Page 113 of A Debt Inherited

“I found it rude.”

He entered and set the flagon upon the stool. “Rudeness may yet prove useful.”

“To whom?”

He placed the parcel beside the water. “Bread. Cheese.”

“You mistake appetite for gratitude.”

Elizabeth looked at the food and then at him. He had removed his hat. Dust marked the hem of his coat; a small tear showed near one cuff, as if bramble had taken payment from him also. His face held the same stillness she had observed in Meryton: not indifference, not quite, but a discipline so severe that feeling could not pass it without permission.

“Has Mr Wickham reached Longbourn?” she asked.

His gaze sharpened by a degree. “You listened.”

“You spoke within reach of a door.”

“You were upon the floor.”

“I had no chair suited to eavesdropping.”

For an instant, something almost altered at the corner of his mouth. It vanished before it became expression.

“He will reach Longbourn,” Kerr said.

“That was not my question.”

He remained silent.

Elizabeth folded her hands before her, hiding how much she wished to strike him. “Then you do not know.”

“Not yet.”

“And if my father refuses?”

“He will not.”

“You say that as if you know him.”

“I know what fathers do when pride and affection are set against one another.”

“Then you know very little of mine. His affection has more wit than your pride.”

Kerr’s eyes moved once towards the door. The movement came so quickly she might have missed it had she not watched him as closely as she had once watched a difficult hand at cards.

“Your father will be given a choice,” he said.

“No. You have taken one from him and called the remainder choice.”

The words struck. She saw it, though he made no sound. His jaw hardened.

“Eat,” he said.

“You return often to that command. Does starvation offend your principles, Mr Kerr, while kidnapping leaves them quite at ease?”

He looked at her fully then. “I did not take you for sport.”

“How consoling. I had feared I might be locked in a cottage for want of a diversion.”