He paused—not from uncertainty, but as though he chose that the observation should rest where it was placed, and require its answer.
Lady Catherine regarded him steadily, with a faint, knowing smile, neither hastening to reply nor yielding the ground of authority which silence itself could secure.
“Mr. Wickham has been appointed to the living at Hunsford, Darcy,” she said at length, with composed decision. “He is, I understand you knew, recommended.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, receiving the reply without yielding to it, and though the motion was slight, it carried with it an acknowledgment of her statement rather than an acceptance of its implication.
“I did, indeed, recommend him, if that is what you refer to,” he returned, with measured distinctness; “yet I must beg leave to observe that the recommendation was not of a general nature. The situation I had in view was in Shrewsbury—suitable in every respect, and, I believed, sufficient to secure his comfortwithout further consequence; I did not suppose my words would be extended beyond that intention, nor applied where other considerations might arise.”
He stopped again, and this time the pause bore more visibly the mark of restraint, as though something further had suggested itself, yet was withheld from a determination not to exceed what the moment would properly bear.
Miss de Bourgh lifted her eyes, her attention now more fixed than before; there was in her expression a growing apprehension, though she did not yet speak, and her breath, slightly altered, seemed to betray that she felt more in what was said than she could either express or dismiss.
Lady Catherine’s tone rose slightly—not in loss of control, but in assertion of it, as one who will not have her judgement called into question under her own roof. “That distinction, Mr. Darcy, is of little consequence. A gentleman’s recommendation, once offered, must be understood to extend to his character; and I have seen no reason to question Mr. Wickham’s suitability. His manners are correct, his address respectful, and his conduct such as reflects credit upon those who have supported him, nor am I disposed to suppose that I have been mistaken in admitting him where I have done.”
Darcy listened without interruption; yet as she spoke, his expression altered sufficiently that Miss de Bourgh, who watched him with a more anxious attention, drew a quieter breath, as if something in his composure had confirmed what she had begun to fear.
“I do not dispute his manners,” Mr. Darcy said at length, and the deliberation of his tone rendered the concession less yielding than it appeared; “they have always been—adequate to his purposes. But I would not wish your ladyship to suppose thatcivility alone is a sufficient ground for confidence, particularly where a trust of this nature is concerned; there are cases in which conduct, though unexceptionable in appearance, may yet require a more particular consideration before it is relied upon without reserve.”
He spoke without heat, yet with a firmness that admitted of no retreat; and having said it, he did not attempt to soften it, as though he knew that whatever impression it made must stand as it was.
Miss de Bourgh stirred uneasily.
“My dear Cousin,” she said, very low, and with an effort which rendered the words more affecting than their substance, “perhaps—perhaps there may be some mistake. It is possible that—”
She stopped, unable to complete the thought, and turned, almost involuntarily, toward her mother, as though seeking either permission to proceed or assurance that she need not.
Lady Catherine turned to her at once.
“There is no mistake, Anne. The matter has been decided.”
Miss de Bourgh fell silent, though not composed; her acquiescence was immediate, but not tranquil.
Her cousin observed her for a moment, and in that moment something of his expression altered, as though her uneasiness had not been without effect upon him.
“If I may be permitted,” Mr. Darcy said, addressing his aunt again, and with a gravity now more deliberate than before, “I would only suggest that decisions, once made, do not necessarily conclude inquiry. There are cases in which further knowledge may recommend a reconsideration, not as a contradiction ofwhat has been done, but as a correction of what may not yet be fully understood.”
Lady Catherine’s countenance hardened.
“I do not reconsider what I have determined upon sufficient grounds,” she said. “Mr. Wickham is established here, and I shall not have his situation rendered uncertain by conjecture or private prejudice; I am not in the habit of admitting doubt where I have once been satisfied.”
Miss de Bourgh, whose composure had now nearly failed her, rose with more haste than she would otherwise have permitted herself.
“I am not equal to this discussion,” she said, more hurriedly than before. “I beg you will excuse me.”
“You may withdraw, Anne, if you are fatigued,” Lady Catherine replied, with visible impatience, though not without a glance which seemed to measure the effect of her daughter’s departure.
Miss de Bourgh made no further attempt to remain; yet as she passed Darcy, she cast upon him a look of quiet entreaty, uncertain, almost involuntary, as if hoping—without knowing how—that the matter might yet be resolved, or at least not pressed to a conclusion she feared.
The door closed behind her. There was a brief stillness in which what had been said seemed less ended than held in abeyance.
But it was broken almost immediately, as the door reopened and George Wickham entered unannounced, as one already familiar with the household.
His manner, at first glance, was easy; yet there was in his composure a degree of care which did not wholly escape notice, for though his step was unhurried and his countenance open, there remained about him something of adjustment, as if he had prepared himself—whether for reception or resistance, it was not immediately clear. He bowed to Lady Catherine with proper respect, and then, turning to Darcy, allowed himself a moment—brief, but deliberate—before speaking, as though he would not enter the exchange without first observing its temperature.
“I hope I do not intrude, Lady Catherine,” Wickham said, with a civility perfectly timed to disarm objection. “I understood your ladyship had returned, and thought it my duty to attend you; I would not willingly appear neglectful where I am so much obliged.”
“You are not unwelcome, Mr. Wickham,” Lady Catherine replied. “Mr. Darcy was speaking of your appointment.” She gave a slight cough and looked toward Darcy with marked attention, as if inviting him to explain himself further.
