In that way, she and Wickham were very much alike. Sometimes she dreamed of what it might be to have her own home—her own estate. And sometimes she regretted having not set her sights on Mr. Darcy herself, although Lydia supposed the man preferred Elizabeth because her older sister devoured books—just like their father. Lydia preferred fashion to Faust and society to Shakespeare. In all considerations, Elizabeth definitely better suited the man. If Mr. Darcy treated everyone as he did her Wickham, she would disdain his company in a heartbeat.“My sister is Mrs. Darcy; she is the mistress of Pemberley.”

“The mistress of Pemberley?”The man let out a low whistle. “I am duly impressed.”

“Mrs. Darcy is one of my older sisters,” Lydia babbled, “but my eldest is Mrs. Bingley of Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley counts Mr. Darcy as his best friend. My husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, grew to adulthood on Pemberley. We three sisters remain connected, even though we find ourselves scattered about England. My dear Wickham serves his country:We reside in Newcastle.”

The man tried not to betray his amusement at the situation’s irony but there was a glint of laughter in his eyes at the folly of this pretty, voluptuous, empty-headed girl marrying George Wickham. The girl offered nothing: no substance upon which a man might really build a relationship.“I know of George Wickham,” he mused. “Even in Cheshire, your husband has female admirers.” He chuckled. “It will break many hearts when I spread the story of your marriage, Mrs. Wickham. Are you newly wed?”

“Lord, no. In fact, I was the first of my sisters to marry, although I am the youngest of five. Mr. Wickham and I have been married nearly two years.”

“Two years?” The man looked amused again. He said, “I suppose it too late then to offer my best wishes?” His eyebrows waggled teasingly; yet, he thought, I cannot imagine the George Wickham I know tolerating such an immature girl, nor would he practice fidelity.