The Man Who Came to Dinner {Tag: Mr Wickham}

[Miss Elizabeth Bennet]

As she sat in the warm light by the drawing room window, Lizzie could hear Lydia and Kitty before she saw them. The two youngest Bennet girls tore across the property, shouting and laughing before bursting through the front doors of Longbourn. The voices easily interrupted the soft silence that enfolded the drawing room, a silence that their mother seemed quite happy to abandon. With flushed cheeks and wide grins, and the two of them could scarcely get a word out without dissolving into giggles. Lydia was the first to compose herself, and she eyed Lizzie with a surprising smirk.

“Denny and Sanderson are to sup with us tonight with their friend Mr Wickham, but Mr Wickham has come now to ‘formally’ introduce himself, Mama!” Lydia crowed.

“He is to join the regiment, and stay encamped here with the rest of the militia!” Kitty sighed, and their mother clapped her hands excitedly. There were few things Mrs Bennet loved more than a militiaman.

Lydia inviting numerous acquaintances over to Longbourn was something that had become rather commonplace in the last year. What was surprising, however, was that one of these fellows had come to beg for an invitation first, as opposed to accepting the assumption that there would be table settings enough for him. Had Lydia’s eye for the opposite sex refined itself somewhat? Lizzie could hardly allow herself to believe it.

Another glance out the window provided Lizzie with the view of Jane talking with said guest, and even from such a distance, Lizzie could tell that Jane approved of such a man. Jane’s good opinion was not bandied about, but was surely given with looser consent than her own—and so this new arrival to Longbourn was most assuredly someone worth Lizzie’s focused observation.

Mrs Bennet called for tea, and when the tray was rested upon the table, Lizzie made a cup for her mother, and another for herself, at least as a prop. Twisting her hands would surely give away her inquisitive intentions towards their guest.

It was not long before her elder sister and Mr Wickham were upon them in the drawing room; Lizzie could tell that Mama was not pleased at her exact appearance for whatever reason, but hid her resignation before setting her eyes upon Mr Wickham. And, Mrs Bennet was not to be disappointed, because Lydia’s—and perhaps Jane’s?—guest was certainly a very amiable looking man, with dark hair and dark eyes, and just enough of a crooked mouth to make Lizzie’s job of observation that much happier. They all stood, and were introduced without fanfare. Mr Wickham’s straightforwardness and affability were apparent from the moment he first spoke; another good sign.

“We are quite happy to have you and your fellows here for supper tonight, Mr Wickham,” Lizzie curtsied politely, and took her seat once more, “Meryton seems a strange place for an encampment of soldiers—I do hope the society agrees with your temperament.”

Lizzie hid a small smile behind her teacup, but the light in her eyes betrayed her mirth.

[Mr George Wickham]

It had been too long a stretch of time since Wickham had met the intricate social protocol that was the supper invitation. It was not that he was out of practice, for it was Mr Wickham's constant endeavor to keep himself well rehearsed in the motions of manners, both the strict patterns of town as well as the coarser manners of the country. Wickham reveled in the chance to immerse himself in the country society, to try his hand at carefully crafted emotions for just such an occasion. It was an unexpected delight that he should begin his act so quickly, and for such an appreciative audience.

Mr Wickham could tell that Miss Bennet was a happy sort just by considering her delicate steps and careful tone. She had a pleasing smile which Wickham accepted freely and reciprocated with many of his own, though the polite curl of his lips was restrained in a sort of appropriate embarrassment about the situation in which he found himself. Traveling to Longbourn on foot in the company of Miss Bennet was pleasant enough, though he had the decency to not be so overtly cheerful. Their conversation was limited to tidy mentions of the fine weather and the abundance of sunshine, how the society so enjoyed being able to host the Regiment, and Wickham's agreeable noises in return about how he was absolutely sure there was no company finer than that of Meryton.

The remarks of this sort carried them the mile to Longbourn, where the two younger Misses Bennet had already no doubt informed the entire household of his arrival. Wickham's smile widened ever so slightly at the idea, and he kept the chuckle he wanted so deeply to enjoy in the back of his head for later. He could only imagine the parents of such ridiculous girls, and wondered full well about the other daughters whom Miss Bennet had made sure to mention. With hands clasped neatly behind his back, Mr Wickham was ushered into the house of Longbourn, and now he was certainly to begin.

Mr Wickham stopped steadily behind Miss Bennet as the occupants of the drawing room rose, and he bowed appropriately; a full bow which he noted granted him a happy noise from Mrs Bennet. When Miss Bennet had made the appropriate introductions, Mr Wickham was free to step forward. "I do regret imposing on your most gracious hospitality," Wickham apologized most earnestly, which his face reflected. "Miss Bennet was so kind as to invite myself and fellow officers to supper, and I extend my many thanks for your kindness." Wickham again bowed, and was finally able to regard the other in the party when Mrs Bennet finally allowed him his welcome.

"“We are quite happy to have you and your fellows here for supper tonight, Mr Wickham." Wickham smiled at who he now knew was the second eldest daughter, introduced to him as Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He inclined his head toward her in thanks, his hands still clasped behind his back. "You are most kind, Miss Bennet," he smiled, his voice actually sincere. "Meryton seems a strange place for an encampment of soldiers—I do hope the society agrees with your temperament.” Wickham noticed how her eyes simply sparkled at the comment, betraying a playful wit which intrigued Wickham greatly. He dipped his chin to one side and allowed a small, somewhat slanted grin. "I am very contented by Meryton's society, I thank you," returned Wickham, his smile widening the slightest, a shadow of a smirk on his crooked lips. "In fact I am very pleased with all the country has to offer--and to know it all the better through this evening." Wickham caught the dark eyes of the lady before him, the glimmer in them a fair match to his own.

[Miss Elizabeth Bennet]

It was very apparent to Lizzie that Mr Wickham had been in a situation such as this before, or at least had a grasp on understanding the intricacies of home invitations. His features revealed not only a surprising zeal to acquaint himself with the rest of the Bennet family, but also gave away a keen eye for understanding country manners, in all its contradictions. He dropped into a low bow before her and her mother just as easily as any high-born gentleman, and Lizzie was intrigued by what already appeared to be several unusual talents for a soon-to-be militiaman.

A few indiscreet finger waggles and steady stares from Mrs Bennet shooed both Mary and Jane away—something that surprised Lizzie greatly. Lydia and Kitty had departed immediately after the introductions, giggling to one another, and were already upstairs, no doubt preening for supper with their favorites from the regiment. Lizzie watched her mother occupy herself with a nearby book, leaving her second daughter to not so subtly engage the man in front of her. Had her mother so little faith in her ever finding a suitable match? A small, perturbed sigh escaped twisted, exasperated lips, and Lizzie saw the barest hint of a smile in Mr Wickham’s acknowledgement.

"I do regret imposing on your most gracious hospitality," Mr Wickham began, "Miss Bennet was so kind as to invite myself and fellow officers to supper, and I extend my many thanks for your kindness."

Lizzie offered up her own reply before taking a sip of her tea. Her own words were a small test to gauge his cleverness. She watched Mr Wickham’s face relax as he answered.

"You are most kind, Miss Bennet," he said, and gave a small nod of his head, “I am very contented by Meryton's society, I thank you. In fact I am very pleased with all the country has to offer--and to know it all the better through this evening."

Even her mother, who acted so unattached to the conversation, tittered happily at his answer. The teacup and saucer remained untouched in Lizzie’s lap, and she offered up a genuine smile to their guest. Mr Wickham spoke not only with words, but also with the light in his gaze, the teasing curl of his mouth. His posture was engaging, his wording both refined and approachable—he was every example of a worthy young man. Lizzie found that she could not help but like him already. But it would be foolish to concede to such after so short a time, and she took a slow sip from her teacup, her eyes surreptitiously studying the man in front of her.

“Then I am glad that the militia has elected to stay in Meryton,” she said decidedly, looking into his face to determine his expression, “there shall now be plenty of partners for dancing, and if the regiment finds that the society is lacking, then at least we shall be defended quite soundly from the French!”

If Mr Wickham were in any doubt of her temperament, there would be no question of it now.

[Mr George Wickham]

Though the room was only moments before crowded with occupants, Mr Wickham now found himself quite alone with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her mother, the latter of whom he assumed existed for the purpose of chaperon. Mrs Bennet may have thought herself surreptitious in her communication to her other daughters, but Wickham smiled to himself as she fidgeted them away. He graciously turned a blind eye to Mrs Bennet's wide stares and far from noiseless shifting, and concentrated instead on his manner of address to the second eldest of the Bennet's many daughters.

As the two Misses Bennet removed themselves from the room, Mrs Bennet begged him pray sit, and he gladly accepted the offered chair. With a straight back and squared shoulders, Wickham's posture was polite but not dissuading, as was apparent when Miss Bennet finally allowed herself a genuine sip from her delicate tea cup. The mere act alone told Wickham she was at ease enough to partake in the china's intended use, as opposed to merely hiding behind it to study his character. Of course, he was certain she was doing that as well, and so to add some fuel to her fire, Wickham gazed back at her steadily.

"“Then I am glad that the militia has elected to stay in Meryton,” she said with conviction once the cup was returned to its saucer. He found she matched his gaze with determination, which elicited a quirk of the brow from him. “There shall now be plenty of partners for dancing, and if the regiment finds that the society is lacking, then at least we shall be defended quite soundly from the French!” At this, both of Mr Wickham's brows shot up, and a pleasantly surprised smile lighted his lips. A small chuckle escaped from the back of his throat, and before he could inwardly damn himself for it, he found himself answering her with earnest. "Then I am in full agreement! For I have both every intention of enjoying each dance with which I am met, as well as protecting Meryton from such immediate danger as a French invasion." Wickham's roguish grin was hidden behind no teacups, and the gleam in his eye tested hers. "I only pray I do not confuse the two."

Mrs Bennet, Wickham had anticipated, was not so subtle as her daughter. Though his comment was meant for Miss Elizabeth Bennet's benefit, Mrs Bennet took his meaning more literally than he rather meant. She questioned him resolutely about the safety of their town, sparing him no consideration for jest. Wickham received her barrage with good nature, and put her fears to rest by carefully assuring her his comment was made with no seriousness, and that Meryton was no target in any way. Mrs Bennet relaxed her poor nerves and was eventually eased, then promptly switched tack to lightly offer that there was, in fact, to be a gathering in Meryton within the very week, and how pleased she was that there would be no ladies forced to sit any dances at all.

Mr Wickham smiled benignly at Mrs Bennet and again sung Meryton's praises before returning his attention to Miss Bennet. He was unfortunately unable to witness her immediate reaction but rather hoped she would linger in her expression for his benefit.

[Miss Elizabeth Bennet]

It was strange for Lizzie to receive her mother’s not-so-secret blessing to make a steadfast acquaintance with Mr Wickham. Usually it was Jane who was indelicately thrown into the current course of any man deemed worthy by Mrs Bennet’s standards. Lizzie was, in most cases, a happy observer, content to bear witness to her family’s spectacle. She soon learned that she did not exactly relish being on the other side of it.

Mr Wickham was a very pleasant sort of man, open and artless, and Lizzie grew to like him more and more with each word, but she was not pleased with her mother’s interjections, happy sighs, and short giggles. How she longed for Jane! Even a smug and knowing look from her elder sister would be better than the sight of her mother, giddy with the thought of orchestrating something extraordinary.

She took another sip of her tea, aware of Mr Wickham’s eyes on her. It was surprising, and not wholly unpleasant, to be the obvious object of study, but Mr Wickham was already proving himself to be a very interesting man, if not an especially bold one. At Lizzie’s mention of dancing, she was pleased to find that he had an agreeable, if teasing idea of such amusement.

"I have both every intention of enjoying each dance with which I am met, as well as protecting Meryton from such immediate danger as a French invasion. I only pray I do not confuse the two."

She did not hide her smile this time, and placed her teacup atop the small table next to her. Her mother’s response was less genial, but Lizzie was impressed with the way Mr Wickham coaxed Mrs Bennet into understanding—there was to be not fighting of any kind in Meryton, he assured her, and when he looked back to gauge the look on Lizzie’s face, she was just as delighted as before. She had not wanted to blush in his presence, but there was some intensity to Mr Wickham’s look, a tightness around his normally smiling mouth, a dark narrowing of his eyes, and Lizzie felt her face grow hot. Lowering her gaze to her lap, she stared with rapt attention to her agitatedly twisting hands. She could almost hear Mr Wickham’s grin.

“T-there is to be an assembly in Meryton in a few days time, as my mother says,” she stammered, reaching again for her tea to calm her shaking fingers, “and already some of the regiment have promised to come. The instruments are not always in tune,” she regained some of her composure and laughed lightly, “but there is always much to overhear, and plenty of dances to enjoy, and from your enthusiasm, Mr Wickham, you should have many to enjoy, should you choose to attend.”

The teacup, once again, sat untouched and growing cold in her lap, but Lizzie could not find the will to turn her attentions to anything other than the roguish quirk of Mr Wickham’s mouth. It was highly unusual to discover another who took pleasure in observing frivolity, whose wit sparred with hers, and whose smile was rather too disarming. Lizzie had known Mr Wickham for well nigh an hour, and she could safely say that he was fast becoming one of the most charming men of her acquaintance.