by Jann Rowland
In Bennet’s opinion, he found it difficult to understand how anyone could mistake young Wickham’s feelings. The number of times he had openly scowled in the younger Darcy’s direction were more than could be explained by simple rivalry. No, Wickham hated Darcy and envied him, and unless Bennet missed his guess, he would do anything to hurt him. Would that extend to Elizabeth? Bennet liked to think not, for whatever else he was, Bennet did not think Wickham was prone to violence. But such feelings as he obviously espoused were enough to make many a man forget himself, men of more sterling character than he thought Mr. Wickham possessed.
As Bennet was sitting and watching the man, noting his looks at Darcy, which occurred with great frequency, regardless of to whom he was speaking, he noted the elder Darcy also watching his son and Lizzy. Perhaps it was a futile gesture, but Bennet thought it incumbent upon him to attempt to open the man’s eyes to the true character of his favorite.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Bennet as he approached the other man. He noted with some amusement that Mr. Darcy assumed a cordial but distant demeanor when he noticed Bennet’s presence. “I hope you are quite comfortable with us in Hertfordshire? This neighborhood may not be the height of society, but we are fond of it, nonetheless.”
“I have felt quite welcomed, Mr. Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy. “There is nothing wanting in your hospitality.”
“Excellent,” said Bennet. His eyes finding his daughter-in-law, Bennet smiled at the girl with affection. “Caroline, I believe, put much effort into this evening’s event. While she is still young, she is capable. It is good to have a mistress once again installed at Longbourn, though my girls performed well themselves when confronted by the task.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes found Bennet for the first time. “It has not been long since your wife passed, I understand.”
“Eighteen months, more or less. She was a loving woman and a good mother. I find I miss her exceedingly.”
“My feelings would be the same, should I find myself in your situation,” said Mr. Darcy, his gaze finding his wife.
“It is fortunate I have a son to follow in my footsteps and daughters to fill the void.” Bennet smiled at his guest. “Of course, you know the joys of sons and daughters yourself, though I must suppose your experience with girls is not as extensive as mine.”
“Georgiana is a good girl, never giving us a hint of trouble. In fact, I might wish for more confidence in her case. It seems to me your girls do not lack confidence.”
Bennet chuckled. “In Lizzy’s case, it is quite the opposite, and Mary is quite like her. Jane does not show her confidence in the same way, but she has it all the same.” A pause ensued in which Bennet considered how best to raise the subject of Mr. Wickham. “I also understand you have done much to assist the other member of your party.”
It may not have been the best way to do it, but Bennet found he was lacking in patience that evening. It was fortunate that Mr. Darcy seemed willing to speak of his protégé.
“Wickham is a most engaging man. The elder Wickham was the best of men—I enjoyed his company for many years; his work on my estate was without peer. Young George is a man who, I think, would have made his father proud.”
At that very moment, Elizabeth laughed at something her suitor said, and Darcy joined in the merriment, their regard for each other clear for all to see. Hearing it, Mr. Wickham’s eyes darted to where they sat, his mouth tightening to a hard line, his jealousy written upon his brow in indelible ink. But though it was clear for all to see, it appeared Mr. Darcy noticed none of it, for his gaze was still fixed upon the young man with fondness.
“The only regret I have,” continued Mr. Darcy, “is the enmity my son and godson have always held for each other.” Mr. Darcy paused and shook his head, frowning at his son. “Fitzwilliam has carried many tales to my ears, all due to his jealousy. Of what he has to be jealous, I do not know. He is the heir, after all, the one who will inherit all I own. Wickham must make his own way in the world, and yet Fitzwilliam objects to my attempts to smooth his way.”
“Are you certain it is jealousy?” Mr. Darcy’s eyes swung to Bennet, his head tilted a little to the side in question. “Or perhaps more to the point,” said Mr. Bennet, his tone becoming direct, “are you certain the jealousy is on your son’s part?”
“It seems my son has been bearing tales,” said Mr. Darcy, his tone disgruntled. “How I wish he would simply allow Wickham to go his own way and not attempt to interfere.”
“If by carrying tales you mean informing us of all of your godson’s supposed misdeeds, I must disabuse you. We never heard of a Mr. Wickham before your arrival, and, since, his words on the subject have been brief.”
“But he did defame Wickham after we came,” said Mr. Darcy, his manner challenging.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Bennet, attempting conciliation without giving an inch, “I consider myself to be an intelligent, open sort of man. There are as many motivations in this world as men who espouse them. Though I am impressed with your son and consider him one of the finest men of my acquaintance, I would not take his word—or anyone else’s, for that matter—without supplementing it with my own observation.”
“But it has prejudiced you,” said Mr. Darcy.
“Perhaps it has influenced me. But I will say my observations are as unbiased as I can make them. As I stated, I have not heard so much as Mr. Wickham’s name before he appeared in my home. But his behavior since coming here, even in the short time I have been speaking with you, has put me on my guard.”
“What do you mean?”
Bennet suppressed a sigh. For an intelligent man, it seemed that Mr. Darcy was blind to Wickham’s character flaws, and he could not account for it. Surely, he must have seen something of it in the years he had hosted the young man at his home.
“Have you not witnessed the way Mr. Wickham has glared at them? In all honesty, I cannot be sure if he scowls at your son or my daughter, but had I thought it directed at Lizzy in particular, I would have thrown him from my house. The entire time they have been sitting together, his eyes have rarely left them, and you are a simpleton if you believe his thoughts are anything friendly.”
“He has not seemed anything other than what he usually is,” replied Mr. Darcy, his tone defensive.
“If so, then I shudder to think what his behavior must be like in your house.” Mr. Darcy’s piercing gaze found Bennet, his displeasure clear. But Bennet was not about to be intimidated. “What is more, I should think you would be concerned for your own daughter. My understanding is that she has a handsome dowry?”
Mr. Darcy’s tight nod confirmed his conjecture.
“Then it must be an attraction for one in a position such as Mr. Wickham. If you consider it, you are his champion, the means of his entrance into society and his support. But it is clear when you are gone—regardless of when that unhappy event occurs—your son will not continue to support him.”
“Wickham does have a profession. He may support himself.”
“Then why is he not engaged in it now?” asked Bennet. He could see the frown settling over Mr. Darcy’s countenance and knew he had scored a significant point. “Again, Mr. Darcy, I do not know Mr. Wickham well, and I cannot speak to his motives. But I do suggest that it would be understandable if he felt jealous because of his own situation next to your son. If he is jealous, a feeling like that festering for years can drive a man to great lengths.
“This is all conjecture, of course. I do not know that Mr. Wickham means harm. But I do not like his behavior, and I must protect my daughter.”
“So you mean to bar him from Longbourn?”
“I do not know that would resolve anything,” replied Bennet, “though I would do it if I saw incontrovertible evidence of his misbehavior. Besides, Longbourn is the one place I can ensure her safety, should my concerns become truth. It is elsewhere that worries me.”
Mr. Darcy considered what he had heard, his eyes now fixed on Wickham
rather than his son. In time, he spoke, and Mr. Bennet, knowing it was his move, allowed him time to think rather than pressing him.
“I have much on which to think, Mr. Bennet. Though I am convinced of Wickham’s goodness, I shall consider your words. Perhaps it is time Wickham returned to his profession.”
“That would likely be for the best. A man must be engaged in his life’s work, after all. If Mr. Wickham wishes to take a wife, he will need to improve his situation, and I assume he cannot remain a clerk forever.”
The absent nod from Mr. Darcy was all he was to receive. Bennet was happy with the result of the conversation, for at least he had induced the other man to think. Another pair of eyes watching Mr. Wickham could only help.
Chapter XXVIII
Mr. Bennet was not the only member of the Bennet family to notice Mr. Wickham’s apparent aversion for Darcy and how it encompassed Elizabeth. And he did not like what he saw in the slightest.
It was strange. The knowledge of Darcy’s actions with respect to Lizzy had come to light not that long ago, and Thomas Bennet had returned to Hertfordshire determined to watch the gentleman to ensure his good behavior and satisfy himself of the man’s worthiness. When Thomas considered the matter further, he realized it was not all this new threat posed by Mr. Wickham driving the change in his opinion of Darcy. The man had been perfectly well behaved, respectful, thoughtful, and, perhaps most importantly, clearly showed himself to be besotted with Elizabeth. While that was no guarantee, it was promising to say the least.
The question was, what to do with Mr. Wickham. Had Thomas thought his father remained ignorant of the man’s behavior, he might have approached him about barring Wickham from Longbourn, but Mr. Bennet watched Wickham as closely as Thomas did himself. And there was the matter of the discussion he had witnessed between his father and Mr. Darcy at Longbourn, which resulted in closer scrutiny from the elder Darcy.
It seemed there was nothing to do at present, and as Thomas suspected Wickham would not be daft enough to attempt to hurt Elizabeth and ruin his standing with the man who provided him whatever standing he had, he settled on remaining watchful. That did not mean he was above taunting the man on those occasions when he had the opportunity. One such presented itself a few days after the dinner at Longbourn.
Thomas had always thought Hertfordshire had been particularly blessed with respect to its variety of wildlife, even though the countryside had been largely tamed. Had he been inclined, he thought the hunting would have been quite fine. As it was, the only hunting in which Thomas indulged was pheasant, which was fortunate, indeed, as he was fond of Cook’s recipe.
On the day in question, a group of the younger gentlemen gathered together to shoot on Longbourn’s land, and of their number was Mr. Wickham. While he might have wondered if it was wise to hand a rifle to a man who obviously hated Darcy with such passion, Darcy had no seeming reservations. With an eye on Wickham, Thomas went about his hunting, bagging several birds himself. What he saw of Wickham amused him to no end.
When Wickham had missed yet again, marking at least three quarters of an hour without a successful shot, Thomas turned to Darcy, who was nearby, and said: “Either your friend lacks practice, or he is simply the worst shot I have ever seen.”
Darcy understood Thomas’s sarcasm at once, for he shook his head and glared in Wickham’s direction. “If I was ever senseless enough to call Wickham a friend, you would be correct in despising me.”
Nodding agreeably, Thomas did not speak, waiting for his companion to respond. Darcy’s grimace presaged his reply.
“There are few who shoot as poorly as Wickham. Though I might have wished it to be different, Wickham was given most of the training available to young gentlemen, but he only applied himself when he found the subject interesting. Or thought it might benefit him in some way. Shooting was never his forte, and when he saw I was a better shot, he lost interest.”
“Most gentleman can shoot,” replied Thomas. “Given how much he obviously likes to maintain the illusion of that status, I might have thought he would attend to it.”
Darcy shrugged. “One might think so. But I cannot say I have ever understood how Wickham thinks.” A pause ensued after which Darcy grimaced. “Then again, I understand far too much of what he thinks. Jealousy is a defining characteristic as is his lust for riches. You might think it is hypocritical for me, a wealthy man, to speak of another’s desire for money, but there it is.”
“I think no such thing, Darcy,” said Thomas. “Some of us are born into more privileged situations than others. It is not the wealth that makes the man, but what he does with it.”
A tight nod formed Darcy’s response. “I cannot agree more. But Wickham could never see that. In his mind, wealth is a means by which he need never work to earn his keep and spend his life in idleness and dissipation.”
“Yet your father enjoys his company.”
“He does,” replied Darcy with a sigh. “We Darcys are usually not possessed of lively manners, being more reticent and awkward in society. My father is amused by Wickham’s ability to make him laugh. Though I have often attempted to inform my father of Wickham’s true character, he calls it jealousy, dismissing my words without consideration. Why he believes I might have reason to feel envy for Wickham, I cannot say.”
“His manners?” asked Thomas. “Or your father’s attention?”
“It is possible. But I have only spoken against Wickham in truth, never because of any feelings of envy. I should much rather be a man unable to be at ease in society than a man of little moral fiber.”
“True. I commend you for it.” Thomas considered the matter before he voiced his try worry. “My concern in this matter is Lizzy. The times we have been in company, I have seen the way Mr. Wickham looks at you. Should he decide to act, my sister might be a path to you.”
Darcy frowned. “I have never known him to be violent. Wickham is much more adept at getting what he wants through his charming manners and guile.”
“While that may be true, I urge you to remain watchful. The jealousy and hatred he displays for you may make him irrational.”
Though Darcy did not reply, Thomas noted his eyes on Wickham, considering, searching. Knowing Mr. Darcy was always wary of Wickham helped, but he knew extra vigilance would not go amiss.
After some more time had passed in which Thomas had continued to watch the unwelcome member of the party, he saw an opportunity to approach Wickham and deliver a warning he knew was overdue. Wickham had not, to the best of Thomas’s knowledge, hit a single bird, and after a time his rifle had gone unused, as he chatted with other members of the company, leaning on his weapon as if it were a crutch. But when Samuel Lucas, with whom he had been speaking, raised his weapon to his shoulder to aim at a pair of birds taking wing, Wickham moved off. Thomas seized the opportunity.
“It seems as if you are having difficulty with your weapon,” said Thomas as he stood next to Wickham. “Are the sights perhaps a little off?”
Wickham turned to him, his countenance expressionless, though the glittering of his eyes suggested he knew Bennet was mocking him. “It is unlikely,” said he, his brevity suggesting he had little interest in exchanging words.
“Oh?” asked Thomas. “I have never seen a rifle which does not require an adjustment on occasion.”
“I did not deny that,” replied Wickham. “This weapon is Mr. Darcy’s, and I am certain he takes excellent care of it.”
“Then how do you account for your lack of success?”
An insouciant shrug was followed with a short: “There has not been much opportunity to practice. Of late, my residence has been in London. There is little chance to shoot there.”
“Ah, that must be it.”
Mr. Wickham frowned at Thomas’s mocking tone. But he did not say anything, leaving Thomas to make the next comment.
“Should your residence not be in London again soon? As a man of the law, I might have though
t you would be engaged in your work. Yet, you have been here for two weeks without any sign of returning to your place.”
When Wickham turned on him, Thomas noted his eyes burned with a cold fire. It was precisely the reaction Thomas might have predicted and feared. When provoked, this was a dangerous man.
“What you refer to as my place is at Mr. Darcy’s side. Though I shall return to my profession at some time, do not presume to guess my worth to my patron.”
“It seems to me you overestimate your worth.” Thomas directed a thin smile at the man he was quickly coming to suspect was a danger to them all. “If you were of as much worth as you seem to believe, do you not believe Mr. Darcy might have done more for you?”
Thomas sniffed with disdain. “He has done much more for you than most gentlemen would, including educating you, seeing to your employment, favoring you with his attentions. But he has not seen fit to gift you with what you truly desire, has he?”
Standing up straight, Wickham stepped close and hissed: “Do not speak of what you do not understand. I will not be questioned by the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?” said Thomas, his voice laced with derision. “I am your superior in all ways, worm. I am a gentleman where you are nothing more than the son of a steward jumped up in his own pride. Do not attempt to compare yourself to anyone in this company.”
A feral grin lit up Wickham’s face. “Spoken with true conceit. I might almost think you close friends with Darcy. He, too, has nothing but contempt for those he deems are lower in importance.”
“Oh, no,” said Thomas. “In fact, I have never spoken to another in such a way in all my life. Only you, who seem to believe the world owes you everything on a silver platter.
“Regardless, I do not wish to speak of such matters. The only reason I have approached you is to issue a warning.”
“A warning?” mocked Wickham. “So, the gentleman thinks he has fangs?”