Chapter 11 Wickham Schemes #2
As Wickham entered the Philips’ home for the card party behind the others, he took stock of the five sisters with care.
He was introduced to all the Bennet ladies again, even the ones he had met the day before.
The youngest were unworthy of his notice, but the eldest revealed something more.
The faint tightening of her lips and the restless watch upon her sister revealed discontent that could be useful to his purpose.
Satisfied, he moved in with practised caution.
“Miss Bennet,” he murmured deferentially, his smile a model of respect.
“Fortune smiles on me tonight. I met your sisters yesterday, and though they are all lovely, I cannot deny you surpass them. Indeed, since my arrival I have already heard much of your kindness. Every officer in the militia seems to think you little short of angelic.”
Jane coloured at the compliment, her eyes flickering uncertainly towards Elizabeth, who was engaged in conversation across the room.
It was not the first time their neighbours had shown such interest in her sister, and even the newly arrived officers seemed more captivated by Elizabeth’s lively wit than by her own gentler charms. For the briefest moment, something like jealousy shadowed Jane’s expression—a fleeting crack in her usual composure that did not escape Wickham’s notice.
Sensing opportunity, he smiled inwardly and began to press his advantage.
“In the village I have heard much of you and your sisters. Miss Elizabeth is often named, yet I cannot think she eclipses you, as others suppose. To me, I would expect that you are the more engaging.” His eyes lingered, watching her cheeks grow warmer.
“Pray tell me there is not a suitor or that you are engaged, for I should be loath to believe my chance already lost.”
Jane lowered her gaze, unsettled by the intensity of his words.
She had been so pleased to see Mr Bingley again yesterday, yet when she compared his light, amiable attentions with Mr Darcy’s unmistakable devotion towards Elizabeth, her confidence faltered.
She and Elizabeth had spoken little of late, but Elizabeth had confessed that her opinion of Mr Darcy had altered since their stay at Netherfield.
The admission had left Jane surprised—and uncertain of her own place in Mr Bingley’s thoughts.
How swiftly her sister’s feelings seemed to have deepened, and how clearly Mr Darcy’s regard shone when set beside Mr Bingley’s cheerful but inconsequential conversation.
She recalled their time at Netherfield, where Mr Bingley’s attentions had been warm and frequent, yet somehow lacking the depth she had witnessed between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy.
A quiet ache stirred within her, accompanied by the unwelcome question of whether she had mistaken friendliness for affection—and whether she, so cautious in expressing her own feelings, had given him any reason to pursue her more earnestly.
The contrast between the two troubled her, yet Wickham’s praise warmed her. To be singled out, to be told she was not overlooked, stirred a pleasure she could not wholly deny. That another handsome gentleman found her interesting, and spoke of it directly, was gratifying.
He let his suggestion linger between them, watching the flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Then, with an air of restraint, as though recalling himself, he softened his tone.
“Pardon me. I am too forward. Yet it would be impossible to stand in the presence of such grace and gentleness and not remark upon it.”
Jane’s colour deepened, and she lifted her eyes to look through her lashes. “You are very kind, sir, even if I cannot think I deserve such praise. We have just met this evening, and have not spoken at length. How can you be certain it is not misplaced?”
Wickham inclined his head, his expression grave yet touched with admiration. “I assure you, Miss Bennet, liveliness and accomplishment are always admired, but it is gentleness of spirit that leaves the truest impression. That is what I see in you.”
A small smile touched Jane’s lips before she could check it, and she quickly looked away, unwilling to betray how deeply his words affected her.
“Thank you, sir,” she said softly. “You are far too kind.”
Their exchange continued in the same agreeable vein for several minutes, Wickham offering compliments with practised ease and Jane replying with gentle modesty. Then, as if remarking upon something trivial, he shifted the subject with studied care.
“I could not help but notice, when I came upon them yesterday, that Mr Darcy was engaged in very earnest conversation with your sister. An interesting choice of companion, would you not agree? I have known him since childhood—we grew up on his father’s estate and attended school together—and he has never struck me as a man to bestow his notice lightly.
And yet, to find his attentions so suddenly fixed upon Miss Elizabeth—well, it surprises me almost as much as it must astonish those who know him even better. ”
“What can you mean, sir?” Jane asked, looking startled.
Wickham’s smile was slight, his tone deceptively mild.
“Darcy so rarely troubles himself to speak with women—at least, not gentlewomen. In town, it was whispered this Season that he might at last pursue a wife, yet I was astonished to see his notice fixed on a young lady without fortune. Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I intend no slight of you or your family. But Darcy is expected to marry very highly indeed. For him to single out a young lady from Hertfordshire…” He paused, his eyes glinting with something harder than amusement.
“I would be sorry to see any young lady suffer disappointment at his hands.”
Jane’s lips parted, but no reply came. Though his words were framed with courtesy, their implication chilled her.
Mr Darcy’s recent attentions to Elizabeth had already unsettled her—particularly as her sister appeared to accept them so readily—and now Jane began to wonder whether there was some design behind them.
What if Mr Wickham’s conjecture were true, and Mr Darcy’s pursuit of Elizabeth served some underhanded, if not outright nefarious, purpose?
Lieutenant Wickham continued, offering further accounts of his dealings with Darcy: vague but troubling descriptions of gambling at university, of careless behaviour towards women, and of the living he claimed should have been his after the elder Mr Darcy’s death—only to have it withheld, as he said, out of spite.
Jane listened in silence, uncertain how much weight to grant his words, yet unable to dismiss them entirely.
The contrast between Mr Bingley’s conduct and that of his friend grew increasingly apparent to her.
Since their stay at Netherfield, Mr Darcy’s attentions towards Elizabeth had become more open and deliberate, while Mr Bingley’s, though kind, seemed marked by a certain reserve.
Jane could not help but wonder whether Elizabeth—who had once despised Mr Darcy—had secured the stronger attachment, while she herself was left to question Mr Bingley’s intentions.
The thought brought with it a quiet pang she scarcely wished to acknowledge.
Now, however, in light of Mr Wickham’s revelations, the change in Mr Darcy’s behaviour assumed a more troubling aspect.
If his regard for Elizabeth proved no more than a passing fancy, or worse, an opportunity for trifling, what humiliation might it bring upon her sister—and what disgrace upon their family?
And should Mr Bingley follow his friend’s example and withdraw his attentions as quietly, would not both sisters appear little more than unguarded girls, easily discarded?
Would their friends not wonder why two suitors had retreated with such haste?
She drew a steadying breath. “You must be mistaken, sir. My sister is perfectly capable of judging a man’s character. She would never be misled simply because a wealthy gentleman paid her attention, however unexpected that attention might be. Nor would she be so easily deceived as you suggest.”
Her tone was gentle, but beneath it stirred a faint, unfamiliar satisfaction as another thought struck her: she possessed knowledge Elizabeth did not.
For once, Jane was the wiser, discerning a danger her clever sister might not see.
A sting of jealousy mingled with a sense of duty; Elizabeth had been the object of so much attention of late while Jane was left in uncertainty.
She told herself she must warn her sister—yet a small, guilty part of her relished the advantage.
Wickham inclined his head gravely. “Even the most sensible young lady might be taken unawares when admiration is offered by one so practised in concealing his true nature.”
Jane’s fingers tightened on her gown, torn between defending Elizabeth and the uneasy triumph of holding such knowledge close.
He dropped his gaze as though regretting his words. “Pardon my words. I ought not to speak further. It is not in my nature to malign another, least of all before a lady. And yet—” He paused, letting the words trail off with studied reluctance.
Jane leant nearer despite herself. “If there is something my sister should know, Mr Wickham, you must not withhold it. Elizabeth may be clever, but even the wisest may be deceived.” Again, that small spark of satisfaction flickered.
Wickham looked up with reluctant admiration.
“Your generosity does you credit, Miss Bennet. It is precisely such a spirit as yours that makes me loath to wound you. Still—” He lowered his voice to a near whisper.
“Darcy is not what he seems, and I would be remiss not to warn you—for your sister’s sake. ”
Then, as though catching himself, he shook his head and smiled faintly. “But no—I have already said too much. Pray forgive me. Let us leave the matter where it rests.” With practised ease, he turned the conversation back to lighter subjects.
Jane answered politely even as her thoughts were elsewhere.
The shadow of his words lingered, pressing upon her heart.
Elizabeth might indeed be in danger, and Jane’s instinct was to speak at once.
Yet another impulse held her back: for once her understanding would be greater.
The guilty satisfaction of that advantage was difficult to release.
As the evening wore on, she resolved to think carefully before speaking. Elizabeth deserved a warning—yet perhaps not tonight.