Her smile faltered. “So soon? And the ball—will it not happen?”
“I cannot yet say,” he replied. “But if it does not, I promise we shall find another. In December, perhaps, in Derby or even at Pemberley. It has been too long since these halls held music and dancing. It is time we changed that. I promise.”
Her disappointment was evident, but she nodded. “If you must go, I understand.”
Darcy stepped forward and kissed her brow. “You are wise beyond your years, Georgiana.”
That evening, after making the household arrangements for his sudden departure, he gave final orders to his valet and sent a messenger ahead to Netherfield. He would leave at first light.
As the stars rose above Pemberley, Darcy looked out over the familiar hills—still and quiet under the night. But in his chest, a storm had begun to gather.
Wickham had escaped once.
He would not do so again.
Ten
True to his newly declared principles, Mr. Bennet had taken to accompanying his daughters on their errands into town. Though the novelty of such paternal devotion had raised eyebrows among the ladies of Meryton, Mr. Bennet conducted himself with an air of such deliberate indifference that it became difficult to determine whether he acted out of principle or mere curiosity. In truth, he enjoyed observing the absurdities of his neighbours just as much in the market square as he had from the safety of his library.
It was during one such expedition—with Mary and Kitty in tow—that they encountered two officers walking at a steady pace down the main road, their uniforms neat and their hats at a respectful angle.
Mr. Bennet, upon recognising Mr. Denny, inclined his head politely. “Good day, sir. I see the military still maintains its discipline even when off duty.”
Mr. Denny, whose manners had always impressed the Longbourn household more than his rank, responded with equal politeness and introduced his companion. “May I present Mr. Travers, also posted in Meryton with our detachment.”
Mr. Travers bowed with quiet dignity. He was of a more reserved character than Denny, but there was an intelligence in his eyes and a composure in his bearing that instantly attracted Mary's notice—though she, being Mary, betrayed nothing of the sort beyond a faint narrowing of the gaze.
“And your other colleague—Wickford, is it?—does he not accompany you?” Mr. Bennet inquired.
“No, sir,” Denny replied. “Unfortunately, the Colonel has confined him to quarters for the time being. And it is Wickham,sir,” he added, feeling oddly honoured to be permitted the correction.
“Ah, my apologies. A pity to hear it,” said Mr. Bennet mildly. “Though I’ve no doubt Colonel Forster makes sound decisions. Prompt ones, too, I should add.”
After a few minutes of unhurried conversation, Mr. Denny cleared his throat and, with a respectful incline of the head, ventured, “Sir, I hope you will not find my request too forward. I have heard—through Miss Catherine—that your library is particularly well stocked. I wondered if you might allow me to call at Longbourn once or twice a month to borrow a book or two.”
Mr. Bennet raised a brow, his expression composed but touched with amusement. “A noble ambition. Tell me—are you preparing for Parliament?”
Denny smiled. “Not quite, sir. But the autumn nights grow long, and Mr. Travers and I have taken to reading in the evenings. Our arrangement is simple: each of us reads a book per week, then we exchange volumes the next. It keeps the mind engaged and the ink bottle untouched.”
Mr. Bennet looked between the two officers, his tone dry. “Two books per visit, then. That is quite the appetite. You are more ambitious than Lydia with her novels.”
Denny answered without offense, “Only in subject matter, I hope. We aim to read steadily, not sentimentally.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Bennet, folding his hands behind his back. “Well, it is no small thing when young men in uniform prefer Plutarch to parade. Mrs. Bennet would no doubt call you fine and studious gentlemen—if she were here to hear it. Mercifully, she is not.”
Travers gave a silent, grave nod of agreement, and Denny added with a hopeful glance, “Twice a month, sir—if that would not be an imposition?”
“Twice a month,” Mr. Bennet echoed, considering. “Two volumes per visit. I suppose I can spare a few from the clutches of my daughters. But I warn you, if you begin dog-earing pages or quoting from The Mysteries of Udolpho, the arrangement is off.”
With a short nod of approval, he gestured toward the hall. “Come, gentlemen. Let us begin. Efficient and economical. I admire such practical scholarship.” Mr. Bennet glanced at Travers, who inclined his head gravely. “And what sort of reading is in fashion among gentlemen of your stripe? Novels? Philosophy? French romances?”
Travers replied, quiet but clear, “History, sir. And a little moral philosophy, if it is not too dry.”
Mary looked as if she had heard poetry recited.
Mr. Bennet gave a thoughtful nod, evidently amused. “Well then, Mr. Denny, if your colonel consents to your intellectual pursuits, I should be delighted to lend you books while your regiment is stationed here.”
Denny’s face lit up. “In that case, might I call tomorrow? Around five o’clock, after drill?”
