Page 58 of Ashes and Understanding
Elizabeth blinked. “You and Mr. Darcy were at university together?”
“Oh, long before that. We have known each other since we were children.” He leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the back of his chair. “We were often thrown together when we were young—my father was old Mr. Darcy’s steward, you see. We were quite good friends, even if I did tease him quite mercilessly at times for his priggishness.”
“But no longer?”
His shoulders slumped slightly, and an expression of remorse crossed his face. “No, I am afraid not. We parted ways during our university years. I supposed I did not always make the wisest choices, and Darcy… well, I imagine he grew tired of having to clean up my messes.”
“I am sorry,” she said, for lack of anything else to say, but he seemed to not hear her. His gaze faced the fire, but he did not seem to even be aware of the flames.
“It is my own fault, really. I have not seen him in several years—not since his father’s funeral and the reading of the will. Old Mr. Darcy was my godfather, and he left me a valuable living when he died.”
“You were intended for the church?”
Smiling wryly, he said, “Yes, but both Darcy and I knew I would never suit. I was given a sum in lieu of the living and studied law instead. The practice where I work burned down during the fire, and I used the last of my savings to purchase this commission until the barrister I clerked for is able to reestablish his business.”
“I supposed seeing Mr. Darcy was quite a shock, then.”
He laughed. “Yes, it most certainly was! Of all the hamlets in all the kingdom, and we both come to this one. I dare say it was more unpleasant for him than for me. How he must still despise me; but then, he has always been one to say that his good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, debating.Should I tell him? He looks so…forlorn.Making up her mind and praying she was not doing the wrong thing, she said softly, “I do not think his reaction had anything to do with you personally.”
His eyebrows lifted. “No?”
“I think…I think he was trying very hard not to cough. The ride into town with the harsh wind must have worn him down.”
Wickham blinked, genuinely surprised. “Still the same? But it has been years since his pneumonia! I would have thought he had long since recovered.” He peered at her more closely. “I had not realized you and he were on such intimate terms so as to know his past in such personal detail. Certainly not so soon after arriving in the neighborhood.”
“He did not exactly confide,” Elizabeth said, a little self-consciously. “I stumbled upon him during a rather severe fit. I suppose he did not have the strength to push me away, although I have kept his condition in confidence, of course. I only tell you this so you know the slight may not have been because of you personally.”
For a long moment, Wickham just looked at her, something unreadable in his expression. Then he smiled again, softer this time. “Well. I am glad it was you who found him.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth of the fire seep into her cheeks.
“I do not know what has truly passed between the two of you,” she said, “but I must admit, I have never seen a man try so hard to suppress a cough in all my life. It cannot be easy for him to appear aloof and composed when he is fighting to breathe.”
“He was always proud.” Wickham looked away for a moment, his smile fading just slightly. “Even as a child. But it does not mean he’s unfeeling. Still waters and all that. You are probably one of the few people who can boast of such an encounter with him.”
“Boasting would be in poor taste,” she said wryly. “He could scarcely breathe.”
“And yet,” Wickham murmured, looking back toward the card tables, “you seem to understand him more than most. It is more than I can say for myself these days.”
Elizabeth did not respond right away. The warmth of the fire flickered across his face, the lines of regret and nostalgia made deeper with the shadows.
“Perhaps you might send him a note or pay a call on him at Netherfield,” she suggested. “Being an old friend, he may appreciate knowing the changes you have made in your life.”
“Perhaps I shall,” he murmured.
∞∞∞
Later that evening, Elizabeth sat at her small writing table in her room, the glow of a single candle casting long shadows across the walls. She had changed into her nightdress, but sleep still felt distant. Her thoughts were too unsettled.
The card party had ended earlier than expected after one of Mrs. Philips’s prized vases was shattered—sacrificed to a rather unsteady display of soldierly high spirits. Elizabeth still winced remembering the crash, the awkward silence that followed, and the red-faced apologies delivered between hiccups and laughter. Colonel Forster, clearly mortified, had wasted no time in ordering his officers to return to their quarters.
It had been just in time.
She recalled the way two of the more inebriated young men had looked at her younger sisters—Kitty and Lydia entirely oblivious to the danger, giggling and twirling curls and batting lashes as though it were all a delightful game.
Elizabeth had felt ill at ease.They are too young to know the danger of it. And too foolish to care even if they did.
