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“Somehow, I rather doubt that.”

“Well, there is one other thing. I would rather suppose your newly established stance increases the possibility of your consideration of Anne.”

“I promise you this, old fellow. If my feelings for our cousin develop into the kind of ardent affection she deserves from a husband, you shall be the second to know.”

“You mean second to Anne, of course. I would expect no more.”

“On the contrary—I meant second to my father.”

Lydia did not get a minute of sleep, having paced the floor for what seemed an eternity, waiting for everyone in the household to settle into their beds and their ensuing deep slumber. At around two o’clock, she donned the robe the maid had provided, stole up the corridor, and slipped into Bingley’s room.

She tiptoed across the carpet to allow for a close inspection just to make certain he was sound asleep. His steady breathing and soft snores told her he was beyond being easily awakened. She had never been inside a single gentleman’s apartment before. How different it was from anything she had imagined. She began to wonder about his sleeping attire, among other equally pertinent matters. If she were to marry this man, she might as well know what she was in for. Wickham said that sort of thing was important, did he not?

My dearest Wickham has never once allowed me a tiny glimpse, and there is no reason in the world he should have not, for there have been many splendid opportunities. How I should love to know what all the fuss is about.

Curiosity spurred her on. Mindful of what a disaster it would be if she woke him, Lydia slowly drew back the bedcover. Her mouth formed a perfect circle. Her time with Wickham had not prepared her for what she espied.

Thank heavens Bingley was properly attired; however, the part of his nightshirt that held her fixated was better described as a tent—a rather large tent. She slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from gushing aloud. She dropped the cover and tiptoed to the other side of the bed. Her Wickham had instructed her to climb into Bingley’s bed and snuggle next to him, but she could not bring herself to do so. After carrying out Wickham’s other instructions, she eased over to a comfortable chair. With her arms hugging her knees against her breast, she waited and waited, for hours, until finally she heard stirring in the hallway.

When she was certain the voice outside the door belonged to her brother Darcy, Lydia ruffled her hair, rushed across the floor, and threw open the door. Pleased beyond pleased, her eyes met Mr. Darcy’s. What was more, he was not alone.