“Lizzy!Wouldyoujustlook what Mr Wickham has brought?”
It was late one Sunday afternoon, and Elizabeth had decided to attend services with Georgiana before joining her own sisters. Lydia’s question shook her badly, and she hung up her bonnet then turned round in some astonishment. “What?”
“Oh, come! You will not believe it.” Lydia caught Elizabeth’s elbow and dragged her reluctant sister into the dining room, where her mother and other sisters had gathered round the table gazing raptly at a whole roast leg of lamb. And at the head of the table, looking like some benevolent patron, stood George Wickham.
“Greetings, Sister.” He came to her side, bowing with a flourish and offering his most charming smile. “I was not certain you would be joining us, as I understand you have not come every Sunday of late. I do hope there is no trouble at Pemberley.”
Elizabeth kept her expression carefully neutral as she laid aside her wrap. “None whatsoever. May I ask to what we owe the pleasure of such a feast, sir?”
“Oh! A bit of nothing this is. A friendly wager with a well-to-do farmer, and I found myself the owner of this magnificent roast. I asked myself, ‘What shall I do with all this?’ and the answer was clear as day. But, my dear sister, you do not seem pleased. I hope I have not caused offense by my offering.”
She forced a smile and a gentle shake of her head. “Of course not.”
“Excellent,” said he, “for I have not yet done.” He placed his hand behind his back, pausing theatrically and waiting for her eyes to fix on his face. “Voila!” he cried and presented her with a small box.
Elizabeth hesitated, not accepting it at once, and his expression altered from buoyant to wounded. “I hope I have not troubled you, Elizabeth. Is a brother-in-law not permitted to give his sister-in-law a gift?”
“I am not certain it is seemly,” she confessed. “What would people say?”
“I hope they will say that George Wickham is a generous fellow who cares prodigiously for anyone who can claim a connection to him. Your good mother did not object.”
“My mother?” Elizabeth turned to find Mrs Bennet in the very act of touching a small jet brooch, pinned to her gown. “You gave my mother a brooch?”
“And a modest amber cross for each of your sisters, as well—I did not think it quite the thing to give unmarried ladies a brooch. I hope you will forgive me. Come, you must look at it! All the finest ladies prize jet jewellery while in mourning, yet its costliness might have prevented my favourite ladies from wearing such pieces in memory of their father and husband. I sought to remedy that.”
Elizabeth thinned her lips and opened the box. Inside was a tiny flower pin, black as night and glittering from its linen nest. “I thank you, Mr Wickham, but I cannot accept.”
“What is this, ‘Mr Wickham’? Have you grown formal with me, my dear sister?”
She closed the lid of the box and tried, in vain, to give it back. “No, but I must be conscious of appearances.”
Wickham’s countenance darkened. “This is not about accepting gifts, is it? You are more concerned about Darcy’s opinion.”
“Should I not be? My duties are as a guide and chaperon to his sister, and I am most often in his house. Does not my employer have a right to an opinion regarding my affairs?”
“Not if those personal affairs do not affect him. How can a simple brooch be of concern? I hope—” he touched his hand to her forearm and leaned close—close enough to send a shiver down her spine. “I hope you have not heeded Darcy in all things. He has only his own interests at heart.”
Elizabeth glanced down at Mr Wickham’s hand and coolly stepped back until he dropped it. “Please, sir, pay me the honour of regarding my wishes in this. I speak not for Mr Darcy’s sake, but my own. You are very generous, but it would be better if you did not continue bringing gifts.”
He frowned. “As you say, Elizabeth. I hope I am not unwelcome here.”
“Unwelcome?” Mrs Bennet had been speaking to Kitty, but she overheard Mr Wickham’s remarks at a most inopportune moment and came near to speak her mind. “Why could you think yourself unwelcome, Mr Wickham? Lizzy, whatever have you said to poor Mr Wickham?”
“A misunderstanding, Mrs Bennet,” Mr Wickham quickly interrupted. “Nothing to worry about. Our dear Elizabeth is only expressing her very sound reservations regarding the acceptance of gifts from a single gentleman. A wise lady—” he bowed graciously, “and I humbly submit to her wishes.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet scoffed. “Why, it is not as if Mr Wickham has singled you out inappropriately, but he has showered us all with his kindness. Is that not right, Mr Wickham?”
He inclined his head. “As you say, but I would not wish to cause any discomfort or ill feelings.”
“Do not be ridiculous! Come, the table is laid. Lizzy, take that dirty wrap out from the dining room.”
Elizabeth surrendered, though Jane gave her a curious look as she passed by. Chastened, Elizabeth schooled her expression to be as neutral as she could make it and determined to avoid making a scene.
“Whatascene!Jane,I cannot recall when I have been more humiliated!”
Elizabeth slammed the door to Jane’s bedroom and sank forcefully onto the creaking bed. “How does she dare?”
“Lydia can be too outspoken,” Jane agreed, “but it was not so bad.”
