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The moment she saw him, she was furious. How dare he break in on her charmed London experience and cast a rain cloud over her life? His behaviour in Hertfordshire was bad enough — he had made no secret of his arrogance and contempt — but what she now knew he had done to Mr Wickham was far worse.

“Are you well, Miss Bennet?” Mr Darcy asked.

“I am, thank you,” she replied coolly, and fell silent. Elizabeth had not the slightest intention of encouraging him in conversation.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward then, looking confused. “Miss Bennet, Georgiana is quite the proponent of the arts. She is a musician, just like yourself.”

Elizabeth gave a small laugh. “I would hardly call myself a musician, Colonel. You will give Miss Darcy an entirely exaggerated idea of my proficiency.” She had only mentioned that she played the pianoforte a little. “But I hear you are quite the proficient, Miss Darcy.”

“I enjoy playing the pianoforte, Miss Bennet.” Miss Darcy said shyly.

Elizabeth smiled. She suspected, like herself, that Miss Darcy did not enjoy being the centre of attention.

Unlike her brother, she did not seem to have an arrogant bone in her body.

“My sister Mary is the musician in our family. I learned a little, but I am nowhere as capable as she is. Although I do enjoy music.” She glanced at Mr Darcy.

“Which reminds me, we should all probably take our seats. The performance will start soon, will it not?”

“Indeed. You are right, of course. However, before you go, Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I wonder if you might enjoy coming to a showing of watercolours that my mother has arranged in a few days?”

The invitation was a flattering one. A man who had no serious interest would not have invited her to an event hosted by his mother.

Did this mean something more than a simple outing?

Did he intend to introduce her to his mother as well?

She felt her face flush at the thought and quickly nodded her acquiescence.

“I would be delighted to attend. Thank you.”

“Oh, how wonderful it will be to have you there, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said. Mr Darcy looked at her, seemingly surprised. Was he truly so arrogant that he was dismayed to see his sister speak to her? Doubtless, he would do his best to keep his cousin from seeing her again as well.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face brightened. “Very good. I will send the carriage for you that afternoon, if you like?”

“Yes, please,” Elizabeth replied. “I believe my aunt would enjoy the show as well. She is prodigiously fond of watercolours. I think her a very fine artist in her own right.”

“Yes, please, you must invite her — and your uncle as well, if he’s a mind. I will send the official invitation tomorrow morning.” The colonel pressed her hand, then quickly let her go. “Shall I walk you to your box?”

“We are on the main floor, but I thank you,” Elizabeth replied.

Though she would have enjoyed being in the boxes, Elizabeth could no longer regret their less luxurious seats.

In the anonymity of the many rows, she would disappear from Mr Darcy’s sight entirely.

Poor Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Darcy could bear the man’s judgment better, for no doubt they were accustomed to it. “Good evening.”

Elizabeth hurried away, eager to return to her party.

It would be a relief to see three smiling faces, to know herself safe from Mr Darcy’s judgemental stares.

All around her was a jumble of voices and people, all of them seemingly more interested in what others were wearing or the latest gossip they had heard, rather than the concert that was about to begin.

For a moment, Elizabeth wished for the greater privacy and seclusion of a box, before chiding herself for ingratitude.

It had been very generous of Mr Wickham to invite them all to the theatre, and she ought to be grateful to him.

“What kept you so long, my dear?” Her aunt gave her a concerned look as she leaned forward to speak to her. “I was about to send Mr Gardiner out to the foyer to find you.”

“I was delayed speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth replied. She hesitated a moment, dreading Mr Wickham’s reaction to what she must say next, but could hardly do otherwise. “Mr Darcy and his sister were with him, and Colonel Fitzwilliam wished to introduce me.”

“Mr Darcy is here? And Miss Georgiana Darcy?” Mr Wickham asked. His face turned a shade of pale white that she had never seen on him before.

Elizabeth frowned. It was very odd. Mr Wickham looked almost frightened, but surely that could not be. She would have expected him to feel anger or disdain at the mention of the man who had treated him so badly, but not fear. “Yes. Is there a reason they should not be here?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” Mr Wickham said. “Did you mention that I was here tonight?”

“No,” she replied slowly. It was very odd that he would be worried about his presence being revealed. “I was introduced to Miss Darcy. She is a very pleasant girl, if a little shy. It was kind of Colonel Fitzwilliam to wish to introduce us.”

Mr Wickham shook his head, his expression grave. “I would caution you against Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Bennet. He may seem charming, but I know for a fact that he is a dangerous man — with a capacity for violence.”

Elizabeth took in a breath and lowered her voice. “That is a very serious allegation, sir. Are you certain?” she asked.

She glanced at her aunt. Mrs Gardiner looked as shocked as herself that Mr Wickham would make such a claim in so public a place. Anyone might overhear them and spread the rumour, of which he had yet to give the slightest proof.

“Indeed. He has even been known to brawl, my dear Miss Bennet.”

“Perhaps you are speaking of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s actions among the regulars.

Military men might very well be misunderstood when they are among civilians,” Mr Gardiner put in.

“You yourself might be misjudged for things you have to do in the line of duty, Mr Wickham, that we civilians would not understand.”

“Sadly, I am not speaking of things he has done while in training or in the line of duty. I am speaking of when he comes to London. I have heard of several occasions where he was in a public house and was reduced to fisticuffs after too many drinks. One cannot trust such a man,” Mr Wickham said.

“And you already know the reputation of Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth said nothing more on the subject, for the lights dimmed, and people began to quiet around them in anticipation of the performance.

She was not sorry to be spared the necessity of replying.

She would hardly have known what to say.

It was strange that he would bring up such private matters about Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Was he jealous?It was arrogant of her to think it, surely, and yet she hardly knew how else to interpret his actions.

It might be taken as a compliment if he were, and yet Elizabeth would have much rather been given the compliment of rational trust and respect.

They listened in silence for some time, but Elizabeth was shocked to discover that conversations continued around them. Indeed, the chatter was a constant backdrop against the music, which she would have enjoyed very much if not for the interference.

She shifted in her seat, and Mr Wickham leaned over to ask her if she was all right. “I am well, but I wish everyone would be quiet so we could hear better. Is it always like this?” she whispered as softly as she was able.

“You show that this is your first time at the opera, my dear Miss Bennet. I wish everyone was of your frame of mind, but you see, attending an opera is not really about the performance on the stage, but in the audience. Everyone comes to the theatre to see everyone else and to be seen.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What nonsense! If I wanted to parade myself around the town and share gossip, we could have very well gone to Vauxhall, or some other public place.” She looked at the stage, her heart going out to the ones who had poured their souls into bringing the opera to life.

“What about them? If I had devoted my whole life to making music, I would be devastated that people were not even listening.”

“How very right you are, Miss Bennet. I wish there were more women like you — who were more worried about the mind and true beauty than what the latest gossip was.” He took her hand and pressed it, making her very uncomfortable.

Did he forget her uncle was seated right beside her?

“We would all do well to be more like you.”

She took her hand away from his and clasped her hands firmly in her lap.

Elizabeth resolved to forget her unease and listen to the music.

She closed her eyes, and for a little while, she was able to separate all the chatter from the melody rising to the roof, which was perfectly built for the acoustics to echo through the auditorium.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, her chin lifted as she gazed at the ceiling.

She wished she could have gone to the very top floor and listened from there, far above the useless chatter.

For the rest of the evening, Mr Wickham was very charming.

He said nothing more about the Darcys or Colonel Fitzwilliam.

He made her aunt laugh and paid intelligent compliments to her uncle.

As they were leaving to climb into the carriage, Mr Wickham had them enthralled by a story of his days in the militia training camp.

He was so charming that she had nearly forgotten his awkwardness in discussing Mr Darcy and his sister.

Almost. It was odd that he felt the need to keep bringing up the wrongs Mr Darcy had done him, and so publicly.

Though his openness might be taken as a compliment, Elizabeth rather thought more discretion might have become him better.

She found herself a little relieved when Mr Wickham was dropped off at his cousin’s home, a lodging house, and she might think over the evening in relative quiet.

“You are very quiet, Lizzy. Is everything all right?” her aunt asked, giving her a knowing look from across the carriage.

Elizabeth glanced at her uncle, who was starting to doze, thanks to the late hour. “I think so. Perhaps you and I can have a chat when we return home?” she asked. She did not necessarily want to discuss her true feelings in front of her uncle. He might not understand.

“Yes, of course.”

Elizabeth looked out the window at the mist rolling in, filling the streets with an eeriness that she could not escape.

Was it simply the weather that was playing on her emotions, or had Mr Darcy’s presence really upset her that much?

He had been nothing but cordial to her, if not a little aloof.

Then again, that could be down to her coldness toward him.

His sister seemed nice enough. Miss Darcy was to be pitied for having so cold and uncaring a brother, at least if Mr Wickham was to be believed.

And to think that Colonel Fitzwilliam was a drunkard and a carouser!

Somehow, she could not quite believe it of him.

But she would have to take his charm with a grain of salt, she supposed.

Even her aunt had instructed her to treat him with caution.

When they arrived home, Mr Gardiner went straight to his room, while her aunt accompanied her to the guestroom she had been given. “What is it, my dear?” her aunt asked as soon as they were alone.

“It is nothing really, just a feeling I’ve had. I assume you heard Mr Wickham’s caution against Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“I did,” Mrs Gardiner replied. She sat down with a huff on the chest at the foot of the bed and let out a breath of relief as she slipped her shoes off. “Did you think there was anything to his warning?”

“Perhaps it is nothing more than vanity, but I could not help but think him jealous, that perhaps he was trying to warn me off so he could have me all to himself.” She shrugged, shaking her head.

“Of course, I have no experience with men fighting over me. And indeed, I do not think it because of any merit I hold on my own, but because of the inheritance.”

Elizabeth sank onto the little stool in front of the vanity. “How does one know if a gentleman is genuine or not, aunt? I confess, I am starting to think that men are consumed with avarice, and fall in love with fortunes instead of women.”

Her aunt gave a short laugh. “Careful, Lizzy. That savours strongly of bitterness,” she warned.

And perhaps she had allowed bitterness to seep into her heart, little as she might wish to admit it. “I wish I could give this inheritance to Jane. She is already in love with Mr Bingley, and I am sure he is in love with her. They would put it to good use.”

“Oh, my dear,” her aunt said and grabbed both her hands.

“You should not despair of your good fortune. Jane will be cared for well enough, with Mr Bingley’s fortune.

But you — you deserve to make a good match just as much as she does.

” Her aunt tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “Do not sell yourself short.”

“I shall try, aunt, and yet I despair of finding a good man. Which of them cares about anything but the legacy left me by my great uncle? Even Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned he must marry an heiress. I suppose an earl’s son has certain expectations for his life, and I cannot begrudge him that.

But what would happen if I were poor again? ”

“You’ve never been poor, my dear.”

“Well, if I had nothing more than a dowry of a thousand pounds, then? And you cannot pretend that Papa has any great wealth. Compared to many of the ladies we’ve met this Season, we are scarcely genteel.”

“Money is not everything, Lizzy, although it does help. I cannot give any advice except to say that the man who could overlook fortune in favour of character is a rare breed indeed.” She patted her hand and rose.

“If that is the sort of man you want, then you may have to hold out for quite some time.”

Elizabeth said good night to her aunt then and turned to face the vanity mirror.

Perhaps she should wait out the five years it would take to have the inheritance released upon her twenty-fifth birthday.

Her mother would have a fit of apoplexy if she ever voiced these sentiments aloud.

But the more she was forced to play this game of husband-hunting, the more tempting the idea became.