Chapter 8
Between Lanes and Parlours
The congregation dispersed slowly into the pale noon light. Mrs. Bennet emerged with unmistakable satisfaction when she observed that Mr. Bingley had attached himself at once to Jane’s side.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst lingered apart; Mr. Hurst appeared guided chiefly by the direction of least resistance.
“You are walking or taking the carriage?” Mr. Bingley asked Jane.
“I think I shall join Elizabeth and walk home with her. We generally do, when the weather permits.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded.
“Then I shall join you, if I may.”
Mr. Bennet, who had overheard, inclined his head. “The lane is public, sir.”
Mr. Bingley laughed, uncertain whether he had been encouraged or warned.
“Darcy, you will walk with us?”
Mr. Darcy had not anticipated the invitation. His glance moved, involuntarily, toward Elizabeth.
“Yes,” he said after a moment.
The word was scarcely spoken before he found himself wondering at it.
He had not intended to accept. Indeed, he could not quite determine what impulse had governed him, for he had already walked with her and her sisters before church, and propriety alone might have furnished him with sufficient reason to decline a second engagement of the same nature.
Yet he had agreed.
He drew a quiet breath, as though the air itself might offer some explanation.
It would have been far more consistent – more prudent, even – to excuse himself, to preserve that careful distance he had lately resolved to maintain.
And yet, when the moment had come, he had not hesitated long enough to refuse.
His eyes lifted again, almost in spite of himself, and rested briefly upon Elizabeth. There was nothing in her manner that solicited his compliance; no expectation, no design. She stood as she ever did – composed, attentive, and entirely unaware of the small disorder she occasioned.
That, perhaps, was reason enough – though he would not have willingly owned it.
Bingley gave brief instructions that his horse should be brought to Longbourn before turning back at once to Jane.
At that moment, Lydia caught sight of her aunt near the churchyard gate.
“There is Aunt Phillips!”
Kitty required no further persuasion. Within moments, both girls were entreating to remain a little in the village.
Mrs. Bennet hesitated only long enough to confirm that Mr. Bingley was still beside Jane. “Very well – but do not detain your uncle.”
And so the party rearranged itself.
Mr. Bingley and Jane had drawn ahead with very little effort. Their conversation flowed with such ease that neither appeared aware of the increasing distance.
Left somewhat behind, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy walked in silence.
Darcy observed Bingley and Jane for a few moments before speaking. “Why do I have the feeling,” he said quietly, “that we are chaperoning?”
Elizabeth glanced at him, amused despite herself. “Perhaps because those two, when together, contrive to forget the existence of all others.”
“They are… engaged.”
“They were so last night as well.”
He looked at her then. “You felt neglected?”
“Quite. I occupied his other side at dinner, yet I might as well have been a decorative object. I am not used to that.”
“I can certainly see that… And Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile. “I should say she was very well satisfied.”
He absorbed this without comment.
“Do you not approve?” she asked, more seriously now.
“It is not a question of approval.”
“Then of what?”
He hesitated – only briefly. “Of consequence.”
She studied him more closely now. “It was your friend who asked Jane to dance twice at the assembly.”
“Yes.”
“And he has shown no inclination to repent of it since.”
“That is evident.”
They walked a few steps in silence. Ahead of them, Mr. Bingley laughed again, entirely unguarded. Elizabeth’s expression softened.
“You altered the seating last night,” he said at length.
Elizabeth stiffened, though she kept her eyes ahead.
“I know you have apologised, but I would know why? Why did you do it? Why me?”
She exhaled slowly. “You will not approve.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“It was… an impulse. I wished to observe how you would conduct yourself. I am not certain I regret it – though I ought.”
His expression did not change. “You intended to provoke me.”
She inclined her head in reluctant admission.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “and how did I perform?”
She almost smiled. “Too well. I had supposed you might resent not being placed at the head of the table beside my father.”
“I assure you, I did not.”
“I see that now.”
A brief silence followed.
“I think,” he said more quietly, “that you did me a service.”
She looked at him in surprise. “In what way?”
“Your mother,” he said, choosing his words with care, “There is more beneath her manner than I had supposed.”
Elizabeth’s expression altered – less defensive now, more thoughtful. “She is… anxious.”
“Yes.”
They did not elaborate.
Ahead of them, this time, they heard Jane laughing. The sound seemed to settle the matter.
They walked a little farther in thoughtful quiet. The lane curved gently; ahead, Mr. Bingley’s voice rose and fell in animated cadence beside Jane.
Elizabeth’s composure altered almost imperceptibly. “May I ask you something?” she said at last.
“You may.”
“It concerns Mr. Wickham.”
He was not entirely surprised. She was clever; she wanted to know more. “Go ahead,” he allowed.
“You said,” she continued carefully, “that some men are not equally careful to keep their friendships. I did not understand you then.” She paused. “I begin to think I ought to have done.”
That arrested him. “What do you wish to understand?” he asked.
She chose her words with more deliberation than was natural to her.
“He told me you had denied him a valuable living. He did not mention he received money.”
Darcy’s expression did not change, but something in his attention sharpened. “No,” he said. “He would not.”
They walked several steps before he continued.
“My father intended him for the church. When the time came, Mr. Wickham preferred to relinquish the claim. He requested compensation instead.”
Elizabeth looked at him. “Compensation?”
“A considerable sum,” he replied evenly. “One he accepted freely.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her face – less from surprise than from the recollection of how readily she had believed otherwise. She did not like that he should be the one to expose her error. “And the living?”
“Some years later, when the living fell vacant, he returned and demanded it. By then, it had been promised elsewhere. I declined to reverse that decision… But, to be truthful, I would not have obliged him nevertheless.”
Elizabeth looked thoughtful. “He must have spent that money then.”
“You mean to say he had wasted it.”
“What do you think?”
Darcy stopped and turned to her. “Miss Elizabeth. This is not a subject I like to discuss. But since you have become involved, I will tell you this. Mr. Wickham and I have long parted ways because we are very different. We do not merely differ, Miss Elizabeth. There are injuries that alter one’s estimation permanently. It is a matter of honour.”
Elizabeth looked at him then – properly – and saw that this was not pride speaking.
Then he added. “I urge you to take care.”
There was something in his tone that carried authority, and Elizabeth felt it at once – and resisted it just as quickly.
She inclined her head. She glanced ahead, ensuring they were not overheard. “I was too ready to accept his explanation,” she said quietly. “I see that now.”
Darcy regarded her steadily.
“You were ready to accept what was plausible,” he said. “That is not a fault.”
“It may be, if plausibility is all one requires.”
He considered that.
“Mr. Wickham possesses a particular talent,” he said at last, “for ingratiating himself where it serves him. He is not merely agreeable. He is deliberate.”
Elizabeth absorbed this without interruption.
“Good manners,” he continued, “can conceal much. One does not always discern the motive at first acquaintance.”
She stiffened slightly. It was one thing to come to that conclusion herself, and another to be told it by Mr. Darcy. “You imply I am easily deceived.”
“I imply nothing of the sort.” His tone remained controlled. “You are young – and generous in your judgement.” He looked away for a moment. “You are in good company. My father never saw his true nature.”
“Indeed?”
Darcy nodded.
They started to walk again.
“Your manners are very different,” she said after a moment. “Does that suggest you are, therefore, a good man?”
One eyebrow lifted. “Should I feel flattered or accused?”
She coloured. “I did not mean – I only meant that you are reserved.”
“That I am.”
“I have often wondered at your friendship with Mr. Bingley. He is very unlike you.”
“Perhaps that,” he said quietly, “is precisely why we are friends. In this case, we are different in a good way.”
Ahead of them, Mr. Bingley looked back at them as if he had just remembered that they were not alone.
Elizabeth looked at Bingley at first, then at Darcy. “Then you do not object?” she asked softly.
“To what?”
“To his… enthusiasm.”
He considered before replying.
“I object only to imprudence,” he said. “Not to happiness.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment. There was a generosity in the sentiment she had not been prepared to hear, and she was uncertain whether to admire it – or to question it.
***
The lane opened toward Longbourn with little ceremony. Mrs. Bennet, who had come out of the house upon observing their approach, did not wait for formalities.
“My dear Mr. Bingley! And Mr. Darcy as well! You cannot possibly return to Netherfield without taking a little refreshment with us. It would be quite unfriendly after so agreeable an evening.”
“It is very kind of you,” Mr. Bingley began at once.
“We would not intrude,” Mr. Darcy said, with measured civility.