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Chapter Five
Perhaps I should consider a career on the stage once my life as a spy comes to an end, Elizabeth thought. Apparently, Mr. Wickham was wholly convinced of her infatuation with him even though every flicker of his smile caused her stomach to clench with dread.
How did I ever find his manners pleasing? Why did I believe him to be amiable and honorable?
She was ashamed at her own lack of perspicacity. Now armed with superior knowledge of the man, she scrutinized his every gesture and statement. His air of casual charm was the result of elaborate effort, and he probably uttered fewer than ten sincere words in a day.
Knowing he had no honor, Elizabeth found it almost painful to watch him ingratiate himself—and to witness others respond in good faith. A thousand small clues now became apparent. He acted self-effacing yet somehow always managed to get his own way. He claimed not to wish to speak ill of anyone yet was one of the most vicious gossipmongers she had ever met.
It shook her to think how readily she had been deceived, recalling how she had taken Mr. Wickham’s part with Mr. Darcy. After he had declared his love, she had vilified the man’s character based on lies this scoundrel had told her. How she had wronged him! He was indeed proud and difficult but had always behaved honorably.
With these thoughts swirling through her head, Elizabeth found it difficult to even manage a smile for Mr. Wickham as he oozed his way through the crush of people at Lord and Lady Cavendish’s ball. Everyone succumbed to the Wickham mystique. They smiled as he passed and readily gave way. The men grasped him by the arm to speak with him while women—even those who were married—simpered and fluttered their lashes. Indeed, he was handsome, but could nobody guess what a rogue he was? Enjoying the attention, Mr. Wickham smiled and laughed freely. Why would he not? Everyone in Brighton loved him.
In Elizabeth’s mind, the necessity of behaving as one of his admirers compounded the evil of his deception. As she laughed at his jokes and fluttered her eyelashes at him, she felt complicit with his deceit.
Despite Elizabeth’s admonishments, Lydia was firmly among Mr. Wickham’s many admirers. When the gentleman showed a marked preference for Elizabeth’s company, Lydia complained, pouted, or flirted more outrageously. In company, she passed nearly as much time glaring at Elizabeth as she did admiring the officer. If only she knew how little Elizabeth enjoyed his attentions!
At least if he focuses his attentions on me, he pays less heed to Lydia and decreases the risk he might damage her reputation. The possible damage to Elizabeth’s reputation, however, was best not dwelt upon.
Her smile was firmly in place by the time Mr. Wickham reached her side. They had already danced one set, and she gritted her teeth knowing she must acquiesce to a second. He executed a small bow. “Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of another—?”
“There you are, Lizzy!” Lydia, boisterous and possibly foxed, burst upon them and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm as though they had not seen one another for a fortnight. Then she affected to notice the officer. “Here you are, Wicky! I believe you promised me a dance!”
Elizabeth turned a laugh into a cough; a blind man would have noticed the transparency of her sister’s maneuver.
“Did I?” Mr. Wickham smirked.
“Indeed, and it would be quite a scandal if you did not keep your word!” Lydia peeked coyly from under her lashes.
I hope nobody is observing this exchange. Lydia was too forward; a woman never asked a gentleman to dance, and such behavior would do her reputation no good. “Mr. Wickham requested the next set with me,” Elizabeth informed Lydia. It was not quite true, but he certainly had been about to make the request.
Mr. Wickham did not dispute the assertion but held out his arm for her. Elizabeth managed not to shrin
k away in disgust as she took it.
Lydia pouted charmingly. “But Lizzy already danced with you.” She turned a far less charming expression on her sister. “Let me have my turn.” Lydia looped her arm through the man’s other arm, taking possession of his left while Elizabeth had his right.
“Come, Wicky!” Lydia said brightly, tugging him toward the dance floor.
Loath to encourage such forwardness, Elizabeth ground her teeth and tugged him in the opposite direction. “You may dance with him later,” she told Lydia.
Such feminine attention delighted Mr. Wickham. “Ladies, ladies, there is enough of me to share!” he declared as he scanned the room to see who noticed this evidence of his desirability.
“You had a turn with him!” Lydia declared to her sister, jerking the man toward her and causing his head to snap to one side.
The commotion was attracting attention, and Elizabeth was tempted to relinquish a prize she truly did not desire. But her charade necessitated that she maintain a pretense of infatuation with the officer. The things I do for my country.
Tugging on the gentleman’s other arm, she murmured, “Lydia, you are making a spectacle!”
Lydia yanked in the opposite direction, causing the man’s head to wobble back and forth like a doll’s. Mr. Denny approached with a tentative expression on his face. A fellow officer and friend of Mr. Wickham’s, Mr. Denny was young and eager to please.
“Might I be of service?” he asked with a shy smile. “Miss Lydia, I would be honored if you danced with me.” But Lydia ignored him.
“Be reasonable,” Elizabeth pleaded with her sister.
Lydia sneered. “Why must I always be the reasonable one? Perhaps you could be ‘reasonable’ for once!”
Apparently weary of the tug-of-Wickham, the officer finally pulled his arm from Lydia’s grasp. “I am honored to have caught the eye of two such beautiful women,” he said, preening, “but Miss Lydia, I have promised this set to your sister. I would be honored to dance the next set with you.”
