Chapter 1.6
“Accurate? What could you possibly mean, sir? And please be aware that I have noticed your jeering tone,” she said reproachfully.
Despite their previous friendliness caused by the difficult circumstances, his behaviour had become spiteful again, and his arrogance was apparent as he spoke of Mr. Wickham.
His conceit raised her ire and her manners mirrored his.
“I did not even attempt to conceal my tone, Miss Bennet. I apologise if I offended you — I did not imagine you already had so much interest in that man.”
“Anyone who knew his misfortunes would show the same interest. If I am to be blamed for calling him a friend, I shall accept my guilt.”
A strange mix of feelings affected Darcy’s manners; her enquiry proved that she had spoken more to the scoundrel, that they had shared some conversation, that whatever his claims had been, she had believed him.
It was Wickham’s greatest skill — winning people’s confidence quickly and easily.
And Elizabeth — despite his high opinion of her — had proved to be equally easy to deceive as any other young woman.
He felt slightly disappointed, but more painful was the jealousy which was completely new to him.
He had no doubt that Wickham had spoken ill of him and Elizabeth had placed her trust in the man she favoured. And that man was not him.
Disquieted, he glanced at her. Her hair had started to dry and her appearance had improved thanks to the warmth and the tea. She looked ready to argue with him on Wickham’s behalf, he mused.
Then he tempered his vanity. She was not arguing for Wickham but for what she believed to be right.
Although witty and clever, she was still very young and very likely with little experience of the world.
She had not been much in the company of rascals and had no reason to treat people with excessive prudence.
He tried to compose himself before replying.
“I do not blame you, Miss Bennet. But I am surprised that you would grant your confidence and your good opinion to a man you have only just met. I have not been so fortunate, though we have been acquainted for much longer.”
Elizabeth stared at him, bewildered. What could he possibly mean?
“The situation is completely different, I assure you. Unlike Mr. Wickham, I never felt that you desired my good opinion, Mr. Darcy. I understand your disapproval — your disdain — towards me and my family, which you have shown since the first evening we met at the assembly. Mr. Wickham considered me a friend from the very beginning; you found me tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt your interest, which I could understand. But what of your civility, your gentlemanlike politeness at a public ball?”
He was stunned, looking at her with disbelief, his face changing colour during her short, yet passionate tirade.
“You claimed I granted Mr. Wickham my trust too soon, but he spoke to me more in one evening than you did in two months, including the days we spent together at Netherfield!”
“You have said enough, Miss Bennet,” he interrupted her. “I understand your feelings, now that you have so kindly pointed out my flaws. I do not wish to argue with you any longer over Wickham, he is simply not worth it.”
He returned to the chair by the fire and sat, looking at her; she was ready to respond to his last statement, but he spoke further.
“I was not aware that you had heard my comment at that assembly. I was uncivil and I have no excuse for my rudeness. I do have an explanation, though, as I was in a poor disposition that evening and I only attended due to Bingley’s repeated demands.
I would not have danced with anyone and when I called you tolerable, I confess I had barely looked at you. ”
“Oh, so what you mean is that when you are in a poor disposition, you are entitled to offend wherever you please. Would this explanation be acceptable to you if someone had treated your sister in such a manner?”
He paled and his expression became even darker. The mix of feelings on his face looked like anguish to Elizabeth. Outside, the rain and the wind were still hitting the roof and the windows, but she knew little of the storm that tormented him inside.
“I have already admitted that I do not expect to be forgiven, Miss Bennet. And no, I do not believe I am entitled to anything. But may I dare ask, why would Wickham assume he was entitled to your patience and empathy since you claim you only met him a few days ago? What gentleman would impose himself by relating stories of his past to a young lady he has only just met?”
His voice had become calmer, but his distress was apparent and affected Elizabeth too. She tried to control the vexation caused by his answers, which still seemed arrogant to her.
“I feel like you are trying to claim that Mr. Wickham’s friendliness is as bad as your impoliteness and I do not agree. His confession might have been too much considering our recent acquaintance, but I cannot fault him for it.”
“I shall not dispute your feelings, Miss Bennet; however, what I do know is that Wickham has shared his alleged misfortunes at my hand with anyone willing to listen to him over the last few years. I assume he lamented to you about me refusing him the living left by my father. But did he, by any chance, mention that he applied to me for compensation, claiming he wished to change his career from the church to the law? That he had received a sum of three thousand pounds that he quickly wasted and then returned to claim the living? And that he attempted to hurt other members of my family, despite my father’s generosity and affection for him? ”
His words, calm, well-chosen and spoken in a steady tone, cut through Elizabeth like blades. She received his statements with doubt and disapproval, but her wisdom and common sense forced her to reflect upon them the moment he mentioned the compensation — a fact easy to prove.
“No…” she answered. “I was not aware of such details.”
“I am more than willing to offer you evidence of my statements; or perhaps you could ask Mr. Wickham personally, next time you meet, and request evidence of his claims. I am willing to proceed in any way that pleases you.”
A sudden headache pressed at Elizabeth’s temples and blurred her eyesight. The light from the fire seemed too strong and she glanced towards the window, hoping that she might be able to escape from Mr. Darcy’s presence soon. But the chance was slim and her vexation increased.
“Nothing about this pleases me, Mr. Darcy. I feel caught up in a battle I know nothing about, between two men whom apparently I cannot trust. Rest assured that I shall ask Mr. Wickham for all those details at the first opportunity; worse than being offended in a ballroom is to be deceived and taken for a fool!”
“I agree — you should have never been imposed upon with a story that is not your concern. Since you were dragged into it, please do not hesitate to ask me for any further details; my answers might be unpleasant but they will certainly be true.”
For a while, there was complete silence, only broken by the sound of the burning fire and the storm.
“Was Mr. Wickham your father’s godson?” she eventually asked.
“Yes. The late Mr. Wickham managed Pemberley for many years and my father was content with his service and very much valued his work and his loyalty. Such feelings turned into affection for his son — George Wickham — whom he treated as part of the family.”
“Mr. Wickham acknowledged that. You seem to have disapproved of your father’s generosity.”
“Not at all, I assure you. Not until I saw George Wickham’s unguarded behaviour with companions of his own age, from whom he did not have to conceal his reckless actions.”
“May I ask…what did he do that was so wrong? There is so much goodness in Mr. Wickham’s appearance…”
“It is…an appearance of which he took great advantage. What was he doing wrong? Engaging in his pleasures, with no concern for hurting others, men or women; cheating, lying, wasting money given to him, disrespecting those who showed him affection and generosity, abusing people’s trust. And many others things that I am sure you will discover by yourself if you look carefully. ”
“This is so shocking… I am not… How could this be?”
“I speak nothing but the truth, Miss Bennet. As I said, for all this, I have more proof than I would wish for.”
“I do not need proof, Mr. Darcy… I only need a little time, to reflect on all this. And on myself… If his behaviour is how you claim, my foolishness is beyond words.”
“You are too severe on yourself, Miss Bennet. Although you may not believe it, I do trust you to find the evidence and draw the right conclusions.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Their improper appearance, the shameful and compromising situation they were in, became less important and less distressing than her mortification for completely misjudging both Wickham and Darcy.
While she could not give full credit to the latter and had not enough evidence to change her mind about the former, Darcy’s disclosure made enough sense to raise her suspicions and to force her to consider the small details she had willingly ignored.
She needed time and peace, in the comfort of her own home, to examine all her knowledge thoroughly.
“And, Miss Bennet, may I add…”
“Yes?”
“I have already apologised for my rude comment at the assembly. Please know that it has been quite some time since I came to admire you and consider you one of the most accomplished ladies of my acquaintance. And I would be honoured and delighted to dance with you if you would ever accept me.”
“Oh…is that so?” she replied, shocked by such a confession. For a moment, she thought he was mocking her or at least jesting with her, but his countenance seemed serious and his gaze intense. She suddenly felt too warm and looked out of the window to avoid his stare.
“Dear God, the rain had stopped!” she exclaimed.