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“Is Mr. Bingley soon to return to Hertfordshire, then?”

“Indeed. He is to remain in town for as short a duration as he possibly can, for he is eager to return to Netherfield.”

This caused Georgiana to giggle, and Darcy could well imagine she was picturing Mr. Bingley doting over a lady who had charmed him. He was, after all, a most friendly sort of man, and his manner was one of the few that ever seemed to put Georgiana at her ease. Her comfort, Darcy knew, did not extend to Bingley’s sisters.

“Will you return with Mr. Bingley to Hertfordshire, sir?” asked Mrs. Annesley.

Georgiana sobered quickly at the question.

“I shall not. I do think, if all goes as Mr. Bingley wishes, that I shall have to return to Hertfordshire before many weeks pass, but I shall remain here until my presence is necessary.” Mr. Darcy, for his part, wished very much that he would not have to return to Hertfordshire at all. He had watched Miss Bennet very closely at Bingley’s ball, looking to see if the lady showed any signs of affection for his friend. Although the signs were not pronounced, her eyes lit with joy when speaking with Bingley in a way that he did not see when she spoke with others. Given this, he could not go along with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst’s notion that they convince Bingley to give up Miss Bennet. It may not have been the very best match that Bingley could have made, but it was a match of affection.

“If you go again to Hertfordshire, might I come with you?” His sister stared at her hands as she spoke, as if she was ashamed to have even posed the question.

Darcy paused, his cup of tea inches from his mouth. He lowered it, unsure of what to say or how to answer. He could not tell her that Wickham was in the area. He did not wish even to speak that man’s name in her hearing. “I do not think that is a good idea,” he said finally. “You are always made uncomfortable by Mr. Bingley’s sisters, and there will be a great many people present.”

“Is that not more reason for me to attend?” she asked. “Did you not tell Lady Matlock that I must become more comfortable in company? Surely a country wedding of a friend would be a very fine place to practise.”

He had said as much. He had even used a similar event—his friend Mr. Salver’s annual ball—as an example. They would remain at the estate for the night, so she would be able to escape to her chambers if the noise or the excitement overwhelmed her. Bingley’s wedding would likely take place at Longbourn, and while they would not be staying at that estate, Mr. Bingley would be able to arrange with his bride a place for Miss Darcy to go if it was needed.

“Brother?”

“I still do not think it would be a good idea, Georgie,” was the only reply he could give.

Georgiana’s lips pressed together as she busied herself with selecting a nectarine, her gaze fixed upon the fruit. She would not look at him, and he saw in the deliberate set of her shoulders the hurt his refusal had caused. He had wounded her, when all he had meant to do was protect her. He was relieved when Mrs. Annesley filled the silence, speaking of lessons and activities, but Georgiana’s replies were muted, and she offered little of her own to the conversation.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth looked over at where her mother and sisters stood, examining the many bolts of fabric that the linen-draper had laid out for their inspection. She had already selected the muslin for her own gown, and now only had to wait while Mary was made to select a half dozen for her trousseau. It was, she imagined, a painful experience for her sister, who desired nothing more than to have the half dozen gowns she liked best to be made over into styles more befitting a married lady.

“Shall I send the length over to Mrs. Green, Miss Elizabeth?” asked the daughter of the linen-draper.

“Please do,” Elizabeth answered, “and do the same with the fabrics any of those in my party select. We shall be going to the dressmaker once we visit the haberdashery.”

“Very good, miss,” the girl replied, setting aside the length of muslin.

“Miss Cove, I hoped that I might ask you a question rather outside the norm.” Elizabeth had hoped to have just this opportunity, ever since they entered Meryton.

“Ask whatever you like, miss. I will answer if I am able,” said Miss Cove as she wrote the name Bennet upon a scrap of paper, listing the cost of the fabric and a description.

Elizabeth dropped her voice low. “My family has heard that some of the officers in the militia are not paying their debts. We are very concerned that if the rumours are true, it may not be good for the town. Have you had such an experience here?”

“It is not yet quarter-day, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss Cove. “We cannot expect that the officers repay their debts until then.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Elizabeth replied. “But have any run up debts that you suppose to be greater than their ability to repay in a single quarter? A lieutenant, for example, would have a mere ten or fifteen pounds after his expenses at the camp were settled, so if he owed more than a few pounds, it would be wise to be cautious in allowing him more credit.”

Miss Cove paused in her work and gave the young lady before her a curious look. “Are not most of the officers sons of gentlemen? They have income besides their wages, typically.”

“Most do,” Elizabeth agreed. “But it is still wise to ensure this is the case before lending them more credit. I just wish to ensure they do not take advantage of such assumptions. I know, for example, that Mr. Wickham is not the son of a gentleman. He is the son of a steward.”

“Mr. Wickham is but the son of a steward?” Miss Cove seemed incredulous. “But surely you are mistaken.”

“I am not. He told me as much himself. I do not single him out to say he has done anything wrong, but only that you cannot assume a man is the son of a gentleman simply because his manners are very fine.”

“If this is so, Miss Elizabeth, you may not say he has done wrong, but I do!” said Miss Cove. “He owes our shop four pounds and three shillings for the finest cambric and lawn, for shirts.”

Elizabeth had to hold in a gasp. Even her family, outfitting Mary for her trousseau and the rest of them receiving new gowns, would spend perhaps six pounds at the linen-draper’s. She could not imagine how a gentleman, particularly one so often in uniform, could spend so much.

“Indeed, miss,” Miss Cove replied to the look on Elizabeth’s face. “We thought him the son of a gentleman for certain. A few other officers have similar debts, but from their conversation, I know them to be sons of gentlemen.”