Page 76 of A Question of Character

“Skill is often mistaken for villainy.”

Elizabeth, seated near the window with Jane’s sewing in her lap, raised her eyes. “That is a dangerous maxim, Mr. Wickham.”

He gave her a rueful look over the cards. “Then I shall amend it before it is quoted against me. Honest skill is often mistaken for villainy by those who lose.”

“That is better.”

“Merely better?”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “For a gentleman accused of cheating by Lydia, it is remarkably good.”

Lydia threw a card at her. Mr. Wickham caught it before it reached the floor and returned it to the table.

“No violence, Miss Lydia. It is bad for the cards and worse for your argument.”

Lydia made a face, but she laughed and sorted her hand obediently.

Later, when the rain eased into a fine mist and Mrs. Bennet began lamenting the dampness as though the entire county had been submerged, Elizabeth found herself walking with Mr. Wickham in the covered passage that led toward the back garden. He had stepped out to examine the sky, and she had followed under the innocent pretext of cutting a few late roses before the rain spoiled them.

The air smelled of wet earth and crushed leaves. Beyond the passage, the gravel path shone dark beneath the clouds, and the roses drooped heavily over their supports.

“I fear your walk is lost,” Elizabeth said.

Mr. Wickham shrugged. “For today. Miss Lydia will survive the disappointment if no one speaks of it too tragically.”

“You manage her very well.”

His hand paused upon the railing. “Do I?”

“You know you do.”

He grinned. “I know I try. Whether I succeed must be left to wiser observers.”

“That sounds humble.” He was certainly witty, Elizabeth observed.

“It may just be caution. I have been wrong often enough to distrust my own account of myself.”

The answer pleased her better than a smoother one might have done. Elizabeth cut one pale rose and shook the rain from its petals.

“You speak as a man who has learned something unpleasant.”

Mr. Wickham was silent long enough that she wondered whether she had offended him. Then he drew one wet leaf between his fingers and released it.

“I have learned several unpleasant things. Most of them through my own folly.”

Her curiosity piqued and she wondered what life lesson had been his teacher. “That is generally the most effective instructor.”

“And the least merciful.”

Elizabeth tucked the rose into her basket. “Lydia told me you studied the law using part of an inheritance.”

“She told you more than I expected.”

“She is very proud of your industry.”

A change crossed his face, not embarrassment exactly, though near it. “Then I must continue deserving it.”

“You did not always intend the law?”