“Since infancy,” Wickham said with a faint, nostalgic smile. “We were practically inseparable as boys. Pemberley was as much my home as it was his. Your future husband once fell into the stream attempting to prove he could leap farther than I. I pushed him.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “And he forgave you?”
“Eventually.” The smile faded slightly. “Things altered when we went to university. It is one thing to be companion to an heir at home; it is another to be reminded of the distinction in public.”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened, though she remained careful. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was my own failing,” Wickham said, with what appeared to be candor. “I allowed envy to sour what had been a simple affection. Darcy was uncomfortable with the attention he received. I was uncomfortable with the lack of it. We drifted. I do not blame him.”
Darcy felt an unexpected tightening in his chest.
“When Darcy’s father died,” Wickham continued, “the will was most generous. Uncle George left me a small fortune and the promise of a living. I had no wish to take orders, however. Your fiancé was exceedingly fair. He reimbursed me handsomely for relinquishing the living and agreed to fund my studies in law.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly. “That was… generous indeed.”
“It was,” Wickham said quietly. “More than I deserved, perhaps. I have not always made the most prudent choices since. I thought it best not to press myself too closely upon the family, particularly upon Lady Anne and Miss Darcy. My habitswould not have been the most… acceptable to ladies such as themselves.”
There was no bitterness in his tone—only a rueful acceptance.
“But I am truly pleased,” he added, glancing at Elizabeth with what seemed genuine warmth. “Darcy has chosen wisely. I am glad he is opting for happiness over status for his future.”
Elizabeth studied him for a long moment. “And you are content with the distance between you now?”
Wickham gave a small shrug. “Content enough. Perhaps one day we shall recover some of what was lost.”
Darcy stepped forward then, unwilling to linger in the shadows like a spy.
“I trust I have not missed anything of consequence,” he said evenly, setting the glass before Elizabeth.
Wickham turned with easy composure. “Only my confession of youthful folly.”
“Ah, so then it will take another several hours to finish the tale.”
Letting out a surprised bark of laughter, Wickham saluted Elizabeth. “You seem to have influenced my cousin with a sense of humor. Well done, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy met his cousin’s gaze. There was no mockery there. No open resentment. Only something quieter.
Elizabeth accepted the glass. Her fingers brushed Darcy’s hand. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He felt the warmth of her gratitude far more keenly than the heat of the crowded room.
He seated himself once more, acutely aware of Elizabeth beside him and of the curious balance between past and present that seemed to hang in the air. Whatever boyhood jealousies had once divided him from his cousin, they did not belong to this moment.
Elizabeth lifted her cards with renewed attention, and the conversation at the table shifted to safer topics. The candles burned lower; the laughter rose and fell again.
And yet, even amid the noise and motion, Darcy felt a quiet certainty settle within him.I could spend the rest of my life content with her at my side.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth had hoped for a quiet morning.
Hope, she reflected as she watched Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy cross the lawn toward Longbourn, was often an overconfident thing.
Jane received them with her usual sweetness, and Bingley, who had entered with evident eagerness, colored faintly when she inquired after his sisters.
“They are—ah—indisposed this morning,” he said, adjusting his cuffs with unnecessary care. “I believe they are under the impression that we are riding about the estate rather than paying calls.”
Elizabeth caught the faint tightening at the corners of his eyes and understood perfectly well the misunderstanding was maintained on purpose.
