Chapter 4
FOUR
ELIZABETH BENNET
Her head ached only dully now, and though the bitter taste of cinchona bark stubbornly clung to her mouth, Elizabeth felt herself much restored and, strangely, more in charity with Mr Darcy than at any previous moment of their acquaintance.
She still could not make out his character; she had been convinced that he had coldly acted to separate Jane from Mr Bingley for no reason other than her lack of wealth and connexions, only to now hear his assertion that he meant to tell his friend he had been mistaken in his advice.
Time alone would tell whether he would follow through.
Before she could think better of the notion, she enquired, “May I ask you, sir, why you were so certain of Jane’s indifference? I know that she is reticent, but most often people say that they cannot make out her feelings, rather than concluding that she has none.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and was silent a moment before he responded.
“At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, Sir William Lucas’s talk made me aware that there was a general expectation of their marriage.
I observed them both for the rest of the evening, and though I saw a greater attachment than anything I had previously known on his part, on hers, I saw only the pleasure of receiving the attentions of an amiable gentleman, without any sign of a participation of sentiment.
When he asked my opinion of her regard for him, this is the impression I shared. ”
Her heart ached anew for her sister, and her anger, still banked, simmered a little hotter. “I see. Pray, tell me if you will: Had Jane openly displayed tender affection for Mr Bingley, do you think you might have taken that as her playing a part to secure him?”
He drew back. “Are you suggesting that I was seeking a reason to believe her indifferent rather than judging her rationally?”
“Yes,” she replied frankly. “I am not claiming it as fact, but I am indeed suggesting it as a possibility. It is the lot of a lady of no fortune, I think—if she meets with a gentleman of any wealth and does not openly display her feelings, she is deemed coldly mercenary, and if she does, she is thought to be drawing him in with false warmth. If there exists a perfect path between the two, wherein the whole world must acknowledge her to be sincere, it is too narrow for any mortal woman to tread.”
His reaction to this declaration was an amalgam of a tight-lipped smile and a grimace.
“You may have the right of it. I cannot say. I believed myself at the time to be viewing her with perfect rationality, and yet I know from your information that my conclusion was in error. Perhaps I should have judged better had she been more open, or perhaps I would have suspected her of the sort of manipulation I have seen so often in other quarters.” He spread his hands.
“Naturally, you cannot know with any certainty how you might have reacted to something which did not happen. My love for my sister is no excuse for pestering you with hypothetical queries which can serve no real purpose.”
He smiled then, softly, something warm and understanding in his gaze upon her.
“You seek to uphold your sister’s character by interrogating the motives of one who questioned it.
I cannot fault you for this—I hope I am half as fierce in defence of those I love.
I will say that I never believed her mercenary.
Her goodness is too plain for that. I expected, rather, that her complying temperament would lead her to please her mother and likely her father by accepting him. ”
Elizabeth had to allow that this was not unreasonable.
“I can understand how someone who does not know her might make that assumption. She does choose to please wherever her conscience allows, and her firmness of purpose in those things which matter most to her is not easily discerned by a mere acquaintance.”
“By your account, Miss Bennet is an admirable lady. I regret that I did not know her better when I had the opportunity.” He seemed then to be thinking deeply about something, the knuckles of one hand pressed to his lips as he frowned in concentration, so she held her silence and waited.
When at last he spoke, he sounded more hesitant than she had ever thought he could be. “Speaking of those whose characters are not immediately apparent to a new acquaintance, I would tell you more of my history with Mr Wickham, if you will allow it.”
She recalled that earlier, in this very room, she had tasked him with his offences against Mr Wickham, suggesting that nothing he might say could ameliorate that injustice.
Of this, she was no longer so entirely convinced.
He had astounded her once already, in the matter of Jane and Mr Bingley.
Was it possible he might do so once again?
She was yet quite certain, but no longer wholly so.
“I will,” she said, curiosity winning out.
He then proceeded to relate to her a most dreadful tale of debts, seductions, and a flat refusal of the famous clerical living in favour of ready coin, culminating hardly more than half a year ago with an attempt to lure Mr Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister into an elopement for her thirty-thousand-pound dowry.
It was entirely horrible, and she wanted nothing more than to disbelieve it entirely.
She would have done, if not for one thing: his sister.
She could believe his pride, so much in evidence throughout their acquaintance until the last hour, would lead him to deny the living if there were any informality at all to the terms, as Wickham had claimed.
She had often seen him behave in an ungentlemanlike manner to those he did not like, and he disdained Wickham more than anyone.
But she had also seen him speak of his sister with real affection and care, beyond what his family pride must dictate.
It was impossible that he should invent such a tale about her.
And if Wickham was the sort of man who could coldly plot to lure a young girl, the very daughter of the man who had given him a gentleman’s education and bequeathed him a profession, away from her guardians to claim her fortune for himself, then he was capable of everything else of which Mr Darcy accused him.