Mr. Wickham chuckled. “All my life, I’m afraid. You see, my father was the steward at Pemberley. Darcy and I knew each other as boys.”
“Really!” Oh, now, here truly was an excellent source of information. I lowered my voice. “Perhaps you would be the right man to ask, then. I must admit, I’ve found Mr. Darcy’s behavior rather... odd, since arriving in Hertfordshire.”
Wickham raised an eyebrow. “Odd?”
“Yes,” I said, a little more eagerly than I intended. “I’ve seen him act in ways that make me wonder if he’s... well, if there’s something wrong with him.”
Wickham chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t presume to say, Miss Bennet. Though, you’re not the first to observe such things.”
“Do you mean to say he’s always been... this way?”
Wickham’s smile turned a little sharper. “Mr. Darcy has always been... difficult to understand. Some might say it’s pride, but others—well, others might call it something else entirely.”
“I find myself perplexed by Mr. Darcy. There’s something... unsettling about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Wickham’s eyes gleamed with interest, and his lips curled into a grin that was just a touch too eager. “Ah, Mr. Darcy. Yes, he does have that effect, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t supposeyou’venoticed anything... off about him?”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though he were about to share some great, scandalous secret. “Off?Miss Bennet, you have no idea.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “Do go on.”
Wickham chuckled, clearly enjoying the attention. “Well, I suppose it’s no secret that Mr. Darcy and I are not... on the best of terms, but I hardly think I am unique in thinking him less than a gentleman. In fact, just a few days ago, there was quite the spectacle in town.”
My curiosity sharpened. “Spectacle?”
He leaned back, the picture of nonchalance. “Oh, yes. Mr. Darcy came tearing through Meryton on his horse, nearly knocked over half the market stalls, and all but ran over Colonel Forster. His horse was out of control, and Darcy—well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly in control of himself either.”
Lydia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in delighted horror. “He ran over Colonel Forster?”
“No, no,” Mr. Wickham corrected, his grin widening. “But he certainly looked like he was trying to. Poor Mr. Darcy was a sight. I’ve never seen a man so... flustered.”
I blinked, trying to picture the usually rigid, proper Darcy in such a state. “Flustered?”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Wickham nodded, feigning sympathy. “Sweating, red-faced, muttering to himself. I believe I evenheard him threatening his horse. Now, did you ever hear of such a thing? You’d have thought he was possessed.”
Lydia giggled, and Kitty covered her mouth to hide a grin, but I frowned, something twisting uncomfortably in my chest. Possessed? Muttering to himself? This all sounded vastly familiar.
Mr. Wickham must have sensed my hesitation because he leaned in again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It’s all rather unfortunate, really. The poor man’s clearly... not quite right in the head.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, and for the first time, I didn’t find Wickham’s easy charm amusing. “You think he’s... mad?”
Wickham shrugged, his expression far too casual. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but let’s just say he’s...eccentric. Everyone has their quirks, of course, but with Darcy... it’s more than that. He’s always been a strange fellow, but lately... well, let’s just say I’d keep my distance if I were you.”
Lydia and Kitty exchanged gleeful glances, clearly thrilled by the idea of Darcy being mad. But I found myself frowning, feeling a pang of... pity? Surely not. And yet...
I couldn’t help but remember all the strange things I’d witnessed at Netherfield. Darcy’s odd behavior, his stilted conversations, the way he looked at me as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Could it be true? Was he really losing his mind?
“Is he quite safe to be around?” I found myself asking.
Mr. Wickham’s face grew thoughtful. “I should not think him dangerous unless you choose to believe… whatever he is saying. Goodness knows what that might be.”
I forced a tight smile. “I daresay it is a pity you will not be at the ball, then. I would very much like to hear your thoughts on how he comports himself there.”
Just then, Lydia interrupted. “Oh, please say will you come, Mr. Wickham! We simply can’t have a ball without you!”
Mr. Wickham’s hesitation vanished, replaced by his charming smile. “On second thought, Miss Lydia, I think I shall attend. It might be worth seeing how the evening unfolds after all.”
