Page 53 of The Lost Prophecy

Mr Wickham was merely amused. He accepted tea from Mrs Philips, complimented the room, and devoted several minutes to charming every woman present without appearing to neglect any of them. Yet his attention repeatedly returned to Elizabeth. Lydia had informed him that she had spent more than a week at Netherfield, and the mention of Mr Darcy’s name soon followed.

“I understand Mr Darcy is staying with Mr Bingley.” Mr Wickham took the chair opposite Elizabeth. “It is an unexpected pleasure to find an old acquaintance in Hertfordshire.”

“You know Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

“We were raised together.” Mr Wickham rested one arm along the chair and regarded the fire. “My father managed the previous Mr Darcy’s estate. No kinder or more generous gentleman ever lived.”

The distinction between father and son had been placed carefully enough to demand attention.

“And the present Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth enquired.

Mr Wickham released a breath, though Elizabeth noticed that his chest did not move accordingly. “We have not remained close.”

Mr Collins shifted his chair farther away. One leg of the tea table scraped across the carpet as he dragged it with him.

Lydia leaned forwards. “Did you quarrel?”

“I would not describe it so.” Mr Wickham smiled regretfully. “He caused me to lose a considerable fortune, but I cannot discuss the circumstances. My father was treated with great generosity, and I shall not repay that kindness by exposing Darcy.”

The refusal was admirable in construction. He had accused Mr Darcy of injustice, introduced a lost fortune, and then claimed too much honour to provide evidence. Elizabeth was expected to complete the offence for him and admire his discretion while doing so.

She placed her teacup on its saucer. “Mr Darcy may seem proud, and his manners do not always encourage immediate affection, but I have witnessed principles in him which I respect. I cannot readily believe that he would deliberately deprive another man of what was rightfully his.”

Mr Wickham’s eyes sharpened before his smile returned. “You are generous in your judgement.”

“I am cautious in it.”

For the first time since entering the room, he seemed uncertain of his ground. His fingers tightened briefly on the arm of his chair, then relaxed as he inclined his head.

“Perhaps I have allowed an old injury to influence me. Time may have altered him, or I may have misunderstood motives he never chose to explain.”

It was a graceful retreat, although Elizabeth noticed that he withdrew the accusation only after discovering she would not accept it unexamined.

Mr Wickham redirected the conversation to Netherfield. He asked how long Jane had been ill, whether Elizabeth had remained with her throughout and whether Mr Darcy often joined the family in the evenings.

“He was frequently present,” Elizabeth answered.

“And did you find his company improved upon acquaintance?”

“Well, he apologised when he believed he had been unjust.”

Mr Wickham’s smile held, but only through effort. “That is unlike the Darcy I remember.”

“Then perhaps time has altered him, as you said.”

Mary’s book remained open, but she had not turned a page. Kitty and Lydia listened with open fascination. Mr Collins sat behind his protective tea table, his face growing paler whenever Mr Wickham laughed or shifted in his direction.

“Will Darcy attend the Netherfield ball?” Mr Wickham asked.

“I presume so.”

“And you?”

“The entire neighbourhood has been invited.”

Mr Wickham’s gaze rested on her with greater interest than the answer warranted. “Then I shall look forward to the evening.”

Mrs Philips ordered the teapot replenished. Conversation widened around them, allowing Mr Wickham to entertain Lydia with anecdotes while Mr Carter admired Kitty and Mr Denny attempted to draw Mary into a discussion of music. Mr Collins said almost nothing. He watched Mr Wickham from behind the tea service and flinched whenever the officer’s gaze passed over him.