Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Colonel Fitzwilliam found Colonel Forster to be an intelligent man, but one whose command rested more upon habit and goodwill than upon close scrutiny.
Wickham, it appeared, had entered the militia highly recommended by Captain Denny—an officer Forster had known for many years—and that endorsement had been accepted without further enquiry.
Forster did speak of having cautioned his officers against incurring debts, whether with tradesmen or at the card table, and seemed satisfied that such warnings, once delivered, need not be repeated.
When Fitzwilliam asked how these cautions were enforced, Forster replied readily that he expected his officers to regulate themselves, adding that no formal complaints had yet reached him.
It was enough to confirm Fitzwilliam’s unease.
Having judged Forster not an overly vigilant man, he chose not to enter into particulars of his own experience with Wickham—particularly as it was already evident that Wickham had begun to cast himself as an injured party, speaking freely of a lost “inheritance.” Fitzwilliam was determined not to introduce Darcy’s name into the matter at all, lest Wickham, feeling pressed, should retaliate by speaking of Georgiana before Lord Granfield’s influence could be brought to bear.
Thus, Fitzwilliam found himself returning to Millwood Cottage far sooner than he had anticipated—and not a little relieved to do so.
After a brief wash and a change into fresher linen, he joined the ladies in the sitting room.
At his entrance, they rose, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet stepped forward at once to perform the introductions, her manner as composed and cordial as he had come to expect.
She had seemed to soften towards him once he abandoned his more overt flirtations, and he found that he enjoyed conversing with his hostess—even as he had grown aware that she regarded him with friendliness, but little more.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present my cousins,” she said, inclining her head towards the two young women unknown to him. “Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Mary Bennet.”
Jane Bennet met him with an open smile and a graceful curtsy. “We are very pleased to make your acquaintance, Colonel,” she said warmly. The second young lady did likewise, yet Fitzwilliam found his attention lingering upon Miss Jane Bennet.
Fitzwilliam bowed to each in turn, his expression attentive and respectful. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Miss Bennet—both of you,” he replied easily. “Your cousin has shown me every kindness since my arrival, and I am gratified to find her family no less welcoming.”
It required no small effort not to linger upon Miss Jane Bennet.
There was an openness in her countenance, a ready warmth that invited confidence; and Fitzwilliam, accustomed as he was to observing such things, could not help wondering whether her circumstances were as favourable as her disposition suggested.
She was certainly very unlike her cousin—and Darcy might find the distinction most convenient, should Fitzwilliam’s own interests settle elsewhere.
Mary greeted him more quietly with a reserved inclination of the head, and soon the party resumed their seats. Fitzwilliam placed himself near Miss Bennet and, after a moment’s consideration, laughed lightly.
“I find myself at a loss,” he said good-humouredly. “I have grown accustomed to calling my hostess Miss Bennet, but with three of you present, I fear I risk offending someone unless properly instructed.”
“I suppose it has not mattered until now, Richard,” Georgiana said with a small smile. “I have merely followed Elizabeth’s lead and called them Jane and Mary. But Elizabeth—what do you advise?”
Elizabeth returned the smile. “By strict right, Jane is Miss Bennet,” she said. “But if it is simpler, you may use our Christian names when we are among friends. I am well accustomed to answering to Miss Elizabeth, and still find it odd to be addressed so often as Miss Bennet.”
“Then I am obliged to you for the indulgence,” Fitzwilliam replied, his expression still warm.
Easily adjusting to the change in address, he spoke to his hostess.
“Miss Elizabeth, might I prevail upon you to order tea? My business in Meryton was concluded with greater speed than comfort, and I find myself in need of refreshment. If I am to acquit myself tolerably in the company of so many lovely young ladies, I should be glad of a little assistance.”
Accustomed by now to his flirtatious manner, Elizabeth complied without remark, noting that both Jane and Mary coloured faintly at his gallantry.
She herself received his compliments with an ease that neither encouraged nor rebuffed them, her tone light, her smile perfectly civil.
There was no awkwardness in her manner; she seemed perfectly composed.
As was typical of him, the colonel soon fell into recounting episodes from his time on the Continent—stories rendered all the more engaging by a light embellishment here and there—which succeeded in amusing most of his audience.
Elizabeth listened politely, even laughing in the proper places, yet Fitzwilliam could not help noticing that her attention wandered more readily than before.
She seemed content to let the animation belong to others, having quietly resolved not to stand at its centre.
It did not escape him that her friendliness towards him remained unchanged after their initial meeting—she remained cordial and regularly displayed her intelligence—but matters between them did not deepen.
If she had seemed curious about him when he arrived, she now appeared settled.
Whatever first impressions he had given, she had forgiven them and was satisfied now with an easy friendship between them.
The discovery did not wound him, but it did sharpen his awareness of how she interacted with his cousin.
After a time she turned to Mrs Annesley, engaging her in quieter conversation, seeming to prefer discourse that required neither performance nor display.
Their exchange had not long been established when Mr Darcy joined them, and not long after, Lord Granfield followed.
In the presence of the ladies from Longbourn, those who resided at Millwood Cottage were careful to address him as Mr Grant, a precaution that—even if not wholly understood—was known to be necessary for the present.
Darcy, too, returned from his errand with a sense of frustration. Releasing a slow breath, he approached the stables, considering all he had learnt that morning.
His first call had been upon the local solicitor, Mr Philips, and it had afforded him a measure of cautious satisfaction.
Wickham had already begun to circulate his account of his lost inheritance, yet Mr Philips regarded the story with a healthy degree of scepticism.
Without prompting, he acknowledged that certain officers, Wickham included, had already begun to show a talent for contracting obligations well beyond their means and admitted that quiet rumblings had already reached him—whispers of significant debts attached to one or two officers in particular.
As yet, those concerns had been voiced too cautiously for most of the townspeople to hear them and without any true sense of the danger they represented.
None were willing to speak to Colonel Forster yet, for they were worried they would not be believed.
They felt certain that the colonel would brush their complaints aside, so they were, at present, being cautious.
“One hears such things often enough when a body of soldiers comes into a village,” Mr Philips said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.
“But it is remarkable how quickly they are excused when a man tells his story with confidence. Give people a few particulars, and they are content to supply the rest for themselves.”
Darcy spoke at first with measured restraint, but it soon became clear that little persuasion was needed. Mr Philips had no great fondness for lofty notions of military honour nor any inclination to overlook habits he had seen often enough in his practice.
“A commission is no proof of character,” Philips went on.
“Indeed, I have known more than one officer who seemed to think it a licence. They are away from home, they have ready credit, and there are always a few who contract debts they never mean to settle—whether with tradesmen or at the card table.”
He had promised discretion and vigilance where he could, undertaking to warn local shopkeepers quietly against extending easy credit to the officers.
Moreover, he hinted—without appearing to do so—that he would speak to his wife.
Mrs Philips, whose talent for circulating information was well known, would be encouraged to remark, in suitably delicate terms, upon the imprudence of military matches and the risks such gentlemen posed to young women of fortune or innocence.
Darcy departed that interview with guarded hope that his second call might prove equally successful.
The hope was thoroughly undermined at Lucas Lodge.
Sir William had apparently accepted Wickham’s account with little question, receiving it as one might a melancholy romance rather than the self-serving fabrication that it was.
Though he stopped short of reprimanding Darcy outright, his remarks bore a clear implication: that Darcy had not conducted himself as a gentleman of his standing ought.