Elizabeth studied him more closely while introductions commenced.
There was intelligence in him, certainly. One could see it in the quickness of his observations and the alertness with which he measured the reactions of those around him. His manners lacked the effortless polish of men raised solely within genteel society. Every phrase appeared carefully chosen, as though hehad spent years teaching himself how gentlemen ought to speak and occasionally still paused to ensure he had selected the proper form.
The effort showed most clearly whenever he became animated.
His speech then lost some refinement, growing broader and more direct before correcting itself again a moment later.
When at last Mrs. Bennet began introducing the daughters, Mr. Wilson’s attention sharpened visibly upon Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing with particular warmth.
“Mr. Wilson.”
“Or Miss Barnett, perhaps I ought to say.”
Elizabeth blinked slightly.
Mrs. Bennet’s expression altered almost imperceptibly.
Mr. Wilson continued without pause, apparently unaware he had introduced a minor awkwardness.
“You favor your father strongly about the eyes,” he said. “I should have known you immediately.”
Elizabeth managed a polite smile. “I was very young when my father died. I fear I remember little that would help me return the compliment.”
“Well, you have his look about you regardless.” Mr. Wilson nodded with evident satisfaction. “Yes. Very much.”
The scrutiny made Elizabeth mildly uncomfortable, though she could not have said precisely why. There was nothing improper in his manner, only a degree of familiarity that felt strangely premature.
Introductions continued.
Jane received his compliments with graceful calm. Mary earned immediate approval when she admitted enjoying history. Kitty and Lydia appeared chiefly interested in whether mill owners encountered highwaymen regularly.
As for Thomas and Toby—
Elizabeth noticed the change in them straightaway.
The twins, who ordinarily greeted new arrivals with eager curiosity bordering upon interrogation, sat unnaturally still.
Not shy. Watchful. Thomas narrowed his eyes the instant Mr. Wilson turned away from Elizabeth. Toby’s mouth was fixed into a line of unmistakable suspicion.
Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance with her father.
Mr. Bennet, who had observed the same thing, lifted one shoulder very slightly and returned his attention to the conversation.
Mrs. Bennet noticed as well.
Unlike her husband, she frowned.
Dinner was announced shortly afterward.
If Mr. Wilson had seemed energetic before, the meal revealed him fully.
He spoke constantly.
Not rudely, perhaps, for he asked questions and occasionally paused for replies, but every answer merely served as a bridge back toward another tale of his own experience. Within the first quarter hour, the table had learned about the difficulties of transporting machinery through flooded roads, the stubbornness of Yorkshire suppliers, and the extraordinary incompetence of a clerk dismissed after losing three months’ worth of invoices.
“And then,” Mr. Wilson declared, carving enthusiastically into the beef before him, “the fools decided smashing looms would somehow improve wages.”
