The idea was absurd. Dangerous. Almost tempting.
But it would never work. They would kill each other. Or worse—notkill each other.
He needed to find someone else.
And he needed to do it before Elizabeth Bennet smiled at him again and he made the greatest mistake of his life.
18 November
The day was toofine to remain indoors.
That was the general consensus, and since the arrival of the militia had ignited Lydia and Kitty like paper lanterns, there was little use resisting the current. Mrs. Bennet had waved them off with an indulgent sigh, reminding Jane to fix her bonnet and Mary to avoid “whatever it is that makes your expression so unpleasant.”
Which, Elizabeth suspected, was usually conversation.
They were halfway to the shops when it happened.
A sharp laugh from Lydia, a tug at Kitty’s sleeve, and suddenly they were stopped. Elizabeth looked up to find herself being introduced—poorly and loudly—to a man in uniform.
Captain Denny was saying something—he was always saying something—but her attention drifted when the second officer stepped forward.
He was tall. Fair. Smiling in that easy, well-bred way that promised he knew exactly how attractive he was and had spent the last five years collecting stories about it.
“Mr. Wickham,” introduced Denny, gesturing grandly. “Late of the regulars. Here to lend us some dignity.”
“Only the illusion of it,” said Wickham. His smile was not dazzling—it was practiced. Smooth. But Elizabeth felt the warmth of it all the same.
Introductions followed. Jane was her usual mild-mannered self. Lydia and Kitty giggled themselves into uselessness. Mary attempted a quotation and was ignored.
Wickham, however, kept his eyes on Elizabeth.
“I believe I shall enjoy Meryton very much,” said Wickham, after a pause. “It has already proven itself far more welcoming than certain towns I could name.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “And what does one require for a proper welcome, Mr. Wickham?”
He pretended to think. “Good company. Good weather. And a quick wit to keep one from growing complacent.”
“A high standard.”
“Then I am fortunate. I believe I have already found all three.”
Before she could reply—before she could decide if he was merely charming or too much so—hooves struck the cobblestones ahead.
The street bent just slightly, and around the curve came two riders.
Oh, dash it all. Was she never to be rid ofhim?
Mr. Bingley was smiling, like he always did. Mr. Darcy was not, for… well, that bit was rather obvious.
They slowed as they approached, Bingley lifting one hand in cheerful greeting.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, voice bright. “Out enjoying the town?”
Elizabeth curtsied. “We were not aware we needed permission.”
Bingley laughed. Darcy did not.
His eyes landed immediately on Wickham, and the air changed.
