Page 160 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

“He may have enjoyed being understood,” Jane said. “That does not mean he deserved your trust.”

“He asked whether I preferred Derbyshire to the south. Why would he ask that if he meant nothing?”

“To keep your interest,” Elizabeth said. “He offered possibilities because they cost him nothing.”

Color rose across Kitty’s face. “You all think me ridiculous.”

“No,” Bennet said. “I think him practiced and you inexperienced. I also think your father should have paid greater attention.”

Mrs. Bennet lowered herself into a chair. “A man with debts and no fortune had no business speaking of Derbyshire to anyone. I always distrusted the ease of his manners.”

Lydia stared at her mother. “You called him the handsomest officer in the regiment.”

“Handsome men may still have debts.”

Kitty covered her face. “I shall never go into Meryton again.”

“That seems inconvenient,” Lydia said. “The regiment remains there.”

Elizabeth gave her a warning glance, but Kitty lowered her hands with fresh outrage. “I do not care where the regiment is. I shall never speak to an officer again.”

Lydia looked alarmed by the scale of the sacrifice. Jane took Kitty upstairs before the argument could grow, and Mary followed after a moment, carrying a handkerchief and a cup of tea that Kitty had refused in the parlor.

She found her sister seated beside the bedroom window, her face turned toward the glass though the curtains blocked most of the view.

“Jane said you wished to be alone,” Mary began.

“I do.”

Mary placed the tea on the table. “Then I shall not remain long.”

Kitty waited, but Mary did not leave.

“There is a passage in Fordyce about misplaced confidence,” Mary said. “It argues that disappointment can instruct the judgment when vanity has obscured reason.”

Kitty swung toward her. “You came to tell me this is good for me.”

“No.” Mary considered the answer and corrected herself. “I chose the wrong beginning.”

“You always thought him false.”

“I thought him charming, which is not the same as false, though I distrusted how much he enjoyed being admired.” Mary sat on the edge of the other bed. “I also envied the attention he gave you.”

Kitty’s anger paused. “You did not.”

“I did. Envy does not become impossible because one recognizes it as a fault.”

The admission left Kitty without the answer she had prepared. She looked back toward the window. “He made me feel chosen.”

“That was real for you.”

“And false for him.”

“His purpose was false. Your feeling was not.” Mary folded the handkerchief across her knee. “You trusted him because you lacked experience, not because you lacked sense. He possessed more practice in deception than you possessed in detecting it.”

Kitty’s mouth trembled. “Everyone will know.”

“Some will know that Wickham was at fault. Anyone who turns that into your disgrace confuses the person deceived with the person who deceived her.”