CHAPTER THREE #2
Lydia pressed her lips together, but the sparkle remained in her eyes. An engaged father had not made her less lively. It had simply ensured that liveliness met boundaries sturdy enough to survive it.
"Colonel Forster and his senior officers will be invited to dinner in due course," Sir Thomas continued. "Until then, you and Kitty will not walk into Meryton without Miss Harwood or one of your sisters."
"Jane and Lizzy may be more distracted by officers than we are," Lydia said.
Elizabeth lifted one eyebrow. "Certainly. I have already embroidered thirty red coats upon my petticoat."
Mary choked on her tea.
Even Sir Thomas laughed, and Lydia accepted defeat with reasonable grace.
Within a week, introductions were made. Colonel Forster was a sensible man in his late thirties, newly married to a cheerful young woman who found Lydia delightful in the limited quantities permitted by formal calls.
Captain Carter spoke intelligently of music.
Lieutenant Chamberlayne possessed red hair, good manners, and no history in France whatsoever.
Mr George Wickham arrived last.
Elizabeth first saw him outside her aunt Phillips's house. She and Mary had walked into Meryton with Miss Harwood to return a parcel of music. Jane remained at Netherfield receiving Bingley's call, which had become so regular that Lady Bennet no longer pretended surprise.
Mr Denny crossed the street to greet them.
The gentleman beside him wore the militia uniform with uncommon advantage.
He was handsome in the open, pleasing manner that made acquaintance feel like recollection.
His smile included Mary without overlooking Elizabeth, and his bow carried neither Darcy's stiffness nor Bingley's boyish haste.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Mary Bennet, Miss Harwood—may I present my friend Mr Wickham? He has joined us only this morning."
Wickham's expression changed when he heard their names.
"The daughters of Sir Thomas Bennet? Then I have long wished to make your acquaintance. Every county in England must know the service your father rendered the King."
Elizabeth had heard variations of this compliment since childhood. Wickham delivered it as if he admired not the royal gratitude but the man who had acted.
"Papa would say every county has found better subjects by now."
"Great courage is always fresh to those who require an example."
Mary glanced at him with shy approval.
A commotion of wheels interrupted them. Bingley's curricle turned the corner with Darcy beside him. Bingley lifted a hand in greeting.
Darcy's gaze moved from Elizabeth to Wickham.
All ease left his face.
Wickham's color changed too, though he recovered with a faint, ironic bow. Darcy inclined his head no more than civility demanded. Bingley looked between them in surprise, but the curricle had already passed.
Elizabeth felt the encounter like a sudden drop in temperature.
"You are acquainted with Mr Darcy," she said after Denny resumed speaking.
Wickham's smile returned more slowly. "We have known one another all our lives. His father was my godfather."
He said nothing further in the street. The omission was artful enough that Elizabeth recognized it and remained curious despite herself.
At her aunt's card party that evening, Wickham allowed the history to emerge.
The Phillipses' drawing room was crowded and over-warm. Lydia and Kitty sat where they could observe every officer. Mary had been persuaded to play a short piece before supper and now occupied a quieter table with Charlotte. Elizabeth found herself beside Wickham during lottery tickets.
"I fear my meeting with Mr Darcy distressed you this morning," he said.
"It surprised me."
"His reaction was plain."
"So was yours."
Wickham looked down at the card in his hand. "I find deceit difficult, Miss Elizabeth, though truth may be imprudent."
Her father's voice rose in memory: Whenever a man tells you that honesty pains him, Lizzy, attend first to what the pain purchases.
Sir Thomas had given that advice after a distant cousin attempted to borrow money while praising his own reluctance.
"Then prudence may serve us both," she said. "We need not discuss Mr Darcy."
Wickham looked at her with new appraisal. "You are loyal to him?"
"I scarcely know him."
"Yet you defend him."
"I defend no one by declining to judge a private history from half its participants."
For the first time, Wickham's smile failed to reach his eyes. It returned almost at once.
"You are right to rebuke me. My circumstances have made me sensitive. The late Mr Darcy intended a valuable church living for me. His son denied it after his death. I was young, perhaps foolish, and without the means to contest a powerful man."
He spoke without melodrama. That made the story more persuasive.
"Was the intention written?" Elizabeth asked.
"It was known throughout the family."
Not an answer.
"And you wished to take orders?"
"At one time. Life altered my understanding of my own character."
"Before or after the living became available?"
Wickham's brows rose. Then he laughed, low and appreciative. "Sir Thomas has educated his daughters to cross-examine the world."
"Only when the world volunteers a case."
He leaned nearer, not enough to violate propriety but enough to create the appearance of confidence.
"I accepted compensation in place of the living.
It was spent unwisely. Later, when I saw my error and requested the position originally intended, Darcy used my former decision against me. That is the whole of it."
Elizabeth heard injury and self-knowledge in his voice. She also heard a gap wide enough to hold many facts.
"It sounds painful," she said.
"Your sympathy honors me."
"I offered understanding, not judgment."
His gaze sharpened. "There is a difference?"
"A considerable one."
Across the room, Mary played with the corner of a card and watched them uneasily. Elizabeth excused herself soon afterward.
On the walk home, Mary remained quiet until Meryton's last lamps fell behind them.
"I did not like the way Mr Wickham spoke of Mr Darcy."
Miss Harwood walked a few steps ahead with Kitty and Lydia, who were disputing whether Lieutenant Chamberlayne had smiled at one or both of them.
Elizabeth lowered her voice. "Because you like Mr Darcy?"
"I do not know him. But Mr Wickham seemed to enjoy being pitied."
Elizabeth considered. "He may have had little else to enjoy."
"Perhaps."
Mary's uncertainty carried more weight than another person's accusation. She rarely condemned and never for sport.