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E xcessive travel was not conducive to consistent letter writing, so it was no surprise that her letters from her family were sparse.

That most of the members of her family were not diligent correspondents also contributed, for Mr. Bennet detested correspondence, and Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia were not at all eager to spend their time with pens and paper in their hands.

Of her sisters, Elizabeth could count only on Mary and Jane to write to her, even with the difficulties of delivering letters while moving from place to place.

The morning after the dinner at Pemberley, which was also the morning before Elizabeth was to depart with the Gardiners for the lakes in the north, she received letters from both her more attentive sisters.

To her surprise, Mary’s letter was thicker than she expected from her sister, and the enclosure of a small piece of paper from Lydia did nothing to assuage Elizabeth’s curiosity.

Her aunt and uncle, noting the receipt of her correspondence, did not hesitate to suggest she remain behind while they walked out into the town.

“Though I cannot suppose those letters contain anything significant,” said Aunt Gardiner, “it is not surprising that you wish to read them. Your uncle and I can well amuse ourselves for a time.”

“Perhaps we shall call back for you in half an hour?” suggested Mr. Gardiner.

“Thank you,” replied Elizabeth, pleased with their easy understanding.

When the Gardiners departed, Elizabeth sat at the table with the two packets, and after assuring herself that there was nothing amiss in Mary’s letter, she set it aside and took up Jane’s, eager to hear how her sister got on with her new husband.

As Elizabeth expected, Jane’s missive described her situation at length, Jane’s usual cheer shining from every line, every word on the page, telling Elizabeth that her sister had found her path in life.

Thus, after enjoying Jane’s comments for some minutes, she put aside her elder sister’s letter in favor of the younger.

Mary’s letter was not like Jane’s at all, as Mary was a different person with her own opinions about what was consequential.

For all that Elizabeth had always considered Mary a good girl, her letters were more than a little dry, and in this instance, they comprised accounts of her recent studies, her efforts to learn a new song or two, followed by a few anecdotes of her family and the Gardiner children staying with them.

These last were akin to afterthoughts in Mary’s mind.

Upon finishing Mary’s missive, Elizabeth took up the small, folded paper that bore Lydia’s writing, curious about what the sister who rarely took the trouble to write might wish to say. What she discovered in Lydia’s letter was nothing less than a shock.

As luck would have it, the moment Elizabeth set down her sister’s letter to consider it, the door opened, and a maid led Mr. and Miss Darcy into the room.

It was a curious coincidence, for though Lydia’s letter had not concerned the Darcys at all, Elizabeth could not help but suppose they would find what Lydia wrote interesting.

And all at once, Elizabeth realized that she had been misled.

There was a man who claimed a past with Mr. Darcy, a man the gentleman himself had warned her against, though in terms subtle, such that Elizabeth had disregarded them altogether.

Now that Mr. Darcy entered the room, his expression open, filled with the regard he had shown these past days, the desire to know all entered Elizabeth’s heart.

The man in question had spoken of Mr. Darcy without hesitation—would Mr. Darcy respond when he knew all?

“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, concern edging his voice. “Is something amiss?”

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy,” said Elizabeth, rising to her feet, remembering good manners. “Nothing is amiss, but I have received word that has confused me; I hope you can assist me to understand.”

Though the gentleman regarded her, he did not hesitate to agree, with the siblings taking their seats at Elizabeth’s invitation.

When the moment came to ask about what she had read in Lydia’s letter, Elizabeth found the words would not come, for she was not certain how to broach the subject.

Knowing that Mr. Darcy thought little of the man, she did not wish to reopen old wounds, and she did not know how to raise the subject with tact and discretion.

As such, there was nothing to do but state her wishes and navigate what was to follow as best she could.

“I apologize if the subject is unpalatable, but I wish to know more about Mr. Wickham.”

No two reactions could be more diverse, for while Georgiana gasped and turned white, the redness of his cheeks displayed Mr. Darcy’s anger.

Never having considered the possibility that the mere mention of Mr. Wickham would disrupt Georgiana’s peace of mind, Elizabeth gaped at her, wondering what had provoked such a response.

Then Mr. Darcy’s growl pulled Elizabeth’s attention away from his sister.

“Why do you want to know of Wickham?”

This sharp question reminded Elizabeth of a previous time in Hertfordshire, when Mr. Darcy had been unapproachable and insufferably haughty. It also appeared to spur Georgiana to recover from her sudden shock, for she reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

“William, Elizabeth knows nothing of Mr. Wickham.”

“I know a few details,” said Elizabeth, “though I now understand he has misled me about what I thought I knew. That he was raised at Pemberley and claims an acquaintance with the Darcy family you have confirmed yourself, but I now suspect everything else he told me was false.”

Mr. Darcy nodded, a hint of the fury draining from him, though he appeared to remain displeased.

“I apologize, Miss Bennet—I should not have reacted as I did. It does not surprise me at all that Wickham has spoken of me; if he did not dissemble, that would be the greater shock, for Wickham is not well acquainted with the truth.”

“We have no compunction about speaking of him, Elizabeth,” said Georgiana, a sense of determination replacing her shock. “Before we do so, I am curious—how do you know him, and what led you to speak of him now?”

“The how of it is simple,” said Elizabeth with a glance at Mr. Darcy. “Mr. Wickham joined the regiment quartered near my home in November, and I became acquainted with him then. It was while your brother stayed with Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park, which shares a boundary with my father’s estate.”

“If you recall,” said Mr. Darcy, “I warned you about associating with Wickham.”

Elizabeth regarded him with such displeasure as she had not felt since his abrupt departure from Meryton. “What warning do you call it, Mr. Darcy? By my recollection, you said nothing more than that he was incapable of maintaining his friends.”

“Oh, Brother,” said Georgiana, shaking her head, “is that all the warning you offered?”

Though nothing changed in the gentleman’s demeanor, Elizabeth thought she sensed a measure of regret. “Perhaps I might have judged better, but I hope you will acquit me of willful indifference, for Wickham is a most disagreeable subject.”

“So I see,” said Elizabeth.

With a sigh, Elizabeth gestured to her letters. “This morning, I received word from my sisters at Longbourn. As you must recall, my youngest sisters were enamored with the officers of the regiment in Meryton.”

At Mr. Darcy’s curt nod, Elizabeth continued: “When the regiment decamped to Brighton, the colonel’s wife invited Lydia to travel with her for the summer, an invitation Lydia could not accept because of Jane’s approaching fête.

Though she did not go, however, Lydia’s friendship with Mrs. Forster ensures she receives periodic news about the regiment. ”

“Then the news she received was about Wickham?”

That Mr. Darcy had seen to the heart of the matter at once proved his knowledge about Mr. Wickham, though Elizabeth could not help but wonder how deep his understanding was. Mr. Darcy appeared to understand this, for he snorted his disdain.

“As Wickham makes a spectacle of himself without cessation, it does not surprise me that Mrs. Forster wrote to your sister about him. Tell me, Miss Bennet, did the merchants of Brighton rise in arms against him, or has he trifled with the daughter of the wrong man? Though I would not suspect him of trying to dally with the wife of his superior officer, I can well imagine he might think he could escape the consequences of doing so.”

Shocked at this account, Elizabeth shook her head, as much to clear away extraneous thoughts as to deny Mr. Darcy’s incorrect guesses.

“It seems you know him well, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham attempted to flee his creditors in Brighton and elope with a young woman of the area in the bargain.”

“Then his skills have atrophied,” said Mr. Darcy, shaking his head with disdain. “Wickham has slipped away from trouble so many times that I had thought he had coated himself with butter. Confronting the consequences of his actions is not Wickham’s forte.”

“What happened to him, Miss Bennet?” asked Georgiana.

“Lydia’s letter is short enough that it does not contain specifics,” replied Elizabeth, noting Georgiana’s intense interest in her account.

“The colonel discovered Mr. Wickham’s plans and prevented his departure.

Though Lydia writes that Mr. Wickham is now imprisoned, she relates little more than that. ”

Elizabeth turned a wry smile to Mr. Darcy, one that appeared to lighten his mood a little.

“To my sister, nothing is more important than a handsome mien and a red coat—that she dwells on her affront that such a man could be a bounder, her certainty that the colonel must be mistaken, and her praises for Mr. Wickham’s gentlemanly conduct is no surprise to anyone who knows her.

Neither are the contradictions in her opinions. ”