Chapter II
Coaching inns were by their very nature busy places.
Travelers could be found on every road in England, rendering them necessary for rest, recuperation, the changing of horses for the wealthy, and as a meeting point for the next leg of one’s journey.
That last was the most consequential point in Elizabeth’s mind, for the inn in Watford was where her father’s carriage was to meet the travelers—including Jane and Maria Lucas—and convey them the final distance home.
The only surprise was that Lydia and Kitty were waiting by the carriage, waving frantically as Elizabeth and the others stepped from Mr. Gardiner’s carriage onto the gravel drive.
Within a few moments, the three ladies joined the two girls, shedding bonnets and coats in the dining room they had secured for their use, while Kitty and Lydia regaled them with the news of the neighborhood.
Though Elizabeth had not intended to raise the subject so quickly, Lydia, who rarely spoke of anything other than the officers, spoke of it first.
“Is Mary King not to marry Mr. Wickham?”
Lydia made a face as she often did when speaking of someone she did not like. “No, she is not, though I am inclined to think the good fortune is all on Mr. Wickham’s side. She is now in Liverpool and no longer any threat to Mr. Wickham.”
Though Elizabeth might have argued about who was the threat to whom, she was not yet ready to make her move against Mr. Wickham. “Have you any notion why?”
“There was some mention that her uncles did not approve of Mr. Wickham,” ventured Kitty.
“Mr. Wickham followed her to Liverpool,” added Lydia, “but he returned empty-handed.”
Elizabeth considered this and then offered an opinion she hoped would provoke some measure of thought from her sisters. “Perhaps they discovered something about Mr. Wickham that warned them away.”
“If they did, I wonder what it is,” said Lydia, though she did not appear affected by Elizabeth’s comment.
“Remember that Mr. Wickham is not a gentleman, Lydia,” said Jane. “That may have been enough.”
“Is that not a poor reason to deny a man his love?” asked Kitty.
Lydia snorted her disdain. “I hardly think that Mr. Wickham’s love extended beyond Mary King’s ten thousand pounds.”
“Exactly,” said Elizabeth, seizing on her sister’s comment. “Mr. Wickham’s sudden interest in Mary King stinks of mercenary opportunism.”
The way her sisters looked at her, Elizabeth wondered if she had gone too far.
“Did you not commend him for his prudence?” asked Lydia.
“Let us say I did not accuse him of wrongdoing,” replied Elizabeth. “The longer I thought on the matter, the more the timing seemed strange to me. To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Wickham paid her not the slightest attention until she received her inheritance.”
“Whether it was mercenary or prudence,” stated Lydia in that voice she often used when she thought herself in the right, “I am happy that Mr. Wickham is free of her. He is far too excellent a man to be tied to such a freckled thing.”
For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if she should push back, but then she decided to leave matters at present.
To Lydia, there was no more important quality in Mr. Wickham than his handsome face and pretty words.
If she wished to change Lydia’s opinion of him, she would need to prove Mr. Wickham’s worthlessness, and she did not have the ability to do that.
It was better to remain focused on her plan and not speak out of turn.
THE RETURN TO LONGBOURN was much as Elizabeth had expected.
Mr. Bennet offered his quiet welcome, pleased that his two most sensible daughters had returned home, then excused himself to return to his study when the tumult became too much for his sensibilities.
Lydia spoke long and loud about their brief adventure that day, showing Mrs. Bennet the bonnet she had purchased, then flouncing to a table to begin altering it to her liking.
Mrs. Bennet fluttered and fretted, asking about Jane’s doings in London in minute detail, with a desperate hope her eldest would reveal anything that would suggest she had even glimpsed Mr. Bingley.
When that failed, she turned her attention to Elizabeth and her stay in Kent.
The discourse about the Collinses, of course, devolved into Mrs. Bennet’s continued complaints about the future, Charlotte taking her place as mistress of the estate, and Elizabeth’s refusal of Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth listened with patience she had not known she possessed and escaped to her room the moment the opportunity arose.
That evening, after she retired, Elizabeth and Jane congregated in her bedchamber to speak of their time apart, and then, a curious thing happened.
Elizabeth had always told Jane everything about her life, holding back little—it was fair to say that the sisters knew everything about each other’s lives because they told each other everything.
Yet, when the moment came, Elizabeth found she could not speak of her time in Kent.
What stopped her, she could not say, though she suspected it was several things at once.
Jane was not equipped to be a party with Elizabeth’s determination to deal with Mr. Wickham, and her trusting heart was already bruised from the business with Mr. Bingley and his abandonment.
While Elizabeth considered telling Jane about Mr. Darcy’s proposal, the words stopped in her throat, unable to force their way past the lump that had lodged there.
Instead, she focused on Charlotte and her situation, anecdotes about Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins, and an account of her activities.
Fortunately, what she had to say was enough to hold Jane’s attention.
“Are you exaggerating, Lizzy?” asked Jane when Elizabeth told her of the evening in company and Lady Catherine’s comments about her need to practice.
“No, Jane, which is what makes it all that much more ridiculous.” Elizabeth shook her head at the memory.
“I am not certain if Lady Catherine is an inveterate busybody or if she truly believes that she holds the answer to every question—I suspect it might be both. Regardless, Lady Catherine exhorted me to practice in one breath and claimed the superiority of her abilities had she ever taken the trouble to learn in the next.”
Jane shook her head. “That is farcical, Lizzy. I might not have imagined such a woman existed.”
“It was most amusing.”
The look Jane directed at her reeked of nonchalance. “Then I must suppose that you regret your refusal of Mr. Collins as Mama said you would. If you had accepted him, you would have been the fortunate recipient of Lady Catherine’s guidance and wise advice.”
“I think I might have smothered Mr. Collins in his sleep if only to escape,” jested Elizabeth.
“Then it is well you did not.” Jane paused and peered at her. “What of Mr. Darcy?”
“What of him? You know that I have little interest in the man.”
“Yes, I do, for you have spoken of it more than once. Did he show himself to any better advantage in Kent, or was he still the same man?”
Elizabeth considered the question and how much she could tell Jane without revealing too much.
“Mr. Bingley once said that Mr. Darcy was more amiable when in the company of those with whom he is well acquainted. In Kent, I suppose that I saw something of it, for he was not so taciturn as he was in Hertfordshire, though he was still reticent. Other than that, he was the same man who came to Hertfordshire last year.”
The way Jane looked at her, Elizabeth suspected Mr. Bingley was more on Jane’s mind than Mr. Darcy.
A moment later, she nodded, giving over any thought of asking about the man who still held her heart, convinced that Elizabeth had no news because of her silence.
Elizabeth consoled herself with the remembrance that she had no information about Mr. Bingley—anything she told her sister would just deepen Jane’s heartache.
Should the situation with Mr. Wickham spiral out of control, Elizabeth resolved to tell her sister more, though she would hold back any discussion of Mr. Bingley. There was no reason to tell Jane and reopen wounds that were just beginning to heal.
Soon after, Jane returned to her room to retire, and Elizabeth thought to seek her bed herself.
She was tidying her room before she did so when a sound at the door interrupted her.
Though she wondered if Jane had returned, Kitty slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.
Not only had Kitty rarely joined Elizabeth in her bedchamber, preferring Lydia’s company, but she appeared hesitant, almost fearful, though oddly determined.
“Yes, Kitty?” asked Elizabeth, her tone soft to avoid provoking the girl. “What is it?”
Though Kitty remained ill at ease, she did not hesitate to speak. “Lizzy . . . Can you . . . What can you tell me about Mr. Wickham?”
Nonplused, Elizabeth stared at her sister. “Mr. Wickham? What do you mean?”
Kitty stepped forward, gathering her courage. “When you spoke of Mr. Wickham today, it sounded like you did not approve of him.”
Surprised, Elizabeth gaped at her sister. It had long been her firm opinion that both of her youngest sisters were silly and unobservant, yet Kitty appeared to understand something of Elizabeth’s comments about Mr. Wickham, though she had said nothing openly.
“Lizzy, do you have reason to doubt Mr. Wickham?”
Though still finding it surreal, Elizabeth decided it was best to handle this with care. Smiling, she beckoned Kitty to step forward and settled on her vanity chair, allowing her sister to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Do you know something about Mr. Wickham, Kitty? Does his presence concern you?”
Kitty fidgeted with her nightgown. “It is just that Mr. Wickham has been busy with Mary King and has not been at liberty to pay attention to Lydia or anyone else in Meryton. Now that he has returned, he is plying Lydia with his attention again.”