The conversation eventually regained momentum, though Mr. Wilson’s confidence seemed slightly shaken. Mr. Bennet drew Bingley into discussion regarding estate improvements while Mr. Hurst offered occasional remarks about hunting. Gradually the table divided into smaller exchanges.
It was during one such lull that Mr. Wilson turned toward Darcy more directly.
“You and Miss Elizabeth appear well acquainted already.”
The observation emerged casually enough, though something beneath it sharpened Darcy’s attention. “We have spent some time in company.”
Mr. Wilson swirled his wine slowly. “She is a charming girl.”
Darcy said nothing.
Wilson continued after a moment. “Sensitive, too, I think.”
The implication beneath the words grew clearer.
Darcy regarded him steadily. “You appear concerned for her.”
“I am.” Wilson met his gaze openly enough now. “Miss Barnett is nearly my closest relation remaining from that side of the family. Naturally I take interest in her welfare.”
Darcy’s expression remained composed. “Mr. Bennet acts as her guardian in all meaningful respects.”
“Of course. Still, family remains family.” His smile appeared more condescending than friendly and something in the man’s tone irritated Darcy immediately.
Wilson leaned slightly closer. “Forgive my directness, Mr. Darcy, but I hope you do not object to plain speaking.”
“I generally prefer it.”
“Then plainly spoken—I trust Miss Elizabeth understands your attentionscorrectly.” He raised a brow.
Darcy stilled. “My attentions.” What could the man mean?
“You are a gentleman of consequence,” Wilson said carefully. “A man in your position must know how easily a young woman maymisunderstandadmiration.”
Darcy’s voice cooled. “You presume a good deal.”
“Do I?” Wilson studied him with surprising steadiness now, much of his earlier awkwardness gone completely. The man might lack polish, but he was neither foolish nor blind. “You are attentive to her,” Wilson continued. “Others notice it. I notice it.”
Darcy set down his glass deliberately. “And why precisely does that trouble you?”
Wilson faltered only briefly. “Because men of your standing do not marry daughters of tradesmen.” The words settled heavily between them.
Darcy’s jaw hardened almost imperceptibly.
Wilson pressed onward, perhaps mistaking silence for uncertainty. “Miss Elizabeth is a lovely girl, but society is what it is. A gentleman such as yourself may admire her greatly without ever intending serious consequence. I merely dislike seeing young women injured by expectations which cannot properly be fulfilled.”
Darcy held his cousin's gaze for several long seconds before speaking. “And you assume my intentions cannot be serious because her father engaged in trade.”
Wilson spread his hands slightly. “Can you truly deny the distinction matters?”
Darcy almost chuckled then—not from amusement, but from sheer disbelief. “You advise me,” he said slowly, “to seek women of my own sphere.”
“Surely that is simplest for everyone involved.”
“Such as Miss Bingley, perhaps?”
Wilson grinned, apparently believing himself understood at last. “Exactly so. A very suitable connection.”
Darcy laughed outright. The sound drew immediate attention from farther down the table.
