Chapter 18
An Opportunity Interrupted
An opportunity presented itself on a Tuesday afternoon. Elizabeth knew it was coming and ought to have recognized the signs sooner.
Mr. Wilson had been unusually attentive all morning, though not in the exuberant fashion that had first distinguished his visits.
He spoke less and listened more. He remained near enough to be useful without becoming oppressive.
At luncheon he asked Mary intelligent questions regarding her reading, discussed tenant rents with Mr. Bennet, and entertained the twins with a surprisingly vivid account of a runaway cart in Manchester.
By every outward measure, he acquitted himself exceedingly well.
That, perhaps, was what unsettled Elizabeth most. A foolish man could be dismissed. A tiresome one could be endured.
Mr. Wilson, unfortunately, had become neither.
The day was cold but bright, and after luncheon Mrs. Bennet proposed that anyone who desired it might walk in the gardens before tea.
Jane remained indoors with a headache. Kitty accompanied her willingly, armed with a new fashion plate and every intention of discussing trimmings.
Mary retired to the music room. Lydia disappeared with the twins under circumstances that inspired no confidence whatsoever.
Mr. Wilson turned to Elizabeth.
“If you are not otherwise engaged, Miss Elizabeth, might I have the honor of your company?”
His tone was perfectly proper.
Mrs. Bennet glanced toward her but offered no signal beyond the same calm inquiry she always extended.
Elizabeth nodded once. “Certainly.”
They set out along the south path, where the winter roses had given way to bare stems and damp earth.
The sky hung low and pale above the fields.
For several minutes Mr. Wilson confined himself to observations on the weather, the condition of the lane to Meryton, and the practical difficulties of transporting machinery in frost. Elizabeth answered politely, though the formality of his manner only honed her anticipation.
At length he stopped near the small stone bench overlooking the lower meadow.
“I hope you will forgive my directness.”
Elizabeth’s stomach tightened, knowing there was nothing she could do, and resolving to get this over with as soon as possible. “There is nothing to forgive.”
Mr. Wilson drew a breath and clasped his hands behind his back. For once, his habitual ease deserted him.
“When I first came to Longbourn, I behaved with more enthusiasm than judgment. You were patient with me despite ample cause to be otherwise.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “You have improved considerably.” But I feel nothing for you.
He laughed, grateful for the attempt at levity. “Then I owe much to your example.”
The words hung between them.
Elizabeth lowered her gaze to the gravel path.
Mr. Wilson took one step nearer, though still at a respectful distance. “I esteem you very highly, Miss Elizabeth. Your intelligence, your affection for your family, your practical turn of mind—”
From somewhere beyond the yew hedge came Lydia’s voice, pitched to carry.
“Lizzy! Lizzy! Where are you? It is an emergency!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
Mr. Wilson stared toward the hedge.
A moment later Thomas and Toby burst into view, both flushed and out of breath.
“Duke is missing!” Thomas cried.
“No one can find him,” Toby added. “He may have been abducted.”
Thomas seemed fearful. “Yes, by smugglers.”
Lydia appeared behind them, her cheeks pink with suppressed laughter and her bonnet slightly askew. “Mama said you were to come without delay.”
Elizabeth turned slowly toward her sister. “Mama said so?”
Lydia batted her eyes with extraordinary innocence. “Without delay.”
Mr. Wilson’s jaw tightened, though he made an admirable effort to conceal his disappointment. “Perhaps we should return.”
The boys seized Elizabeth’s hands before she could answer.
“We searched the stables.”
“And the shrubbery.”
“And the kitchen.”
“The dog is nowhere.”
Their words tumbled out one after another, making it impossible to clearly understand who spoke and when.
Elizabeth cast one suspicious glance toward the lawn, where the enormous wolfhound in question—lay in full view beneath the dining room window, fast asleep.
Mr. Wilson followed her gaze.
The dog snored.
For several seconds no one spoke.
Lydia pressed her lips together so firmly that her shoulders began to shake.
Toby glanced at the hound, then back at Elizabeth. “Oh,” he said.
Thomas folded his arms with considerable dignity. “Perhaps he has been found.”
Mr. Wilson exhaled through his nose.
Elizabeth could have sunk through the earth. “I am so very sorry.”
He bowed slightly. “I begin to suspect, Miss Elizabeth, that your younger relations are not entirely impartial.”
The twins drew themselves up in affront.
“We are always impartial,” Toby declared.
“Except when we are not,” Thomas amended. He then leaned close to his brother and whispered, “What does impartial mean?”
Lydia gave up the struggle and cackled aloud.
Elizabeth, torn between mortification and reluctant amusement, covered her face with one gloved hand. “Please forgive them.”
Mr. Wilson regarded the three culprits, who stood shoulder to shoulder like a small and deeply unrepentant regiment. “I confess,” he said slowly, “that I am beginning to wonder whether I have entered into active opposition.”
“That is absurd,” Elizabeth said, though her tone lacked conviction. She knew the twins preferred Mr. Darcy.
Lydia coughed into her handkerchief.
Mr. Wilson’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Perhaps.”
The moment, once gathered so carefully, had dissolved beyond recovery.
They returned to the house in a curious procession: Lydia leading with exaggerated innocence, the twins flanking Elizabeth with proprietary determination, and Mr. Wilson walking beside her with an expression that alternated between irritation and reluctant amusement.
Mrs. Bennet was in the drawing room arranging flowers when they entered. “You are back sooner than I expected.”
Lydia removed her bonnet. “There was an emergency.”
Mrs. Bennet looked askance at her three youngest children, then turned to Elizabeth. Understanding dawned with painful swiftness. “Indeed.”
The single word contained an entire maternal judgment.
Thomas and Toby shifted uneasily.
Lydia discovered a sudden fascination with the tassel on her sleeve.
Mr. Wilson bowed. “No lasting harm has been done, madam.”
Mrs. Bennet’s brows rose. “That remains to be seen.”
The boys were sent to the nursery for the remainder of the afternoon. Lydia was instructed to accompany them and assist Miss Porter with copywork, a punishment she received as though condemned to transportation. She kissed Elizabeth’s cheek in passing and whispered, “You are welcome.”
Elizabeth nearly groaned aloud.
Tea was subdued by Longbourn standards. Mr. Wilson behaved with unfailing courtesy, but the easy confidence of recent days had suffered a visible blow. He spoke more often to Mr. Bennet and Mary than to Elizabeth and departed earlier than usual, pleading letters that required his attention.
At the door he bowed over Elizabeth’s hand with every appearance of respect. “I hope, Miss Elizabeth, that your household may one day permit a gentleman to complete a sentence.”
Elizabeth could not suppress a laugh. “I make no promises.”
His gaze rested upon her face. “Nor, I suspect, can anyone else in this house.”
When he had gone, Elizabeth leaned against the closed door and laughed until tears nearly rose to her eyes, though embarrassment continued to warm her cheeks.
The interruption had spared her from hearing words for which she was not prepared.
It had also postponed a decision that could not be deferred much longer.
Mr. Wilson was kind. He was prosperous, but he also understood parts of her history many gentlemen would dismiss or politely ignore. She knew he intended, sooner rather than later, to ask her to become his wife.
And all Longbourn, from the solemn governess to the most incorrigible of her siblings, seemed determined either to prevent the event or force her to confront what she truly wanted.
In the days that followed, advice came from every corner of the house and in every imaginable form: Mrs. Bennet spoke of Mr. Wilson’s integrity and excellent prospects while insisting that affection ought to precede acceptance; Mr. Bennet observed dryly that a sensible woman could do much worse than a wealthy cousin who admired her mind; Mary quoted different texts on the virtues of esteem within marriage.
Jane reminded her that gratitude and respect were worthy foundations but not always sufficient; Lydia guiltily declared that Mr. Wilson was “very tolerable, but no one sighs over him,” which she considered decisive; and even Kitty, with uncommon seriousness, confessed that she could not picture Elizabeth laughing with him as she did with Darcy.
Elizabeth listened to all of it, turned the matter over repeatedly, and admitted what she had resisted for weeks: Mr. Wilson offered every practical advantage a prudent woman might desire, and she esteemed him sincerely.
Each time she attempted to imagine herself as Mrs. Wilson, her thoughts strayed elsewhere, toward a tall gentleman whose silences had become increasingly difficult to ignore.