Page 20 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

Elizabeth positioned herself at Lydia’s right, just out of range, and observed the officers watching the sisters.

Kitty, emboldened by the proximity, asked, “Will you stay here long?”

The blond officer said, “Meryton is our home for the spring, at least.”

Kitty stared at him, her lips parting as color rose into her cheeks. Her hands moved toward a curtsy, stopped, then clasped together before her.

The senior officer nodded to the line, and the others fell out at a word. The blond paused, then offered his hand.

“George Wickham, at your service.”

Lydia’s breath caught, and she took the hand, her fingers curled with intent.

Kitty followed suit. “Catherine Bennet, but everyone calls me Kitty. This is my sister, Lydia.”

Wickham bent his head in a show of respect that was half-mocking. “I am honored.”

Elizabeth gave her name when prompted, and Wickham’s eyes registered her with a flick of attention that was gone as soon as it appeared. She found herself at a loss to read it.

Sarah, having surveyed the ground, came to stand between Elizabeth and Wickham, and sniffed his boot.

“A handsome dog,” Wickham said.

“Her name is Sarah,” Elizabeth said. “She manages the sheep at Longbourn.”

Wickham stooped, hand outstretched, and waited for the dog to come to him. Sarah sniffed once, then allowed him to scratch her head behind the ear. Elizabeth waited for him to finish: Sarah was slow to trust, but once decided, her loyalty was permanent.

Wickham straightened. “She has a better eye for strangers than most.”

Lydia resumed the conversation, voice pitched high: “Do you dance, Mr. Wickham?”

He smiled, showing his teeth. “I do, and they tell me I am not the worst in the regiment.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Lydia said.

Kitty looked from Lydia to Wickham and edged closer. Wickham turned enough to face them both. “I hope to see you at the next assembly.”

With the smoothness Elizabeth associated with a card table, Wickham drew the conversation back to her. “And you, Miss Elizabeth? Will you favor us with a dance?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I am less determined than my sisters. I go where I am needed.”

“Then I hope the dance floor has need of you,” he said. The remark was light, but his eyes waited for her response.

Elizabeth returned the look. “It depends on whether there is anyone worth the effort.”

He let out a genuine laugh, then said, “There are a few, I promise.”

Lydia, anxious to regain the center, said, “You must beware, Mr. Wickham, that my sister outpaces every partner. Even the vicar refused to dance with her after the last assembly.”

“Then I shall do my best to keep up,” he said, and Lydia smiled, satisfied at the return of his attention.

The senior officer called out for Wickham, who acknowledged with a nod but did not move.

Kitty said, “We must not keep you from your duty.”

“It is no trouble at all,” he replied, and Elizabeth believed him.

The officers, reassembled, turned their attention to the street, where a troop of children had begun to march in imitation, broomsticks for muskets and old hats for caps. Wickham watched them with a half-smile, then turned back to them.