Chapter VIII
Perhaps it was Elizabeth’s imagination, but the atmosphere in Longbourn’s sitting-room lightened with the officers’ removal from the house, though a certain tension still lingered.
Kitty and Lydia lamented their going, of course, but that was not unexpected, considering how they had carried on about the officers since October.
Miss Darcy, who was now standing and speaking to Elizabeth, tried to give the appearance of unconcern, but there seemed to be some .
. . new maturity about her, or so Elizabeth supposed.
Not for the first time, she wondered just what the truth was about Mr. Wickham’s connection with the Darcys.
“What excellent young men the officers are,” said Mrs. Bennet with a sigh, as if she were scarcely older than Lydia rather than a matron with five grown daughters. “How fortunate we are that they chose to visit together, and so dashing in their regimentals.”
“Oh, the officers are the best of men,” said Lydia. “And we are fortunate enough to have a whole regiment at our disposal.”
“Lydia,” warned Elizabeth, fixing her sister with a stern look. “It would be best if you did not speak in such a way. The officers are not at your disposal.”
“You are only jealous because most of them prefer me.” Lydia scowled. “Even if you have managed to secure Mr. Wickham’s attention, I doubt you will hold it.”
“Indeed, you are incorrect, Lydia,” replied Elizabeth, steel in her voice. “Mr. Wickham may do what he chooses—I did not ask for his attention, nor do I consider myself affected by his pretty manners.”
“That is for the best,” murmured Miss Darcy, though Elizabeth was certain no one else could hear. Behind her, Elizabeth could see Mr. Darcy regarding her—when she caught his eyes, he gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment, though what he meant by it was uncertain.
“Perhaps we should focus our attention on our guests, rather than those already departed,” said Elizabeth diplomatically, hoping to prevent further damage.
Lydia huffed, and Kitty appeared confused, but Mrs. Bennet stopped for several moments, her eyes on Jane.
The way Mr. Bingley and Jane’s heads were together in close conversation, it was possible he had not heard the exchange at all.
Mrs. Bennet might not understand the reason for not speaking of the officers incessantly, but she was at least belatedly aware that she should be more circumspect—keeping Mr. Bingley’s attention on Jane was, after all, her mother’s foremost concern.
Then there was Mr. Darcy’s severe demeanor to consider.
“Well, perhaps it is best to speak of the officers in more appropriate terms,” said Mrs. Bennet, surprising Elizabeth.
Then Miss Darcy surprised her by speaking softly. “Miss Elizabeth, it surprised me to see Mr. Wickham welcomed here. Can . . . can I ask how he has behaved in Meryton?”
It was on Elizabeth’s mind to take offense on Mr. Wickham’s behalf.
Had Mr. Darcy not already done enough to blacken his good name without turning his sister against him?
Then Elizabeth remembered Mr. Wickham’s words about this girl, his claims of her haughtiness when she was simply shy.
Then she thought of how he had tried to turn that into a narrative about being in love with her, as if that explained why he was so mistaken.
Whatever was happening here, it was about much more than just a dispute between Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy.
Though Elizabeth still did not care much for Mr. Darcy, she could acknowledge that Mr. Wickham had not been honest. That made her cautious.
“To own the truth,” said Elizabeth, “I do not know Mr. Wickham well at all. We met him on the street, then at my aunt’s house, but since then, I have met him but once before today. He . . .”
Elizabeth paused, wondering about the wisdom of continuing, then decided to forge ahead. “Mr. Wickham told me in confidence that he considered you haughty and above your company—much like your brother.”
Comprehension came over Miss Darcy’s face, though she did not appear angry. “Then when we visited that first day . . .”
With a sigh, Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. I wondered if I was about to meet a woman who would disdain us for our circumstances.”
Miss Darcy pressed Elizabeth’s hands. “I hope you do not think that about me.”
“Not at all!” Elizabeth hastened to say. She paused, wondering if this nascent friendship with Miss Darcy was about to end. “That is, I saw at once that you were nothing like Mr. Wickham’s description of you.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss Darcy, “I would urge you not to listen to anything Mr. Wickham says. The man is a bounder, a debtor, and a seducer of women—I have personal experience with his ways, not just what my brother has said about him, though I will own that William knows much more than I do.”
Elizabeth, though uncertain, offered a nod. “I shall take care.”
“Good. Now, unless you wish to stand upon formality, I should hope that we are acquainted enough to dispense with it.”
“Thank you, I should like that,” Elizabeth said with a smile.
It was only a short time later that Kitty and Lydia approached, determined to secure Georgiana’s attention for themselves.
Though Georgiana appeared a little hesitant, she went with them and soon was sitting in their midst. A critical study of the three girls revealed that while Elizabeth’s sisters controlled the conversation, Georgiana did not remain silent.
Elizabeth wondered if she had meant to say more about Mr. Wickham, but as there did not appear to be any opportunity for it, she put the notion from her mind for the moment.
A few moments’ observation informed Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy was now in need of a partner, for the gentleman stood alone, watching the room with what appeared to be contemplation.
Mary was also not speaking to anyone, but as Mary was often in that state, Elizabeth did not concern herself with her sister’s eccentricities, and she did not think it right to shun a guest in their home.
Thus, Elizabeth took a deep breath and approached the gentleman.
It did not take much to discern that the gentleman was watching her approach.
“Your sister is delightful, Mr. Darcy,” said she when she reached his side. “Miss Bingley’s praise was not at all exaggerated, regardless of her motives.”
The gentleman regarded her before speaking. “It does not surprise me that you understand something of her motives, but I will own that I thought you were not disposed to approve of Georgiana.”
“Approval is not mine to give,” said Elizabeth, understanding he had seen something of her hesitation during the dinner. “It is understandable to exercise circumspection when meeting a new acquaintance, is it not?”
“Perhaps it is,” replied Mr. Darcy.
“After dinner, I thought we were on the way to becoming firm friends,” Elizabeth insisted.
“I am certain Georgiana appreciates your efforts; she does not make friends easily.”
“Yes, I believe I understand that facet of her character.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, but he fell silent, a hint of severity coming over his features. While he studied her, Elizabeth put on her bravest face, determined to show him that he was not intimidating her with his scrutiny. A moment later, he spoke.
“When we arrived, I noticed you speaking with Wickham.”
“I was,” said Elizabeth, no apology in her tone. “Mr. Wickham approached me when he entered the room. As this is my mother’s sitting-room, it would be churlish to refuse to speak with a visitor.”
Mr. Darcy gave no indication of his feelings on the subject. “And did you find the conversation pleasing?”
“Less pleasing the longer it continued.”
The way Mr. Darcy nodded, Elizabeth was certain she had verified something—perhaps his observations. Then his manner turned direct.
“If you will excuse me, Miss Elizabeth, I am curious. When I first saw you with Wickham, I was concerned that you disregarded my warning about him.”
“Warning?” demanded Elizabeth, incredulous. “What warning do you call it, Mr. Darcy? To the best of my recollection, you insinuated that Mr. Wickham lacked the ability to retain friends.”
“Is that not enough?”
Elizabeth regarded him, wondering if he was truly this deficient or just blind. “If you have something specific to say about Mr. Wickham, then I invite you to say it. Such a nebulous comment is wholly insufficient to put me on my guard.”
“Should you not be wary of a new acquaintance?”
“I am always wary,” Elizabeth shot back. “To this point, Mr. Wickham’s behavior has not revealed him to be false—I know no harm of him.”
“It is always thus with Wickham,” replied Mr. Darcy. “He feigns gentlemanly comportment until he builds trust, then he reverts to form.”
“And what form is that, Mr. Darcy?”
“I have no wish to enumerate the specifics of Wickham’s faults, Miss Elizabeth. Suffice to say that Wickham does what he wishes and cares little for the consequences he evades.”
By now, Elizabeth was becoming frustrated. “I cannot understand the reason for your silence, Mr. Darcy. If Mr. Wickham is a man we should not trust, should you not tell me openly and without disguise?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
It was a challenge, nothing less, and one that forced Elizabeth to face her own biases.
If Mr. Darcy had said something about Mr. Wickham only a few days before, as he had during the ball at Netherfield, Elizabeth would have pushed it aside as untruth, revenge against a childhood companion now thrown aside.
Elizabeth was wiser now, she hoped, and had learned to question Mr. Wickham.
“Even if I were inclined to caution, do you not suppose you should relate what you know? If those you warn do not choose to heed your counsel, that is their choice, is it not?”
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy with exaggerated patience, “Wickham is not a welcome subject to anyone in my family. During our dance at Netherfield, I offered what I could, based on my experiences with him.”