Page 7 of Symptoms of Peculiar Regard

“My greatest sorrow,” Mr Wickham finished his story with a decidedly sentimental sigh, “is that I have been torn not only from Mr Darcy, but from all in Derbyshire I know and love. I rarely go back there now, and I feel almost as though a part of myself has been taken from me. There was one, in particular… But no, I say too much.”

Elizabeth looked as if her sympathy overflowed, although the questing branches extending from her had receded at his hint of an existing attachment in his former county.

“How cruel!” she murmured. “Surely Mr Darcy cannot force you from Derbyshire—your friends there must support you.”

“I believe they would better supportmeif I were able to supportthem,” Mr Wickham said, sorrow etching his features. “But alas, I am reduced to my current state of penury and cannot afford to love where I choose.”

“It is unfair, is it not? That those of us who do not have the wealth of one such as Mr Darcy are denied the freedom of choice,” Elizabeth agreed. “We do not all have the luxury of a certain future.”

As Elizabeth spoke, Jane observed a change in Mr Wickham’s expression. At the implication that she was not as wealthy as Mr Darcy, he seemed surprised. Then a sneer briefly curled his lip, quickly replaced by blandly charming countenance he had worn all evening. Elizabeth, looking about the room, did not seem to have observed it, but Jane frowned.What was Mr Wickham’s purpose?

“Indeed,” he replied shortly.

Turning her attention back to him, Elizabeth laughed. “You need not fear raising any expectations in me, sir. We are after all so newly acquainted.”

“Indeed. Yes, of course,” Mr Wickham acquiesced politely.

He seemed to lose his appetite for further conversation, for not long after this he excused himself and moved away to another part of the room. Jane took the seat he vacated at Elizabeth’s side before anyone else could do so. Her sister seemed momentarily disconcerted by the loss of the gentleman’s attention.

“Jane,” Elizabeth asked quietly after a moment. “Does Mr Wickham love a lady from Derbyshire?”

“I cannot say for certain. I have never seen feelings that are accompanied by a map,” Jane replied.

Elizabeth laughed and adjusted her seat as her tension left her.

Jane touched her hand. “I can see no signs of admiration or affection in him,” she observed. “If he had a sufficiently strong attachment, there would be some evidence of it no matter how far apart he is from its object. I do not know what it will do to a less certain love, but I cannot see any proof of one.”

“I wonder why he chose to feign otherwise,” Elizabeth said. “His eagerness to depart was very sudden.”

“It seemed to coincide with your admission that, like him, you are not wealthy. Perhaps he had sought to engage your pity, and through it your affections in order to court you,” Jane replied softly.

“If he wished to engage my pity, he had done quite enough with his tale of Mr Darcy’s perfidy,” Elizabeth said frankly. “But if he is willing to mislead me with talk of an attachment that does not exist, perhaps I ought not to trust him. Yet all he described is precisely what I would expect from Mr Darcy! Oh, I do not knowwhatto think!”

Janedidknow what to think. She had learnt to trust the evidence of the attachments she saw, and her thoughts were not favourable for Mr Wickham. If he could so easily tell such a tale of Mr Darcy, she had no difficulty believing there might be good reasons for Mr Darcy to wish to protect people he loved from him. Now was not the time to broach the question with Elizabeth, however; Mr Wickham had through his tale achieved what Jane could not, for he had sown a seed of doubt in her sister’s mind.

Jane was grateful when Bingley next called that their courtship was proceeding with such ready simplicity. He was as eager as she was to be together, and as she slipped her hand into his, the rose between them seemed almost to glow.

Less promising was Elizabeth’s meeting with Mr Darcy. His affections were unchanged; hers, however, were a confused and tangled mass of prickly, woody stems. She greeted her admirercoolly, and when he attempted to engage her in conversation grew unusually taciturn, although she answered with a ready smile when Bingley greeted her. Not noticing her reticence towards his friend, Mr Bingley proposed a walk.

The day was mild for November, and as neither Jane nor Mr Darcy were at all unwilling, Elizabeth was unable to find an excuse adequate to avoid joining them. Jane could see she was agitated by the manner in which she marched quickly ahead, all but ignoring Mr Darcy as he strode to keep pace with her. Jane and Bingley trailed behind them, Jane worrying that her sister might refuse to speak with Mr Darcy at all.

Happily, when he enquired after her health, she replied in clipped tones. “I am quite recovered, thank you.”

Mr Darcy stiffened at this continued coolness and he glanced at her in consternation, although his admiration remained steady.

“I am glad,” he replied seriously. When Elizabeth continued silent, he ventured. “Have I offended you in some manner? If so, it was most unconsciously done, and I would have you charge me with my offence so that I may remedy it.”

“I am sure you would,” Elizabeth replied acerbically. “I imagine you are accustomed to being able to arrange everything after your own satisfaction.”

The consternation on his face became astonishment at this accusation. “I regret I do not understand your meaning.”

Elizabeth stopped and turned to her companion with a glare. “What can you tell me of Mr Wickham?”

Jane, not wishing to intrude on the moment, tugged on Bingley’s sleeve and they, too, hung back to allow the other pair some privacy.

Mr Darcy’s brow had instantly furrowed at her words, and after pausing with her he strode on, forcing her to take hurriedsteps to catch up with him. Sharing a look, Jane and Bingley resumed walking behind them.

“Of course Wickham is at the root of it,” Mr Darcy growled.

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