Page 35 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

“I shall write to him myself,” Lady Catherine said. “He is neglecting his correspondence with Rosings.”

“He has been at Netherfield less than a fortnight.”

“That is sufficient time to remember his obligations.”

She gathered the estimate and moved to the door. Before leaving, she turned back. “What was the young woman’s name?”

Georgiana hesitated.

Lady Catherine waited.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Lady Catherine repeated it, fixing it in memory. Then she left, and Georgiana heard her voice in the corridor, instructing a servant to have writing materials carried to the drawing room.

Chapter 13

BEFORE THE MONTH WAS out, Meryton held another assembly.

Kitty was not the first Bennet sister to catch an officer’s eye, but she was the first to believe herself chosen. The Meryton Assembly ran toward midnight, and the hall had lost its shine by the time Lydia found herself at the center of a ring of redcoats, more than half of them too far into the wine to stand without swaying. Lydia declared herself “the last woman standing,” which drew most of the officers’ attention to Kitty at her elbow and, a moment later, Wickham’s.

He appeared at Lydia’s side with a look that suggested he had not expected to see her there, which Kitty knew was false because she had caught him watching them from the far corner for half the evening. He asked Lydia for a turn about the room and led her away before any of the other officers could reclaim her.

This left Kitty with two young and persistent officers, both of whom regarded her as a second choice, and neither of whom improved in company. The taller one talked of his military exploits at length, while the shorter drank punch and dropped bits of fruit onto his cravat. Kitty followed Wickham’s progress along the line of pillars, his height making him easy to distinguish among the uniformed crowd. When he circled back, Lydia had acquired a captain who was quite old, at least twenty-eight. Wickham hesitated before addressing Kitty, as though the idea had occurred to him only then.

“You look bored to death, Miss Catherine,” he said. “May I save you?”

Kitty agreed, even though no invitation was necessary. She left the officers to their war stories and joined Wickham in the passage toward the supper tables. He did not escort her right there but drew her away from the assembly, out past the doors and into the gallery overlooking the drive. The air held enough of a bite to sharpen Kitty’s attention, and Wickham’s almost fond look encouraged her belief that he meant to confide in her.

They walked the gallery twice without speaking while Lydia’s laughter cut through the clamor from the hall behind them.

“What do the officers think of Meryton society?” Kitty asked, then winced. “That sounded like my mother.”

“Your mother is a remarkable woman,” Wickham said. “She is the reason I know every possible detail about your family, the neighbors, and your home.”

Kitty laughed at what she thought was a joke, but Wickham looked as if he waited for her to dispute it.

“Tell me one secret about your sisters that I could not have learned from Mrs. Bennet.”

She thought hard for a dazzling anecdote, but settled on the story that most amused her: Jane arriving almost late at the Meryton assembly with her hair half done and still being asked for the first dance.

“Not a secret, but a talent,” Wickham said. “Your sister has the art of being preferred without ever seeking it.”

“She does not know it herself,” Kitty said, and then, pleased by his attention, added that Jane was not the only sister to attract interest. She described how at the last assembly, half the room watched Lizzy only because Mr. Darcy did not.

“Did not?” Wickham asked.

“He refused to dance with her,” Kitty said. She felt again the glow of recounting something she alone had seen, and told it with every detail: how Darcy was overheard, how Lizzy had turned it into a joke, how the story repeated in every house by morning.

Wickham listened without looking at her, his expression hard to see in the light from the lanterns on the path. “And it wounded her?” he asked.

“Lizzy said she did not care, though she would never admit it if she did. Mama repeated the story for days. She said, ‘One does not snub a Bennet girl in her own county,’ or something more foolish. I do not remember every word.”

Wickham smiled, as though Kitty confirmed what he expected. “You give a faithful account, Miss Catherine,” he said. “I see you are not afraid to repeat a deserved insult.”

Kitty lifted her chin. “Do you think the Bennet girls unworthy of a dance with Mr. Darcy?”

“I have never seen such a creature as Mr. Darcy,” Wickham said, his tone neutral. “Perhaps he thinks the county is beneath his dignity. Maybe he is not as clever as he seems.”