Page 77 of A Question of Character

“No.” He gave a short laugh that held little amusement. “I once intended very little at all. A young man with expectations may mistake them for merit. When the expectations disappear, he is forced to discover whether any merit remains.”

Elizabeth regarded him more closely.

“And did you?”

“Discover any?” He looked toward the wet garden. “A little, perhaps. Not enough at first. Enough to begin again.”

The humility in that answer did more for him than any account of virtue could have done. It did not sound practiced. Indeed, he appeared to dislike having said so much.

“My uncle esteems you highly,” Elizabeth said.

“That esteem has been hard won. Mr. Philips is a kind man, but he is no fool. He gave me work no gentleman would boast of and watched whether I did it.”

“And did you?”

“Badly, the first week. Better by the second. By the third, he trusted me to copy documents without hovering near enough to breathe down my neck.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That is a triumph indeed.”

“To a man who had been foolish enough to think work beneath him, it was more than a triumph. It was a correction.”

The rain gathered upon the edge of the roof and fell in bright drops between them and the garden. From the drawing room came Lydia’s voice, followed by Kitty’s protest and Mrs. Bennet’s demand that no one crease the cards.

Mr. Wickham’s expression altered at the sound. It held fondness, exasperation, and a carefulness Elizabeth did not think feigned.

“You are very attached to my sister,” she said.

“Yes.”

No embellishment. No flourish.

Elizabeth leaned against the passage wall, the basket of roses resting against her hip. “You are aware she is very young.”

“I am painfully aware of it.”

She pressed harder. “She has a lively temper.”

“She has a lively everything.” The grin on his face was one of a man clearly enamored.

“That is true.”

“She is also kinder than people suppose.” Wickham’s hand closed over the railing. “Too many laugh at her because she speaks before she thinks. They do not notice when she is generous, or when she is hurt and hides it by becoming louder. I was once much admired for saying agreeable things. It did me no good. I would rather be of use to someone who might become better because she is believed capable of it.”

Elizabeth looked down at the rose in her basket and found herself unexpectedly moved. “Then you do understand her.”

“I hope to. In time.”

“And you mean to wait?” This, most of all, had surprised her.

His answer came without hesitation. “Until she is sixteen before any formal engagement is made public, and until her father is satisfied. Longer, if he requires it. I will not have her hurried into a marriage merely because she is pleased with me now.”

“That is honorable.”

“I am trying to become so.” The admission was too plain to be dismissed as charm.

Before Elizabeth could answer, Lydia burst into the passage with all the energy of a small storm. “There you are! I knew Lizzy had stolen you. Mama says if you do not come back, Mary will begin reading aloud from Fordyce, and that will be your fault.”

“My fault?” Wickham asked.