Page 37 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

Mrs. Bennet answered first. “I never sleep when your father stays out so late. I suppose men must talk politics at such hours, but I would rather have the house quiet and the doors locked at ten.”

“Political discussion rarely improves with the hour,” Mary said.

Kitty, whose interest in politics began and ended with the uniforms of those who debated it, turned instead to Jane.

“Did you hear about Mr. Wickham? He danced with every woman at the assembly, but he talked with me alone for an hour.”

Lydia snorted into her tea.

“He was obliged to speak with you,” she said, “or you would have looked pathetic, standing there by the gallery while every officer in Meryton danced with someone else.”

Kitty’s cheeks stung, but she drew herself up.

“He did not have to walk with me, or confide in me, or ask me about every family in the neighborhood. He wanted to know all about our home, and about Mr. Darcy, and,” she felt the words lose power as she said them, but pressed on, “and about Sarah, and about Jane and Mr. Bingley.”

Jane put down her fork. “He asked about me?”

“Yes, but he was very complimentary,” Kitty said, recovering some ground. “He said any man with sense would see your value at once.”

Mrs. Bennet beamed. “There, Jane, you see? I always said you need not be clever to attract a man, only agreeable and sensible. What else did Mr. Wickham say?”

Kitty described the walk along the gallery, careful to recall every detail: the lantern light on the path, the way Wickham’s voice softened when he spoke of her sisters, his compliments to Jane, and his jest about Sarah attending the next assembly. By the end, Wickham appeared to admire the dog’s discipline more than any woman’s beauty.

Lydia cut in. “If he admired Sarah so much, why did he not ask Lizzy about her?”

Kitty, who had not considered this, said, “He did not wish to embarrass her about Mr. Darcy’s insult.”

The words came out more cruel than intended, and Jane flinched. Even Lydia seemed to sense the slip, for she gave Kitty a sidelong look of warning.

Mary finished her tea and began to stack the cups. “It is not so dreadful to be insulted,” she said. “Sometimes it is more revealing to see who makes amends.”

Elizabeth entered then, hair damp and skin wind-reddened, having been out with Sarah before breakfast. She looked at the crowded table, then at Kitty, and said, “What has gone amiss now?”

Kitty launched into the story before anyone could stop her, enlarging every glance and compliment Wickham had given her. She ended with, “He likes me better than Lydia. I am sure of it.”

Lydia did not object, as she was busy buttering another scone, but Mrs. Bennet said, “He would be a fine match, if he can rise above his station. And so handsome! I always say that good looks are an advantage in any profession.”

Elizabeth took her seat and turned to Kitty. “What did Mr. Wickham ask about?”

Kitty, feeling the force of the question, answered, “Only what everyone here would want to know. About our house, our family, the neighborhood. About Mr. Bingley and Jane, and about Mr. Darcy, and Sarah.”

The door opened, and Mr. Bennet entered with a newspaper beneath his arm.

“A comprehensive interest,” he said, taking his place at the table. “Did he also inquire after the silver and the number of windows?”

Kitty flushed. “He was only trying to understand the neighborhood.”

“Then he has chosen an efficient method. Ask one young lady and spare himself the trouble of meeting everyone else.”

Elizabeth regarded Kitty for a long moment. “What did he ask about Mr. Darcy?”

“He asked if Mr. Darcy was clever, or only thought himself so.”

Jane frowned. “That seems an odd question.”

“It is a very common question,” said Mrs. Bennet, who never saw a family conversation she could not claim as universal. “But if Mr. Darcy is so clever, why would he make so many enemies in the county?”

Elizabeth said nothing for a while, then, “Did Mr. Wickham mention why he was curious about these things?”