“Ten thousand! Gracious, that is enough to marry twice!”
Lady Lucas laughed indulgently. “Quite so, my dear. And already, it seems, the fortune has not gone unnoticed. One of the officers—I do not know his name—was seen in her company at Dr. Robins’s dinner, this past Sunday night.”
“A red coat?” Kitty asked quickly.
“Yes,” said Lady Lucas. “A fine-looking young man. Polite, very gallant—dark eyes. Not local, I think. Someone said he is from Derbyshire, or that way north. Quiet, but well spoken.”
Elizabeth’s hand hesitated a moment at her teacup.
Lydia sat up straight. “Was his name Wickham, perhaps? Mr. George Wickham?”
Lady Lucas looked thoughtful. “Why yes, I believe that was the name. Do you know him?”
“He is the very one who dined with us on Friday,” said Mrs. Bennet, lifting her brows. “Oh, a charming young man! Very gentlemanlike manners—and such fine teeth. But really! To be trailing after Miss King so soon?”
Kitty snorted. “You see, Lydia? You were afraid he would fall in love with Lizzy, and now look! He follows after ten thousand pounds.”
“Stuff!” Lydia flared. “He admires me, and he said so. Miss King may be pretty in her way, but George knows I am more lively—and besides, I dance better.”
“George?” Jane asked unnoticed by her youngest sisters.
“You told him your dowry was five thousand,” Kitty said, triumphantly. “That is why he looked at you twice.”
“I did not!” Lydia huffed, then hesitated. “Not quite.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Bennet wondered for himself.
Mrs. Bennet turned toward her youngest with alarm. “Five thousand? Five? Child, are you mad? Your portion is no such thing! It is one fifth of what your father leaves—and even that is not certain!”
“It was only a small exaggeration,” Lydia muttered. “Men always ask such questions.”
“Well!” said Mrs. Bennet, half-rising. “We shall see what comes of it. But I will not have my daughters thought fortune-hunters or fibbers. Mr. Wickham may have taken notice of Miss King’s money, but that does not mean he has entirely given up his senses—or his interest.”
Elizabeth sat very still, her fingers curled around the edge of her saucer. Something in her chest had turned, quiet and hard.
The soft murmur of movement in the hall was followed by Hill’s voice at the doorway, clear and deferential:
“Mr. Bingley, ma’am.”
Some moments later, Mr. Bingley entered with his usual affability, offering polite greetings to all assembled, though his eye—despite every effort—lingered a moment longer upon Jane. He expressed delight at finding them all in such good health and made some remark about the improving weather, which Mrs. Bennet received with every appearance of pleasure.
“My dear Mr. Bingley,” she exclaimed, fluttering her handkerchief as though welcoming a favoured son, “you are come at the very best moment. We were just speaking of the dinner we had last Friday, and of a most engaging young gentleman who joined us—Mr. Wickham. I daresay you have met him?”
Bingley’s brow lifted faintly. “Wickham?” he repeated, as if turning the name over in his mind. “Yes, I believe I was introduced—on Friday evening, was it not? A man in militia dress, tall, well spoken?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded enthusiastically. “That is the very one! So very genteel. I must say, he made quite an impression—such fine manners and handsome features. He seemed most attentive to all my younger girls—though perhaps especially to Lizzy.”
“Indeed,” murmured Bingley, with an expression that drifted somewhere between amusement and distraction. “He was… affable, yes. Though I confess I did not have much occasion to speak with him. His colleague Mr. Denny reminded me of a childhood friend—very kind and funny, too.”
A brief hush followed. Jane glanced toward Elizabeth, who regarded Bingley with a mild, inquisitive expression.
Mr. Bingley looked down for a moment, adjusting the glove in his hand, then added with polite reserve, “Wickham—Wickham. The name is familiar to me, though not only from Friday. Ibelieve…” He offered a smile, but behind it, his thoughts had begun to drift. Wickham... Wickham... Where had he heard that name before? The smile faded slightly from his lips as memory stirred more clearly. Yes—Darcy had spoken of someone by that name. Once. Briefly.
Elizabeth said nothing, but her gaze sharpened.
Mrs. Bennet, already tiring of anything not directly matrimonial, waved her hand as if brushing away a tiresome breeze. “Well, whatever he was before, he is quite a gentleman now, and a very good dancer, I have no doubt. Lydia says he is to attend the Netherfield ball, with your permission, by all means!”
At this, Elizabeth stiffened slightly, but said nothing.
