Page 150 of A Question of Character

“I have listened to him before. He has an answer for every charge and a smile for every person he means to use.”

“Then test him. Ask him questions. Let him account for himself.”

“He already attempted that performance.”

“He asked you to name the man you believe guilty, did he not?”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Mr. Wickham told Lydia that you spoke of a summer misunderstanding. Lydia told me. I inferred the rest badly, perhaps, but you have given me little else.”

“I owe Wickham nothing.”

“No.” Elizabeth’s voice shook now, not with fear but strain. “But do you owe me so little?”

The question checked him.

She drew a breath and lowered her eyes. “Will this be the wedge that drives us apart?”

His answer came too quickly.

“If you allow it.”

The hurt in her face was instant and undeniable.

Darcy would have given much to call the words back, but pride held him motionless.

Elizabeth nodded once. “I see.”

“Elizabeth—”

“No. I have taken enough of your morning.” She stepped back, gathering her dignity with visible effort. “Good day, Mr. Darcy.”

She walked toward the house without waiting for his bow.

Darcy stood in the garden until the door closed behind her.

Darcy mounted with more force than elegance.

His horse tossed its head at the abrupt movement before settling into an easy walk down the lane. The hedgerows stood beneath a pale autumn sky, their leaves beginning to surrender to the season. A pair of crows lifted from a nearby field, complaining noisily as they crossed overhead.

Ordinarily, such familiar sights restored him.

Today they merely accompanied his thoughts.

If you allow it.

The words echoed with painful clarity.

He had spoken them as if the matter admitted one reasonable conclusion. As if Elizabeth’s reluctance to condemn Wickham amounted to disloyalty toward him.

His hands twisted the reins.

What else was I to say?

She believed Wickham.

No—not believed. She believed her own judgment. There was a distinction, however slight.