Page 77 of A Debt Inherited

Jane pulled her back a step and whispered, “Lizzy, that was unkind.”

“Do we not reap what we sow?”

Jane sighed. “Still, he seemed—startled, not cruel.”

Elizabeth drew a measured breath. “Then he may comfort himself with surprise.”

Across the room, the handsome officer laughed at something the rude officer said.

“Mr Wickham,” Jane murmured. “The handsome one. Mrs Long had the name from Captain Townsend.”

The other officer did not join in. His gaze caught hers. It was not admiration.

Elizabeth turned away first. “Come, Jane. Mama will expect our gratitude for the colonel’s notice.”

They crossed the floor towards their mother’s party. Halfway there, Elizabeth found her father in the crowd. He stood a little apart, one hand resting on his cane, the easy humour gone from his face. His gaze was fixed not upon his wife’s triumph, but on Mr Wickham and the rude officer beside him. For an instant, she thought he might come forward, but he only inclined his head.

Jane touched her arm. “Lizzy, are you well?”

“Perfectly,” Elizabeth said, though her voice lacked conviction. She looked again, but her father had turned aside.

* * *

The evening wound to its noisy close—music spent, candles guttering in their sockets, voices raised in cheerful disorder.

Outside, the air had turned sharp, the night cooled after the heat of the rooms. The Bennet carriage waited with its lamps burning low. Mrs Bennet’s triumph was unrestrained; her praise for Jane flowed without pause.

Mr Bennet offered his hand first to his wife, then to Jane, whose composure never faltered even under her mother’s exultation. Elizabeth lingered a step behind, drawing her shawl close.

“Come, Lizzy,” her father said, his tone half amusement, half weariness. “Let us flee before your mother decides to present us all with medals.”

Elizabeth smiled and placed her hand in his. As he steadied her into the carriage, something made her glance back towards the hall.

Near the doorway stood the rude officer, his coat unbuttoned at the throat, his eyes fixed upon her. He did not move. The light from the carriage lamp caught the hard set of his mouth.

Mr Bennet followed her gaze, then closed the door. “You have made a conquest,” he said lightly.

“I have a critic,” she replied. “There is a difference.”

* * *

Kerr stood where the carriage had been, breath clouding faintly in the cold.

“So,” he said under it, “that is Bennet. Mr Thomas Bennet. Thomas Robert Bennet.”

He blew onto his cupped hands. “Failed of Cambridge.”

Wickham’s voice spoke over his shoulder. “You stare like a ghost, Kerr. What’s caught you so?”

Kerr did not turn. “You know what has caught my attention, as you seem to take pleasure in provoking me about it.”

“Provoking? Baiting, perchance.” Wickham laughed softly. “Providence has a taste for comedy, does it not?”

Kerr’s mouth tightened. “Yes. I am in agreement with you, though I am not yet certain what the approach is.”

Wickham stepped nearer, his gaze following the road where the carriage lamps had vanished. “He saw you.”

“So did half the room.”