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Jane and Lizzy spent the next day on “flags and scenic work” inside the store.

Sometimes, Lizzy would find herself staring at the lovely displays of dresses, blouses, skirts, and heaven forefend, cosmetics.

How would she look with a splash of lip rouge or a powdered nose?

Jane, her lithe figure shown off even in her high-collared, long-sleeved white blouse and her plain, black, floor-length skirt, was the perfect argument against any of these enhancements as she was flawless as she was.

Some others, though, could use a bit of fine-tuning.

What really occupied her mind now, however, was the idea of women’s rights and, more specifically, the right to vote.

She needed to read more, to find out more about all of it.

For instance, could all men vote? If that were true, then she would be angry.

Why couldn’t a woman such as herself and her sister, working women, women who made their own way in the world, be trusted with a say in the halls of power?

The pent-up energy she felt back at Longbourn was now gaining momentum.

She had been seeking something, and she thought it was her independence and her employment, but she knew she was still unsatisfied.

She needed a cause, and now she’d found one—enfranchisement of women. That was it.

Mr Selfridge was really a visionary. He not only was unpatronizing in letting his employees live off the premises, but he also provided them with a recreation room, a gymnasium, lockers for their belongings, a canteen, and most importantly, a library.

That was where Lizzy headed after work. Jane, who was now finding her feet in London, felt perfectly at ease taking the Underground back to Mrs Clarke’s.

When she reached the library, Lizzy was surprised at the number of her coworkers perusing the stacks.

Many of the books were about business and commerce.

Mr Selfridge, as an American, was far more egalitarian than his British counterparts.

He claimed, and Elizabeth believed, that anyone could rise from the circumstances of their birth and become what he had become: a successful captain of industry.

That was all well and good, but what she was seeking now was books on law and enfranchisement.

She needed to know all about the suffragettes.

To her surprise, there were copies of Votes For Women , a Who’s Who of Women , printed by Selfridges, and other publications of the same ilk available on the shelves.

She nearly jumped for joy when she saw them.

As she stood pulling one after the other out and looking them over, a voice broke in behind her.

“ Come here often?” Soft and modulated tones—male.

She turned, and a rakishly good-looking fellow in a waiter’s uniform smiled at her.

His dark hair was parted in the centre but flipped up slightly above his forehead, giving him a boyish look.

He leaned jauntily on the long bookcase, crossing one foot over the other in a pose that exuded confidence and ease.

Unlike the young man who admired her sister, this one seemed quite worldly.

Of course, this was only her first impression.

“ Is it your habit to accost young women in the library?” she asked softly, but pointedly.

He did not seem taken aback, even a little. “I accost anyone I find interesting anywhere I choose.” He was nothing if not frank. She liked him immediately. She returned his smile and didn’t walk away. Emboldened, he went on. “George Wickham, at your service.”

“ Elizabeth Bennet. I work in—”

“ I know where you work. I’ve seen you in the window with… is that your sister?”

“ Yes, Jane. You seem to know about me, but I know nothing about you.”

“ We could know more about each other if you let me call on you. Perhaps we could take in a music hall performance, or…”

This type of boldness and directness was not what Elizabeth was used to.

In fact, it made her a bit uneasy. She heard many stories from the girls at the boardinghouse about young women, alone and without supervision of their families, becoming entangled in, well, things that brought about their ruin.

Still, he was so very different from the young men she met at tea in Meryton, and he was very good-looking.

“ You’re a waiter.” Her comment seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails. He cleared his throat.

“ That is true. And you are a shopgirl.” He smiled disarmingly. “Now that we have that settled… come out with me?”

“ Perhaps another time. I am quite busy now, as you can see. Besides, I am not used to going off with strangers.” Drawing her attention back to the bookcase, she opened one of the pamphlets and feigned reading.

After a short time, she looked up, thinking that he would be discouraged and be gone.

He was not. When they made eye contact, he moved closer.

“ All right. A group of us are going to a small dance party near the Strand on Sunday afternoon. Please, come with me. You can bring your sister for a chaperone.” Raising his right hand, he said, “I swear that my intentions are honourable.” He waggled his eyebrows comically. It made her laugh.

She sighed. “All right. I will do this much. I will talk with Jane, and you may find me tomorrow and ask me again. If she is amenable, we will both come.”

“ Capital. Tomorrow, then. We will talk and get to know each other, and I will no longer be a stranger.” With that he gave her another of those rakish smiles and was gone. Yes, this was very different from Meryton.

***

The usual buzzing throng filled the Palm Court Restaurant for luncheon.

Wickham smiled to himself as he draped the crisp linen napkin over his arm and proceeded to the next table.

Again, he had been asked for by name. It was one of his paramours come to visit again.

Matilda Maxwell, married to an absentee husband, wealthy, and voracious in bed, was one of his frequent customers.

He had been told, in no uncertain terms, that pleasing the customers was his principal duty, and who was he to shirk?

This position, which he was fortunate enough to acquire before the opening of the store two years ago, had served him well.

If all went according to plan, he would marry a wealthy spinster, or at least, have himself set up as a “kept man” by an unhappily but exceedingly wealthy married woman.

Either way, this was the perfect job for him, and one that he was convinced he would not have to work in for long.

He also had his diversions among the bountiful females of the Selfridge staff.

What bliss it was to be a man. These women safeguarded their reputations, if not their virtue, above all else, so he was fairly free to float among them, picking whatever flowers he chose.

Some might gossip, but most would not. If they had been warned off him, so be it.

There were dozens more to choose from, and he was not that discerning.

Any port in a storm, as it were. Elizabeth Bennet was intriguing.

She did not succumb to his charms immediately, which presented a challenge.

Challenges were an aphrodisiac to him. He would take his time with her.

After all, it was not as if he would be lonely in the meantime.

“ Would Madame wish to see a menu?” he asked, engaging the most intense version of his “come hither” look.

Mrs Maxwell lifted her gaze to him, softly touching her impressive pompadour as she removed her equally enormous hat.

“Oh, I think I have decided what I want already.” Her gaze swept over him, top to bottom, lingering just below his waist for a long moment.

He could feel a stirring in his loins. Her expression was that of a sly, hungry fox looking over a plump and promising chicken.

So be it. He didn’t mind the difference in their stations.

He was used to that by now and it didn’t keep him out of the best houses in London, even though he was usually there after dark and let in by the back door.

“ We are featuring a lovely sole meunière today, if madame would like to try something new.” He licked his lips and didn’t take his eyes off hers for a moment. She didn’t flinch.

“ You know my tastes so well, George,” she said. “I am always in the mood for something new.” That smouldering expression never left her face for a moment. “Surprise me.”

He was so aroused by now, he felt like surprising her by flinging her across the table and taking her right there. It was then he broke their gaze and tried to think of something revolting so as not to allow his twitching member to announce its intentions to the entire restaurant.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “ Sole meunière it is, and might I suggest a glass of Chablis to accompany?” He dared look at her again and saw that she was quite amused at his predicament. That amusement cooled his ardour… at least for the moment.

“ As you suggest, George. How well you know my tastes. That is why I come here so often.”

Indeed. That was why she came here. For the food and… service. “Very good, madame. So nice to see you again.” He scribbled on his pad and turned heel towards the kitchen. No doubt there would be a very nice tip for him before long.