Miss King’s fortune remained untouched, but her reputation did not escape so easily. Mrs. King removed her daughter at once to relations in the north, determined that distance, at least, might soften the sting of the affair.
When Elizabeth heard the news, she felt faint with horror. If she had waited even a few days longer to caution Lydia—if she had hesitated, doubted, or kept silent—
It might have been her own sister.
That evening, Lydia came quietly to Elizabeth’s room. Her face was pale, her eyes reddened from weeping—an expression so unlike her usual animated countenance that Elizabeth’s heart ached at the sight.
“You were right,” Lydia said in a low voice. “About Mr. Wickham. About all of it.”
Elizabeth drew her into an embrace at once. “I am so sorry, Lydia.”
Lydia clung to her for a moment before speaking again. In halting phrases, she confessed that Mr. Wickham had, in recent weeks, begun to hint at a scheme of elopement. He had spoken of the romance of it, of freedom from watchful mothers and meddlesome neighbours, of how easily a marriage might be secured once they were beyond Hertfordshire. She had been flattered—more than flattered—by his attentions. He had pressed her for an answer and expected her reply two days after Elizabeth and Jane’s return from Bath.
“I would have gone to him,” Lydia whispered at last. “If you had not warned me—if you had not told me what sort of man he truly was—I believe I should have gone.”
Elizabeth felt her breath leave her in a tremor.
Lydia went on to say that when she failed to send word at the appointed time, Mr. Wickham had not called at Longbourn again. Perhaps, she thought now, he had taken her silence as refusal and turned his designs elsewhere. It seemed that Miss King’s fortune had offered him a more immediate advantage.
Elizabeth could not help but feel a grim gratitude that she herself had not encountered Mr. Wickham during those intervening days. She did not know how she might have borne his easy smile, his practiced charm, had she been forced to meet him while holding such knowledge within her breast. Whether she would have betrayed her disgust, or faltered in her composure, she could not say.
But Lydia was safe.
That, above all, was what mattered.
The sisters sat together for some time in sober reflection, understanding one another more fully than ever before.
***
A week after the Wickham scandal, Mr. Bingley returned to Netherfield.
The news arrived via Mrs. Bennet, who had it from Mrs. Long, who had seen the servants opening the house and airing the rooms. Within an hour, all of Longbourn was in a state of happy chaos as Mrs. Bennet prepared for the inevitable call.
“He will come today, I am certain of it!” she exclaimed, directing the servants to polish every surface and arrange flowers in every room. “Jane, you must wear your sprigged muslin! Lizzy, for heaven’s sake, do something with your hair!”
Elizabeth submitted to her mother’s ministrations with as much patience as she could muster. Her own thoughts were not on Mr. Bingley’s arrival, welcome though it was.
Would Mr. Darcy come with him?
The question plagued her through the morning. She told herself it did not matter. Told herself she was not watching the lane for a second gentleman’s figure. Told herself the anxious flutter in her chest was merely nerves.
But when Mr. Bingley’s carriage finally appeared at two o’clock, Elizabeth’s eyes went immediately to the window, searching.
Only one figure descended.
Mr. Bingley came alone.
Elizabeth felt disappointment crash over her, followed immediately by fear, followed by confusion about which emotion was more honest.
The maid showed Mr. Bingley into the drawing room. He looked well—happy, even, his usual cheerfulness restored to full brilliance as his eyes found Jane.
“Miss Bennet! Mrs. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” He bowed to each in turn. “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine. I am delighted to see you all again.”
Mrs. Bennet practically vibrated with joy. “Mr. Bingley! How good of you to call! We heard you had returned to Netherfield!”
“Just yesterday evening. I could not wait to pay my respects.” His gaze returned to Jane. “I hope I do not intrude?”
“Not at all!” Mrs. Bennet gestured frantically toward the tea tray.
