Page 72 of A Question of Character

“You are browner, then.”

“That I will allow. Ireland has taken liberties with my complexion.”

Jane drew back, laughing, and looked her over with that affectionate inspection sisters may perform without offense. “You are very well?”

“Perfectly. And you?”

“Very well indeed.”

That “indeed” invited inquiry, but Mrs. Gardiner had descended, Mr. Gardiner was handing out parcels, and the Gardiner children had awakened into chaos. Within minutes the hall was full of trunks, greetings, bonnet ribbons, exclamations, and a dispute between two small cousins over whether a wooden horse had crossed the sea or merely dreamed that it had.

Mrs. Bennet received them in the drawing room with tears, smelling salts which no one required, and a speech upon the length of Elizabeth’s absence that lasted until she remembered there were visitors already present and she must not be robbed of the pleasure of introducing them.

“For you are just in time, Lizzy. We have such company today. Your Aunt Philips is here, and your uncle, and Mr. Wickham, who is quite one of the pleasantest young men I have ever met. Though not so young as all that, of course, which is a very good thing. A man ought not be too young when he has serious intentions.”

“Mama,” Jane murmured.

Mrs. Bennet waved her off. “I say nothing improper. Everyone knows it. Lydia, where is Mr. Wickham? Oh, there you are. Come here and be introduced to my second daughter. She has been all over Ireland and will make you think very poorly of Hertfordshire if she is not stopped.”

It was then Elizabeth noted the stranger among her family.

The gentleman who came forward was handsome in a manner that generally announced itself before introduction. He had fine features, an easy carriage, and a manner so open that reserve in his presence would have seemed ungenerous. He bowed with grace.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I am honored at last. Miss Lydia has spoken of you so often that I feel acquainted with you already.”

Lydia, standing far nearer to him than Elizabeth remembered any man being permitted to stand near her without producing maternal shrieks, colored and tossed her head. “I said that Lizzy thinks herself very clever.”

“Then I was misled,” Mr. Wickham replied gravely. “I understood you to mean she is very clever.”

Elizabeth’s brows rose. “An improvement upon Lydia’s report within ten seconds of acquaintance. You are very quick, Mr. Wickham.”

“I have been told survival among the Bennet ladies requires it.”

Mr. Bennet’s voice sounded from his chair near the window. “It does. Though I do not advise appearing too competent. They will expect feats of endurance.”

“Papa,” Lydia protested.

Mr. Bennet peered over the top of his book. “My dear, I speak from experience.”

Elizabeth crossed to kiss his cheek before he could retreat behind the volume. “You are looking very indolent, sir.”

“And you are looking very traveled. I am afraid Ireland has not cured you of impertinence.”

“It has strengthened it.”

“Then I must write to your aunt and complain.”

Mr. Philips, who sat beside his wife with his hands folded over the head of his cane, chuckled. “You see, Wickham? This is the daughter who keeps them all sharp.”

“I begin to perceive it.” The gentleman smiled again, revealing straight, white teeth. His tousled brown hair fell carelessly over one brow, and he reached up to brush it away.

Elizabeth accepted the seat Jane made for her and took in the room while tea was ordered. Kitty was flushed with excitement and disappointment together, a familiar combination when Lydia had obtained attention first. Mary sat at the pianoforte with music open before her but no intention of playing while so much conversation could be morally assessed. Lydia, however, was the true surprise.

She was still Lydia. No transformation could have made her otherwise. Her ribbons were too bright, her laugh came too readily, and she spoke before reflection had done more than knock at the door. But some portion of her animation now centered around Mr. Wickham instead of scattering itself upon every officer, shop window, or new bonnet. When he spoke, she listened. When she interrupted, she stopped if he lifted a hand or murmured her name. Once, when she reached for a third biscuit before tea had properly circulated, he placed the plate nearer Kitty first, and Lydia, after one astonished look, waited her turn.

Elizabeth looked at Jane.

Jane’s eyes held a small message of their own: You see it?