Page 157 of A Question of Character

Mr. Wickham’s smile came and went, warm without presumption. “Mr. Philips has been very generous to me. More generous than I had any right to expect.”

“He likes you,” Lydia said. “That is why.”

“He has promised to aid me if I continue diligently. In time, if I prove worthy, he believes I might take a greater share in the practice. Perhaps even become partner one day.”

Lydia’s face lit. “There. I knew it.”

“You knew it before I did?”

“Of course. I always know important things before gentlemen do. They require ledgers and consultations and years of effort. I merely decide.”

Elizabeth lowered her head over her work to hide her amusement.

Mr. Wickham accepted this pronouncement gravely. “Then I must be grateful for the authority of your decision.”

“You should be. I have decided you will make a name for yourself.”

“That is a formidable burden.”

“No, it is encouragement.”

“There is a difference?”

“There is when I say it.” Lydia leaned forward, all warmth and earnestness now, the playfulness slipping into something more sincere. “You work very hard. Uncle says so, and Papa says Uncle is not easily deceived in business, though Mama says Papa thinks everyone is trying to deceive him whenever they ask for money. And you study even when you might come here sooner.”

“Your uncle’s books are less charming than Longbourn.”

“But more useful.”

“Painfully so.”

“Then it must all come to good.” Lydia picked up the abandoned shirt again, though she did not resume sewing. “It must. People cannot work and work and be good and have nothing come of it.”

Elizabeth’s needle paused.

The words were very Lydia: absolute, tender, and somewhat reckless. They were also not foolish.

Mr. Wickham looked down into his teacup for a moment before answering. “I hope you are right.”

“I am,” Lydia said.

“Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint you.”

“You could not.”

“Ah.” His tone lightened, but just barely. “Now you go too far.”

“No, I do not. You might make mistakes, but that is not the same.”

Elizabeth glanced up then.

Mr. Wickham was looking at Lydia with an expression stripped of performance. Pain, gratitude, affection, and caution all met there, and for the first time Elizabeth understood, not merely that he admired Lydia, but that her faith in him frightened him a little.

A man bent upon deception would have been pleased by such confidence.

Mr. Wickham looked humbled by it.

Darcy’s account pressed hard against the scene before her.