Chapter 21
KITTY STARED AT THE road through the drawing-room window.
Elizabeth noticed it because Kitty did not have the patience to remain near any window unless a carriage approached or Lydia had claimed the best chair. Now she carried her sewing to the same place each morning and lifted her head whenever wheels sounded beyond the hedge.
On the third day, Lydia caught her at it. “If you stare any harder, the officers will feel it from Meryton.”
Kitty bent over her work. “I was looking at the weather.”
“I did not know the weather wears a red coat.”
Mrs. Bennet looked up from her letter. “Are the officers coming?”
“No, Mama,” Elizabeth said before Lydia could improve the question. “Kitty has discovered clouds.”
Kitty gave her a wounded look and Elizabeth returned to her book, though the page held little of her attention. Lydia laughed, Mrs. Bennet complained that no one ever told her anything, and the room returned to its usual noise.
There was nothing remarkable in Kitty’s interest. Half the girls in Meryton looked for the officers, and Lydia had never bothered with secrecy before announcing which man had bowed, smiled, or danced twice.
Kitty’s silence made the matter more noticeable, but not more serious, as she had spent years following Lydia. It was natural that she should begin to claim one of her own.
Wickham called at Longbourn that afternoon with two other officers. Lydia greeted all three at once and then arranged herself beside Wickham before Kitty left the window. Kitty’s disappointment appeared and vanished before anyone else seemed to notice.
Wickham did. He crossed the room after speaking to Mrs. Bennet and asked Kitty if she had finished the book he had lent her. Kitty’s color rose.
“I am almost finished.”
“Then I chose well.”
“You chose a sad story,” Lydia said. “Kitty cried over it.”
“I did not.”
“You did. I saw you.”
Wickham smiled at Kitty. “Then I am glad I lent it to you.”
Kitty looked pleased enough to forgive the exposure. Lydia did not. “I never cry over books.”
“No,” Mary said from the pianoforte. “You speak through them.”
Lydia stared at her. Wickham laughed, and Mary returned to the music before anyone could decide whether she had meant to be amusing.
Elizabeth watched Kitty settle beside him. He gave her his attention without showing his preference, and Kitty answered with a care she never used when speaking to her family.
Lydia interrupted twice. Wickham answered her, then turned back to Kitty.
He managed it without effort.
That troubled Elizabeth more than his preference for Kitty. Wickham knew how to please every woman he met. He flattered Mrs. Bennet, laughed with Lydia, listened to Mary, and lowered his voice for Kitty. None of it proved deceit. Good manners required attention, and attention could look calculated.
Still, Kitty had begun to hide things.
When the officers left, she carried the borrowed book upstairs instead of leaving it on the table. Lydia followed her and returned within minutes, offended and triumphant. “She will not tell me what he wrote inside it.”
Kitty appeared behind her. “Because that is none of your concern.”
“He wrote something, then.”
“Did I say that? I cannot recall.”
“You might as well have.”
Elizabeth closed her book. “Lydia, let her keep one thought to herself.”
“She never keeps thoughts, she borrows mine.”
“Then you should be pleased she has found one of her own.”
Kitty looked grateful for less than a second. “I do not need you to defend me.”
Elizabeth let the answer pass. Kitty’s temper had less to do with her than with Lydia’s laughter and Wickham’s attention. After years of following Lydia, she might guard the smallest preference once it became hers.
The next morning Kitty refused to walk to Meryton.
Mrs. Bennet complained that the shops would have nothing left by the time Kitty recovered from her strange mood.
Lydia declared that Kitty feared meeting Wickham because she had said something foolish, and Kitty denied it with such force that even Mrs. Bennet paused.
Elizabeth waited until Lydia left the room. “You do not have to tell me anything, but Lydia will continue until she finds another amusement.”
“She thinks everything belongs to her.”
“Lydia thinks everything exists for her amusement, which is different.”
Kitty folded a ribbon around her fingers. “Mr. Wickham asked whether I would walk with the others tomorrow.”
“That seems harmless.”
“He asked me, not Lydia.”
Elizabeth understood then. The distinction mattered because Kitty had spent most of her life included as Lydia’s sister. A question meant for her alone carried more weight than Wickham intended.
“Did he say who else would be there?”
“Denny and Chamberlayne. Perhaps two others.”
“Then it is a party, not an assignation.”
Kitty frowned. “I know that.”
“I thought you did.”
“You sound as though I have done something foolish.”
“I do not think you have done anything.”
“That is worse.” Kitty pulled the ribbon tight. “You think I am too silly for anything to happen.”
Elizabeth had not expected the accusation, but she could not dismiss it. Kitty was foolish at times. So was Lydia, though Lydia’s noise made her folly easier to see. Kitty’s quieter imitation allowed the family to overlook how much she noticed and resented being overlooked in return.
“I think Mr. Wickham is charming,” Elizabeth said. “That is not the same as thinking he is serious.”
Kitty’s expression closed. “You like him.”
“I do.”
“Then why should he not like me?”
“He might.”
Kitty released the ribbon. “You speak as though every answer has another answer behind it.”
“Only when I am not certain of the first one.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“It often is.”
Kitty almost smiled, but the smile disappeared when Sarah entered behind Jane.
The dog crossed to Elizabeth, pushed her nose beneath Elizabeth’s hand, and lifted it, asking for affection. Then she turned to the hall, her ears shifting before the front door opened.
Mr. Wickham’s voice sounded from the passage, and Kitty stood so fast that the ribbon fell to the floor. He entered with Denny and greeted the room. Sarah remained beside Elizabeth. She did not growl or retreat, but her body stiffened when Wickham approached.
He stopped. “I believe I have offended your guardian.”
“That is not easy to do.”
Wickham held out his hand for Sarah to smell, but she turned her head away.
“She was friendlier the first time we met.”
“It seems she has changed her mind.”
“I am not accustomed to losing their favor.”
Sarah moved behind Elizabeth’s skirt when he bent toward her.
Elizabeth placed a hand against the dog’s shoulder. “Do not press her.”
“I would not dream of it.” He straightened and gave Kitty the book she had lent him in return. “Miss Catherine, I believe this belongs to you.”
Kitty took it with both hands. Lydia entered in time to see the exchange.
“Another secret book?”
“There is no secret,” Kitty said.
“Then let me see it.”
“No.”
Lydia laughed and reached for the volume. Kitty pulled it against her chest. Wickham intervened with a lightness that spared Kitty embarrassment.
“Miss Lydia, you cannot demand every book in Hertfordshire.”
“I can demand Kitty’s.”
“Then I must lend you one of your own.”
Lydia accepted the diversion, but she did not forget the preference. During the next half hour she mocked Kitty’s choice of ribbon, her seat, and the way she held her teacup. Wickham corrected none of it. He spoke to Kitty when an opening appeared and laughed when Lydia demanded it.
Elizabeth saw Kitty mistake each return of his attention for proof that she had won something.
Sarah remained near the door.
The officers stayed a while longer. When the grooms brought the horses around, everyone moved into the hall to see them off. Lydia protested that they were leaving too soon, while Kitty stood behind her holding the returned book against her waist.
When one horse shied at a loose shutter striking the wall, Wickham caught the rein and pulled the animal’s head around. The movement was sharp enough to make the horse throw up its chin.
“Stand still,” he said.
The groom reached for the bridle, but Wickham waved him back and tightened the rein again. The horse stopped, though its ears remained pinned.
Sarah came out of the house and placed herself between Elizabeth and the mounting block, her attention fixed on him.
He glanced down. “She disapproves of my horsemanship as well.”
“The shutter frightened him,” Elizabeth said.
“He will survive the discovery.” Wickham loosened the rein and stroked the horse’s neck. “There. We are friends again.”
His tone invited laughter, and Lydia supplied it. Kitty smiled because he did.
Elizabeth did not mistake impatience for cruelty.
Horses required correction, and a startled animal could injure a rider or groom.
Yet the groom was within reach, and Wickham refused help before he knew whether the horse would settle.
Sarah seemed less concerned with the horse than with the man holding its bridle.
When Wickham rose to leave, Denny paused to scratch behind Sarah’s ears, and she accepted the touch. Wickham tried again with the back of his hand, but Sarah looked at him and moved closer to Elizabeth.
Denny laughed. “She has judged you, Wickham.”
“Then I must improve my character.”
His answer drew laughter, but Sarah’s refusal stayed with Elizabeth after the men had gone.
Kitty carried her returned book upstairs and Lydia followed, singing Wickham’s name until Mrs. Bennet ordered her to stop. Jane sat beside Elizabeth and watched Sarah settle at their feet.
“She does not like him,” Jane said.
“Sarah does not know him.”
“She liked Mr. Denny.”
“Mr. Denny smelled of horses and gave her room to approach.”
Jane touched the dog’s head. “You have an explanation.”
“I have several, though none of them prove anything.”
Sarah had sense, but she was still an animal. She might distrust Wickham’s scent, his movement, or the way he reached for her after she had refused him. Elizabeth would not turn instinct into accusation because it belonged to a creature she trusted.
Yet Wickham had not read Sarah well. A man so practiced at judging people should have understood a warning when he saw one.
That thought was no more proof than the dog’s dislike.
Elizabeth looked toward the stairs. Kitty had hidden the book, defended his attention, and heard seriousness in gestures that might mean nothing. Wickham encouraged her without making a promise and only protected her when doing so cost him nothing.
Ordinary officer nonsense, Elizabeth told herself, though the words no longer carried the same force they had that morning.