Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ELIZABETH LOWERED HER book. "I can't think what you hope to gain by this, Mr. Wickham."

"Gain?" He nodded at the chair next to her. "May I sit with you?"

She was out in the gardens, sitting at a table with three chairs in the afternoon sun, while Harmony threw a stick for the dogs. She glanced at the empty chair. "What if I say no?"

"I'll stand."

She sighed, closing her book and setting it down on the table. "Fine, sit down. I want to understand everything, then, Mr. Wickham. I shall ask you questions, and you will answer them truthfully. As you say, you have nothing to gain from me, not now, so there is no reason for you to lie.

"Is that exactly what I said?" He sat down.

"What do you have to gain, then?"

"I don't wish to gain anything." He stared out over the fields of Pemberley, green in the summer, the afternoon sun beating down over everything.

"So, why are you speaking to me?"

He clutched his chest. "You wound me."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Mr. Wickham."

"I thought we were friends, Mrs. Darcy. Haven't we always been friends? Hasn't that been all we could ever have been, no matter how we felt about it?"

She shook her head. "No, I won't hear that. I won't hear you pretending that you were dazzled by me."

"But I was. I had a fancy for you. I carried quite a torch for some time there."

"You did not."

He let out a laugh. "Are we truly arguing about this? Who would know about this, madam, me or you?"

"You might have liked to pretend it, but then you quickly stopped pretending it and lost interest and disappeared. And then, from what I heard, you were connected to that Miss King."

"That didn't work out," he said. "But I certainly wasn't dazzled by her."

"Dazzled by her dowry, though."

"Well, here we are, madam, and it seems quite a thing to ridicule, coming from you." He gestured at the vast grounds surrounding him.

"That's not why I married him."

"I suppose you fell madly in love with him." Mr. Wickham was sardonic.

"You must have heard the rumors," she said. "So, you know how it was for me."

"You were forced into this dreadful marriage with a wealthy man," he said, still sardonic. "What a hardship, Mrs. Darcy!"

"All right, think what you will," she said, "but I do care for him now, and he is a very good man, and I don't think you're a particularly good man, not in the end."

Mr. Wickham shook his head, laughing under his breath. "What has he done that's been so very good that hasn't involved use of his massive fortune, hmm? Ask my Amelia Younge if she thinks he's such a good man without her position, would you?"

"Your Amelia Younge? So, you were dazzled by me, were you? How long after your interlude with—"

"Don't do that," said Mr. Wickham. "You and I are the only people who know what it was like between us. It wasn't like anything I've ever felt before with anyone. And I couldn't… what was I supposed to do? Ask for your hand in marriage? Where would we live, Mrs. Darcy? How would I provide for us? I pulled away because it seemed the kindest thing for us both." He was quiet now, serious, regretful.

She gazed at him, her heart beating too fast. Why was she even a little bit moved by that? Why did it seem to tug at her in some way? He was probably just making it up to make her think he cared.

"I cared about Miss Younge, but we had no future, and she and I both knew it," he said. "But whatever I felt with her, it was nothing like what I felt for you." His voice dropped in pitch. "Elizabeth, there isn't a woman like you in the whole of this country."

"Stop that." Her voice wasn't strong.

"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway," he said. "If I couldn't have you then, I most certainly can't have you now."

"No, and what's more, I don't want you now," she said fiercely.

"Good." He gave her little nod. "Good. It was ridiculous to think you wouldn't like him, wasn't it? Everyone likes him." He slumped in his chair. "Everyone likes him. No one ever likes me."

"Well, I can't say that's not at least somewhat your own fault, though."

He shrugged, slumping down further. "Perhaps. I have done some very stupid things in my life, Mrs. Darcy, but I was young and idiotic, and I was running around with boys who were not like me. They had rich fathers and titles and lands and all sorts of reasons that they would see no consequences for the things they did. I let them convince me that taking risks was the way I proved to them that I was a man. It was foolish. I see that now. But I simply haven't figured out where it is that I fit. Too qualified, too refined to be a servant here, you see? But not a gentleman, not really."

"Yes, you're so very put upon, aren't you?" she said darkly. "I suppose you want me to feel sorry for you."

"In truth, I do not," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing. I think I only wanted to be near you. When you love someone, you want that—"

"You don't love me."

"Right," he said. "I shouldn't say that."

She shook her head, rather appalled at him. How dare he? She thought about that last conversation with him, before she'd left for London to see the Gardiners, before she'd gotten into Mr. Darcy's carriage and her life had turned inside out, when she'd thought him the model of amiable and pleasing. Such a man, she'd thought. He wouldn't have said anything like this then. Why now? "I think you must leave me," she said.

"Does it tempt you, then?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "Do I tempt you?"

She got up from the table, picking up her book. "You are a dreadful sort of person, actually, aren't you, Mr. Wickham? I thought you something other than you are. You were all politeness before, all good-naturedness, and now I realize you're simply awful."

"Awful? Why? Because I am finally being honest with you?"

"You could have been honest some other time, I think. Before I was married to another man."

"Yes, I suppose," he said. "After all, I didn't think we'd have a future. I thought I would marry elsewhere and you would marry elsewhere. I was resigned to it. But not him. I can't be resigned to you with him."

"What is so very wrong with Mr. Darcy?" she said.

"I've told you about the way he treats me," he said.

She looked him up and down, having a realization about that story from yesterday, about Ramsgate. The particulars differed from the story about his inheritance, true. But it was the same story. It was a story about how he'd done nothing wrong and Mr. Darcy had wronged him. She laughed ruefully. "You know what I think it is, Mr. Wickham?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "I suppose you're going to tell me."

"I think he's not so easily charmed, that's all," said Elizabeth. "The rest of us, we're all eating out of your hand, with your falsehoods and pity stories. And he simply doesn't like you. You can't bear that, even if you don't deserve to be liked."

"Oh, well, then!" Mr. Wickham drew back. "Please, tell me exactly how you feel about me, madam, and spare no details nor any thought for my feelings."

She crushed her book to her chest, turned her back on him, and walked off.

"Mrs. Darcy!" he called after her.

She didn't turn around. She whistled and the dogs all came for her, running across the grounds in delight for their mistress. Harmony hurried after them, gathering up her skirts.

"Let's never even speak of Mr. Wickham again, Harmony," said Elizabeth. "He is beneath us."

"All right, ma'am," said Harmony, breathless and smiling. She looked over her shoulder.

"Don't look at him," said Elizabeth.

"Sorry," said Harmony, turning back around.