“Ah, yes… Kent. Collins has been repeating that notion with great conviction, but I daresay he has got it all wrong, circulating the idea thatKentholds all manner of answers, and Lady Catherine… or rather Anne… keeps the key.”
Darcy gathered his reins into a gloved fist. “You know as well as anyone there is nothing in it,” he growled.
“In Kent? Of course! I thought Collins’ weak intelligence on the matter as good a reason as any to dismiss the whole business. But I wonder if the same ought to be said for—”
Darcy swung into the saddle, intentionally letting the heel of his boot brush Wickham’s elbow in the process. “There is nothing to be done,” he said. “Here or in Kent or Derbyshire or on the dark side of the moon. The sooner that is understood, the better.”
Wickham inclined his head. “Indeed. Well! Good day, Darcy.”
Darcy put his heel into his horse and did not look back.
Elizabeth and Jane wentto Lucas Lodge the following afternoon, armed with their sewing baskets and a purpose respectable enough to pass without scrutiny.
Mama had approved it instantly. Charlotte Lucas had sent word that she had acquired more trim than she required—something pale and fine, suitable for evening wear—and Elizabeth’s gown for the Netherfield ball would benefit from attention. It was precisely the sort of domestic errand that pleased her mother: economical, social, and entirely uncontroversial.
The weather had repented of that one day of rain, and now the sun made it feel almost as pleasant as a May afternoon. By the time they were shown into the Lucases’ sitting room, she felt more composed and relaxed than she had in days.
Charlotte greeted them warmly and looked from one sister to the other with open curiosity. “You look better, Lizzy,” she said at once. “Much better than you did when we last met.”
Elizabeth paused, the remark catching her unprepared. “Do I?”
“You had quite the headache, if I remember,” Charlotte replied. “You scarcely spoke two sentences together.”
“The remnants of a cold, I believe. Nothing more.”
Jane glanced at her with the sort of quiet attention that suggested she did not accept the explanation quite so readily. Elizabeth pretended not to notice.
They sat, and the lace was produced at once: a length of delicate patterning, carefully folded, finer, even, than Elizabeth had hoped. Charlotte spread it across the table between them, and the three bent their heads together, comparing it against Elizabeth’s gown with small exclamations of approval.
“It will do very nicely,” Jane said. “Especially here, along the hem.”
Charlotte nodded. “And the bodice, perhaps, if there is enough. I thought of you at once when I saw it. I hope you will not mind that my gown has some of the same.”
“Mind? I should count it an unmerited dignity to be dressed like you,” Elizabeth laughed.
The conversation moved easily then—stitches, colours, the likelihood of rain holding off for the evening of the ball. Tea was poured. Cups were lifted and set down again.
Only then did Elizabeth ask, as though the thought had occurred to her in passing, “Have you had many callers today?”
“Not many. The roads were still damp this morning, and that kept most people close, apart from a few of the more intrepid sort.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the lace. “Anyone of interest?”
“That depends upon one’s definition. The officers called earlier—Lieutenant Denny and one or two others. They did not stay long.”
Jane looked up. Elizabeth did not.
“How lively of you,” Elizabeth said mildly. “I hope they were not disappointed.”
“I believe they were on their way elsewhere,” Charlotte replied. “Mr Wickham, in particular, seemed in haste.”
Elizabeth’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second against the cloth. She resumed smoothing it at once. “How unfortunate,” she said. “I should have liked to meet him again. He seems… agreeable.”
Charlotte’s smile turned knowing. “I am surprised you say that.”
Elizabeth lifted her head. “Why?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Oh! Only that last we spoke of gentlemen in general, you claimed utter disinterest. In fact—Jane, am I not right?—You were far more interested in Mr Darcy’s dog than any gentlemen, officers or otherwise.”
