Page 86 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

Chapter 21

KITTY STARED AT THE road through the drawing-room window.

Elizabeth noticed it because Kitty did not have the patience to remain near any window unless a carriage approached or Lydia had claimed the best chair. Now she carried her sewing to the same place each morning and lifted her head whenever wheels sounded beyond the hedge.

On the third day, Lydia caught her at it. “If you stare any harder, the officers will feel it from Meryton.”

Kitty bent over her work. “I was looking at the weather.”

“I did not know the weather wears a red coat.”

Mrs. Bennet looked up from her letter. “Are the officers coming?”

“No, Mama,” Elizabeth said before Lydia could improve the question. “Kitty has discovered clouds.”

Kitty gave her a wounded look and Elizabeth returned to her book, though the page held little of her attention. Lydia laughed, Mrs. Bennet complained that no one ever told her anything, and the room returned to its usual noise.

There was nothing remarkable in Kitty’s interest. Half the girls in Meryton looked for the officers, and Lydia had never bothered with secrecy before announcing which man had bowed, smiled, or danced twice.

Kitty’s silence made the matter more noticeable, but not more serious, as she had spent years following Lydia. It was natural that she should begin to claim one of her own.

Wickham called at Longbourn that afternoon with two other officers. Lydia greeted all three at once and then arranged herself beside Wickham before Kitty left the window. Kitty’s disappointment appeared and vanished before anyone else seemed to notice.

Wickham did. He crossed the room after speaking to Mrs. Bennet and asked Kitty if she had finished the book he had lent her. Kitty’s color rose.

“I am almost finished.”

“Then I chose well.”

“You chose a sad story,” Lydia said. “Kitty cried over it.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I saw you.”

Wickham smiled at Kitty. “Then I am glad I lent it to you.”

Kitty looked pleased enough to forgive the exposure. Lydia did not. “I never cry over books.”

“No,” Mary said from the pianoforte. “You speak through them.”

Lydia stared at her. Wickham laughed, and Mary returned to the music before anyone could decide whether she had meant to be amusing.

Elizabeth watched Kitty settle beside him. He gave her his attention without showing his preference, and Kitty answered with a care she never used when speaking to her family.

Lydia interrupted twice. Wickham answered her, then turned back to Kitty.

He managed it without effort.

That troubled Elizabeth more than his preference for Kitty. Wickham knew how to please every woman he met. He flattered Mrs. Bennet, laughed with Lydia, listened to Mary, and lowered his voice for Kitty. None of it proved deceit. Good manners required attention, and attention could look calculated.

Still, Kitty had begun to hide things.

When the officers left, she carried the borrowed book upstairs instead of leaving it on the table. Lydia followed her and returned within minutes, offended and triumphant. “She will not tell me what he wrote inside it.”

Kitty appeared behind her. “Because that is none of your concern.”

“He wrote something, then.”