“Are you staying long in Meryton, then, Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, all winter,” he replied. “I have just been transferred in from a regiment in Staffordshire, my home county. I know many of the lads here in this group from my childhood, and I look forward to becoming reacquainted with them.”
“And lording your authority over all of us, eh?” Denny added, elbowing his friend in the ribs.
“Watch your tone, Denny, or I shall have you cleaning the barracks for a month,” Wickham retorted, grinning.
“But where is your red coat, if you are a major?” Lydia interjected with a pout. “You cannot be that good of an officer if you aren’t wearing your uniform.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth admonished, her voice quiet but sharp.
“I’m afraid it was quite unfit for wearing after my travels, and it is currently being washed and repaired,” Wickham said with a small smile.
“Unfit for wearing?” Denny laughed. “What my good friend here is too modest to admit is that on his journey, he—along with a few other soldiers who were also being transferred—came upon a stagecoach being robbed by highwaymen!”
The ladies all gasped, and Wickham’s face turned red. “Now, Denny, I do not think we need to share all the details, please.”
Denny ignored his friend and continued the story. “Wickham bravely ordered his men to surround the thieves, and they were quickly apprehended.”
“Fortunately, all we did was display our uniforms, and they were quick to surrender,” Wickham interjected wryly.
“Not all of them!” cried Denny. Ignoring the look Major Wickham gave him, he continued. “As Wickham approached one fellow to tie him up, the man pulled a knife from his boot and lunged at him!”
“Denny,” Wickham said sharply, but it was too late.
The ladies’ reactions were quite audible, and Kitty was near tears. “Are you very injured, then?”
“Will you have a scar?” Lydia asked, boldly eyeing Wickham’s chest.
As much as Elizabeth’s curiosity burned to hear the remainder of the tale, she was quite aware of the many different improprieties of the situation. “I think that is quite enough,” she said firmly, putting her arm around Kitty. “We shall make our farewells, gentlemen, and wish you all a good day.”
“But I want to hear the rest!” wailed Lydia.
“You could have been killed,” said Kitty, beginning to sob into Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Mary looked severely at the group. “As it tells us in the Good Book in Ephesians, ‘Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.’ This was hardly uplifting.”
Elizabeth frowned at both officers. Denny looked around at the others, confusion on his face, and he turned to his commander for help.
Wickham’s expression caused the junior officer to straighten his bearing and stand at attention. “I believe, Lieutenant, that it would be best if you returned to the camp now. I will speak with you after tonight’s evening meal.” The major’s voice was laced with steel, which was reflected in his ice-blue eyes.
“Yes, sir.” Denny saluted, then turned and marched away, looking back only once with uncertainty.
Wickham watched until the younger man was almost out of sight; then he turned his attention back to the Bennet sisters. “Ladies, please accept my sincerest apologies for my subordinate’s behavior. I assure you it will not be repeated.”
Elizabeth tightened her grip on Kitty’s shoulder, who was still weeping softly. “Thank you, Major Wickham.”
“Miss… Catherine, was it?”
The younger girl sniffed and raised tear-filled eyes up to the handsome man. She flushed when he fixed his gaze directly on her face. “Yes, sir. But everyone calls me Kitty.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “Please be assured that Mr. Denny greatly exaggerated the situation. The ‘man’ who lunged at me was nothing more than a youth, and the knife was little more than a pen knife. The only damage was a cut of about three inches to the outer lining of my coat. No blood was shed, and there was no real peril.”
Kitty returned his smile with one of her own, and Elizabeth nodded her appreciation. Lydia, in an irritated tone of voice, broke into the conversation. “No sword fight or wounds? No danger? Sounds rather boring, if you ask me.”
“Lydia Bennet!” Elizabeth’s reproach was met with a toss of curls by the youngest Bennet girl.
Wickham watched the exchange with a frown. “I, for one, am grateful for the lack of excitement,” he said. “After spending time on the Continent and seeing my share of battles, I am ready for a quiet winter of training and exercises.”
