Page 120 of A Question of Character

“So I gathered, which makes his attentions all the more suspicious.”

“Suspicious because he courts without mercenary motive?”

“Suspicious because Wickham rarely acts without one.”

Elizabeth looked past him toward the valley. It was easier than looking directly at him while anger gathered. “You have known him since childhood?”

“Yes. He was the son of my father’s steward. My father loved him as a second son. He was given opportunities beyond what most men in his situation could have imagined. I was in my last year of school when Wickham joined me. He is two years younger than I. At first I thought him amiable, clever, grateful.”

“At first?”

“He fell in with a difficult crowd. Cards. Debts. Idleness disguised as wit. By the time he came to university, I was nearly finished, and the pattern had not improved. My father saw less than I did, or wished to see less. Wickham could be all charm when it suited him.”

Elizabeth said nothing.

Darcy continued, the words clipped now, controlled but hardly calm. “In his will, my father left Wickham the preferment of a valuable family living in my gift, when it became vacant. Wickham later declared himself unsuited for the church and asked instead for compensation. I gave him three thousand pounds in exchange for his relinquishing all claim to the living. He had already received a thousand pound legacy from my father.”

“And he claimed he would use the money to study the law,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “You know this?”

“Yes. From Mr. Wickham. Also from my uncle, who verified enough of his education to be satisfied. Mr. Wickham is not merely pretending to study the law, Mr. Darcy. He is working in my uncle’s office with the intention, if all continues well, of one day taking a larger part in the practice.”

Darcy made a sound of disbelief.

Elizabeth’s temper stirred. “You may dislike him. You may mistrust him. But my uncle is no fool, and neither is my father.”

“I did not say they were.”

“No, you merely implied that every member of my family has been deceived by pleasant manners.”

“Pleasant manners have deceived wiser people than any of us.”

“That may be so.” She stepped closer before she could talk herself out of it. “But Mr. Wickham has been among us long enough, and upon terms intimate enough, that the mask you claim exists ought to have slipped. He has made no secret of a difficult past. He has spoken of errors he cannot undo and of wishing to make amends. If his object were deception, why admit fault at all?”

“Because admitting a little prevents inquiry into much.”

“That is clever. Perhaps too clever.”

His eyes flashed. “A few months is hardly time to prove lasting change.”

“And years of dislike may be enough time to make forgiveness impossible.”

He moved away.

Elizabeth regretted the sentence after it left her. “Mr. Darcy—”

“No. You are right to demand explanation.” He faced her again, and there was pain beneath the anger now. “This summer, Wickham was in Ramsgate.”

Elizabeth stilled. “In Ramsgate.”

“Yes.”

“With Miss Darcy?”

She noted the muscle in his jaw working before he replied. “He imposed himself upon my family.”

“You saw him there?”