Page 102 of A Question of Character

“I did not say I would entertain them. I said I would not trade.”

“A delicate distinction.”

Mr. Wickham placed a hand over his heart. “I am greatly relieved to be valued above quantity.”

“You should be,” Lydia said. “Five gentlemen would be very troublesome. They would all wish to dance, and then I should have no time to sit down.”

“An intolerable fate,” Elizabeth observed.

“And expensive,” Mr. Bennet added. “Think of the gloves.”

Mrs. Bennet protested that no daughter of hers ought to think of gloves when a gentleman with four or five thousand a year had entered the neighborhood, then remembered Wickham’s presence and added that of course respectable affection and industry were worth more than fortune, though fortune was never to be despised when Providence placed it within three miles.

Mr. Wickham bore the speech with commendable self-command. Lydia, instead of being offended, looked at him with such fierce preference that Elizabeth suspected no fortune on earth could have tempted her at that moment.

The rumors continued until Sir William Lucas arrived at Longbourn with the air of a man charged by the Crown to deliver news of national consequence.

“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he declared, having bowed to every lady in the room and shaken Mr. Bennet’s hand with unusual vigor, “I bring confirmation. Mr. Bingley is expected at Netherfield by Michaelmas, and he is to attend the next assembly.”

Mrs. Bennet nearly dropped her work. “The assembly! Are you certain?”

“Quite certain. I had it from Mr. Goulding, who had it from the steward’s man, who received instruction regarding the rooms at Netherfield. A large party is expected.”

“How large?” Kitty asked.

“Large enough to promise elegance,” Sir William answered, which clarified nothing and satisfied everyone.

Elizabeth sat beside Jane near the window, her sewing forgotten in her lap. A large party. Mr. Bingley. Sisters, perhaps. Mr. Hurst. And Darcy?

She did not ask.

She would not expose herself before the room.

Still, the question moved beneath every other sound until Lydia, with more courage and less motive for concealment, went to Mr. Wickham.

“You will attend the assembly, will you not?”

Mr. Wickham’s expression shifted before he answered. Slightly. Had Elizabeth not been attending to him, she might have missed it.

“I regret that I cannot.”

Lydia’s face fell. “You cannot?”

“Mr. Philips has business requiring me that evening. Papers to prepare before a meeting the following morning. He is cruel, but profitable.”

Mr. Philips, who had accompanied Sir William and now stood near the mantel, lifted both hands. “Do not lay the whole blame upon me. You said yourself the work must be done carefully.”

“So I did,” Wickham admitted. “Then I accuse the law instead.”

Mary approved this enough to say that duty ought always to precede diversion. Lydia did not appear consoled.

Mr. Wickham leaned nearer, lowering his tone enough to be particular without becoming improper. “Had I been there, Miss Lydia, I would have asked for your first set and your last.”

Her disappointment dissolved into such rosy pleasure that Elizabeth looked away to spare her sister the indignity of being observed too closely.

“Just those?” Lydia asked, attempting sauciness and nearly succeeding.

“A gentleman must leave some opportunity for others to be miserable with envy.”