Page 123 of Honor Requires

Elizabeth’s reserve melted at once. “Mrs. Wickham,” she said warmly, stepping forward. “I am pleased to see you.”

Georgiana came to meet her, her expression open, her manner unchanged in all the ways that mattered. There was, perhaps, a greater composure in her bearing, a maturity that had not been present before; still, the essential gentleness remained.

“You are very kind to call,” Georgiana said. “I had meant to send my card, but the journey and the settling of the house—everything has been so very hurried.”

“I am only glad to find you here,” Elizabeth replied.

Mrs. Younge rose.

“Miss Bennet,” she said, “you will forgive us. There are matters of the household that require Mrs. Wickham’s attention.”

Georgiana turned to her. “You may leave us,” she said. It was said serenely, and with a firmness that surprised Elizabeth.

Mrs. Younge hesitated as if she meant to protest, then inclined her head. “As you wish.” She withdrew.

Elizabeth watched her go, a flicker of approval at Georgiana’s rebellion stirring beneath her surprise.

Her friend turned back, her expression easing once more. “Pray be seated.”

They sat together, the earlier tension easing into something far more natural.

“I am so glad you are in Town,” Elizabeth said. “You must find it a great change.”

“Oh, it is,” Georgiana replied. “Though I am pleased to be here. There is so much to see, so much to do. I have been promised a visit to Bond Street, and I am quite determined to refresh my wardrobe before the season advances further.”

Elizabeth smiled. “A most sensible resolution.”

They spoke of small things at first, of travel, of the differences between town and country, of mutual acquaintances. Elizabeth listened carefully, watching, always watching, for some sign that might confirm or deny what she suspected.

“The season has been most lively,” she said at length. “There is much talk of a certain count who has recently taken a house nearby.”

Georgiana’s expression remained unchanged. “Indeed?”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “Count Vendicarsi. You must have heard of him.”

“I cannot say that I have,” Georgiana replied.

Elizabeth felt something settle within her. He has not told her. The understanding carried both relief and unease. “You will hear of him soon enough,” she said lightly. “He has captured the attention of the ton in a most remarkable way.”

Georgiana smiled faintly. “Then I shall look forward to being introduced.”

Elizabeth returned the smile, though her thoughts had already moved elsewhere. If she does not know…then who does? Am I the only one who sees him? The question lingered, unanswered.

The door opened. A man entered.

Elizabeth’s breath caught. She had seen him once before, at Ramsgate, though only briefly. The impression had been indistinct, a passing observation rather than a formed judgment. Now, confronted with him fully, she found herself searching for that earlier image and finding it altered.

He was handsome, in a way that might easily charm those less inclined to look beyond the surface. There was a looseness in his bearing, a modest disarray in his appearance, that spoke of habits less disciplined than they ought to be.

There was also a subsequent concern. A faint scent of spirits wafted toward her.

“Ah,” he said, pausing upon seeing Elizabeth. “We have company.”

Georgiana rose. “Mr. Wickham, this is Miss Bennet.”

He inclined his head, his smile easy. “Miss Bennet. A pleasure.”

Elizabeth curtsied, her expression composed. “Sir.”