Chapter I #2
“While I hesitate to contradict you,” replied Mr. Wickham, “I am afraid I have many years’ acquaintance to inform me otherwise. Darcy’s father was the best man I ever met, but his son is proud and disagreeable, and not at all averse to throwing off friends of longstanding.”
“By that, I must assume you refer to yourself.”
“Among others,” confirmed Mr. Wickham with a shrug. “My offenses include the withholding of a living that was designed for my support by his father, wishes that he ignored without hesitation.”
“Oh?” asked Mr. Hurst, skepticism clear. “You do not seem the sort who would take a clerical living.”
“It seems we shall never find out, since Darcy declined to do his father’s bidding.”
“And your ordination?” Mr. Hurst did not press, but it was clear he did not believe a word of what he was told. “If you persisted, an ordination would unlock doors for you, though without a patron you would not obtain a living immediately.”
“With no support, do you suppose I could afford to attend the seminary?”
“Old Mr. Darcy died five years ago,” replied Mr. Hurst. “By that time, I judge you would have been old enough to attend and perhaps even graduate.”
“This is all amusing, but the dance floor awaits. Come, Miss Elizabeth, let us join your sisters.”
The exchange was confusing. Elizabeth assented, though she cast a glance at Mr. Hurst before the officer led her away, noting his placid, almost disinterested look. When his gaze slipped to Mr. Wickham, however, a hint of hardness appeared.
As they took their spots in the line, Mr. Wickham attempted to engage her in conversation, but Elizabeth had little head for it, for her mind was more disagreeably engaged.
The points Mr. Hurst raised were excellent, subjects that Elizabeth had never considered.
Beyond the gentleman’s assertion of Mr. Wickham’s failure to pursue his ordination or the timing of his education, one thought rose above them all.
Mr. Wickham had claimed he would never defame Mr. Darcy because of the respect he had for his father.
Why, then, had he spoken of it to Mr. Hurst, and why had he revealed the matter to Elizabeth in the first place?
HENRY BENNET WAS NOT a man who enjoyed much society, and when he did venture forth, it was for the privilege of watching his fellow men and laughing at their follies.
A gathering at Sir William Lucas’s house was replete with such opportunities, for the gentleman was such an amusing study that even if their neighbors did not provide Bennet with fodder, the host certainly would.
Bennet did not spend all his time at the party in such pursuits, but it was a benefit that made the evening bearable.
Perhaps it was the similarity in their indifference to such gatherings that drew them together, but later in the evening, Bennet found himself next to I.
Hurst, and his society was not at all displeasing.
After sharing a greeting, they began talking and, in time, became comfortable with each other’s company.
I. Hurst was not much of a reader, though he had a few interesting insights about the works he had read.
As Bennet was a devoted bibliophile, that avenue of conversation was not of much interest to a man who preferred brandy to books.
Where Hurst shone was in his droll observations of the company—several of his comments might have come from Bennet’s own mouth!
“We were all surprised by your return, sir,” said Bennet after they had been sitting together for a time.
As he expected, Hurst offered nothing more than a grunt at this observation.
While Bennet had some notion and equal curiosity about the reason for the Bingley party’s departure, especially after the man had appeared besotted with his eldest, that query was about as far as he would push.
Hurst did not seem the sort of man to pay much attention to such things, and though Jane’s spirits were depressed, he had never thought her feelings so developed as to suffer irreparable harm with Bingley’s decampment.
“Your daughters appear as lively as ever tonight,” said Hurst instead of reacting to his comment.
“Too lively by half,” agreed Bennet, taking a sip of his punch, wondering what Sir William had put in it. “It is the curse of a man with naught but five daughters to endure them with scarce a word of sense spoken.”
Bennet paused and gazed at his second eldest, feeling the easy affection and respect well up in his breast. “Then again, Lizzy has more wit than the rest, a genuine joy in an old man’s life.
If she still tends to such talk as would interest a young lady, I forgive her of these little lapses, for she is as intelligent as any man. ”
“Darcy seemed to think so. Why, I recall her meeting him with crossed swords when she stayed at Netherfield, and more than once she had him befuddled.”
“Is that so?” asked Bennet, turning to regard his companion. “I thought Darcy was far too interested in contemplating his lofty position to pay attention to a woman such as my daughter. It is well known in the community that he has no appreciation for her charms.”
Hurst barked a laugh. “Can I assume you refer to Darcy’s comment the night of their first encounter?”
“I beg your pardon, Hurst,” said Bennet with a grin, raising his glass to his lips again, “but I should keep some subjects in confidence.”
Knowing was the only word Bennet could use to describe Hurst’s manner. “Then she overheard him. Well, well, that is interesting and no mistake. It explains her frosty manners with him, though I will note that Darcy appeared not to perceive it.”
“When a man looks at a woman to see naught but blemishes, it is reasonable to suppose that much misses his attention.”
“If the man were not Darcy, I would agree with you,” replied Hurst. “Perhaps I should say nothing further, so I shall say only this: I doubt Darcy looked on your daughter with disfavor. In fact, I suspect his feelings were much warmer.”
“It appears we shall never know, unless he means to return.”
It was no surprise that Hurst did not reply. Matters of the heart and the romantic entanglements of his daughters were no fit subject for any man.
“Not all your daughters are equally lively,” continued Hurst, returning to the original subject. “Miss Elizabeth and your youngest are, but your middle daughter and your eldest appear to be cut from another cloth.”
“Mary is never so happy as when she is playing her mournful dirges,” quipped Bennet. “Or quoting Fordyce. As for Jane . . . Well, she can be lively enough when the circumstances permit. Of late, she has not been in good spirits.”
“Unhappy, is she?”
The question was mild, but Bennet knew Hurst would understand the reason for Jane’s recent doldrums, even if he had no sympathy. It was not Hurst’s place to push his brother in the path of any woman, so Bennet opted for humor instead of accusation.
“Let us say that a lady often enjoys being crossed in love and leave it at that.”
Hurst made no response at all, and Bennet was content to drop the subject. For a time, they sat together in desultory conversation, speaking of little of consequence.
“Tell me, sir,” said Bennet after a time of this, “do you mean to stay in Hertfordshire or will you return to London for Christmas?”
“For the moment, I consider myself quite settled here,” replied Hurst. “Nothing is drawing me back for the moment, and I find the company there not at all to my taste.”
The potential meanings of that statement were enough to raise Bennet’s interest, but he tamped it down, knowing it was none of his business.
“Then I hope you will accept my invitation to join us for our Christmas celebration at Longbourn. Christmas is not a time for anyone to be alone.”
“Thank you, Bennet, I accept,” said Hurst as Bennet had known he would. “Please give my compliments to your wife. I have heard it rumored in Meryton that she sets a fine table, indeed.”
“I shall do so,” replied Bennet. “If you find yourself at sixes and sevens at Netherfield, pray visit Longbourn at any time. Other than Lizzy, I have not had a challenge at chess for longer than I care to remember. If you play, I should be happy to pit my skills against yours.”
“I do, sir,” replied Hurst. “Thank you for the invitation—I should be happy to accept.”
MR. BENNET’S COMFORTABLE position speaking with Mr. Hurst did not escape Elizabeth’s attention.
It was curious, as she did not think her father had exchanged more than two words with Mr. Hurst before that evening.
A moment’s thought told Elizabeth that they were not dissimilar in their disinclination for society, so perhaps that drew them together.
Another thing Elizabeth noticed was her mother’s reaction to Mr. Hurst’s presence.
The sight of the gentleman provoked paroxysms just as Elizabeth would have expected had she considered in advance, only settling under the patient ministrations of Elizabeth’s Aunt Gardiner, who had always had a deft touch.
Should her mother have the opportunity, Elizabeth knew she would question Mr. Hurst about Mr. Bingley’s absence, and given the mortification attendant on such an application, she hoped that Mr. Hurst would keep his distance.
After that one interaction with Mr. Hurst, Elizabeth had no interest in furthering a conversation with the gentleman.
She had little interest in him, never having considered him much of a conversationalist, and he appeared more comfortable with her father anyway.
Thus, she paid him little attention, instead focusing on her friends, and at times, the officers.
Mr. Wickham had become a favorite, but as Elizabeth esteemed several of the other men, she found herself well entertained.