“I might write a scathing journal entry.”
“Then I am honor-bound to appear.” He leaned in. “Though I warn you—I am an indifferent dancer.”
“You are a soldier. I am told you are born knowing how.”
“Then you have been misinformed. We are born knowing how to march. Dancing is rather more treacherous—especially when one’s partner is fond of sudden turns.”
“I never change direction without warning,” Elizabeth said sweetly. “I simply change it without permission.”
Kitty giggled, though she had not heard the whole remark. Mary cleared her throat again and began, “I believe it was Cicero who said—”
“We have no objection to dancing,” Mrs. Bennet said loudly, “only to poor music and poorer partners. I have always said that dancing is the surest sign of a well-ordered society.”
“Have you?” said Jane, blinking.
“I have.”
Wickham waited until the wave of chatter crested, then returned his attention to Elizabeth.
“I meant to say earlier,” he said, quiet again, “that you seemed surprised. When you saw Mr. Darcy and me in the street.”
Elizabeth’s smile remained fixed. “Not surprised, precisely. Only… intrigued.”
“A delicate distinction.”
“Delicate distinctions are my hobby.”
He studied her. “And may I ask what, precisely, intrigued you?”
She affected a yawn. “Oh, only that Mr. Darcy’s social skills seem to become even more stunted in the presence of old friends.”
Wickham’s smile dropped into a mock-serious look. “We are not friends.”
“No,” she said. “I gathered as much when he looked at you as though you had kicked his dog.”
“Did he?” Wickham laughed. “I was too busy admiring his manners.”
“I do not believe he brought them.”
“Not even the portable version?”
“If so, he misplaced it somewhere between his saddle and his pride.”
Now he was laughing fully—shoulders shaking, head bowed. Across the room, Mrs. Bennet looked over with delighted confusion. “What have I missed?”
“Elizabeth is being scandalous again,” Mary murmured.
“She always is,” said Lydia.
Elizabeth ignored them.
Wickham composed himself and sat back slightly. “You truly do not like him, do you?”
She hesitated. “I would not say that.”
“But you would not deny it.”
“I do not dislike him,” she added, in the tone of someone who very much did. “But I find him best in small doses. Ideally preceded by a warning bell and a strong drink.”
