Page 37

Elizabeth chuckled and leaned back against the bench. For now, at least, she could keep the morning to herself-before the next visitor arrived, before her mother’s schemes resumed, before Lydia began teasing her about the ball again.

She would not think of Darcy.

She would not think of Wickham.

She would think only of the cold air and the weak sun and the quiet .

Just for a little while.

Elizabeth had just begun to feel the chill seeping through the bench when the back door creaked open and a voice called across the lawn.

“Lizzy! Lizzy, come quickly!”

She turned-and there was Kitty, bonnet askew and cheeks pink with excitement, half-running and half-slipping down the path toward her.

Elizabeth stood with effort, brushing dew from her skirt as Pudding leapt up and scampered for a drier patch of ground.

“What is it?” she called.

“The officers!” Kitty beamed. “They have come to call! Mama says you must come in at once -they want to see you. Well, one of them especially, I think.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “And which one is that , I wonder?”

Kitty gave her a knowing look and looped her arm through Elizabeth’s. “I think you will find out soon enough.”

Elizabeth allowed herself to be steered back toward the house, stick tapping against the path. Pudding trotted after them, tail high and ears flicking.

“And please,” Kitty added breathlessly, “do not scold Lydia. She’s been very good so far-she only squealed once, and even then it was not too loud.”

Elizabeth sighed, but a smile tugged at her mouth. So much for a quiet morning.

Still… curiosity stirred beneath her amusement.

She had not forgotten Mr Wickham’s tale.

And now, it seemed, she might have a chance to decide for herself who to believe.

The moment Elizabeth stepped into the drawing room-Kitty still at her elbow and breathless with the thrill of visitors-she felt a dozen eyes turn toward her .

The air was warm, scented faintly with tea and damp wool, and filled with cheerful voices.

Several officers were already in conversation with Lydia and Mary, their red coats bright against the subdued tones of the Bennet parlour.

A tall man with striking features-dark eyes, expressive brows-stood slightly apart, his posture relaxed but watchful.

Elizabeth had only taken two steps into the room when her ankle reminded her of the garden path. She faltered.

“Gracious heavens!” cried Mrs Bennet, rising in a flurry of ribbons. “Lizzy, my love, do sit down-you have overdone it again! Jane, fetch a cushion-Captain Carter, a chair-Mr Wickham, do forgive her, she is only just up and about!”

“I am quite well, Mama,” Elizabeth murmured, though she was grateful for Kitty’s support as she reached the nearest armchair.

Jane was there instantly, quiet and efficient, placing a cushion behind her and adjusting the shawl at her shoulders. “Here,” she said softly, “just rest it for a little.”

Mrs Bennet, undeterred, turned with glee to the tall officer.

“Mr Wickham, may I present my daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Lizzy, this is Mr Wickham-recently arrived with the militia, and already much admired.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “Mr Wickham.”

He bowed with easy grace. “Miss Elizabeth, I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”

“There,” said Mrs Bennet, beaming. “Now do not let me interrupt-tea, Jane! The strong one. Lizzy must keep up her strength.”

Elizabeth tried not to laugh as Jane handed her a fresh cup.

Wickham lingered a moment longer before selecting a chair and drawing it nearer-not too close, but with the confidence of someone used to being welcomed.

“May I? ”

She gestured lightly. “You may. Though I warn you, I am not at my most dazzling.”

“I find resilience far more impressive than sparkle,” he said, settling beside her. “Though you appear to manage both.”

They sipped tea as the room stirred around them-Lydia pressing biscuits on an officer twice her age, Mary offering solemn observations on the uses of military training, Mrs Bennet recounting the weather with great urgency.

Wickham turned slightly toward her. “If it’s not impertinent-your accident. I had heard something of it before I arrived, but only the broadest strokes.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “I wonder that you heard anything at all. The chaise, I assure you, made a much greater impression on the ditch than on me.”

He laughed. “Then the ditch is to be pitied.”

She smiled, but not fully. “Yes. The chaise overturned. In a storm.”

“Were you alone?”

“I had a driver. But he was thrown clear. I was… not.”

Wickham nodded slowly, his expression open but not prying. “And Mr Darcy was the one to find you, I believe.”

Elizabeth’s fingers paused on the rim of her teacup.

“I had not mentioned that.”

“No,” he said mildly. “But Hertfordshire is a generous place for gossip. Or perhaps your sisters are generous with stories.”

“Perhaps.”

“I meant no offence,” he said. “Only-it must have been an extraordinary night.”

“It was,” Elizabeth said quietly. “But I have no wish to relive it.”

“Then I shall speak of it no more,” he said, his tone softening. “You have shown more grace than most would in your position.”

She looked at him then, studying the careful turn of his expression. He was attentive. Respectful. Even modest.

Too modest.

“You are very kind,” she said, setting down her cup.

He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment but said nothing more.

Elizabeth returned the smile, but a quiet warning stirred beneath it.

He had said so little. Nothing specific. Nothing direct. And yet she felt as though he had told her something. Or wanted her to think he had.

His sympathy had arrived too precisely. His manner too neatly aligned with her feelings-feelings she had not voiced, and could not yet explain herself.

It was not distrust.

Not yet.

But it was something very near to it.

Later that afternoon Jane sat by the window, her mending in her lap and the last of the grey light slanting across the carpet.

It had started raining shortly after the officers had left and dint look like it would let up any time soon.

Elizabeth leaned against the bedpost, her ankle resting on a low stool and a cushion tucked beneath it.

Pudding was curled into the crook of her skirt, flicking her tail against Elizabeth’s knee with occasional indignation.

“They were not unpleasant company,” Jane said mildly.

“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Not unpleasant.”

Jane glanced up. “And Mr Wickham?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “Charming.”

“That does not sound like praise.”

“It is,” Elizabeth said. “But I am not yet sure whose benefit his charm is meant to serve.”

Jane set down her needle. “He seemed perfectly amiable. ”

“Too perfectly. He said nothing improper, nothing even memorable, and yet I feel as though he left me with a great impression-one I cannot quite account for.”

Jane smiled faintly. “Perhaps he only wished to be kind.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said. “But he knew about the accident. And about Mr Darcy. I never said either name. And yet-he was ready for them.”

There was a pause.

“Lydia has not exactly been discreet,” Jane offered gently.

“No,” Elizabeth admitted. “But that’s what unsettles me. He was so careful. He knew how to speak to me-as if he already understood how I felt. Or wanted me to think he did.”

Jane’s brow furrowed just slightly. “You think he meant to manipulate you?”

“I do not know.” Elizabeth reached down to stroke Pudding behind the ears. “It was not what he said. It was how easily he said it. How naturally it all came out.”

Jane looked thoughtful. “Mr Wickham is very charming. He puts people at ease.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “He does. It’s almost effortless.”

There was a pause.

Jane glanced at her. “He’s certainly charming. More so than Mr Darcy, I suppose.”

Elizabeth leaned back against the bedpost. “It’s not that Mr Darcy lacks charm. I think he has quite a great deal of it, in fact.”

She tugged at the edge of the blanket, thinking.

“It’s just that… he is not easy in company.

He does not make himself pleasant. And I think he forgets-or refuses-to pretend.

I am not comparing them,” Elizabeth added quickly.

“Or-I am. But I know it’s too soon. I just-something about Mr Wickham’s manner reminded me of a rehearsed line in a play.

Not false, exactly. But not sp ontaneous either. ”

Jane tilted her head. “You are usually the one giving people the benefit of the doubt.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “And I am trying. But I think he wanted something today. Not my opinion, not even my attention-just… something.”

“You sound as though you did not like him at all.”

“No,” Elizabeth said slowly. “I did. That’s what troubles me.”