Page 17 of Pride, Prejudice, & Pretense

"True, but—"

"Ah, Father Robyn," Wickham said.

Lizzy jumped. He had approached from behind, and she did not realize he was there until he appeared beside her. She smiled and blushed, embarrassed at herself for being surprised. Agents were not supposed to be surprised. Luckily, Wickham took her reddening to be a flush of pleasure at seeing him. He smiled at her but handed Collingwood a glass of champagne; Wickham had brought one in each hand.

Collingwood smiled. "Thanks, Mr. Wickham." Neither the smile nor the thanks were enthusiastic.

Wickham either did not notice or did not care. "My pleasure."

The priest sipped at the champagne, actually slurping it a little, and the slurp changed Wickham's expression from slightly amused to slightly annoyed. There was an odd dynamic betweenthe two men, a past that seemed present in the room although impenetrable to Lizzy.

Collingwood made a gesture of farewell with the hand holding his champagne flute, slopping the golden liquid to the lip but not spilling it. He smiled at himself as Wickham frowned at him, and then he met Wickham's gaze. "My cup almost runneth over." He nodded at Lizzy. "Fanny, lovely to meet you."

He walked away. Wickham turned in place, watching him go. "It's amazing, what’s happened to the church. Gay priests." His tone was carefully neutral, carefully placed between observation and complaint.

"Oh. Father Robyn?"

"Yes," Wickham said. "Probably the only sort of priest safe around Lady Catherine." He glanced at Lizzy, weighing her response to what he said.

She kept her face as neutral as his tone and let a few seconds pass. Then she faced him. "I thought Lady Catherine was your…friend."She allowed herself a deliberate teasing ritardando, producing the final word almost independent of the rest of the sentence.

"Yes, we are friends. We will remain friends."

"Really? No matter what?"

He seemed unsure how to take her question—and that had been her intention. Her face was still neutral. But he nodded. "Yes, I think so. We've been many things to each other over the years. We've proven we're seaworthy, storms and dead calms."

"What's the current weather?" she asked lightly.

"Dead calm," he said without looking at her. He was watching Father Robyn talking to a young man at the buffet table.

"It's hard to imagine. She seems so…impressive, so full of vigor." Lizzy hadn't intended it, but the comment seemed like an indulgent comment about someone elderly.

Wickham huffed a laugh. "Indeed, she is that. Where's your boyfriend, Ned?"

"I thought he was over by the far door. Last I saw, he was talking to Lady Catherine."

"Ah, divide and conquer." He said with a smirk as if it were a joke, but it did not feel that way to Lizzy, perhaps because she could only see him in profile.

"So, what do you do, George?"

He paused before he turned to her. "Travel, mostly. I have money—not like Lady Catherine, but I'm comfortable. I do work now and then. I studied architecture for a time. While I didn't finish school, I have friends who let me help with projects and keep my hand in. I admit, though, I am here in Chicago entirely idle."

"It's a great city, still with some of that Sandberg common grandeur."

"Sandburg?"

"Yes, his poem, Chicago." Lizzy dredged up some words from memory:

"They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.

“And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.

“And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.

“And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:

“Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

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