Wickham’s attention fixed more closely on her, though his ease did not desert him.
“Indeed?” he said, with a slight smile, in which curiosity and readiness were equally blended. “Then I must consider myself fortunate in arriving at such a moment. It would be of interest to know, Mr. Darcy, what view you are pleased to take of my present situation; for I would not willingly remain under any misapprehension where your opinion is concerned.”
Darcy met his gaze without variation.
“My view,” he said, and though the words were simple, they were not lightly delivered, “is that the situation has not been obtained under circumstances which recommend it; and thatwhat has been accepted may not, upon fuller consideration, be found equally justifiable.”
Wickham received this without visible offence; yet he did not immediately answer, and in that slight delay there was more calculation than surprise.
“I am at a loss,” he said at last, though not so much perplexed as choosing to appear so, “to understand what you would imply. I accepted what was offered to me, with the full approbation of your aunt, and under no condition that required hesitation on my part; I cannot suppose that I was obliged to decline what I had no reason to suspect improper, nor to question what was so readily placed within my reach.”
He paused, as if inviting contradiction, yet maintaining the appearance of reason, and allowing the weight of his defence to settle before it was challenged.
Darcy considered him a moment before replying, and in that consideration there was something of recollection as well as judgement.
“You seldom suppose yourself required to decline what serves you,” he said quietly, and though the tone was even, the implication was not.
There was no elevation of voice—yet the words did not pass lightly, nor were they received as such.
Wickham’s smile altered, though it did not vanish; it became, rather, more exact.
“If I have erred,” he said, “it has been in trusting too readily to the fairness of those whose regard I believed myself to possess; and I should regret, indeed, to think that I have mistaken thenature of your recommendation, or that what was given without reserve is now recalled with reluctance.”
Lady Catherine interposed at once, no longer disposed to allow the exchange to proceed unchecked.
“You have mistaken nothing,” she said sharply. “Mr. Wickham has acted with propriety, and I shall not have his conduct questioned. Mr. Darcy, I must insist that whatever private objections you entertain are not to be pursued here; my house is not to be made the scene of dispute. Also, I barely had the chance to explain to you that the repairs to the Hunsford parsonage home will start shortly and that I have invited you to reside at Rosings during the works.”
Darcy did not immediately reply; and in that pause, it was evident that he considered—not whether he would yield, but how far he would proceed without exceeding what propriety would permit.
“I have no wish to give your ladyship uneasiness,” he said at last, though the concession was measured rather than complete. “But I cannot withdraw my concern where I believe it justified; and I would not wish silence to be mistaken for acquiescence.”
Wickham acknowledged this with a slight, well-timed inclination—no submission, but a form observed without surrender.
“Then I can only hope,” the clergyman said, “that time will do me the justice which present suspicion denies; for I would willingly be understood where I am now, perhaps, misrepresented.”
Lady Catherine rose slightly, as if to give authority to what she next declared.
“That will be sufficient,” she said. “I will have no further discussion.”
The matter, so pronounced, was not resolved—but it was closed.
Mr. Darcy bowed—not as one satisfied, but as one who yields the moment without relinquishing the point—and turned to go to his room, though not without a final steadiness of regard which seemed to carry the argument beyond the words that had been permitted.
Wickham remained, his posture easy, his composure restored; yet there was in his stillness something watchful, as if he were content to let the silence speak where speech had been restrained, and to measure what advantage might yet be drawn from what had passed.
And though no more was said, it was plain that what had passed would not easily be forgotten, nor lightly set aside, either by those who had spoken—or by those who had understood.
***
Elizabeth Bennet sat in the inn room, her thoughts drifting back to her first encounter with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. The quiet of the chamber, broken only by the faint sounds of movement below stairs, seemed well suited to reflection, and she allowed her mind to dwell upon what she had lately observed.
She recalled his tall and imposing figure, his noble countenance marred by an air of haughty disdain. The corners of her lips quirked into a small, involuntary smile as she remembered her aversion towards him then. He had seemed so arrogant, so thoroughly convinced of his own superiority that he barely deemed anyone in Meryton worthy of his attention. Therehad been, in his manner at that time, something so decidedly repellent that she could scarcely reconcile it with the composure and attention he had since displayed.
As Elizabeth reflected on their first encounter, she could not help but think that he exuded an air of pride. However, as the days passed and she observed Mr. Darcy from a distance, her curiosity began to pique. There was something about his reserved demeanor and the air of mystery surrounding him that intrigued her.
She found herself watching him as he interacted with others, noting how he frequently retreated within himself or withdrew from conversation altogether. It was almost as though there were a hidden depth beneath his proud exterior, a side that few, if any, were privy to. His silence, when he chose it, did not always arise from indifference; and though he spoke little, she began to suspect that he observed much.
“Could it be,” Elizabeth pondered, leaning back slightly as if to better examine the thought, “that there is more to Mr. Darcy than the first wonderful impression?”
