Page 54 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

Mrs. Wickham laughed. “Coward.”

“Entirely,” said he, smiling over his shoulder as he gently bore them away. “But you will admit that I am a coward with excellent instincts.”

Mrs. Wickham, thus separated from her real object, gave Elizabeth one frank assessment and slipped an arm through hers as if a friendship had already been agreed upon.

“You are the Miss Elizabeth Bennet who is being marched through Lady Anne’s drawing rooms,” she said.

Elizabeth meant to interject.

“No, no,” Mrs. Wickham said. “Do not be alarmed. I hear a great deal but repeat almost none of it; it is the foundation of my reputation for discretion. How are you finding the campaign?”

“I had not known it was a campaign.”

“My dear, Lady Anne Darcy is the most successful matchmaker in London and has been for twenty years. Wellington could learn a thing or two from her efficiency.” Mrs. Wickham’s eyes were bright with mischief. “You bear it very well, I am told.”

“But neither you nor Mr. Wickham attended that party. How do you⁠—”

“Oh, my husband is quite an intimate with the Darcys. We hear everything.”

While Elizabeth mulled that piece of information over, she said, “I hope you have recovered entirely, Mrs. Wickham. We were told in December that you had a cold.”

Mrs. Wickham glanced ahead at her husband and smiled. “I had the most uncivil cold, Miss Elizabeth, and George is terribly alarmed by any illness. He was quite overbearing about it, but he has since apologised.” She glanced over at where her husband stood with the others and smiled. “Do you know, a poor apology is offered once and forgotten. A beautiful apology may be recalled and enjoyed whenever the occasion demands it.”

“That is rather economical—for Mr. Wickham.”

Mrs. Wickham’s laugh was quick and delighted. “Precisely! You are a witty one, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Then I must be careful. People who discover one has wit are apt to expect continual performances of it.”

Mrs. Wickham studied Elizabeth again, more thoughtfully this time. “No, not I. I only begin to envision one’s future.”

“On so short an acquaintance?”

“Oh, I require very little acquaintance when the first impression is sound. I am already thinking of someone who might suit you very well.”

Here was her own tendency to judge upon first impressions turned about on her. Elizabeth assessed Mrs. Wickham with a playful sort of suspicion. “Then I shall endeavour to avoid anything clever. I would not wish to encourage so dangerous a habit.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Wickham replied, and then asked about Elizabeth’s family.

Soon they had caught up with Mr. Wickham, Aunt Gardiner, and Jane, who had paused to admire the bare branches silvered with frost. Mr. Wickham turned at the sound of his wife’s voice.

“Dearest,” she asked, “have you been improving Mrs. Gardiner’s understanding of you, or merely preventing her from enhancing mine?”

Mr. Wickham reached over and tucked a loose ribbon of his wife’s bonnet back beneath its knot, his fingers a moment at her jaw, and Mrs. Wickham let him, gazing up at him without so much as a blush.

Then, with a smile that was as easy as ever, he drew Aunt Gardiner into a recollection of Buxton Place, and the two of them walked a little ahead, leaving the younger women to themselves.

Elizabeth could not take her eyes from the Wickhams. Their affection was perhaps too openly displayed for her taste, but she could not condemn the feeling beneath it. She would not wish to be adored in public, but in private she suspected she might like it very well indeed. If Lady Anne had a match such as that waiting in the wings, she might not object so much to being a part of the woman’s plans.

She did not examine this feeling too closely, for such a match was unlikely for her.

Mrs. Wickham addressed Jane. “Now, Miss Bennet, I have heard Mr. Bingley’s name mentioned more than once of late, and always in connection with your own.”

Jane coloured then paled, and she pulled her shoulders in. Elizabeth was not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Bingley is an amiable man,” her sister said.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Wickham. “I see you are not quite ready to be teased about him. Let us canvas another subject. Do you enjoy opera, Miss Bennet?”