17. A Question of Judgment #2
No. She would not condemn him without asking. She had just defended fairness at breakfast; she could hardly deny it to Darcy an hour later.
The sound of approaching hooves came from the road.
Elizabeth looked toward the sound.
Mr. Darcy drew his horse to a halt several yards away, surprise crossing his face before pleasure replaced it. He dismounted without delay.
“Elizabeth.”
The warmth in his greeting nearly undid her purpose.
“Mr. Darcy.”
He heard the difference at once. His hand remained upon the reins. “What has happened?”
She turned her chin up. “That is what I came to ask you.”
Mr. Darcy searched her face for several seconds.
“What has occurred?”
Elizabeth gave no direct reply. They had met often upon walks during the previous week, and those meetings had become among the happiest hours of her day. Today the easy anticipation between them had vanished. She folded her hands together to keep from twisting her gloves.
“Rumors are spreading through Meryton.”
A line appeared between his brows.
“Concerning whom?”
“Mr. Wickham.”
He exhaled once through his nose.
“So. It has begun.”
She stared. “Then you know of it?”
“I know what you have just told me.”
Elizabeth frowned. “People are saying you despise him. That he is unfit to associate with respectable families. Clients have begun avoiding my uncle’s office.”
His expression altered from puzzlement to genuine dismay.
“What?”
She watched him carefully.
“It is true,” she said. “My uncle came to Longbourn this morning to ask Papa’s advice. The whispers have grown so numerous that Mr. Wickham’s reputation has already suffered.”
Darcy’s hand tightened upon the reins.
“I have said nothing publicly.”
“But someone has.”
“Yes.”
“And they must have learned it somewhere.”
He lowered his gaze briefly, considering.
“I have spoken of Wickham to precisely two people.”
Elizabeth waited.
“My cousin Richard... and Mr. Bingley.”
She blinked.
“That is all?”
“That is all.”
The answer came without hesitation.
She believed he believed it.
Then another thought crossed his face so quickly she nearly missed it. He closed his eyes for an instant and uttered a word unsuited to the dignity of Fitzwilliam Darcy.
“Oh, confound it. I told Bingley in confidence. Caroline has pressed him repeatedly for my foul mood. I thought he had dissembled rather than inform her. Heaven help me, she must have been listening at doors.”
Elizabeth’s surprise nearly overcame her annoyance.
“What is it?”
He rubbed a hand across his forehead.
“I believe I know.”
“Who?”
“Miss Bingley.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
Darcy continued, each sentence sounding more reluctant than the last.
“I told Bingley in confidence. He deserved to understand why I reacted as I did when Wickham appeared at Longbourn. Caroline undoubtedly observed enough of our conversation to form conclusions. She has been exceedingly... invested... in my opinions of late.”
Elizabeth arched one brow.
“That is one way of expressing it.”
“I am attempting generosity.”
“She may not deserve it.”
“She very likely does not.”
A reluctant smile threatened the corner of Elizabeth’s mouth despite herself.
Darcy did not appear encouraged.
“If Caroline imagined that discrediting Wickham would distance your family from him...” He broke off with evident irritation. “She may also have believed it would place me in a more favorable light.”
“And place the Bennets in a less favorable one.”
His jaw ached from tension.
“I had not considered that.”
“No?”
“No.”
She searched his face.
There was no satisfaction there. No triumph. Just vexation directed wholly toward himself.
Elizabeth hesitated. She had prided herself upon reading character quickly. Had she mistaken him—or was she now in danger of mistaking him again? Neither possibility was comfortable.
“I am sorry, Elizabeth.”
The sincerity of the apology softened her anger without extinguishing it.
“You cannot be responsible for another person’s tongue.”
“I entrusted her with knowledge she ought never to have possessed.”
“You did not entrust her.”
“No,” he admitted. “But I failed to prevent it.”
The wind stirred the leaves overhead.
Elizabeth stepped nearer.
“What will you do?”
Darcy’s answer came after a moment’s thought.
“Nothing.”
She stared at him.
“Nothing?”
“I shall not repeat the rumors.”
“That is all?”
“I will not encourage them.”
“But neither will you stop them.”
“I cannot.”
“You can.”
His head moved once.
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“You know perfectly well that people are repeating your opinion.”
“They are repeating gossip.”
“Which began because of you.”
“Because of Caroline.”
“Because of what you told Caroline.”
“I did not tell Caroline.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them.
Darcy spoke first.
“If I publicly defend Wickham, I lend credibility to a man I believe dangerous.”
“You need not praise him.”
“I cannot contradict what I believe.”
“You need only say the matter is private.”
“It is.”
“Then say so.”
“I have.”
“To whom?”
“To you.”
Elizabeth gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“That does not assist Mr. Wickham in the slightest.”
“No.”
“Then how can you stand by while his livelihood suffers?”
Darcy looked toward the distant fields before answering.
“Because the alternative may expose Georgiana.”
Elizabeth’s confidence dissolved into confusion. She still believed Mr. Wickham deserved justice. She also believed Darcy’s concern for his sister was genuine. For the first time, those convictions refused to live peacefully beside one another.
He continued. “If I attempt to explain publicly why I distrust him, questions will follow. They will not cease until someone supplies answers. Those answers concern my sister.”
“She need not be named.”
“You underestimate curiosity.”
“And you underestimate justice.”
His eyes sought hers.
“No, Elizabeth. I simply weigh it differently.”
She drew a slow breath.
“Then an innocent man may bear suspicion for the sake of protecting another.”
“If he is innocent.”
She threw up her hands.
“There! Always that qualification.”
“It matters.”
“It matters because you insist upon it.”
“I insist because I know him.”
“You knew him.”
His expression hardened.
“I know enough.”
“You have admitted you have scarcely spoken to him in years.”
“That does not erase everything that came before.”
“Nor does it prevent change.”
His patience visibly frayed.
“A few respectable months do not transform a lifetime’s character.”
“You speak as if reform were impossible.”
“I speak as one who has watched promises become lies often enough to cease believing them.”
“And I speak as one who has watched a man labor diligently every day for weeks without once betraying the monstrous nature you describe.”
Their voices had risen.
A pair of laborers working in a neighboring field glanced toward the lane before returning discreetly to their task.
Darcy lowered his tone first.
“I do not wish to quarrel with you.”
“Neither do I.”
“But we are.”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer.
“I cannot ask you to abandon your judgment.”
“No.”
“I would not respect you if you did.”
Her anger wavered.
“But neither can I betray my sister.”
Elizabeth’s gaze dropped.
When she answered, her words came more slowly.
“I never wished that of you.”
“I know.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“I do not know.”
That admission carried more weight than certainty would have done.
She studied him.
He looked tired.
Not physically.
Like a man attempting to carry two incompatible duties without dropping either.
Elizabeth loved him.
The realization arrived unwelcome in the midst of disagreement.
It did not make the disagreement smaller.
If anything, it enlarged it.
She cared too much to dismiss it.
“I cannot simply watch while Meryton condemns Mr. Wickham.”
“I would never ask it.”
“Then help me.”
His features froze.
“How?”
“Tell those repeating the stories that you will not discuss the matter.”
“I already refuse.”
“Not privately.”
She shook her head.
“Publicly.”
He hesitated.
“I... shall speak to Caroline.”
Elizabeth waited.
“I shall insist that any discussion cease.”
“That is something.”
“It is all I can honestly promise.”
She wanted more. She wanted him to declare Wickham blameless, to admit he had been mistaken.
Instead, she had a man who refused to promise what he believed false.
The realization was deeply inconvenient.
“So, we are at an impasse.”
His smile held no amusement. “I believe we are.”
She nodded once. “I must return.”
“I shall not keep you.”
She took two steps before he spoke again.
“Elizabeth.”
She stiffened.
“I am sorry this has become so difficult.”
“So am I.”
She held his gaze another heartbeat.
“I still believe there is some piece of this story neither of us possesses.”
He was silent.
“I hope,” she continued, “that when we discover it, we shall both wish we had been kinder.”
A shadow crossed his face.
“So do I.”
She inclined her head and resumed walking.
After several yards she glanced back.
Darcy had not mounted his horse.
He remained exactly where she had left him, one hand resting upon the saddle, watching the empty lane where she had disappeared.
Elizabeth forced herself not to turn again.
By the time Longbourn came into view, the sharpness of her anger had dulled, replaced by something far more troublesome.
She believed Darcy. She believed Wickham. Somehow, impossibly, both convictions occupied the same heart.
And until one yielded, neither love nor judgment would grant her any peace.