“But I will say,” Fitzwilliam went on, squeezing his shoulder once before letting him go, “she strikes me as a more comfortable sort of wife than your Miss Elizabeth. She is certainly very pretty, but I am not convinced I wish to spend my life in conflict within my own household—most particularly not with my wife.”
He paused, and when Darcy finally lifted his head, Fitzwilliam was grinning at him.
“Particularly when I suspect I should lose every one of those battles.”
Over the next several days,the residents of Millwood Cottage were inundated with visitors. Some sought to merely repay the calls Elizabeth and Georgiana had previously made; others arrived out of curiosity, having never met Mr Grant nor Colonel Fitzwilliam and wishing, upon hearing they were in residence, to secure an introduction. The gossip about Mr Grant actually being Lord Granfield appeared not to have spread as rapidly as they had feared, for none of their visitors mentioned the news or asked about it.
A few were ambitious mothers who hoped one or the other gentleman might prove amenable to an attachment with some daughter or another, there being so few marriageable men in the neighbourhood. In this, however, they were disappointed.
They were not the only ones.
For the most part, only ladies were admitted, the butler and footmen being under the strictest instructions to refuse any gentleman who called, no matter how pressing his errand or how hopeful his expression. The gentlemen themselves were said to be perpetually engaged in matters of “business”—a description so conveniently vague that it might have encompassed anything from estate correspondence to hiding in the shrubbery—and thus they contrived to avoid the visitors altogether.
Having heard vague reports of two wealthy heiresses residing at the cottage, a number of militia officers attempted to pay their respects, but none were admitted. Among them were the newly minted lieutenants George Wickham and Frederick Sanderson, together with Captain Denny; yet they departed as they hadcome—disappointed, curious, and no wiser than before, save for having learnt the surname of Grant.
No other name had reached Wickham’s ears. He could not guess who else might be concealed behind the cottage walls, and the uncertainty pricked at him sharply.
Wickham, however, chose to treat it as a challenge rather than a defeat. As he turned back towards the village with his companions, he assured himself that a mystery in so small a place could not possibly remain secret for long. If this Mr Grant proved so vigilant in guarding the ladies, then their fortunes must be vast indeed—and fortunes, Wickham had long believed, were rarely guarded successfully from a determined man.
Rather than return to Meryton without any sustenance, they decided they ought to pay a call on the Bennets. There they were not only assured of a welcome, but of good food and good company.
To their astonishment, the reception proved far cooler than expected. Oh, the youngest girls, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia, greeted them with their usual enthusiasm, but Mrs Bennet was reserved, and the elder two were nearly hostile—or as hostile as propriety allowed.
Soon after their arrival, before any refreshments could be offered, Mr Bennet entered the room. He seated himself and observed the manner in which his daughters received the officers, and almost the moment a quarter hour had elapsed, he rose.
“Gentlemen, might you join me in my bookroom for a few minutes before you depart?” he asked. It was plain to all three that it was hardly a request.
Before long, the three men found themselves standing before Mr Bennet’s desk. He had invited them to sit. A small arrangement of comfortable chairs stood temptingly near the fire, yet those placed before the desk had been rendered useless beneath untidy piles of books. They ought to have been moved to allow his visitors a seat, but the gentleman did not seem inclined to do so. Mr Bennet took his own chair and made no effort to put the men at their ease.
Neither did he offer any refreshment, as the officers might reasonably have expected.
Wickham, who considered himself an excellent judge of countenances, did not mistake the expression turned upon them. Mr Bennet looked composed—but, to his surprise, thoroughly displeased. On previous visits, the gentleman had scarcely troubled himself to greet them and had left the officers to the society of the ladies. Already, this was a strange departure.
The realisation sent a prickle of warning down Wickham’s spine, quickly followed by a flare of resentment. He had done nothing to deserve such treatment. Nothing that could be proved, at any rate, and certainly not yet in Meryton. He had only just begun to lay the groundwork for his plans to take what he could from the residents of this little hamlet and finance his life until he could secure an heiress.
Beside him, Captain Denny held himself with studied composure, his expression politely attentive. Wickham did not miss the faint tightening about his mouth at this unusual situation. Sanderson, however, cleared his throat and shifted his feet. He was young, much more suited to the lieutenancy than Wickham, and that showed in his behaviour. The room, which had seemed merely small upon entering, now felt airless.
“Gentlemen,” Mr Bennet began at last, once the silence had done its work, “I cannot speak to any one of you in particular, but certain reports have circulated in the village suggesting that not every officer is precisely what he claims to be. The men of this neighbourhood—especially those who have daughters—have therefore been advised to exercise caution; not only against gentlemen who incur debts they have no intention of settling, but against any scoundrel who might presume upon a young lady’s good nature.”
His gaze passed over them lightly. Wickham felt as though he had been pinned in place even though the gentleman’s eyes lingered on no one man longer than another.
Heat crept into his collar. How dared the man? After all the civility he had shown, all the charm he had exerted for the benefit of this very household?—
“While I am perfectly willing to suppose that you are not among those of whom we have been warned,” Mr Bennet continued, in the tone of a gentleman granting a favour he need not grant at all, “my wife and I have nevertheless resolved that we shall no longer open our home with the same freedom as before. As we have no wish to single out individuals, we have adopted a general rule.”
He folded his hands upon the desk.
“Unless expressly invited, gentlemen, members of the militia will no longer be at liberty to call here.”
He paused only a heartbeat before adding, almost mildly, “You will find, I believe, a similar reception awaiting you in most houses throughout the neighbourhood.”
With only a few additional words exchanged, the men soon found themselves dismissed from the house. Having failed to gain admittance at one home and been all but shown the door at another, they had little appetite for attempting a third. Instead, they turned their steps back towards the village.
They saluted the ladies they passed with habitual cheer, yet none paused to return it. More than once Wickham caught the hard, appraising stares of the men they encountered, and he did not like the look of them.
Rather than stop at the tavern as they might have done the day before, they continued on towards the camp.
“What the devil has happened to sour our welcome so?” Sanderson demanded as they passed between the lines of tents and made for the officers’ mess, where several of their fellows already lingered.
