Page 7

“YOU INDICATED THAT Mr. Darcy had an unfavorable reputation, did you not?” came a voice.

Elizabeth had escaped the noise of the whist party inside her Aunt Philips house as much as the attentions of Mr. Collins, who had taken to following her about the room and giving her wretched compliments such as, “I think Lady Catherine would quite approve of your dress” and “You are not nearly as tall as your youngest sister, are you? I approve. I do not think women should be too tall.”

As if a woman controlled her height!

At any rate, there was only one escape, and that was the garden. It was growing dark and it was a bit chilly, but she didn’t care. She had thought she would be alone out here.

But looking up, she saw that Mr. Wickham was there.

She was seated on the ground, which was very casual, and she made to get to her feet, but Mr. Wickham sat down next to her, smiling at her, a genial smile, and she thought again that his countenance was pleasing.

“I beg you, don’t get up,” he said. “I shouldn’t like to think I disturbed you.”

She shook her head. “We should not be out here, together, alone.”

“Yes, quite scandalous,” he said, his smile changing, going conspiratorial. “We shall have to time ourselves going back in. You will go in first and I shall wait some time before following. If anyone asks, we each saw no one in the garden.”

She could not help but smile at this. It was good fun to be drawn into such a little scheme, though she well knew that no one would think anything actually untoward was going on out here.

The garden was not very large, after all, and they were in town.

“Yes, very good. If pressed, we must both claim to be quite offended at any implication we are lying.”

“Oh, just so. We shall declare our innocence until anything to the contrary is quieted.”

She smirked. “I think protesting too much is perhaps not the winning strategy, however.”

“You could be right.”

“The truth is, sir, no one here knows him. He only just arrived.”

“What?” said Mr. Wickham.

“Mr. Darcy, sir,” she said. “You inquired after him, mentioning his reputation. I may say he has none in this part of the country.”

“You had an opinion of him, however.”

“Yes, but this was formed only because my friend Miss Bingley had described him to me,” said Elizabeth. “She is quite taken with him, but Miss Bingley and I value different things in men, you see.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Wickham, nodding at her. “And you do not value the attributes Mr. Darcy possesses?”

“I don’t believe I do,” said Elizabeth.

“Then you, madam, are a rare woman indeed.”

He was being a flatterer again, but Elizabeth might like it. Maybe she was susceptible to flattery. Maybe everyone was.

He was speaking again. “I must say, he’s not what he appears, however.”

“No?” she said. “What is he, then?” This was the part where Mr. Wickham let the wild horses drag his confession free, after all. She waited expectantly.

“We were close when we were boys,” said Mr. Wickham. “I am quite close to the family, you see. My father is the steward there, at the Darcy estate in Derbyshire.”

“Oh,” she said. “I see.”

“His father, the late old Darcy, he was the best man I’ve ever known.

He was like a second father to me, truly.

He saw to my education, sent me to school, and wished to see to my continued well-being, in fact.

It was his wish that I have a living in Derbyshire itself, and for this eventuality I trained.

I was ready to take a position as the rector there, but that never came about.

Now, here I am, in the militia.” He chuckled.

“Mr. Darcy’s father sent you to school?” she said.

“Oh, yes, indeed. He was, as I say, a very good man.”

“But then why did you not take the position at the rectory there?”

“I was prevented from it,” said Mr. Wickham. “I suppose you can guess by whom.”

She started. “Mr. Darcy?”

Mr. Wickham nodded.

“But why?”

“Oh, I cannot say,” said Mr. Wickham, shaking his head.

“I really cannot. He does not speak to me, you know, and I have tried. Of course, when I found out he had given that living to someone else, the one that was meant for me, I went to speak to him. He wouldn’t see me.

He never sees me, never speaks to me. Why, you saw him, how he was walking over towards you until he saw me?

Then he stopped and he wouldn’t come an inch closer. Did you see that?”

“So, he never explained himself?”

“I’ve been left to speculate,” said Mr. Wickham. He opened his mouth, no doubt to give his own speculations, but Elizabeth cut in.

“There must be some legal recourse. If you were meant for that living, and the late Darcy had decreed it so—”

“It was not written down anywhere, nothing official,” said Mr. Wickham, shaking his head. “No, I have looked into such things and found it impossible.”

“Oh,” she said, wondering if Mr. Wickham had expected something that had never been guaranteed, then.

“I hate to say it, but I think it must be jealousy,” said Mr. Wickham.

“Jealousy?” This surprised her.

“Oh, yes. I was quite close to his father, as I say. And his father, I must admit, could be hard on him, but not in a cruel way, you see? It was out of love. However, I think that he interpreted my closeness to his father as taking something from him. I think he was determined that I should never take anything from him again, if you want to know the truth. He will give me nothing and he would like me to suffer. I think he sees it as some kind of vengeance.”

“Oh, my,” said Elizabeth, wondering about that. What sort of person was this Mr. Darcy? Would Caroline be safe with him?

“Yes,” said Mr. Wickham. “Yes, he’s not to be trifled with, and he is the worst sort of person, the kind who holds quite a grudge.”

“Well, this is all very good information to know,” she said softly.

“Why? Do you have some business with Mr. Darcy?”

“Well, I mentioned that I have a friend who is enamored with him, I think? I am bound to try to make that a match. She wants me to help her get him to marry her.”

“A marriage scheme?” said Wickham. “Is that the sort of person you are, Miss Bennet? I am a bit surprised at that.”

“A scheme,” she sighed. “Well, we call it matchmaking, which makes it sound as if it’s something sweet, something girlish, rather a game. But the truth is, I think we’re rather good at it, and I’m not sure it’s any of those things.”

“Your friend ought to steer clear of Mr. Darcy.”

“Likely, but she will not,” said Elizabeth. “Nothing you have said to me this evening would sway her, I fear. She will be just as determined no matter what.”

“You know, I think there may be an expected betrothal for Darcy. Your friend might not like to know that.”

“He’s engaged?” said Elizabeth. “Truly?”

“Oh, well, there is a tendency within this family not to write anything down,” said Wickham. “It’s not a formal, legal engagement, but it is expected. He is to be united with his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

Elizabeth started. “He is the cousin of Miss de Bourgh, is that so? So that means Lady Catherine is his aunt?”

“Yes, on his mother’s side.”

“What a strange and small world it is,” said Elizabeth, sighing. “Everyone tangled up with everyone else. I am being pursued by Mr. Collins, who is Lady Catherine’s rector and also the heir to the entail of my family’s estate. He wishes to marry me.” She sighed.

“Oh, you don’t wish to marry him, I take it?”

“It is not to my credit to admit such a thing.”

“Why not a marriage scheme for yourself, then, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Wickham smiled knowingly at her. “Why not find some way free of it that way?”

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “Maybe someday. But my friend is first. I must secure Mr. Darcy for her. So, if it’s not a formal engagement, there is a chance.”

“I doubt it,” said Mr. Wickham.

“Oh, yes,” she said, getting to her feet, brushing at her skirts. “I’m well aware of what everything thinks of my matchmaking skills. They don’t believe I know what I’m doing. You think I’m just playing a little girlish game.”

“No, no,” said Mr. Wickham. “I would never presume to denigrate your skills so soundly, madam. I only meant that Mr. Darcy, he is not the sort of person who can be made to do things.”

“Right, then,” she said. “Well, he’ll have to think it’s his own idea.”

Mr. Wickham gave her a look so approving and impressed that she actually took a step back. “You’re an interesting sort of woman, aren’t you, Miss Bennet?”

She shook herself. “I have been too free and too open, I think. You must be thinking awful things of me.”

“I assure you, nothing I’m thinking about you right now is awful,” said Mr. Wickham, and there was a rough quality to his voice .

She had never heard a man speak that way about her. It made something inside her come untethered for a moment. She felt out of balance.

Mr. Wickham cleared his throat. “Oh, pardon me, I did not mean to overstep there.”

“You did not,” she said, giving him a tight smile. He hadn’t, had he? “We must go in, I think?”

“You go first,” he said softly. “After all, we must time our entrances.”

“Oh, that was but a joke, sir,” she said.

She went in on her own, anyway.

When Mr. Wickham came back in and joined a table of cards, she kept her gaze on him for some time, thinking to herself that the reverse of what he had said was true also.

Mr. Wickham was a very interesting sort of man, wasn’t he?

She didn’t think he would have been a very good rector, in the end, but then she didn’t suppose this much mattered, for Mr. Collins was not a very good rector either, all things considered.

What Mr. Wickham would be good at, however, well…

Something about Mr. Wickham made her feel a strange mixture of excitement and dread, she found. She was wary of him. She wanted to be near him nonetheless.