Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
Had she heard such intelligence yesterday, she could not have said precisely what she might have made of it.
This morning, however, Darcy had told her himself of Lady Catherine's expectations, of his refusal to marry his cousin, and of the estrangement which had followed.
There was something almost amusing in discovering how exactly he had anticipated the likelihood of Mr. Collins mentioning the connection.
Mr. Collins continued upon the consequence of the de Bourgh family for some time, but Elizabeth's attention soon wandered from him. There was another gentleman in their party who had said nothing since Darcy rode away.
She turned towards him. Much of his former ease had returned, but not entirely. There remained a tension about his expression which had not been there before, and Elizabeth found herself more curious than she wished to appear.
“Forgive me, sir, but I suppose you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”
A slight pause preceded his answer. “Yes. We have known one another from childhood.” He nodded as he spoke, making an evident effort to recover his composure, though Elizabeth thought the attempt was not entirely successful.
There was enough in his manner to invite another question.
Elizabeth did not ask it.
Whatever had caused Darcy to ride away with such anger was plainly no ordinary quarrel, and she had no intention of obtaining from a near stranger an account of a man who had, only that morning, entrusted her with his hopes.
Mr. Wickham seemed to expect her curiosity. When none came, he added, “Our acquaintance has not always been a fortunate one.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Nothing in Elizabeth's answer encouraged him to continue.
For the first time since his introduction, Mr. Wickham appeared uncertain of how to proceed.
Lydia, fortunately for him, possessed curiosity enough for the entire party. “But what happened? Did you quarrel? Mr. Darcy looked absolutely furious.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said.
“What? He did.”
Mr. Wickham laughed, though not quite with his former ease. “Miss Lydia, I fear the history is rather too long for so pleasant an afternoon.”
Elizabeth doubted very much that length was the difficulty.
She considered him for a moment. “I confess Mr. Darcy's reaction has made me curious.”
Wickham looked at her.
“But I believe I shall ask him about it.”
Something shifted in his expression.
It was gone almost before Elizabeth could be certain she had seen it.
“I daresay Mr. Darcy will have his own account of our history.”
“As you would have yours.”
“Indeed.”
Elizabeth might have questioned him further, if only to discover why the prospect of Darcy's account appeared to have unsettled him, but Wickham glanced towards the shops across the street and seemed suddenly to recollect something.
“I beg your pardon. I had nearly forgotten an engagement which I must attend to before the afternoon is gone.” He turned towards Denny. “You will forgive me if I leave you here?”
Denny looked surprised. “I thought you meant to come with us to Mrs. Phillips's.”
“I had intended it, but I find I cannot.” Wickham bowed to the ladies. “I hope I shall have the pleasure of renewing the acquaintance another day.”
Lydia immediately assured him that he must, and Kitty echoed her. Elizabeth merely returned his bow.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wickham.”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
His gaze rested upon her for a moment. Elizabeth had the curious impression that he was considering whether to say something further, but whatever the impulse, he abandoned it.
With another bow, he crossed the street and was soon lost amongst the people gathered about the market.
Elizabeth watched him go.
“Well!” Lydia exclaimed. “Everybody appears determined to abandon us this afternoon. If you mean to disappear next, Denny, I should like some warning.”
Denny laughed. “I assure you, Miss Lydia, I have no mysterious engagement requiring my immediate attention.”
“Then you are already more dependable than your friend.”
Mr. Collins, who had been deprived of the conversation for nearly half a minute, reclaimed it by returning to the extraordinary circumstance of Mr. Darcy's being Lady Catherine's nephew.
Mary received his observations with greater patience than Elizabeth could have managed, while Kitty and Lydia occupied Mr. Denny with questions concerning the officers.
Elizabeth followed more slowly.
Her happiness of the morning had not disappeared, but her thoughts had acquired a new object. She could still see Darcy's face at the instant he recognised Wickham, and she knew him well enough to be certain that such anger did not come easily to him.
Wickham puzzled her almost as much. He had been willing enough to acknowledge an unhappy history with Darcy, yet the moment Elizabeth made it clear that she meant to hear Darcy's account, he had remembered an engagement elsewhere with remarkable convenience.
She might have questioned Denny. But Elizabeth had no desire to gather scraps of gossip concerning a man who had trusted her with something so important that very morning.
Whatever had passed between Fitzwilliam Darcy and George Wickham, she wanted to hear of it from Darcy himself.
And judging by the expression with which he had ridden away, she suspected there was a great deal to hear.