Page 12 of Mr Darcy’s Inconvenient Wife

Darcy

“Aprivate engagement,” Miss Bingley had said that afternoon. “With some friends of Louisa's. You would not know them, Mr Darcy. I am quite sure you would not wish to.”

Mrs Hurst had not met his eye. Mr Hurst had yawned. Then the carriage had carried all three of them off down the drive before Darcy could ask who these friends were, or where they lived. Nor could he ask why Caroline should prefer their company to her brother's table, two days before his wedding.

He had not liked her smile. It was the same smile she had worn over her embroidery the evening before, when she told him she had another idea.

He was still thinking of it when the soup was taken away.

The Bennets had come to dine in force. They had brought Mr and Mrs Gardiner with them. Bingley sat at the head of the table in the highest spirits. Jane sat at his right hand, and she turned pink every time he spoke to her. That was often.

Darcy had been placed beside Mrs Gardiner. He had expected to endure it. Within a quarter of an hour, he had to admit that he was enjoying himself.

“You know Lambton, then, madam?”

“I lived there until I married, sir. My father had a house on the Kympton road, just past the smithy.” She smiled. “On Sundays I used to walk as far as the edge of your park. I confess, at times I crossed over to view the lake, it was so lovely. The gamekeeper never chased me away, though I believe he knew very well that I was there.”

“That would have been Tomkins. He was always kind to anyone he did not see as a threat. He retired last year, I saw him just before I left.”

“Is he still living? I am so glad. And the old chestnut by the lodge gate?”

“It lost a limb in a storm two winters ago. The rest of it refuses to give in.”

She laughed, openly and without any art. It struck Darcy that no one had talked to him of Pemberley in a long while without wanting something from it. Mrs Gardiner asked after the church, the trout stream and the inn. She spoke of his father with real respect. For a few minutes he forgot where he was.

Lydia Bennet reminded him.

“Lambton!” she cried across the table. “Why, that is where Mr Wickham grew up. He told me all about it, and about Pemberley too. He said it was the finest house in Derbyshire, and that he was raised there as good as a son.”

Darcy put down his fork.

“I do miss Mr Wickham so,” Lydia went on. “Meryton has been dreadfully dull since the regiment went away. He was the most agreeable officer of them all. He always danced with me whenever there was a chance, and he paid the prettiest compliments. Kitty, do you remember what he said about my blue sprigged muslin?”

Kitty giggled. Darcy caught Bingley's eye down the length of the table. His friend was no longer smiling.

“Miss Lydia,” Darcy said, “if you will allow me, I would advise you to think no more of Mr Wickham. I know him very well.”

Lydia tossed her curls. “I suppose his crime is that he was only a steward's son and wishes to rise in the world. I think it very hard on him. He cannot help that he was not born rich.”

“His birth is no fault of his. I have never held it against him.” Darcy kept his voice even. “His conduct is another matter. Mr Wickham is not a good man.”

“He was perfectly charming to me.”

“Charm costs nothing, Miss Lydia. It is no substitute for character.”

“You must take Mr Darcy's word for it, Lydia.” Elizabeth did not raise her eyes. She was cutting a piece of chicken into smaller and smaller pieces. “Nobody is a better judge of whom people ought to be kept from. He has had a great deal of practice.”

She said it very pleasantly. Mrs Bennet nodded, as though her daughter had paid their host's friend a pretty compliment. Mr Bennet reached for his wine a little sooner than he needed to.

Darcy understood her exactly. He felt the heat rise in his face. He took a sip before he trusted his voice, and in the end he said nothing at all.

“Well, I do not see why we must all believe Mr Darcy,” Lydia said. “Mr Wickham told us Mr Darcy treated him very badly. So of course Mr Darcy would call him wicked.”

“Then perhaps you will believe me instead.”

Every head at the table turned. Mrs Gardiner laid her napkin beside her plate.

“I grew up not five miles from Pemberley, Lydia. Mr Wickham did not have a good name in Lambton, even as a boy. There were stories about him, and none of them were to his credit. I will say no more at the dinner table. But Mr Darcy has told you nothing the whole town did not know long ago.”