Chapter 4 #2
“Then you shall be admirably served here,” Bingley assured him. “We have encountered the most delightful people. The Lucases are charming, the Philipses most hospitable, and the Bennet family quite exceptional in their—”
“Bennet, you say?” Wickham’s interest sharpened. “A numerous family, I trust?”
“Five daughters, all quite lovely, though each possessed of distinct charms. The eldest, Miss Bennet, is universally acknowledged as a beauty. I danced several sets with her at the last assembly.”
Darcy felt something cold settle in his chest at Bingley’s innocent enthusiasm.
“And I suppose the younger four are similarly charming?” Wickham inquired with faux innocence.
“Oh, yes, the second, Miss Elizabeth, is of the most lively sort, possessing the most engaging wit and intelligence.”
“Elizabeth,” Wickham repeated thoughtfully, and Darcy caught the subtle shift in his expression. “I confess I have always favored that name above all others. Something so… musical about it. Such an elegant choice for a young lady of refinement. Would you not agree, Darcy?”
Darcy met his gaze coolly. “I rarely form opinions about names.”
“No? How curious. I find them most revealing.” Wickham’s smile grated on Darcy’s nerves.
“Tell me, are there other young ladies of that name in your charming neighborhood? I find myself curious about local society, and I confess a particular interest in making the acquaintance of anyone who shares such a lovely appellation.”
Bingley considered this with the earnest attention he applied to all social inquiries. “I believe Miss Elizabeth Bennet is the only one of that name in our immediate circle, though I could not speak to the broader district with certainty.”
“How fascinating.” Wickham’s satisfaction was subtle but unmistakable to anyone who knew him well. “I shall be most eager to make her acquaintance. When one encounters such a charming name, one naturally hopes the bearer will prove equally enchanting. May I inquire about her middle name?”
“Sadly, we do not know her baptismal record,” Bingley said, looking past them. “Perhaps you may inquire of the young lady herself. There are the Bennet sisters now, with Miss Lucas. We should greet them—they are among our nearest neighbors, after all.”
Darcy turned to see a group of young ladies making their way along the street with packages and market baskets. The sight of Elizabeth Bennet sent an unwelcome jolt through his carefully maintained composure.
She walked slightly apart from her sisters, her expression thoughtful rather than animated.
When her eyes met his across the street, Darcy detected a coolness that reminded him uncomfortably of their last encounter.
Her gaze held none of the warmth she directed toward her companions, and he found himself the object of what could only be described as polite but determined indifference.
“Ah,” Bingley exclaimed with obvious delight, “here are some of our charming neighbors. Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! How fortunate to encounter you.”
The ladies approached, offering curtsies as Bingley introduced each sister and Charlotte by name.
Darcy forced himself to bow correctly, though he found it difficult to meet Elizabeth’s gaze directly.
When he did, the coolness he encountered suggested his offense at the assembly remained fresh in her memory.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” Jane Bennet said warmly, though her smile dimmed when addressing Darcy. “How fortunate to meet you today.”
“Most fortunate indeed,” Bingley agreed, his attention fixed entirely on Jane. “Allow me to introduce our friend, Lieutenant George Wickham, recently joined to the militia. Wickham, the Misses Bennet and Miss Lucas.”
Wickham executed a perfect bow. “Ladies, I am honored. The beauty of Hertfordshire has been greatly understated, I see.”
Kitty and Lydia tittered at this flattery, while Jane acknowledged it with gentle grace.
Charlotte Lucas, ever sensible, offered a polite but reserved smile.
It was Elizabeth’s reaction, however, that concerned Darcy most. She regarded Wickham with open curiosity, her expressive eyes assessing him with intelligence that seemed to pierce superficial appearances.
“Lieutenant Wickham,” Elizabeth said, her voice carrying the musical quality that had first caught Darcy’s attention. “You are new to the regiment, then? How do you find Meryton thus far?”
“I have been here but a few days, Miss Elizabeth, yet already I find it exceedingly pleasant.” Wickham’s smile was calculated to charm.
“The landscape is picturesque, the society welcoming, and now I discover the inhabitants to be beyond compare in beauty and grace. I believe I shall be very happy here.”
Darcy observed with growing unease how Wickham emphasized Elizabeth’s name, how his gaze lingered on her face with particular interest.
“You are too kind, Lieutenant,” Elizabeth replied. “Though I suspect a military man might find our quiet neighborhood lacking in excitement after a time.”
“On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth. I have found that true excitement often lies not in grand events but in the quality of one’s company.
” Wickham’s gaze flickered briefly to Darcy before returning to Elizabeth.
“And I confess myself quite delighted to make your acquaintance, particularly with my fondness for the name Elizabeth. There is a certain strength and dignity that suits a woman of intelligence and spirit.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by this direct compliment from a stranger, yet not displeased. “You form opinions about people based on their names, sir? That seems a rather unreliable method of judgment.”
“Perhaps, but it is my belief that names influence character, and your Christian name is the most musical of appellations. Something about the combination of syllables suggests strength and grace—qualities which, if I may be so bold, you appear to embody admirably.”
Darcy watched Elizabeth’s reaction to this flattery with dismay. After his slight at the assembly, Wickham’s smooth compliments would be all the more appealing. The thought of Elizabeth falling under his influence was almost unbearable.
Darcy could warn her of Wickham’s true character.
Not that such a warning was possible. To speak ill of Wickham would require explanation, and explanation would necessitate revealing Georgiana’s near-ruin—a confidence Darcy would protect at all costs.
Even if he were willing to expose his sister’s pain, who would believe him?
Wickham’s charm and apparent openness made him immediately likable, while Darcy’s reserve was often misinterpreted as arrogance.
He was trapped, and Wickham knew it.