Wickham lingered near her as the conversation scattered. Lydia and Kitty had both drawn Mr. Denny aside with questions about his sabre, and Mrs. Bennet was peering toward the modest brick buildings where the officers lodged, in hopes of glimpsing someone of superior rank.
“I am glad to see you out again,” Wickham murmured, lowering his voice. “The morning quite suits you.”
Elizabeth raised a brow, wary. “You are kind, sir. But I imagine all ladies benefit from fresh air.”
“Some do,” he returned with a smirk, “though some are naturally more improved by it than others.”
She coloured faintly, more from discomfort than flattery. “You presume much in speaking so familiarly, Mr. Wickham. We are hardly such old friends.”
Wickham's smile faltered a touch, though he recovered swiftly. “I beg your pardon. I merely meant to offer what is true.”
“Truth needs neither charm nor artifice,” she replied lightly, though there was steel beneath it.
Wickham stepped back just enough to break the spell, his expression unreadable. Elizabeth turned slightly away, drawing a breath. There was something too deliberate in his attention—as though, having deemed Lydia too silly and Kitty too timid, he had fixed on her next, whether for sport or self-interest. The notion left her cold.
At last, Mrs. Bennet called them all together. “Girls, it is time to return home. Mr. Bennet will think we have run off with the regiment.”
Mr. Denny gave them a final bow and a promise to relay their compliments to Colonel Forster. Wickham, for his part, lingered a beat too long near Elizabeth before falling back.
As they walked away, Lydia chattered of Mr. Denny’s buttons, and Kitty clutched her gloves as though they bore some secret significance.
Mrs. Bennet, in high spirits, said with glee, “Well, my dear Lizzy, it appears we may have two gentlemen vying for your attention! What a fine thing! Mr. Denny for Kitty, perhaps, and Mr. Wickham for you—he certainly seems taken.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She glanced back once—only once—at the cluster of rented buildings fading behind them, and was struck with sudden clarity: admiration without respect was but noise. And Mr. Wickham, for all his polish, rang false.
“La! But why should Lizzy have all the attention?” cried Lydia, tossing her curls with a pout. “I am sure Mr. Wickham will ask me to dance first at the Netherfield ball. And I do not see why he should not prefer someone livelier than Lizzy, who never laughs heartily at anything!”
Elizabeth only raised a brow, choosing silence over reply. Mrs. Bennet waved a hand, unbothered.
“Nonsense, child. He may well ask you, but he spoke to Lizzy. That makes all the difference.”
But Elizabeth walked on, saying nothing—for some impressions were best left to settle.
***
The sitting room at Longbourn was unusually animated, with teacups clinking and the fire cheerfully crackling in the grate. Lady Lucas had readily accepted her friend Mrs. Bennet’s invitation—glad to pay a call and, ostensibly, to speak of Charlotte’s approaching establishment in Essex. In truth, however, her conversation soon strayed beyond Ardleigh and its quiet lanes, drifting instead into the livelier currents of neighbourhood gossip.
“Of course, my Charlotte is most pleased,” Lady Lucas said, settling herself with contentment in the nearest armchair. “The estate is a fine one—very neat—and the house quite sound, and spacious enough for comfort. Well situated, too, just east of Colchester. An income of more than six thousand pounds per annum, Mr. Bennet! And not entailed, as I am told.”
Mrs. Bennet gave a vigorous nod, though she could not help but detect the unfair allusion. “A very snug living indeed! Captain Lawrence must already fancy himself quite the gentleman.”
“He is to retire from his commission in February,” continued Lady Lucas. “And with the sale of it, they shall furnish the house most handsomely. Charlotte has always had a sensible eye for sturdy pieces—none of your French fripperies or gilded nonsense.”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, who smiled faintly behind her teacup.
“Do they remain in Portsmouth until then?” Mrs. Bennet asked as she poured another cup.
“Indeed. Though they plan to visit the estate shortly before settling for good.”
“Charlotte has always possessed a steady head and a sensible manner,” Mr. Bennet remarked, his voice touched with quiet fondness. “If her husband matches her in patience and good judgment, they shall do very well indeed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennet. You are too considerate,” Lady Lucas replied with satisfaction, her expression smoothing into a pleased smile. Then, turning once more toward her friend, she lowered her voice with a conspiratorial air. “I must tell you, my dear—” she leaned forward slightly, her eyes bright—“of something that has lately stirred the neighbourhood even more than Charlotte’s prospects. You have heard, I suppose, of Miss King?”
Elizabeth looked up at once. “The daughter of the late Mr. King, the attorney?”
“The very same. It seems her uncle has left her ten thousand pounds!”
There was a collective pause—then an exclamation from Lydia.
