Chapter 3
Even a nuisance can contribute to one’s happiness, if only thanks to the relief caused by its removal.
So it was when Mr Collins at last departed Longbourn, leaving a considerably lighten atmosphere behind him.
The house felt suddenly more comfortable without his heavy footsteps and solemn, officious remarks.
But though better for the absence of one silly and self-important man, Longbourn was by no means calm, for Mrs Bennet had invited several of the officers for supper on the very night of his departure.
Not two hours after Mr Collins was out of sight, the whole house had been thrown into a flurry of preparations.
As she fastened a simple amber cross on a gold chain about her neck, Elizabeth smiled into the glass.
After so many days of enduring Mr Collin’s clumsy compliments and then his sullen reproaches, it was pleasant indeed to look forward to a meeting full of lively, pleasant conversation, friendly jests, and company that one might enjoy rather than endure.
That Mr Wickham was to be among their guests contributed significantly to her good humour.
Each time they had met, Mr Wickham’s conversation had been not merely pleasant, but enlivening.
There had been an ease in his manner, a readiness to listen and talk, and a warmth of expression that invited confidence without demanding it.
That easy combination of intelligence and animation was particularly agreeable.
True, he had acted a little oddly at their last meeting — perhaps a little too warmly. But that was a compliment, surely. She could not judge him for actions that, after all, had been entirely within the bounds of propriety.
Upon descending the stairs, Elizabeth found her mother in a state of excitement still greater than her own, and one considerably less tempered with calm restraint.
Mrs Bennet was moving from room to room with anxious energy, issuing instructions, revising arrangements, and offering unsolicited opinions on everything from the placement of candles to the behaviour of her daughters.
“Jane,” she said, looking narrowly at her eldest daughter, “you would do well to sit where you may be easily observed. There is no sense in hiding yourself away when company is present. A young man is far more likely to speak when he can plainly see the lady he addresses.”
Jane coloured slightly. “I shall sit wherever there is room, Mama.”
Mrs Bennet frowned. “That is not the point. This is a valuable opportunity, Jane, do not you see? If Mr Bingley hears that you have been entertaining officers without the least concern for his feelings, he will know he cannot take you for granted. That should hasten matters considerably.”
Elizabeth, who was adjusting a ribbon at the window, could not resist a glance in her mother’s direction. “Or delay them,” she said lightly.
Mrs Bennet turned on her at once. “You do not understand these things, Lizzy. If you had accepted Mr Collins, we would not be in such a precarious situation now.”
Knowing that silence was often the most effective answer to her mother’s more unreasonable observations, Elizabeth said nothing.
Kitty hovered near Lydia, watching her with anxious admiration. Lydia herself was in high spirits, moving from chair to chair and examining her reflection wherever she could find it.
“I hope there will be dancing,” Lydia declared. “There is nothing so disappointing as sitting still when there are officers in the house.”
“There will be no dancing unless someone plays,” Mary said, looking up from her book. “And I have no intention of indulging such a foolish wish.”
Mrs Bennet waved a hand almost contemptuously. “There is always some way of arranging such things.”
Mary looked distraught to be so summarily dismissed, but said nothing.
Elizabeth moved to stand next to her and placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I shall play, if you really do not wish to,” she said softly. “I hope you will not find the evening too dull, Mary.”
Mary hesitated, then said softly, “It is a pity we did not think to invite Mr Greene.”
Elizabeth looked at her sister with mild surprise.
Mary rarely ventured opinions on matters of company, and when she did, they were usually delivered with a seriousness that discouraged further discussion.
Her manner now was very different. Mary really seemed to wish that the new rector of Meryton Church had been included in the party.
She had sounded so gentle, so vulnerable, with none of the pompous pedantry that sometimes accompanied her sister’s statements.
That pedantry made Mary unpopular with her younger sisters and much of their acquaintance, but such a dismissal was unjust. Mary’s moral reflections, so often received with impatience, were not only the product of vanity.
She had also a genuine desire to understand and to improve.
Though her seriousness was sometimes ill timed, it was never insincere.
That Mr Greene should have engaged her interest did not surprise Elizabeth upon reflection.
By all accounts, he was a thoughtful man, attentive in his duties and measured in his opinions.
Elizabeth had heard little of him beyond what was spoken at church, but what she had heard inclined her to think him sensible and disciplined rather than severe.
He was a young man and had only lately received his ordination.
Though not handsome, his features were pleasant enough, particularly given his intelligent and kindly expression.
If Mary admired him and he returned her feelings, they might be a well-suited match.
She glanced again at her sister, who had resumed her reading with an air of composed resignation. Poor Mary was overlooked only too often. Elizabeth felt a stir of affection, mixed with regret that Mary’s virtues were so often lost amid the louder claims of her younger sisters.
If there were justice in the world, Elizabeth thought, Mary’s seriousness might one day be appreciated by someone who valued steadiness over sparkle. Such an appreciation would be quiet, perhaps even unromantic in its pragmatism, but it would be no less real for that.
“Why, Mr Greene?” Mrs Bennet said, having overheard some of her daughter’s conversation. “Why ever would we invite Mr Greene when the officers are coming? They will not appreciate a sermon at supper.”
“Do you not think we ought to welcome our new parson to the community, Mama?” Mary asked.
“Though he has not been in Meryton long, I think very well of Mr Greene. He has been very attentive to the neighbourhood, and his sermons are most insightful. I believe he would have made an agreeable addition to the evening.”
Mrs Bennet frowned. “Perhaps for tea, Mary. A parson is hardly the sort of company to enliven a supper.”
Mary said no more, but her disappointment was obvious.
When the gentlemen arrived, Mrs Bennet received them with effusive cordiality and many protestations of welcome.
Mr Wickham entered with an elegance and ease of manner that immediately distinguished him from his companions.
He greeted the family warmly, addressing each with the appearance of sincere interest. His good friend Mr Denny followed more quietly, amiable and content to allow his friend to lead the conversation, while their fellow officers fell to talking with Kitty and Lydia almost at once.
Elizabeth observed Mr Wickham with renewed pleasure. He spoke readily, smiled often, and listened with an attention that suggested he found his company genuinely agreeable. When his eyes met hers, his expression brightened in a manner Elizabeth could not fail to notice.
Supper was soon announced, and the party filed into the dining room, which was only just large enough to seat them all.
Lydia seated herself with strategic determination near Mr Wickham, while Kitty followed as closely as she could manage.
Mrs Bennet placed Jane where she might be most easily observed, and Elizabeth found herself opposite Mr Wickham, a circumstance she accepted with composure and not a little interest.
Conversation flowed easily at first. Lydia spoke with unrestrained enthusiasm, recounting the latest news of the regiment and expressing opinions with an assurance that would have been impressive had it not been so entirely uninformed.
Mr Denny laughed readily, encouraging her with good-natured indulgence.
By contrast, Mr Wickham directed his attention with greater discrimination.
He seemed to possess an instinctive understanding of the balance required in such a company.
To Mrs Bennet, he spoke with flattering attentiveness, appearing interested in every detail she offered and responding with a warmth that encouraged her to speak still more.
Not without amusement, Elizabeth observed how readily her mother was drawn out by such civility, and how quickly she regarded Mr Wickham as a young man of excellent sense and taste.
With Lydia, his manner was indulgent but controlled.
He laughed at her remarks, though never encouraged her to speak overmuch, and redirected her enthusiasm with an ease that suggested long practice.
Lydia, who was unused to restraint, seemed at once delighted and slightly vexed by this treatment, and only increased her efforts to command his notice.
Kitty, observing this, echoed her sister with anxious eagerness, though with less success.
Sitting quietly beside Elizabeth, Jane remained polite and attentive, though her composure was tinged with an absent air Elizabeth could not mistake.
She answered when addressed, smiled when spoken to, and listened with unfailing courtesy, yet there was a hesitation in her manner that suggested her thoughts were elsewhere.
Elizabeth smiled a little to herself. How little interest Jane took now in any company of gentlemen that did not include Mr Bingley!
If that gentleman could have observed the supper party, he certainly would not have felt the jealousy that Mrs Bennet seemed to think might spur him on.
Far from it. If Mr Bingley could have seen and understood Jane’s manners, they could only have inspired him with the deepest confidence in his own hold on her affections.
Elizabeth found herself observing all this at once, conscious of the different impressions formed around the table, and of the ease with which Mr Wickham adapted himself to each.
His charm did not rely upon novelty, but upon attention.
He listened as readily as he spoke, and appeared to take as much interest in the concerns of others as in his own.
That such a manner should be so generally successful was hardly surprising.
Yet Elizabeth could not help but feel that his attentions toward her were marked by a particular consideration.
When he addressed her, his tone softened, and his remarks seemed shaped to invite her opinion rather than to display his own.
She answered readily, pleased by the exchange, and conscious, though she did not dwell on it, that his regard felt both flattering and sincere.
This impression was made all the stronger by Mr Wickham’s behaviour when the supper was over. Resisting every attempt of Lydia to draw him away, Mr Wickham took his place in the drawing room next to Elizabeth and took the first opportunity of speaking to her alone.
“I hear congratulations may soon be in order for Miss Bennet,” he remarked.
“We cannot say so yet,” Elizabeth replied with a caution she did not really feel. “Though I hope it may be so. If such an arrangement comes to pass, I believe Jane would be very happy.”
“I shall offer my fullest congratulations if it does,” Mr Wickham said quietly. “And that is why I thought I ought to warn you. There may be interference.”
Elizabeth looked at him in surprised alarm. “Interference?”
“From those who believe themselves entitled to direct the attachments of others,” he said carefully.
Elizabeth did not require further explanation. “You mean Mr Darcy.”
Mr Wickham inclined his head slightly. “I would not wish to speak ill of anyone, but his opinions are not always exercised with kindness.”
Elizabeth’s resentment, already well prepared, rose readily. “I have long suspected that he does not wish Mr Bingley to form an attachment that does not satisfy his own requirements for wealth and status.”
Mr Wickham sighed. “He is very much governed by ideas of consequence. He believes all his acquaintances should have only the finest connections.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That has certainly been my impression.”
“As you know,” Mr Wickham added, “I have long been acquainted with the family. How I wish they might all have been as good as old Mr Darcy! Alas that it is not so. All Darcy’s other influences are as prideful as himself. Particularly his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “I know her by reputation, thanks to my cousin.”
“Then you know she is not a woman easily denied,” Mr Wickham said. “She has long intended her daughter for him.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I hope she is a good match.”
Mr Wickham returned the smile. “I have heard she takes after her mother.”
“You mean she is ill tempered?” Elizabeth suggested lightly.
He laughed. “I would never presume to speak ill of a lady. Still, one forms opinions.”
His gaze lingered on Elizabeth with great warmth. “For myself,” Mr Wickham continued, “I believe a good match requires more than fortune or family. Intelligence and liveliness of mind are far better recommendations.”
Elizabeth felt the compliment, though she wondered at it.
Mr Wickham must know as well as she did that such warmth was dangerous.
“If only such concerns were all one needed to consider,” Elizabeth said lightly.
“I consider myself sadly deficient in another concern that many gentlemen cannot help but consider — that of a substantial dowry.”
Mr Wickham held her eyes. “A flaw indeed,” he said, “but never one that could be considered a deficiency in yourself.”
Before the conversation could proceed further, Lydia seized Mr Wickham’s arm with unceremonious enthusiasm. “You promised to dance with me,” she declared.
Mr Wickham submitted with good humour, and Elizabeth found herself left with Mr Denny, who requested a dance with cheerful simplicity. She accepted, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
As they moved about the room, Elizabeth could not help but reflect on the evening.
Mr Wickham’s attentions had been agreeable, his conversation flattering, and his manner entirely engaging.
She knew better than to indulge in such reflections too freely.
Prudence, she reminded herself, must be her watchword.
Still, as she watched Mr Wickham humouring her sister as Lydia laughed and danced without restraint, Elizabeth could not deny the lingering impression of charm, nor the quiet regret that such a connection, however pleasant, could lead to nothing more.