“Mr. Darcy?” Wickham enquired. “Do you know if he happens to be connected to the Darcys of Derbyshire?”
“I believe he is,” Jane said. “Mr. Darcy is Mr. Bingley’s best friend.”
“Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire? He must be the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park,” Mr. Collins said, red-faced, almost fainting with excitement.
And at that very moment, revelation struck Elizabeth, and the miniatures in Mr. Darcy’s room at Pemberley, as well as Mrs. Reynolds’ words, popped into her mind.
She was facing the very man who had abused his godfather’s affection and trust, who had betrayed his childhood friend’s generosity, who had turned out wild and dishonourable, as Mrs. Reynolds had stated.
“Do you know Mr. Darcy?” Lydia enquired directly. “I hope he is not your friend. He is such a proud, disagreeable man! Nothing like you, to be sure!”
“Yes, I understand your feelings very well, Miss Lydia. No, he is not my friend; quite the opposite,” Wickham stated impertinently.
Elizabeth was tempted to reply, but they were called by their aunt, Mrs. Phillips, asking them to come in for a cup of tea. Mrs. Long and Lady Lucas, along with Charlotte and her sister Maria, were there too.
At Lydia and Kitty’s insistence and supported by Mrs. Phillips herself, the three officers, as well as Mr. Collins, also entered. Elizabeth and Jane could do little else but look at each other and share their mortification. As for her anger and vexation, Elizabeth had to carry it by herself.
***
For an entire hour, Elizabeth watched her younger sisters embarrassing themselves, Mr. Collins acting in all his ridiculous splendour, and George Wickham spreading his smiles around the room.
While Jane was polite enough to participate in the conversation, Elizabeth remained a little separate, sitting in a chair by the window, with a cup of tea in her hand.
To her astonishment, she observed Mr. Wickham approaching her, first tentatively, then growing more confident until he sat next to her.
“Miss Elizabeth, I hope I am not disturbing you,” he said.
She tried to smile. “One can hardly be disturbed in a room full of people.”
“True. But some company is more pleasant than others.”
“I shall not argue with that, Mr. Wickham.”
For a moment, he seemed uncertain how to continue and Elizabeth hoped he would leave.
“I understood from your younger sisters that you witnessed a rather unpleasant scene with Darcy. To me this is not surprising; he tends to offend people wherever he goes.”
“I witnessed a private conversation between Mr. Darcy and his friend. On such occasions, people are often unguarded in their words.”
“True. But Darcy rarely censures his words. He is accustomed to having his way and expressing his mind openly.”
“Is this to his praise or to his censure?” Elizabeth asked.
“It depends. His family claims he is a man with few if any faults. So do his tenants and his servants. But to many others, he is just as your sister described him.”
“I assume you are well acquainted with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham?” she asked, when the question could not be avoided any longer.
“Better than I would wish to be. We grew up together at Pemberley as children. His father was my godfather and very attached to me.”
“Was he? How wonderful!”
“Indeed! He supported me at school and wished for me to study and become a man of the church. He even wished to provide me a living as soon as I was at the right age. But sadly, the present Mr. Darcy inherited little of his father’s kindness.”
Elizabeth was stunned by the man’s impertinence and disrespect.
That he spoke so ill of Darcy to complete strangers was one thing, but to dare approach her, a lady he was barely acquaintedwith, and to share with her such intimate stories of his private life was not only ungentlemanly but also offensive and showed a lack of consideration to her.
“And how would you have liked making sermons, Mr. Wickham?”