E lizabeth stepped down from the Bennets’ carriage and looked around with some unease. Meryton, though never what one would call sleepy, was usually a neat and orderly little town—a market square with tidy shops and a few elegant homes, its modest bustle constrained by its size and genteel rhythm.
But now, the town was completely different.
It was crowded, almost claustrophobically so. The market square teemed with movement—not just shopkeepers and customers, but ragged strangers leaning against buildings, children darting between carts, and more red-coated soldiers than Elizabeth had ever seen assembled in one place.
“I had not expected such a… crowd,” she murmured, eyes scanning the square. A ragged man sat slumped on the steps of the butcher’s, his boots worn through, while a woman with a wrapped infant bargained rather too loudly for a loaf of bread.
“It is all the people from London,” Kitty whispered, catching her arm. “Aunt Phillips said many came here when the fires started.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, but she could not shake the feeling that the crowd was not merely full—it was frayed. Edges rubbed raw. People muttered, soldiers shouted orders, and the energy in the air was tightly wound, like a storm that had not yet broken.
“I do not like this,” she said under her breath, glancing at Lydia, who was peering eagerly across the street at the haberdashery.
“There are officers,” Lydia said excitedly. “Look! Over there—four of them!”
“Yes, and more behind them,” Kitty chimed in. “Do you suppose the colonel is with them?”
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had already disappeared into the Philips’ front door, so Elizabeth sighed and gestured toward the shop. “Fine. But only the haberdashery, and only for a moment. We will be back here before Papa returns.”
The three of them made their way across the street, carefully navigating between wagons and carts. But just as they reached the center of the lane, a cry went up from a driver trying to steady a panicked horse.
“Watch out!”
A crate flew from the back of a wagon with a loud crash, and the startled horse reared. Lydia, caught mid-step, froze like a frightened rabbit in the road.
A flash of red surged into view—an officer’s coat—and before Elizabeth could react, the man had swept forward and pushed Lydia out of the way. The crate landed inches from where she had been standing, scattering its contents across the muddy street.
“Lydia!” Elizabeth and Kitty rushed forward, helping her up from the cobbles. She was unhurt, though visibly shaken.
“I—I am all right,” she gasped, brushing dust from her skirts.
“Are you certain?” the officer asked, steadying her by the elbow. He had a warm voice and a firm grip, and when Elizabeth turned to thank him, she paused. He was handsome—impossibly so. With a trim figure, a charming smile, and eyes the exact shade of autumn honey, he looked like the sort of man right out of the gothic novels Lydia and Kitty insisted on reading aloud in the evenings.
“I—I think so,” Lydia stammered, blinking rapidly and flushing at his attention.
Forcing her eyes away from the man’s face, Elizabeth examined Lydia to ensure nothing was twisted or broken.
“She’s fine,” she declared with relief, then turned her attention to the man who had saved her sister. “Thank you, sir. Truly.”
The officer smiled. He was strikingly handsome, with golden-brown hair and bright hazel eyes that crinkled pleasantly when he smiled. “It was fortunate I was close by.”
“Fortunate indeed,” Elizabeth said with feeling. “Who are you?”
“I hope you will forgive the impertinence in introducing myself,” he said with a dazzling grin. “In cases such as these, I am certain propriety can be waived. My name is Lieutenant Wickham, newly attached to the Hertfordshire regiment.”
Elizabeth introduced herself and her sisters, watching with quiet amusement as her two younger sisters blushed furiously.
“I have only just arrived in Meryton,” Wickham said with an easy smile. “The country air is quite a change after the last few weeks.”
“Were you in London?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity piqued.
He nodded. “For a time. It is… not what it was.”
“Nor is Meryton,” Elizabeth said, looking around. “There are never this many people—soldiers or otherwise.”
Wickham gave a small, crooked smile. “Yes, well—when London empties, places like this tend to swell. With so many seeking housing and food, the regiments are receiving a surge of enlistments.”
“I think it is wonderful—so many officers in one place!” Lydia enthused.
At that, Wickham chuckled, though his voice held a note of caution. “Yes, well. Uniforms may look the same, but not all men wear them the same way, especially when there is no time to properly inspect qualifications or letters of reference.”
Elizabeth glanced sideways at Lydia, who was now openly staring at another young soldier leaning against a post. “I imagine the red coat can be… misleading.”
He met her eyes, and for the briefest moment, the charm dropped—just enough for her to glimpse a flicker of something more guarded. “Precisely.”
Before the conversation could go further, the sound of approaching hooves clattering over the cobblestones drew their attention. She turned to see Darcy and Bingley
Bingley reined in his horse first, beaming down at the small group. “Miss Elizabeth! Miss Kitty—Miss Lydia! What a surprise to find you in Meryton this morning. We were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth smiled up at him. “Good morning, Mr. Bingley. We have accompanied our parents to visit with our aunt and uncle Philips. Jane and Mary are at home.”
“And how is Miss Bennet?” he asked eagerly.
“Sleeping, sir,” Kitty chimed in helpfully. “Mary is watching her.”
“Ah, I am glad to hear she’s resting.”
Darcy came to a halt beside his friend, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to his face, noting the slight pinch around his eyes, the pale hue to his skin, and the telltale tension in his jaw. He was pressing his lips tightly together—too tightly. Her heart stirred with concern, but she said nothing. She knew that look now. He was fighting off a cough and did not want it remarked upon.
At that moment, Wickham stepped forward, the sun catching on the gleam of his uniform buttons.
“Darcy,” he said warmly. “Well, this is a surprise.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked to him, but his expression did not change. He gave the faintest inclination of his head, his lips still tightly sealed, and then, without a word, turned his horse and began to ride away at a steady pace.
The silence that followed was palpable.
Wickham blinked. His easy smile faltered, replaced by a flash of something more complex— surprise, perhaps, and something suspiciously like hurt. He masked it a moment later with a chuckle and a shrug. “Well. That’s Darcy, I suppose. Some things never change.”
“I do apologize,” Bingley said, looking back at his departing friend. “I hope to see you all later.”
In an instant, they were gone, leaving Wickham and the three Bennet girls standing in the road.
“La, what was wrong with Mr. Darcy?” exclaimed Lydia. “That was quite rude of him to cut you like that, Mr. Wickham.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Wickham gave a little laugh. “Mr. Darcy and I have known one another since our childhood. He probably suddenly remembered the time I caught more fish than him and could not bear the reminder of his humiliation at my hands.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, torn between keeping Darcy’s affairs private or alleviating Wickham’s wounded feelings. Before she could decide, however, she heard her name being called. Turning, she saw her parents standing at their carriage outside of the Philips’ residence—and Mr. Bennet did not look pleased.
“Thank you again, Lieutenant,” she said, dipping a small curtsy before grasping Lydia and Kitty by their arms. “It is time for us to leave now, as our parents have finished their business.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Allow me to escort you across to them safely.”
She hesitated, noting the deepening glower on her father’s face. The crowded street gave her pause, however, and she reluctantly acquiesced.
Wickham offered his arm with practiced ease, and Lydia, undeterred by the warning in her father’s scowl, eagerly took it before Elizabeth could protest. Kitty giggled and trotted after them, and Elizabeth found herself trailing behind as they crossed the road.
Mr. Bennet's brows were drawn together, and he tapped his walking stick impatiently against the step. “I thought you were only to visit the haberdashery?”
“That was our intention, Papa, but—”
“Lydia was almost killed!” Kitty burst out in excitement, unable to keep herself from interrupting. “A box fell from a cart, and it would have landed on her if Lieutenant Wickham had not pushed her out of the way!”
Mrs. Bennet clutched her gloved hand to her heart. “La! My poor girl! You might have been trampled or worse!” She turned to Wickham with bright eyes. “Lieutenant, we are most indebted to you. Such gallantry!”
Wickham offered a polite bow. “I am relieved to have been of help, ma’am. I only did what any gentleman would.”
“Not every gentleman would bother,” Mr. Bennet said dryly, giving the young man a more measured look. “But I thank you, sir. I suppose I should be grateful someone had eyes on the child, even if I did not.”
Lydia made a sour face at being referred to in such a way, but then she beamed at Wickham and squeezed his arm. “It was ever so brave of him.”
“Indeed, it was!” cried Mrs. Philips, who had been standing at the doorway unnoticed. “To express my gratitude, I would like to personally invite you to my card party tomorrow evening. An invitation has already been sent to Colonel Forster, but you shall be my special guest, in honor of your heroics.”
Chuckling, Wickham said with a bow, “I would be delighted, madam.”
“Well, girls, we must be going.” Mr. Bennet ushered his family towards the carriage door. Before entering himself, he turned and said, “My thanks again, sir.”
As the carriage drove away, Elizabeth looked back through the window at the handsome figure of Lieutenant Wickham, who had joined a small group of officers in conversation.
Things certainly have been changing in Meryton. What will happen next? she wondered.
∞∞∞
The drawing room at her aunt Philips’s house was more crowded than usual the following evening. The usual card tables were set up, but now they were flanked by a number of officers in uniform, laughing boisterously and speaking too loudly. Elizabeth, who had grown up attending these parties, blinked at the difference a few red coats made.
A glance at Colonel Forster showed the man smiling tightly, his hands clasped behind his back as though he hoped decorum might return if he simply wished it hard enough. Usually, she would enjoy being in such a large crowd, but not one that was more raucous than festive.
Elizabeth, deciding she had no desire to try her luck at the card tables, especially after overhearing two officers discuss the value of their fish tokens in actual currency, wandered toward the fire. She took a seat near the hearth, grateful for the warmth and distance from the bustle of the room.
She watched with a small smirk as several of the local young ladies—Lydia and Kitty included—vied for the attention of the red-coated men. Lieutenant Wickham appeared to be the most popular, no doubt due to his good looks. She vaguely recognized a few other soldiers that she had been introduced to since the militia had come into the county, such as Lieutenants Denny and Pratt, as well as Captains Carter and Chamberlayne.
Her attention was pulled away by an uproar at one of the card tables. One of the officers shouted in anger, while another gleefully swept the fish into a large pile in front of him. She bit her lip and looked around at her aunt Philips, who was watching the soldiers anxiously. Fortunately, Captain Carter went to the group and was able to quiet them down a bit.
“May I join you, Miss Bennet?”
She looked up and found Lieutenant Wickham standing nearby, his hat tucked neatly under one arm. His expression was open and charming, and she felt her cheeks warm at his attention.
“Of course,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. “Do you not care for card games?”
He smiled as he sat down, the firelight catching in the gold of his uniform buttons. “I like them a little too much, I am afraid.”
Her brow rose. “Indeed?”
Wickham gave a rueful chuckle. “When I was at Cambridge, I played far too often. Accumulated more debt than was wise and made something of a name for myself, I fear. Mr. Darcy warned me often enough to stop, but I was too proud to listen.”
Elizabeth blinked. “You and Mr. Darcy were at university together?”
“Oh, long before that. We have known each other since we were children.” He leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the back of his chair. “We were often thrown together when we were young—my father was old Mr. Darcy’s steward, you see. We were quite good friends, even if I did tease him quite mercilessly at times for his priggishness.”
“But no longer?”
His shoulders slumped slightly, and an expression of remorse crossed his face. “No, I am afraid not. We parted ways during our university years. I supposed I did not always make the wisest choices, and Darcy… well, I imagine he grew tired of having to clean up my messes.”
“I am sorry,” she said, for lack of anything else to say, but he seemed to not hear her. His gaze faced the fire, but he did not seem to even be aware of the flames.
“It is my own fault, really. I have not seen him in several years—not since his father’s funeral and the reading of the will. Old Mr. Darcy was my godfather, and he left me a valuable living when he died.”
“You were intended for the church?”
Smiling wryly, he said, “Yes, but both Darcy and I knew I would never suit. I was given a sum in lieu of the living and studied law instead. The practice where I work burned down during the fire, and I used the last of my savings to purchase this commission until the barrister I clerked for is able to reestablish his business.”
“I supposed seeing Mr. Darcy was quite a shock, then.”
He laughed. “Yes, it most certainly was! Of all the hamlets in all the kingdom, and we both come to this one. I dare say it was more unpleasant for him than for me. How he must still despise me; but then, he has always been one to say that his good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, debating. Should I tell him? He looks so…forlorn. Making up her mind and praying she was not doing the wrong thing, she said softly, “I do not think his reaction had anything to do with you personally.”
His eyebrows lifted. “No?”
“I think…I think he was trying very hard not to cough. The ride into town with the harsh wind must have worn him down.”
Wickham blinked, genuinely surprised. “Still the same? But it has been years since his pneumonia! I would have thought he had long since recovered.” He peered at her more closely. “I had not realized you and he were on such intimate terms so as to know his past in such personal detail. Certainly not so soon after arriving in the neighborhood.”
“He did not exactly confide,” Elizabeth said, a little self-consciously. “I stumbled upon him during a rather severe fit. I suppose he did not have the strength to push me away, although I have kept his condition in confidence, of course. I only tell you this so you know the slight may not have been because of you personally.”
For a long moment, Wickham just looked at her, something unreadable in his expression. Then he smiled again, softer this time. “Well. I am glad it was you who found him.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth of the fire seep into her cheeks.
“I do not know what has truly passed between the two of you,” she said, “but I must admit, I have never seen a man try so hard to suppress a cough in all my life. It cannot be easy for him to appear aloof and composed when he is fighting to breathe.”
“He was always proud.” Wickham looked away for a moment, his smile fading just slightly. “Even as a child. But it does not mean he’s unfeeling. Still waters and all that. You are probably one of the few people who can boast of such an encounter with him.”
“Boasting would be in poor taste,” she said wryly. “He could scarcely breathe.”
“And yet,” Wickham murmured, looking back toward the card tables, “you seem to understand him more than most. It is more than I can say for myself these days.”
Elizabeth did not respond right away. The warmth of the fire flickered across his face, the lines of regret and nostalgia made deeper with the shadows.
“Perhaps you might send him a note or pay a call on him at Netherfield,” she suggested. “Being an old friend, he may appreciate knowing the changes you have made in your life.”
“Perhaps I shall,” he murmured.
∞∞∞
Later that evening, Elizabeth sat at her small writing table in her room, the glow of a single candle casting long shadows across the walls. She had changed into her nightdress, but sleep still felt distant. Her thoughts were too unsettled.
The card party had ended earlier than expected after one of Mrs. Philips’s prized vases was shattered—sacrificed to a rather unsteady display of soldierly high spirits. Elizabeth still winced remembering the crash, the awkward silence that followed, and the red-faced apologies delivered between hiccups and laughter. Colonel Forster, clearly mortified, had wasted no time in ordering his officers to return to their quarters.
It had been just in time.
She recalled the way two of the more inebriated young men had looked at her younger sisters—Kitty and Lydia entirely oblivious to the danger, giggling and twirling curls and batting lashes as though it were all a delightful game.
Elizabeth had felt ill at ease. They are too young to know the danger of it. And too foolish to care even if they did.
Tomorrow, she resolved, she would speak to her father. He must see how precarious the situation had become…before something regrettable happened.
But not all of them behaved poorly , she thought. As they were leaving, Captain Carter stopped to bid farewell to the party. “I apologize for my fellow officers’ behavior tonight, Mrs. Philips,” he had said, his lips pressed together tightly. “I can assure you that those under my command will be feeling the consequences of their behavior during drills in the morning.”
Lieutenant Wickham had echoed his colleague’s words, gratifying Mrs. Philips. The party quickly returned to their various entertainments after the officers had left, and harmony was restored.
Elizabeth’s thoughts now wandered to the handsome officer and the story he had shared. What a coincidence for the two men to end up in the same small town at the same time!
She was glad for the opportunity to meet them both. Darcy intrigued her. Wickham charmed her. Both compelling in such different ways.
What a study in contrasts they were—one so guarded, so proud, yet capable of astonishing gentleness in moments of weakness; the other charming and open, almost too easy to talk to, yet carrying the weight of regret behind his easy smile.
Wickham was handsome and sociable, with little but his good looks and military commission to recommend him. Darcy, by contrast, had wealth, status—and walls so high it was a miracle she had glimpsed behind them at all.
She had learned far more about Darcy than she ever expected—his illness, his restraint, his startling flashes of dry humor. And those few rare smiles, how rare they are… and how hard-won.
And yet…
She shook her head, laughing softly at herself. Neither man had offered her anything beyond a few shared conversations. Here I am, spinning romantic nonsense in my own mind like Mama planning wedding breakfasts before the couple has even met twice.
She leaned forward and blew out the candle.
Time enough for dreams.