For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I’ll never love thee more.
I either fear my fate too much,
Or my deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch
To win or lose it all.
The lady did not immediately lay the paper aside. The lines, though not addressed, seemed capable of direction; and once admitted, the possibility was not easily dismissed.
A faint colour rose in her cheeks, less from embarrassment than from a sensation she did not care to define too precisely. That such sentiments should be entertained in her regard was, on reflection, not wholly improbable. Lady Catherine was not accustomed to undervaluing her own consequence; nor was she inclined, in this instance, to do so.
Yet she was not without caution. The circumstance was unusual, and required to be understood before it might be credited. That a man so newly introduced should venture upon such expressions might, in another, have been deemed presumption. In Mr. Wickham, however—whose manner had been marked by propriety, whose address had neither exceeded nor fallen short of what was due—such a sentiment might be interpreted differently.
Her thoughts turned, not without significance, to the recommendation she had earlier examined, in which Mr. Darcy’s judgement had been expressed with uncommon clarity. Such an opinion, rarely bestowed and never lightly given, had been favourable to Mr. Wickham—decidedly so. Her nephew had observed in the gentleman proposed for the rectory qualities of steadiness and promise; and, if these were indeed present, they might account for a regard less the result of impulse than of a just appreciation of merit.
Darcy was not, she knew, a man to be influenced by appearances alone. That others might be so affected was neither surprising nor, in itself, objectionable.
Lady Catherine folded the paper at last, though not with the indifference she had first brought to it, and placed it aside among the remaining documents.
The matter, she resolved, required clarification—but not, perhaps, immediate contradiction. Tomorrow would afford the opportunity.
And Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who preferred to judge upon certainty rather than conjecture, would be fully prepared to determine whether what had been suggested might, in fact, be sustained.
***
The following afternoon, Mr. Wickham presented himself at Rosings in consequence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s request, being prepared to give an account of the parish now entrusted to his care. Perfectly at ease in his manner, yet attentive to every alteration in her ladyship’s countenance, he spoke of his intended arrangements with a measured confidence, outlining charitable designs, improvements in order, and such regulations as might, with time and proper support, render the living more respectable.
Lady Catherine listened with an attention that, though outwardly composed, was not without a degree of interest, interrupting him only where clarification seemed necessary, or where his expressions invited correction rather than contradiction.
Encouraged by her reception, Wickham ventured, with apparent reluctance, to mention the state of the parsonage. The cottage, he observed, was in need of such repairs as could not, with propriety, be delayed, and though he would not presume todictate the manner of their execution, he felt it his duty to bring the matter to her notice.
“In the meantime,” he added, with a slight inclination of the head, “I had considered removing myself temporarily to an inn, that the work might proceed without inconvenience to others.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Catherine replied at once. “What business have you in an inn? You and your household will remove immediately to Rosings. There is ample accommodation, and you will be far better provided for here than at Hunsford.”
Wickham hesitated just sufficiently to render his compliance the more acceptable. “Your ladyship is most generous; yet I would be unwilling to occasion you unnecessary expense or disturbance.”
“It seems you are determined to oppose me,” she returned. “I do not invite contradiction, Mr. Wickham.”
He bowed. “I should be sorry to incur your ladyship’s displeasure.”
Lady Catherine’s expression softened, though not without a trace of satisfaction at having prevailed. “You will occupy the chamber near the staircase on the second floor. It is the best appointed.”
“I am entirely at your disposal, your ladyship.”
She regarded him for a moment longer, as though some further consideration had presented itself. “I made it known, before your appointment, that a married clergyman is always preferable in a parish such as this. It commands greater respect. Have you any intention of marrying?”
Wickham did not immediately reply. The pause, though brief, lent weight to what followed.
“I should not presume to speak with confidence on such a subject,” he said at last. “There is—if I may confess it—a lady to whom my regard is most sincerely engaged; yet circumstances do not permit me to declare myself as I might wish.”
