Page 116 of Companions of Their Youth
Elizabeth had barely taken her place near the hearth when Wickham appeared at her side.
“Miss Bennet,” he said warmly. “Would you care to take some air with me? The day is unseasonably fair, and the garden path calls.”
Elizabeth hesitated, but only briefly. “A turn about the path would be pleasant,” she said with a curtsy.
They stepped outside into the pale autumn sun. Jane and Kitty had already led the rest of the party toward the hedgerows, the young officers laughing too loudly at something Kitty had said.
“I must thank you again,” Wickham began as they strolled behind. “For your kindness the other evening. Our conversation was the first I have had in some time that did not feel strained or… calculated.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That is a rare compliment indeed.”
“I mean it. Hertfordshire has proven far more welcoming than I expected. And far more lovely.”
She flushed faintly but said nothing. His words were charming, certainly, but her heart was not quite open to such ease today. Her thoughts were still unsettled from the day before.
He seemed to sense it. “Are you well? You seem pensive.”
“A little thoughtful this evening,” she agreed lightly. “There has been a great deal to consider as of late.”
“Indeed,” he murmured.
They walked in silence for a moment. Elizabeth glanced at him—and that was when she noticed it.
His gaze had drifted away. Not toward her, but at the people walking in front of them.
She frowned. At first, the sting was simple. A woman’s instinctive pang—Was he watching Kitty? Admiring her figure instead of listening to her?
But no.
It was notonlyher sister he watched.
He was also watching the officers.
Lieutenants Denny and Pratt were in profile, laughing with Kitty, their shoulders squared confidently, coats snug across their backs, the tight lines of their breeches drawing the eye with every long stride.
And Wickham was certainly looking.
The realization struck like a silent blow. She turned her gaze quickly away, her cheeks warm, unsure how to process what she had just seen. He was still talking, but she barely registered his words.
“...no easy thing to be cast off by someone who once knew you so well,” he was saying. “To have been so close, only to be—what? Abandoned? Judged? I still do not understand what made him hate me so.”
Elizabeth forced a breath. “Perhaps it is not for lack of understanding, but a difference of… principles.”
He glanced at her then, his eyes wary. “You speak as if you agree with him.”
“I—no. That is, I do not presume to judge either of you. I only meant that Mr. Darcy seems a man of strong convictions.”
A flicker of emotion passed over Wickham’s face—too quickly to name, but it almost appeared to be hatred. “Yes. Strong convictions. Unbending. Inflexible. And above all, proud.”
Elizabeth offered a weak smile, but her thoughts were no longer in the present. They were spiraling.
Wickham’s university expulsion. The vague “lifestyle” Mr. Darcy found objectionable. The sudden break in friendship. And now this.
Could that be the reason for their falling out? The predilection of his best friend towards not only women… but men as well?
Was it possible?
She felt as though her lungs had shrunk in her chest.
