Chapter VII #2
Not knowing what to make of it, Elizabeth examined the officer before her.
Mr. Wickham spoke of hope and Miss Darcy’s pining, but Elizabeth could see nothing of it.
Nothing in her reaction upon seeing him suggested unrequited love, but apprehension.
Furthermore, there was such a vast gulf between them—she, the granddaughter of an earl, while Mr. Wickham’s descent was decidedly common—that any union between them must be highly problematic at best. No woman of that lineage and position in society would contemplate such a union.
Even Elizabeth, who was only the daughter of a minor country squire, could not imagine marrying so decidedly beneath her!
All at once, Elizabeth noted Mr. Wickham’s study, as if he was waiting for her response, and she realized she had been quiet for several moments. Though uncertain what she should say to him, Elizabeth decided a cautious reply was for the best.
“That is unfortunate, Mr. Wickham. I hope that you will recover from your disappointment.”
Elizabeth could see at once that he was not pleased with her comment. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but I do not wish to recover. Rather, I wish the freedom to follow my heart, for the woman I love to follow hers.”
“Do you not consider it a most unequal match?” asked Elizabeth.
When his countenance darkened, Elizabeth hastened to add: “I am not insulting you, Mr. Wickham. But the truth is that Miss Darcy is the granddaughter of an earl—do you suppose that I, as the daughter of a simple gentleman, could aspire to marry a man of Mr. Darcy’s consequence and position in society? ”
“You wish to attract Darcy’s attention?” demanded Mr. Wickham with some heat, as if shocked by the very notion.
“Not at all,” replied Elizabeth. “It was merely an example to illustrate the chasm between us. If I, as a member of the lower gentry, cannot aspire to a man of Mr. Darcy’s prominence, how could you, as the son of a steward, aspire to his sister?
I do not mean to offend, but you are not a gentleman, Mr. Wickham. ”
Something she said offended Mr. Wickham, despite her assurances otherwise. The man’s expression never faltered, but his eyes glittered, revealing a cold glint in their depths that was quickly extinguished.
“I must own that I am disappointed, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Wickham, his voice growing icy. “I never would have expected you, of all people, would cling to such notions as barriers between the classes.”
“Perhaps you have not experienced life in gentle circles, Mr. Wickham. As a gentlewoman, I would not wish to marry below my station. A modest gentleman, even a parson would be acceptable, but for a gentlewoman to marry so low is simply not done.”
Mr. Wickham’s expression remained neutral, then he brightened, though Elizabeth thought his sudden joviality was feigned.
“Then I commend you for it, Miss Elizabeth, though I advise you to fix your attention on some other man. Darcy is far too proud to pay attention to you or anyone of your acquaintance.”
“And I have never suggested that I wished for Mr. Darcy’s attentions,” replied Elizabeth. “I merely mentioned it as a comparison, not ambition.”
“Very well. For my part, I hope you will indulge my fantasy. It is said that love conquers all—I shall not allow my desire to die until all hope is lost.”
Not knowing what to say, Elizabeth did not respond.
In time, Mr. Wickham drifted away to where Lydia and Kitty were holding court with Mr. Denny and Mr. Sanderson.
On his way, he stopped and exchanged a few words with Mr. Darcy, comments that did not look at all cordial.
Then he joined his fellow officers, but Elizabeth could easily see that he was not participating in the discussion so much as watching Mr. Darcy, sardonic amusement etched on his features.
With a start, Elizabeth also noted him watching Miss Darcy, who was situated with Mrs. Bennet.
The moment Mr. Wickham moved closer to his sister, Mr. Darcy stepped nearby, appearing the very picture of a man guarding his charge.
Mr. Wickham managed to make a comment to Miss Darcy, then she saw Miss Darcy snapping back, then Mr. Darcy got involved and said a few harsh words.
Mr. Wickham threw a rueful glance at Elizabeth, then moved away.
That glance stayed with Elizabeth, for she could not understand what it meant.
It seemed to suggest that Mr. Wickham was being unjustly persecuted, and he wished Elizabeth to know, but she was not certain that was what happened.
There was something amiss here, something of which she was not aware, something between the Darcys and Mr. Wickham beyond the living or their previous connection.
It bothered her, for she suspected Mr. Wickham had not told her everything. Perhaps he had even lied.
UPON SEEING THE SMIRKING visage of George Wickham when he entered Longbourn’s sitting-room, Darcy felt his fists ball up in rage.
Every doubt, every instinct that had warned him to distrust this family returned to his mind, screaming at him to take his sister and leave this place forever.
To host George Wickham, of all men, in their home as if he was not an adder skulking in the grass ready to strike was almost more than he could bear.
Then sanity reasserted itself, and Darcy did his best to calm himself.
Wickham was adept at appearing the gentleman, though not so adept at acting like one, and was quite capable of insinuating himself into the lives of those who did not suspect him.
That Miss Elizabeth had ignored Darcy’s warning bothered him, but given her frame of mind that night, Darcy supposed it should not be a surprise.
If the Bennets chose to associate with such a man of degraded principles as Wickham, the consequences, Darcy thought, were on their heads.
“I suppose that I should have expected Mr. Wickham to come here,” said Georgiana softly, drawing Darcy from his bleak thoughts.
Darcy shrugged. “Wickham is accepted in the neighborhood, so it is natural that he would visit.”
Georgiana turned to look at him, and Darcy noted something in her expression he could not identify. “Mr. Wickham is accepted? How can that be?”
Uncertain, Darcy said: “He is adept at portraying himself as something he is not, Georgiana. You have enough experience with his manners to know that.”
“Miss Darcy, how wonderful it is to see you,” said Mrs. Bennet.
As the Bennet matron drew her in for a closer conversation, Georgiana glanced back at Darcy, her look telling him that she had something more to say.
What it was Darcy did not know; he pushed it aside in favor of watching Wickham, determined to do everything he could to foil whatever intrigues he was now plotting.
For a time, Wickham appeared content to stay with Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy watched, seeing their close conversation, wondering that Miss Elizabeth, who he knew was as perceptive as anyone, could not see through him.
Their conversation appeared secretive and personal, and for a time, Darcy suspected her of admiration.
Then the interaction changed, though from what Darcy could see, Wickham saw nothing of it.
That was one of Wickham’s flaws—he could spot danger, townsfolk turning on him, or merchants checking their records, from several counties away.
But he had a peculiar talent for believing every woman on whom he turned his charm believed every word he said.
It started small, an expression of confusion or a slight hesitation in Miss Elizabeth’s response.
Soon, she was watching him as if uncertain, though Darcy did not think she had begun to suspect him just yet.
Once, Darcy caught her look in his direction—perhaps she was remembering the warning he had given her at the ball.
All about them, the sounds of a morning visit assaulted Darcy.
The youngest girls giggled, Bingley and Miss Bennet whispered to each other, the officers flirted, and Mrs. Bennet plied Darcy’s sister with mothering comments designed to make her feel welcome.
Darcy saw nothing of it, for his attention was fixed upon Miss Elizabeth.
At length, Wickham excused himself, leaving Miss Elizabeth peering at his retreating form, contemplative and uncertain.
For the briefest of moments, he caught Miss Elizabeth’s eye, but she looked away at once, following the retreating form of the libertine.
Then Darcy realized that Wickham was passing close enough to speak.
“How wonderful it is to see you, Darcy,” sneered he. “Though I am curious. I might never have thought the great Fitzwilliam Darcy would slum at such a place as Longbourn. Is it not too low for your standards, or do you knock the dust of this place off your feet when you leave?”
“At least my welcome does not depend on others lacking information about my character.”
Wickham laughed, a harsh, grating bray akin to that of a donkey. From behind him, where Darcy could see but Wickham could not, he noticed Miss Elizabeth’s frown and nodded with grim satisfaction to himself. She was starting to understand.
“No, it does not,” said Wickham. “If you had them, perhaps you could attract people to you by releasing your charm and winsome manners.” Wickham smirked. “Since you possess none of those qualities, I suppose you must rely on your wealth to gain access.”
“The lies you have told yourself over the years are most amusing, Wickham. It is unfortunate for you that the moment others discover your character, their first thoughts are for pitchforks or the pillory.”
“And yet, I am untouched.”
Darcy bared his teeth. “That is entirely because I paid your debts in Lambton and Cambridge, and you run like a dog with your tail between your legs everywhere else.”
Wickham scowled—Darcy knew he considered himself justified and never liked to have his crimes pointed out to him. “We shall see who is running away from Meryton, Darcy.”
Then he turned away and joined the youngest Bennet sisters and his fellows. A moment later, he was engaged in their loud laughter, though Darcy noted Wickham’s frequent glances at Georgiana.
Matters remained this way for a time, Darcy watching Wickham carefully, Miss Elizabeth doing the same. Georgiana, he noticed, was composed, speaking with Mrs. Bennet with perfect civility, though perhaps not eagerness. Then matters changed again.
Georgiana rose, excused herself, then made her way toward Miss Elizabeth, who was still standing on the other side of the room, watching the scene. Wickham moved to intercept her, and Darcy was moving before he had taken two steps.
“Be silent, Mr. Wickham!” said Georgiana when the scoundrel drew close, her voice low and firm. “If you say one word to me, I shall call Cousin Anthony to Meryton to deal with you.”
Wickham’s eyes widened, and he halted in his tracks, shocked that Georgiana had spoken to him in such a tone. Then his lips firmed, and his jaw tightened. Before he could say anything, Darcy stepped forward to prevent it.
“I would advise against it, Wickham,” said Darcy. “Do not give me a reason to use the power I hold over you.”
“I fear nothing you can do,” said Wickham, though he became instantly wary.
“You should,” said Georgiana, her pitiless glare showing she was not intimidated by him anymore. “One word from my brother, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in the squalor of debtors’ prison.”
“Take care, little Georgiana,” spat Wickham. “Perhaps it would be wise to recall that I have information that will see you ruined in society forever.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Wickham. Tell your tales and see how much these people will believe. The moment you open your mouth, you will seal your fate.”
Though Wickham fixed her with an imperious glare, he said nothing more, returning to his fellows.
Darcy, who had never had any trouble seeing through him, recognized Wickham’s consternation.
The girl he remembered had never spoken in such a way so long as he had known her.
Part of Georgiana’s maturity had come at great cost—Wickham had only himself to blame for stiffening her spine.
“Brother,” said Georgiana, “something must be done about him.”
Darcy turned back to his sister, noting a resolve he had never seen from her before. “Now is not the time to discuss Wickham.”
“Then we shall discuss him later.”
With that, Georgiana turned away, leaving Darcy standing by himself.
Soon, she was next to Miss Elizabeth, and though Darcy did not know the content of their conversation, he did not think she was speaking of Wickham.
That was for the best, though the reasons for Darcy’s caution were becoming less clear.
A short time later, the officers announced their intention to depart. Though the youngest Bennets did not appear pleased, the men said their farewells. Trust Wickham to make a scene when he should simply depart.
“How fortunate we are to have enjoyed your excellent hospitality, Mrs. Bennet,” said he in that charming manner he had cultivated. “I hope we will be allowed to return in the near future, for no house is so welcoming.”
Mrs. Bennet was pleased with Mr. Wickham’s flattery. “It is no trouble, Mr. Wickham. I dare say that you and the other officers are welcome to visit at any time convenient.”
“Excellent. I am certain we shall be much in company.”
Then, with a final sneering glance at Darcy, Wickham departed with his comrades, the youngest Bennets following them from the room, escorting them to Longbourn’s entrance. For the first time since their arrival, Darcy heaved a sigh of relief. Dealing with Wickham was always exhausting.