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“No, not at all. I have come to say that I may be going to London as well, and wanted to ask your leave — and that of your father, of course — to call upon you while I am there.” Mr Wickham gave his usual warm smile.

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. “That is delightful, Mr Wickham, but how can this be? Is the militia moving on from Meryton?”

“No,” he replied. “Ah, I see the source of the confusion. I have procured leave to see an ailing cousin in London. I thought, while I was there, I might also take the opportunity to see you.” He moved a little closer, lowering his voice.

“I find that being away from you for such a long stint of time is unimaginable. I hope you will not think me too forward, but I have come to value your friendship more than you can know.”

Elizabeth’s stomach leapt, then proceeded to do somersaults as he took her hand and kissed it. He let her hand go, but she still felt the impression of his lips on her knuckles.

Before Mr Wickham left, he stepped into the library to ask her father’s permission to visit her at her aunt and uncle’s home.

The permission granted, Elizabeth wrote down the address and gave it to Mr Wickham, doing her best not to notice how he caressed her handwriting before slipping the card into his wallet.

With the assurance that they would soon meet again, their farewells were brief and cheerful.

As Mr Wickham walked off down the road, Elizabeth looked after him thoughtfully.

The thought of having such a pleasant acquaintance in all the bustle of London was delightful.

It was odd, though, that he happened to be going at the very same time.

She would not have thought an enlisted man would have such freedom.

Such doubts were silly. Elizabeth told herself to put them out of her mind.

∞∞∞

“He is besotted. Anyone can see that,” her mother said that night at the supper table.

“And Mr Bingley as well. I think you made the right choice, Jane, in staying home.” She looked pointedly at Elizabeth.

“It is only by a stroke of luck that Mr Wickham will be visiting London at the same time you are.” Elizabeth could see her mother was displeased she had chosen to go to London, when she might have stayed and pursued Mr Wickham.

Elizabeth could not bring herself to regret her choice, even had she been forced to forgo Mr Wickham’s company.

Surely, there was more to life than marrying as quickly as possible.

If Mr Wickham could not have waited for her for a few weeks of absence, he was not the man for her.

Late that night, nestled under the coverlet with Jane, they talked long after the rest of the household was asleep.

“I will be sorry to see you go, Lizzy. However, I think our aunt and uncle will be vastly glad of your company.” She sighed contentedly.

“You are not upset that you will have to make the journey alone?”

“I will have a good book to keep me company. You need not worry about me,” Elizabeth said.

It was just like Jane to worry that her decision might have an ill effect on Elizabeth.

She was always putting her own wants and needs behind everyone else.

For once, she had done well to focus on her own future.

Elizabeth looked up at the white coverlet through which the faint light of the candle could be seen illuminating the space around the head of the bed.

“I wonder at Mr Wickham’s eagerness to be near me.

It is strange that he should be allowed to take leave for a mere cousin.

If it had been a sibling, or even a parent, it would make more sense to me. ”

“Surely it shows he has a devoted nature. It does him credit that he would take rare time off from his regiment to aid an ailing family member,” Jane protested. “I think Mr Wickham is a charming, selfless man, and doubtless a credit to his profession.”

“Indeed. I cannot but agree,” Elizabeth said.

Even so, she could not wholly overcome the slight unease roiling in the pit of her stomach.

What was it about the connection that troubled her?

Despite knowing that Mr Wickham had not begun their acquaintance because of her impending fortune, she wondered at his eagerness.

Was it simply because she did not deem herself worthy of his attention, or was there an underlying cause that she could not see?

Jane rolled over and sighed, her eyes growing heavy with sleep. “Mr Wickham said something very strange the other day. About Mr Darcy,” she said.

“Oh? What is that?”

“He said he was glad that you had survived his visit.” Her eyes fluttered open for only a moment. “I wonder what he meant by that?”

Elizabeth shivered, but answered calmly.

“I am sure he meant he was disagreeable, and he was glad that Mr Darcy had not had cause to remain in Meryton for long.” But she knew the particulars of his history with the gentleman, if Mr Darcy could even be classified as such.

She was glad he was gone. “It is a good thing that we shall not have to suffer his company any longer. Indeed, I doubt if we shall ever meet again.”

“It is a shame. For a moment, at the Netherfield ball, I thought I saw a warm regard touching his face when he came to your aid.” Jane sighed again. “I do not know why everyone was so disagreeably inclined against him. I thought him very kind and very gentlemanly.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You think that of everyone, Jane.”

Her sister mumbled something, then turned away to fall asleep.

Elizabeth moved the coverlet away and leaned over to the bedside table to blow out the candle.

She lay in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling through the long hours of the night.

She wondered once again what had made Mr Darcy leave so suddenly.

Judging by how Mr Bingley had reacted the day Mr Wickham had first come to call, there must have been a breach between the two men.

Had they argued? Knowing how proud Mr Darcy was, she wondered if it had had anything to do with Jane.

Even the thought that Mr Darcy disapproved of her sister as a mate for Mr Bingley made her see red.

She was glad that Mr Bingley had sent him away, if that was the case, and hoped they would not see him again.

Or at least, that Mr Bingley and Jane would be safely married before he returned, so he could not ruin the attachment growing between them.

Jane was not one to easily confess her feelings, even to a beloved sister. But if Mr Bingley felt half so much as Elizabeth suspected her sister did, their marriage would be one of enviable bliss.