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Were they a perfect match? She thought so, but could Mr Darcy and her aunt be wrong?

She trusted her aunt more than nearly anyone, and both thought this engagement would be a misstep, but the Philipses and Mr Denny were celebrating vociferously.

It was confusing, but she had said yes, and it was done.

Done. The finality of that stole her breath.

“Mr Wickham,” she said, “when did you speak to my father? I did not see you alone with him.”

“I have not yet done so.”

She paused. “You do know I am only twenty? His agreement is required.”

“I thought you might speak to him first and make it clear that you desire to be married to me, and then I would ask him for an audience.”

“Of course,” she said quietly. “I am certain he will give his blessing.”

She said the words and she thought she believed them, for her father enthusiastically welcomed Mr Wickham each time he called, even more so than Mr Darcy, who was more reserved than Mr Wickham.

But Mr Darcy suffered from self-doubt, and suffered in a crowd.

He had told her so. What did it matter? She was to marry Mr Wickham and not Mr Darcy, and was sure of her father’s enjoyment of the former.

“Let us go and speak to him now,” suggested Mr Wickham.

Elizabeth shook her head. Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley had been invited to dinner that night, as had the Philipses, so she knew the house would be buzzing with preparation.

Further, she did not want the men’s paths to cross, so they agreed upon the morrow.

She swore her aunt and uncle Philips to secrecy until the agreement was official.

The Philipses, however, had difficulty not revealing what had occurred in their parlour.

In fact, they found great amusement in hinting about it at the table that evening.

They laughed and exchanged glances, asking her if she had any news to share, and expressing their great love of all matters that began with the letter ‘W’.

“Water!” called out Aunt Philips.

“Wheel!” replied Uncle Philips.

“Wisteria,” said Aunt Philips.

“Windows,” said Uncle Philips.

“Wi—” Aunt Philips locked eyes with a horrified Elizabeth, and said, “Winter.”

“What is this foolishness?” asked Mr Bennet, and Aunt Philips broke Elizabeth’s gaze and replied, “Just a little game we play.”

Jane looked questioningly at Elizabeth, but Elizabeth simply smiled, forcing her face into innocence.

Aunt Philips said, “Let us begin anew, my dear brother-in-law,” and Elizabeth hoped that they might begin a new topic. Unfortunately, she asked, “What are your favourite things beginning with… ‘D’?”

When Mr Bennet would not reply, Mrs Bennet entered in the game. “Duck!” She giggled like a young girl.

Lydia and Kitty chimed in with their words, and Mr Bingley, swept up in the mirth, shouted, “Darcy!” and everyone was set to giggles and guffaws.

A baked custard was served, mercifully ending the game, and while the rest delighted in the sweetness of it, Elizabeth continued feeling as miserable as Mr Darcy looked.

Mr Darcy did not smile once the entire evening, and Elizabeth could not help but fear what would come when the official announcement was made.

She enjoyed Mr Darcy’s company, and she was increasingly certain that a connexion to Wickham meant she would forever lose his friendship.

The evening could not end quickly enough as far as Darcy was concerned.

He thought he knew what the aunt was hinting at with her silly little letter game, and hoped and prayed that he was wrong.

She might have thrown in his initial as a joke, for that woman, that boorish woman, would never be hinting at a secret involving him. But ‘W’? Wickham without a doubt.

And what might such a secret entail? A simpleton like Mrs Philips would only comprehend or care about things of a romantic nature. Women like her loved gossip, and an attachment would give her much fodder for conversation, direct or coded.

As he looked upon Miss Elizabeth’s beautiful countenance, bidding the company farewell, he thought, Please let me be wrong. Let Miss Elizabeth not have bound herself to a reprobate like George Wickham.

The next day, Mr Wickham called and requested a private audience with Mr Bennet.

Mr Bennet agreed without hesitation, and Mrs Bennet gave way to all her delighted effusions, listing everyone she would call on to announce that her daughter was engaged, most notably the Lucases.

Elizabeth asked her not to, but her mother replied, “What joy is there in having a daughter engaged if one cannot boast of it?”

Elizabeth knew she ought to allow her mother this pleasure, but she felt self-conscious about the prospect of being the centre of gossip, even if positive.

Mr Wickham was invited to dinner with apologies at the fare being plain due to their not having planned for a guest, but he said he did not mind a humble meal, for anything would be better than that which soldiers were served.

All the family sank into the warmth of his presence, and of the pleasure of considering him family, and the meal was a success.

After dinner, Elizabeth was allowed to walk with Mr Wickham to his horse. He took both of her hands in his and kissed her knuckles while gazing at her. “Elizabeth, you have made me so very happy. I look forward to a long and prosperous marriage.”

His words and affection reassured her, and she felt herself reasonably content upon his departure.

She basked in the congratulations and well-wishes of her parents and sisters the rest of the evening, fairly floating to bed later that night persuaded that all was well and that her misgivings were merely the strangeness of being an engaged woman.

Once under the covers, however, she was struck by an unpleasant thought: she would have to share the news with Mr Darcy.