“Your hair is very fine, Lizzy.” Lydia fluffed her own somewhat untamed ringlets. “Though I do not understand why you require such elegance merely to scowl at everyone. You have been so grumpy since we arrived.”
“I am not grumpy.” Elizabeth stood up and smoothed her silk skirts. “I am observant.”
“You are observant of Mr Wickham in the most disagreeable manner.” Lydia followed her sister with her eyes. “You used to like him in Meryton. You thought his stories were wonderful, but now you look at him as though he were a bad pudding. I do not understand it.”
She paused. It was a genuine mystery. Wickham was the most handsome, charming man in the militia. He had a red coat and a tragic history. What more could a woman possibly require? Something must have occurred in Kent to change her sister’s mind so drastically.
Lydia opened her mouth to inquire further, but at that moment, her gaze landed on a long, incredibly vibrant pink ostrich feather resting upon the dressing table.
“Oh, Harriet!” Lydia seized the feather with both hands. “You did not tell me you purchased the pink plume! I must wear it. I must.”
The mystery of Elizabeth’s inexplicable dislike of Mr Wickham was forgotten.
An hour later, Colonel Forster escorted the three ladies into the Castle Tavern Assembly Rooms.
The ballroom was breathtaking. Enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the painted ceiling, casting a brilliant, warm light over the gathered crowd. The orchestra played a lively country dance from the gallery above. The room was packed with glittering jewels, expensive silk, and the very best society London had to offer.
Lydia breathed in the scent of hot wax and perfume. She intended to dance every single set, to drink several glasses of punch, and to live every moment of it.
“Colonel Forster.”
The smooth, low baritone cut through the noise of the crowd.
George Wickham appeared beside their group, wearing his red coat with his usual careless perfection. He offered a flawless, sweeping bow to the commanding officer, and exchanged three sentences of polite, meaningless military observation with the Colonel.
Wickham then turned his brilliant smile upon the ladies.
“Mrs Forster. Miss Elizabeth. Miss Lydia.” Wickham bowed again, including them all in his warm gaze. “The Castle Tavern is infinitely brighter for your arrival. May I have the honour of claiming a dance from each of you this evening?”
Mrs Forster giggled behind her fan. “You may certainly claim the next set, Mr Wickham.”
“And I shall take the one after that.” Lydia stepped forward eagerly.
Wickham turned his attention to the second eldest Miss Bennet.
“I must decline your kind offer, Mr Wickham.” Elizabeth offered a look of fabricated agony. “My right toe is severely bruised. I fear I stubbed it upon a loose floorboard this afternoon. I could not possibly manage the steps of a country dance.”
Lydia stared at her sister.
Elizabeth had sprinted down two flights of narrow stairs exactly twenty minutes ago, moving with the speed and agility of a gazelle. Her toes were in perfect, athletic working order.
Lydia opened her mouth to point out this glaring inconsistency.
Elizabeth turned her head and delivered a glare that promised total sisterly retribution.
Lydia snapped her mouth shut. She had a great deal of vanity, but she also had basic survival instincts. She would not betray her sister over a bruised toe, even a fictitious one.
“What a terrible tragedy.” Wickham offered a sympathetic, though disingenuous, smile. “I hope you recover swiftly, Miss Elizabeth. Come, Mrs Forster. The set is forming.”
Wickham offered his arm to Harriet. They walked away to the centre of the ballroom, leaving Lydia standing with her sister and the Colonel.
Lydia turned to ask Elizabeth why she had lied, only to find that she was gone. She had vanished into the dense crowd with the stealth of a spy.
“Well.” Lydia tapped her foot in time with the music. “It appears I am left to entertain you, Colonel. Do you think they will serve lobster patties at supper?”
Colonel Forster smiled his mild, exhausted smile. “I am certain the supper will be excellent, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia looked out across the sea of dancing couples, searching for the familiar pale silk of her sister’s gown. She did not see her anywhere near the refreshment tables.
