Page 216 of A Question of Character

“You mean to ride on with me,” Darcy said. It was not quite a question.

“I mean to see Miss Darcy safely to London, if you will permit it. After that—” Wickham hesitated, and something rueful crossed his face. “After that, I find I am rather more eager to return to Hertfordshire than I ever expected to be of any place in my life.”

Darcy nodded slowly.

“Lydia,” he said.

“Lydia,” Wickham agreed. “And Mr. Philips’s ledgers, which will not forgive my absence, however dramatic its cause.”

Despite everything, despite the exhaustion and the wreckage of the night behind them, Darcy felt something that was close to a smile.

“I owe you an apology that will take considerably longer than this ride to deliver properly.”

“Then we have several miles in which to begin it,” Wickham said, and led the way out into the yard.

twenty-five

A Better Understanding

Elizabeth waited for any news, but none was forthcoming.

Each morning began with the same expectation. Before breakfast she found herself listening for the sound of approaching horses upon the lane or the knock that might announce a messenger from London. More than once she caught herself glancing toward the window whenever Mrs. Hill crossed the hall, just to discover it was a tradesman or a neighboring farmer upon ordinary business. Life at Longbourn continued with remarkable determination. Mrs. Bennet discussed dinners, Kitty practiced her music with varying success, Mary read improving sermons aloud when anyone remained still long enough to hear them, and Lydia endeavored to appear cheerful despite an anxiety she did not wholly conceal. The household carried on because there was nothing else to be done.

It did not bother her, though she grew anxious with every passing day.

The contradiction would have amused her had the matter been less serious. She did not resent Darcy’s silence. Indeed, she would have thought less of him had he abandoned his sister in order to satisfy her curiosity. Georgiana must require every moment of his attention. Still, concern possessed an inconvenient habit of growing in the absence of information. A dozen possibilities presented themselves during idle moments, and although Elizabeth dismissed each one as quickly as it arose, another inevitably followed.

Darcy, she knew, would be heavily involved with securing his sister’s wellbeing and hardly in a position to pen a note to Mr. Bennet.

She pictured him much as she had last seen him: resolute, determined, and burdened by responsibilities no brother ought ever to bear. Whatever awaited him after reaching Georgiana, it could not have been easy. Whether he found her willing to return, frightened, defiant, or heartbroken, every outcome promised difficulty. The remembrance of the anguish in his countenance before he departed remained vivid enough that Elizabeth found herself offering silent prayers for his success whenever her thoughts wandered.

Uncle Philips had graciously forgiven his clerk’s abrupt departure.

Mr. Philips declared that no respectable employer could object to a young man’s leaving under such extraordinary circumstances, particularly when another gentleman had undertaken to explain the necessity. He nevertheless remarked—with considerable theatrical sighing—that his office had become a place of perpetual disorder without Mr. Wickham to keep the papers in their proper order. Lydia accepted this tribute to Mr. Wickham’s industry with unconcealed satisfaction, though she attempted to hide her smile by attending very closely to her embroidery.

Two weeks after Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy departed, the former came back to Longbourn.

His arrival occasioned rather more excitement than anyone admitted aloud. Mrs. Bennet insisted that fresh tea be prepared the instant Hill announced a visitor, while Kitty hurried to smooth ribbons that required no attention. Mary closed her book with deliberate care, plainly curious despite affecting indifference. Elizabeth rose before she consciously intended to do so, disappointment mingling with anticipation. If Wickham had arrived alone, Darcy had remained behind. Even so, news of any sort was preferable to uncertainty.

Mr. Wickham looked careworn and weary as he greeted the family warmly.

The change in him was unmistakable. Dust from the road still clung faintly to his coat despite every attempt to brush it away, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of too many nights spent with little rest. He smiled readily enough, yet the easy confidence which had once seemed inseparable from him had softened into something more thoughtful. The alteration suited him surprisingly well.

He kissed Lydia’s hand, lingering there for a moment longer than propriety allowed.

The gesture was restrained enough that no one could reasonably object, yet its warmth required no interpretation. His expression brightened in a manner Elizabeth had observed when Lydia entered a room. Whatever hardships the journey had imposed, they had not diminished that particular attachment.

Lydia seemed on the verge of embracing him, but maintained her composure admirably.

Elizabeth suspected the effort cost her youngest sister dearly. Lydia clasped her hands together instead and laughed a little more brightly than usual, as though conversation might compensate for every demonstration good breeding required her to suppress. Mrs. Bennet beamed upon them both with unmistakable approval, while Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper far enough to observe the exchange over its edge before returning to his reading with an expression that suggested amusement.

“I am sure you all want an explanation and a tale of the events. I shall be happy to oblige once I have had a cup of tea. Darcy has given me leave to explain all. Miss Elizabeth, he plans to return in a few days.”

They gathered in the parlor and Mrs. Bennet called for tea.

Hill soon appeared with a fresh tray, the fragrance of hot tea and warm currant buns lending an ordinary comfort to a morning that was anything but ordinary. No one reached immediately for the food. Even Mrs. Bennet, whose hospitality generally outweighed every other consideration, poured the cups with unusual haste. Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper and laid it upon the table beside him, giving Mr. Wickham his full attention. Mary drew her chair a little nearer, curiosity overcoming any desire to appear detached, while Kitty watched the visitor with wide eyes. Lydia scarcely looked away from him at all.

After a few fortifying sips, Mr. Wickham placed his cup and saucer on the tray and addressed them.