“Of course, if you like,” Elizabeth said.
“We will accompany you,” Charlotte said. “For Maria would like to find a new novel to read.”
“Oh, yes!” Maria exclaimed and then cast a wary eye back to the milliner’s shop. “Let us hurry, before Lydia arrives and takes all the best ones for herself.” As she scurried ahead with an amused Mary, Elizabeth and Charlotte strolled more sedately down the high street.
“I am not sure that all of this novel reading has been good for Maria,” Charlotte said. “It leaves her rather susceptible to charming but insincere men.”
“Who do you mean, Charlotte?” Elizabeth asked.
“I know Mr. Fitzwilliam is your guest, and I would not speak ill of him,” Charlotte replied. “It is only that at the assembly, I had a glimpse of the man he is, not the one he pretends to be. It is silly, but it bothers me to see him act the flirt.”
“It is not silly,” Elizabeth replied as they approached Clarke’s, “and you are not wrong.”
A group of militia officers milled about the entrance. Maria was so intent on selecting a novel, she offered only the shallowest of curtsies as she moved past them, dragging Mary behind her. Even so, one of them had enough time to say something that made both girls blush.
It made Elizabeth wary. Colonel Forster had assured Papa that his officers were of the better sort and still Papa had mentioned he had found it necessary to speak to the colonel about their behaviour. Her father had offered no details, but if such a discussion had occurred, the men did not appear to have been overly troubled by it.
One lieutenant in particular seemed very sure of his own charms. He was about Mr. Darcy’s age and Mr. Fitzwilliam’s height, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was also perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen.
His countenance might be enough to persuade a sheltered young miss to linger and speak with the man, but Elizabeth’s formative years had been something very different to those of the gentlewomen here. She would not pretend that a handsome face did not affect her, for she knew that it did. However, she had seen other girls fall for a man blessed with looks only to be treated very poorly indeed. As a consequence, she had become rather sceptical of men with pretty faces and honeyed words.
Elizabeth found Mr. Bingley easy to read—his words matched his actions. His sisters’ words, when carefully parsed, did the same.
Both Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had proven more difficult to decipher. Months after their visit began, she was still working on understanding them. Mr. Fitzwilliam’s overly courteous manners with his elaborate bows and enchanting stories should make her distrust him, but she did not. She felt as though there was a reason other than flattery that he behaved in such a way, and Charlotte appeared to agree. Mr. Darcy’s stares and blunt speech ought to make her dislike him, but she did not. Elizabeth now found she preferred his direct language, for she understood him better. He did not seek to wound, and he was always honest. Likewise, Mr. Darcy’s actions were those of a deeply honourable man.
The officers of the militia did not provide any such challenge. They thought very well of themselves, this new one most of all. He had an air of gentility, but Elizabeth could see by how his eyes raked over her that he was not affable unless he might gain by it. There was a purpose there unlike that of Mr. Fitzwilliam’s, and although she did not yet know what it might be, it put her on her guard.
“Miss Elizabeth,” called the lieutenant. “Miss Lucas. Good day. Your fathers and I were introduced last week. May I make so bold as to introduce myself?”
Elizabeth was startled by his direct approach. Perhaps she ought to wait here to escort Jane and the younger girls inside. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said, offering a shallow curtsy. Charlotte did the same, and they were introduced.
“I see you are new to the militia, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said.
“How did you know that?” Mr. Wickham inquired, all amiable surprise. He smiled warmly. “Have you spies in the ranks?”
Elizabeth frowned. “Perhaps because you are not aware of the rules regarding introductions.”
He did not even blush. “I did not think you would be so very formal out here in the country, Miss Elizabeth. I do beg your pardon.”
“Are you certain you met my father?” she inquired coolly. “For he did not mention you.”
Mr. Wickham adopted an expression he must believe conveyed humility and then lifted his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “I would not expect a general to take much note of a lowly militia lieutenant.”
Mr. Darcy had been a lieutenant and Mr. Fitzwilliam a captain when her father had met them. Elizabeth had been too young then to care about such things, but she had often heard their names, among others, over the dinner table. As she grew older, she learnt that Papa took an interest in all of his officers, more so when he saw something in them he could admire.
Mr. Wickham continued undeterred. “I do not blame him for avoiding making friends of the younger officers, madam, if your sisters are all as lovely as you and your friends.”
Charlotte made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat.
Elizabeth was rather curious. She did not understand what he hoped to gain and would have laughed if something about him did not feel . . . wrong, somehow. She could not identify what it was, but why did he persist when she had very nearly called him out on his lie?
Charlotte ignored Mr. Wickham’s comment and instead issued a warning. “The general is indeed a very protective man.”
It was gratifying to see the import of Charlotte’s comment land on many of the men who had gathered. Their feet shuffled and they whispered to one another. A few even walked away.
Mr. Wickham noticed, though he barely spared the men a glance. His brows pinched together, and Elizabeth thought wryly that he had found himself in unchartered waters, unused to ladies who were not so enamoured of his notice that they forgot or forgave the impropriety of it. Elizabeth was naturally sociable, but she did not trust this man. With her father’s affectionate gruffness as her standard, she preferred a man very like him, one who complimented without flattery, for if she had wrung praise from him, it must mean something. Mr. Wickham’s speech was all spun sugar, sickly sweet and insubstantial. What did this Mr. Wickham want from her?
Kitty and Lydia approached, all giggles and loud discussion about the novels they hoped to find, but Lydia turned an approving gaze on Mr. Wickham.