“It is, but I have an errand or two that cannot wait.” Elizabeth smiled at her sister.
“Would you like company?” Jane asked. Only Elizabeth would ever hear the slight reluctance in the question.
Elizabeth answered carefully. “I had planned to call at the apothecary to replenish a few things we are in need of: liquorice root, peppermint, fennel. Mary mentioned that we are dreadfully low on some and completely out of others.” She held up a bit of paper. “She wrote me a list.”
“And you would like to pick it up yourself rather than send for it?”
“Indeed. And I intend to stop by the milliner’s for new ribbons. Lydia has managed to unravel nearly all of hers, and I think it best to purchase something sturdier this time.”
“Poor Lydia! Her ribbons seem to last no longer than a fortnight.” Jane’s smile was a fond one. They both knew Elizabeth was not seeking more ribbons for Lydia because she felt sorry for her. She was making a preventative purchase so that Lydia would not begin pilfering her sisters’ ribbons to replace her own.
“I should come with you,” Jane said.
“I would like nothing better,” Elizabeth replied, “but you have been ill and should take care not to become too chilled.”
“That was over a month ago, Lizzy,” her sister said, shaking her head. “I am quite recovered.”
Her sister was not a poor walker, but Elizabeth meant to set a quick pace. She always thought better when she was moving, and the girls’ maid, Sarah, was the only one at Longbourn who could keep up with her. “Too soon for my liking. And I know you do not like the cold.”
Jane nodded. It was true, but she also would understand what Elizabeth was about. “Very well, then—I shall let you manage those particular errands with Sarah. But will you at least take care to dress warmly?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do not fear, Jane. I will have my cloak and my scarf, and I intend to walk at a brisk pace. I suspect I may even be too warm by the time I reach the high street.”
“In that case, enjoy yourself, Lizzy, but do not stay out too long.”
Elizabeth finished dressing for the weather and stepped out of the house. The sky was a pale, icy blue as she set off toward Meryton with Sarah just a step behind. The chill in the airsharpened her thoughts, and as her feet carried her steadily forward, her mind drifted to recent conversations.
Jane had been gentle in her concerns about Mr. Wickham, but she tried to see the best in everyone. Elizabeth bit her lip, her thoughts growing darker. He had claimed that his respect for Mr. Darcy's father prevented him from sharing the details of their dispute. And yet, once Mr. Darcy had returned to London, Mr. Wickham’s supposedly confidential story had begun to spread through Meryton like wildfire. What kind of respect did that demonstrate?
She frowned, her pace unconsciously quickening. In her first conversation with him, Mr. Wickham had spoken with such sincerity, such openness, that she had hardly thought to doubt him. But now, her mind was filled with questions: why, if he respected Mr. Darcy's father so deeply, had he taken pains to ensure the story reached every ear in the neighbourhood? And why had he chosen to confide inherabout it at all, particularly so soon after they were introduced?
Her thoughts swirled as she entered the apothecary and waited to hand Mary’s list to Mr. Jones. Her attention was divided between making pleasant conversation with the other customers she knew and the vexing recollection of Mr. Wickham’s pleasing charm. Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that she had been manipulated, and that made her angry.
With her orders fulfilled, she stepped out onto the street. And there, as if conjured by her thoughts, was Mr. Wickham himself, coming around the corner with an easy, confident swagger. His eyes lit up as they met hers, and his mouth curved into a smile that she now thought a little glib.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted, bowing with his usual flair. “What a fortuitous meeting! I daresay my morning has improved considerably.”
Sarah’s quiet sniff distracted Elizabeth for a moment, but then she returned his smile as politely as she was able. “Mr. Wickham,” she replied. “I trust you are well.”
“Very well, indeed,” he replied, his gaze flicking briefly toward Sarah behind her before settling on Elizabeth once more. “And you, Miss Elizabeth? I hope you are finding ways to keep warm despite the cold weather.”
She inclined her head. “I do find a brisk walk warming.”
Mr. Wickham chuckled. “Yes, I can imagine.” He leaned forward slightly. “I must confess, I hardly imagined I would have the pleasure of running into you today, what with the recent return of certain visitors.”
Elizabeth’s heart began to beat a little faster, but she kept her tone casual. “Yes, Mr. Bingley has returned with Mr. Darcy. And Mr. Darcy has brought his sister and cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Mr. Wickham’s expression did not falter, but Elizabeth fancied she saw a wary look appear briefly in his eyes before he composed himself.
“Indeed?” he asked lightly. “It must be quite the spectacle, to have Pemberley’s illustrious heir and his family gracing the streets of Meryton.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her silence seemed to make Mr. Wickham uncomfortable.
“I fear I have been rather too candid in my views of Mr. Darcy,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, a slight edge creeping into her tone. “Iwassurprised by it. I had thought you wished to keep your grievances private out of your deep respect for Mr. Darcy's father.”
A distinct flicker of unease passed over Mr. Wickham's face, but he recovered quickly, offering her a disarming smile. “And so I do, Miss Elizabeth. But the truth has a way of slipping free,does it not? I cannot be blamed if others wish to share what they have learned.”
