“There he is!”
Before Elizabeth could protest, Lydia and Kitty were waving frantically across the lane. “Lieutenant Denny! Here! Over here!”
Several heads turned.
The lieutenant, accompanied by two other gentlemen, paused in surprise before breaking into a grin and crossing toward them.
Elizabeth felt the familiar heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks.Must we always announce ourselves to the entire town?
Introductions were made with haste and enthusiasm.
Lieutenant Denny bowed. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth—may I present my friend, Mr. Wickham?”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly at the name.
Wickham.
There was a faint start within her—an echo of something half-remembered. A name spoken recently. A conversation at Netherfield perhaps? Or some passing reference she could not immediately place.
She looked at him more carefully.
He was dressed in civilian attire, though cut fashionably enough to suggest taste and means. His features were regular, his smile easy, his expression open and engaging.
Yet as her gaze lingered, his composure shifted—only slightly.
He seemed momentarily thrown off by her scrutiny.
Then, as though recollecting himself, he offered her a charming smile—warm, almost intimate. There was, however, beneath it, the faintest flicker of self-consciousness.
“Have we had the pleasure of meeting before?” he asked lightly.
“No,” Elizabeth replied, her tone composed. “Only—your name seems familiar.”
“Indeed?” His smile held, but his eyes sharpened just a degree. “I hope it is for no ill reason.”
“I cannot say,” she answered honestly. “Only that I feel I have heard it recently.”
Lydia, already impatient with subtleties, laughed loudly at something Lieutenant Denny said. Kitty chimed in. Jane listened politely, though her expression suggested she found the exchange somewhat overwhelming.
Elizabeth was on the verge of pressing Mr. Wickham further—curiosity prickling insistently at her mind—when Lydia suddenly shouted. “Look, it’s Mr. Bingley!”
Elizabeth turned.
At the far end of the lane, two gentlemen rode at an easy pace, guiding their horses carefully through the bustle of carts, tradesmen, and pedestrians. The animals stepped high and measured upon the packed earth, their riders composed and entirely at their ease.
Even at a distance, they were unmistakable.
Mr. Bingley, smiling broadly as though the entire morning had been arranged for his pleasure. And beside him—
Mr. Darcy.
Her pulse quickened—though whether from anticipation or apprehension, she could not have said.
Lydia’s cry drew the attention of more than just her sisters.
The two gentlemen brought their horses to a careful halt near the edge of the lane, where a stable boy hurried forward to take the reins. Mr. Bingley swung down first, all cheer and animation. Mr. Darcy followed with composed efficiency, landing lightly before turning at once toward the ladies.
He bowed.
