinced himself that nothing will come to pass.”

“That is all very well, so long as nothing happens. But what if it does?”

Elizabeth wrung her hands together. “Mr. Robinson suggested that we catalog every item inside the house in preparation. If we provide the collector with a thorough list of every object in Longbourn, then perhaps he will not upset Mama so much by sorting through our possessions himself.”

“Sound reasoning.”

“After the house is done, we will do the same with the other buildings on the property.”

“A monumental task, but it seems a wise plan. You are fortunate, indeed, to have Mr. Robinson’s assistance. I hope Mr. Bennet appreciates his consideration.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips together. Her father had been of very little help. Robinson never complained, but Elizabeth saw how the little muscles at his jaw twitched every time Papa waved off his concerns and appeals. She had helped him with their rooms, counting and recording every last piece of linen in their armoires to spare him the embarrassment, and, as her father had requested, she had done it during the times when her sisters were occupied with other tasks to prevent them from asking any questions he was certain not to answer. It made the process more difficult than necessary, but everyone was blissful in their ignorance, which preserved Papa’s peace.

Setting down her teacup, Charlotte changed the topic. “Mr. Wickham has proved to be a merry addition to our neighborhood. What do you make of him?”

Elizabeth frowned at the mention of his name. Why did she not smile? She shook her head, determined to be fair in her assessment of his character. “He called yesterday, and he dined with us the evening before.” Charlotte raised her eyebrows, effectively asking for more information without voicing a word. “He gave me and each of my sisters a ride in his curricle while the weather was still fine,” Elizabeth added.

“Clever excuse to single out your conversation.”

“Yes, he admitted as much openly.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows bunched together, and Elizabeth could feel her confusion. “Really? Perhaps I have been overly skeptical of his sincerity.”

Interesting that Charlotte was inclined to suspect his motive, just as Robinson had. “I used the occasion to ask him more directly about Mr. Darcy, and he was happy to comply.” Again, Elizabeth frowned—a strange reaction when she really ought to be grateful to Mr. Wickham for his openness, especially when his comments had altered her opinion about her betrothed considerably.

This, she was eager to share with her closest friend. “Oh, Charlotte, I have always thought of Mr. Darcy as a spoiled heir accustomed to privilege and gratification, but the picture Mr. Wickham painted of his history turned my resentment into sympathy. When I do eventually meet him, I now feel that I can see him for who he truly is without my assumptions and prejudices blinding me.”

“Then Mr. Wickham has done a good service.” Her lips twisted to the side and she frowned at her tea. “Though I fail to understand his motive for letting Purvis Lodge when he must prefer London. He is too fashionable a man to be content in the country for very long.”

Elizabeth had wondered the same. Why would he settle in Hertfordshire if he expected an inheritance? And if he had not yet inherited and was living like a gentleman, how was he paying for living expenses? These, of course, were questions Elizabeth could not ask. Ladies were not supposed to think about money at all or question a gentleman’s use of it, but she had been balancing Longbourn’s accounts for too long not to take such things into consideration. Mr. Wickham had said he was the son of Pemberley’s steward. It was a noble profession, for a certainty, but not one to provide a life with fashionably cut coats, a new curricle, and the cost of a let estate.

They sipped from their cups in silence, contemplating the conundrum of Mr. Wickham. Finally, Charlotte drained her cup and set it on the table. “Maria took an immediate fancy to him⁠—”

“As did Kitty and Lydia.”

Charlotte nodded, “Which inclines me to be cautious where Mr. Wickham is concerned.” She watched her friend closely.

Elizabeth gave her the reaction her friend sought. “My only interest in him lies in what he can tell me about Mr. Darcy.”

“I am relieved to hear it. And Lizzy, I am glad that you are willing to consider that Mr. Darcy might be agreeable.”