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The tea had barely been served before Mrs. Bennet began her usual effusions, her face alight with delight at Mr. Bingley’s presence.

"Oh, Mr. Bingley, it is such a joy to have you here!

Such a fine day, and you must know, sir, that we consider ourselves most fortunate to have you so near to us.

Indeed, I have always thought that there was no estate so charming as Netherfield, and no gentleman so good-natured and agreeable as yourself. Do you not agree, Jane?"

Jane, who had just lifted her teacup, lowered it swiftly, her cheeks coloring. "Mr. Bingley is certainly very kind, Mama."

Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together, beaming. "Oh, exceedingly kind! I have always said so. Such manners, such an amiable disposition! And so attentive to all of us." She shot a meaningful glance at Jane, whose mortification only deepened.

Elizabeth, ever mischievous, decided to test her own ability to flatter in her mother’s fashion.

With an expression of exaggerated warmth, she turned to Bingley.

"Indeed, sir, I daresay few gentlemen possess your particular talent for making everyone around you feel at ease. It is a rare gift, is it not, Mama?"

Mrs. Bennet nodded enthusiastically, oblivious to Elizabeth’s irony. "Oh, quite, Lizzy! I have always said it. Why, Jane, do you not agree that Mr. Bingley’s presence brightens any room he enters?"

Jane, looking as if she longed to vanish into the upholstery, murmured, "Mama, I am sure Mr. Bingley does not need to be told such things."

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Bennet waved her hand dismissively. "A young lady must always express her admiration properly."

Bingley, for his part, laughed with easy grace. "You do me too much credit, ma’am. I fear you shall make me quite vain."

Elizabeth took a sip of her tea to hide her smile. She had managed to tease her mother, though she suspected the effort was lost on her. Her mind, however, soon drifted from the lightheartedness of the moment to the conversation she had shared with Mr. Darcy earlier that day.

She had seen it—had watched the way he had stiffened at Wickham’s name, the slight hesitation in his step, the darkening of his gaze.

He had believed her, or at the very least, he had considered her words.

Yet she knew him well enough now to understand that belief did not necessarily equate to trust. He had been deceived, and he had been wounded, not once but twice, and the consequence was a mind wary of anything that did not fit within its careful logic.

And yet, she had also seen something else in his countenance, something unexpected. For the first time, he had looked—not just suspicious—but uncertain .

Did he suspect that she knew more than she let on? Had he begun to piece together the strangeness of her knowledge, the oddity of her warnings? Or was he merely attempting to reconcile what he thought he knew of her with what he now saw?

Her fingers tightened around her teacup. Tonight, she would meet Wickham at her aunt’s house. Would he still spin his yarn, though he did not meet her earlier? Would he adjust his tale, weaving in new lies, or would he try to ensnare her in another way?

She had no answer. But she did know one thing: she would not let him deceive anyone else in Meryton. And she would not let Mr. Darcy dismiss her warning so easily.

Elizabeth glanced back at Bingley, who had just accepted another slice of cake from Mrs. Bennet with perfect good humor, and Jane, who was still valiantly trying to direct the conversation elsewhere.

For now, she allowed herself to smile at the scene before her.

The future might still be uncertain, but at least, in this moment, all was well at Longbourn.

Mr. Bingley took his leave, and scarcely had the door shut behind him when the younger Bennet sisters arrived, Mr. Collins in their wake. Lydia, ever boisterous, burst into the room with the exuberance of a victorious general returning from war.

"Oh, you will not believe it! The most handsome man I have ever seen, and soon to be even more so when he wears his red coat! A Mr. Wickham!" she declared, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Elizabeth stiffened at the name. She had expected this moment, but still, a cold unease settled in her stomach.

"Lydia," she said, attempting nonchalance, "surely you exaggerate. A man joining the militia is hardly cause for such admiration. He must be quite old if he has only now entered the service."

Lydia scoffed, tossing her bonnet onto a chair. "How absurd you are, Lizzy! You did not even meet him, so how could you possibly know his age? I tell you, he is young and lively, and so very charming. If you had come to Meryton with us, you would understand!"

Mrs. Bennet, ever eager to support her youngest daughters in their fancies, nodded approvingly. "A woman appreciates a distinguished gentleman, Lizzy. A touch of experience, a refined manner—these things are far more attractive than mere youth."

Mary, who had been quietly observing, frowned. "Surely, character and intellect are more to be esteemed than mere appearance, regardless of age. "

Lydia waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, Mary, you always say such things. You have seen him! I daresay you blushed as well. You will see, Lizzy, and I will laugh when I see you blush this evening, as we are invited to our aunt's house for a card party."

Mr. Collins, who had been struggling to find an opening in the lively conversation, seized the moment to insert himself.

"A card party, you say? At your esteemed aunt’s house?

What a fortunate engagement, indeed! I must express my gratitude at the invitation, though I shall, of course, comport myself with the utmost decorum, as is befitting a clergyman in the service of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

And to think that such a gathering will allow me to enjoy the company of such accomplished young ladies!

" He beamed, his gaze settling on Elizabeth, as if his statement were intended solely for her.

Elizabeth, suppressing a sigh, forced a polite smile. "Indeed, Mr. Collins, Meryton’s company is ever lively. I am certain you shall find it diverting."

His expression grew solemn, as though struck by a grave concern. "My dear cousin, I was most distressed when I noted your absence from our walk today. I trust you were not indisposed? Had I known, I would have called upon you with the utmost urgency, as a gentleman ought."

Elizabeth, well aware that any expression of gratitude might encourage him further, chose her words carefully. "You are very considerate, sir. I assure you, my absence was only due to an unavoidable matter."

Lydia laughed, twirling a curl around her finger. "Yes, yes, Lizzy had to run back to Longbourn with Jane—though I cannot fathom why. We had such a delightful time without them! Imagine, missing the chance to make Mr. Wickham’s acquaintance!"

Kitty, nodding enthusiastically, added, "He is to attend the card party as well. You shall see him soon enough, Lizzy!"

Elizabeth schooled her features into a neutral expression, though inwardly she was bracing herself for the encounter. Wickham would, no doubt, spin his tale, as he always had, weaving lies with charm and ease. But this time, she would be prepared.

Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together, smiling broadly. "Oh, what a wonderful evening it shall be! Mr. Bingley today, Mr. Wickham tonight—such excellent prospects, indeed! I daresay I shall see all my daughters well settled before the year is out!"

Mary found a moment to be alone with Elizabeth before they headed to their aunt’s house for the card party. With an uncharacteristic solemnity, she regarded her elder sister .

“I have given much thought to our conversation,” Mary began, folding her hands before her. “The idea remains wholly impossible, and yet, the evidence leaves little room for doubt.”

Elizabeth was startled by the admission, expecting further skepticism. “Then you believe me?”

“I believe the facts,” Mary corrected, though her expression was uncharacteristically thoughtful. “And those facts suggest you possess knowledge beyond what is natural.”

Elizabeth exhaled, feeling both relieved and apprehensive. “And what do you make of it?”

Mary hesitated. “That remains to be seen. I have also determined another matter—I am not suited to the task of managing Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh softly. “And here I had begun to entertain the notion that you might reform him.”

“I would rather spend my years in solitude than bound in marriage to such a man,” Mary said firmly. “His mind is both limited and unyielding, and I have neither the patience nor the inclination to contend with such a disposition.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Then Charlotte must have him.”

Mary tilted her head. “Will she be happy?”

“As much as one can be when one chooses security over sentiment,” Elizabeth answered. “Charlotte is practical; she will endure him better than either of us.”

Mary accepted this with a simple nod. “And what of Mr. Wickham?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I do not know.”

“I shall consider the matter further,” Mary said. “Perhaps together, we might determine a way to spare our family from misfortune.”

Elizabeth looked at her sister, truly seeing her in a new light. “I should like that, Mary.”

As they arrived at the Philips’ home, the evening unfolded in much the same manner as Elizabeth recalled, though with notable differences.

Mr. Collins, ever eager to ingratiate himself, made a grand production of lamenting his absence from Longbourn, yet Mrs. Philips’s effusive welcome and endless chatter effectively drowned out his grievances.