“Then you owe me a shilling,” Elizabeth said with a grin, extending her hand expectantly.
Wickham hesitated, patting his waistcoat pocket with exaggerated movements. “Ah, well, you see... I seem to have left my coins in my other coat.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered slightly, but she said nothing. Mercy’s sake, it was only a shilling. Wickham turned to the nearby officer, Lieutenant Denny, lowering his voice. “Denny, be a good fellow—lend me a shilling, will you? I’ll repay you tomorrow.”
Denny blinked, then barked a laugh that drew the attention of several nearby guests. “Lend you a shilling? You owe me more than a week’s pay from gaming last night!”
Wickham stiffened, his charming facade cracking just enough for Elizabeth to notice. He recovered quickly, turning back to her with a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, well. It seems I must concede defeat entirely. I cannot bear to disappoint a lady, but my poor pockets betray me.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. “It seems, Mr. Wickham, that your skills as a gambler may not extend to your finances.”
He laughed again, though it sounded hollow this time. “You wound me, Miss Bennet. But rest assured, I will make good on my debt.”
“Never mind,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It was not a fair bet. You had no possible way of knowing the depth of Sir William’s lungs.”
“A lady as gracious as she is beautiful,” Wickham replied, with a hand over his chest. “I do not receive such mercies lightly, I assure you. You have made a devoted servant of me, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth said nothing further, but the moment lingered in her mind long after Wickham had moved on to charm another guest. His polished manners and ready smile suddenly seemed thinner, less substantial, as though they could collapse under the weight of a stronger wind.
What in Heaven’s name had happened between this fellow and Mr. Darcy? She was prepared now to think there might be some genuine complaint. Whatever history existed between them, it was unlikely to be a matter of simple jealousy.
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a faint smile. If Wickham was as slippery as he appeared, he might just be the perfect tool for her wager. Darcy was already unsettled by his presence; what might happen if she encouraged it further?
This could be very useful, indeed.
Fourteen
“Lizzy, do fix thatribbon properly,” Mrs. Bennet called. “You will be walking home from church with Mr. Wickham, no doubt, and we cannot have the tail of that ribbon flipping up into your face when you try to speak. Such a charming man! And so attentive to you last time.”
Elizabeth glanced at her mother in the hallway mirror, adjusting the errant ribbon with a sigh. How quickly her mother had shifted her interest from Mr. Collins! “Mama, you mustn’t interpret every pleasantry as an intention to propose.”
“Intent to propose, how silly! On only your third meeting—or is it the fourth now? But you will see, Lizzy. I know a man with intentions when I see one.”
“Mama, I am quite certain Mr. Wickham’s attentiveness was no more than politeness.”
“Nonsense, child!” Mrs. Bennet declared, pausing to assess her youngest daughters’ bonnets. “A man does not smile that way unless he means to. You must learn to notice these things.”
Her father stopped in the hall as he waited for Hill to fetch his coat. “It is a wonder Mr. Wickham has time for such charm,given all the effort required to keep his boots polished. I daresay, such a dandy has never graced the regiment.”
Elizabeth bit back a laugh, while her mother huffed. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, you never take these matters seriously!”
“I take them quite seriously, madam. So seriously that I have decided to hasten us along before the sermon at church turns into a sermon at home.”
Jane stepped into the hallway, still adjusting her muff, and caught Elizabeth’s gaze. “Come, Lizzy. Shall we walk ahead with Mary? The morning air is lovely today and I, for one, am eager to stretch my legs.”
Elizabeth nodded, glad for the reprieve. As they gathered their things, she glanced toward the window. The prospect of seeing Mr. Darcy at church was almost thrilling. After all, she had yet to try her shiny new weapon on him in her assault on his manly sentiments. Envy was a fine blade, when wielded with skill. But it could turn about and cut the one holding the sword just as easily.
The Bennets arrived at the chapel to find the yard already bustling. Ladies exchanged greetings in hushed tones while gentlemen lingered in groups, discussing crops or the latest news from Meryton. Elizabeth spotted Mr. Wickham standing near the entrance, his polished charm on full display as he spoke with a small crowd of admirers. But the moment she entered his periphery, he seemed to straighten, and she caught the instant his head began to turn her way.
Excellent. He would do nicely.
She avoided his gaze, turning instead toward Jane. “Shall we join Charlotte in her pew today?” she asked, gesturing to where her friend stood with her family. “If so, we ought to catch them up now, before they go inside.”
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth,” Collins interrupted. “Is it not better for you to sit in your family’s pew?”
Elizabeth paused, sliding an eye toward Collins. “We often exchange pews with the Lucases. Maria frequently sits beside Lydia and Kitty in our place.”
“But is that… entirely proper? Her ladyship always emphasizes the importance of proper devotion on the Sabbath. She is most particular about the conduct of true worship.”
