Later that afternoon, he asked whether she would walk with him.
The request was made properly, in Mrs. Bennet’s presence and without the slightest presumption.
“The weather appears fair enough,” he said. “If Miss Elizabeth is so inclined, I should be grateful for the pleasure of a turn about the garden.”
Mrs. Bennet glanced toward Elizabeth.
The look contained no pressure, only quiet inquiry.
Elizabeth could have refused.
She very nearly did.
Then her gaze fell upon the papers resting beside her mother’s workbasket, and refusal began to seem ungracious.
“I should be pleased,” she said.
Mr. Wilson appeared genuinely delighted.
They began in the kitchen garden, where the paths were drier and the wind less sharp. He did not launch into an account of himself, a restraint Elizabeth noted with considerable interest.
At length he said, “I fear I made a poor beginning here.”
“You arrived with remarkable confidence.”
“A charitable description.”
“Perhaps.”
He smiled. “You see? You are capable of mercy.”
“I am capable of good manners.”
“That as well.”
They passed the final rows of cabbages and turned toward the orchard, now largely bare except for a few stubborn leaves still clinging to the branches.
“I had constructed a story in my mind,” he said. “About kinship. About old connections. About your father. When I arrived, I behaved as though that story belonged to you as well.”
Elizabeth stared at him.
The honesty of the admission surprised her.
“I scarcely remembered you,” she said. She scarcely remembered her father, either.
“I suspected as much,” he replied, without offense.Elizabeth glanced at him and was struck anew by how sensible amatch he represented. He was industrious, sincere, and wholly unashamed of the commercial world from which he had come. A woman might build a secure and useful life beside such a man. Had her thoughts not already been claimed elsewhere, she might have found his attentions exceedingly difficult to resist.
“I did not mean—”
“No, speak plainly. It is better.” Mr. Wilson shook his head.
He clasped his hands behind his back as they continued along the path.
“I knew your father only in fragments—through business, letters, and a handful of visits. I made more of that connection than I ought because very few Barnetts remain who remember that branch of the family at all.”
Elizabeth’s irritation dulled despite herself. “That must be lonely.”
“At times, yes.”
