Chapter 19

Both girls scurried through the field, heedless of the late frost. Patches of it that were exposed to the sun were turning the fields to mud. Dainty heels and white stockings were eternally tarnished at the prospect of observing the scene: the whole –shire Regiment at practice. Lydia was the first to hear the rattle of the sabers. She and Kitty had been walking down the lane with the Harrington sisters. Colonel Forster was always moving his men from spot to spot for their war rehearsals. It was a sight yet unseen to any of the girls. One local shepherd's field was traversed and trespassed in order to reach the spot.

All four ducked behind a tree and generous brush. On the open meadow that bordered Pervius Lodge, the whole camp was engaged in battle. Half of them were doing a viscous dance with their sabers, while the other half were separated and forming lines, wielding their archers' bows.

"Oh my, what a beautiful sight," gasped Pen, on the verge of a swoon.

"Will you control yourself, sister? You didn't have to run so fast and mad across poor Limon's field to get here," bickered Harriet.

"Aren't they wonderful? Aren't they brilliant!"

"I've never seen so many in one place at a time," remarked Kitty. "What do you think, Lydia? Devilishly handsome, all of them."

"So many… What a market! Can you imagine, every girl in Meryton could have their pick. Now, where are the dear members of our clan? I think that's Pratt over there. Yes!"

"Oh, and Chamberlayne!"

Every girl spotted their favourites, then discreetly dispersed within the safety of the trees and hedges to sneak a bit closer. For the Bennet girls, it took a bit longer to discover theirs; for the good majority of them were to be found among the archers. At least three were spotted: Mr. Denny, Mr. Wickham, and Captain Carter. A good, solid oak tree was used for cover. In this grouping of officers, the men laid aside their red coats, looking more white than red for the time being. Each one was sweating as much as those dueling with sabers. Concentration was intense. Right now, they were not being strictly observed by an upper. Time was best spent, taking some practice shots, testing their distance and aim, perfecting the fingering, and critiquing the accuracy to the targets.

"What a fine shot!"

"Hush your squealing, Lydia!" hissed Kitty. "They'll see us."

"You can hardly hear anything over the sabers. It's a wonder the men can focus on the bow and arrows. Can you believe that? Mr. Wickham has not been in the militia so long as the others, and he can hit the bull's eye."

"Of course, he's had a chance to learn it earlier in life. He probably learned such sport while growing up on the Darcys' estate."

"He's too good for them!"

"Look at Denny! My, my, he just hit the bull's eye too."

Something in the tone of Kitty's voice coiled round her sister's ear, bringing her to silence and bristling. For Kitty had not Mary's subtlety. How often had she lost a bonnet or sweet little fan over the years to the tantrums of her younger sister? How many times had their mother cried out for mercy for her nerves, ordering Kitty to let Lydia have it? It must strike her now, unlike bonnets or ribbons, she could only have one at a time. Mr. Wickham was beyond their reach now, but rest of them remained unclaimed. For perhaps, Lydia might naturally default to a second best in her estimation.

When both sisters met each other's gaze, each sister through their own eyes betrayed the flickers of primal instincts.

Who is she to want what was once hers?

Who is she to want back what had been so thoughtlessly thrown away?

Very cool and indifferently: "I never knew you fancied Denny," Lydia replied.

"Perhaps I do. Perhaps more so than you ever did," ventured Kitty.

"That is not true. I think very highly of Denny. I like him a great deal."

"You did, better than anyone else, I daresay." Feeling herself growing hot and quarrelsome, Kitty turned her eyes back upon her object. "It's a shame his kindness was so poorly repaid."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know about the scarlet bonnet. I know you borrowed money from him."

"And what if I did?"

"I wonder what Mama and Papa would say about it."

Lydia was no different with her own sister than her father. In the face of accusation, she will deny wrongdoing. If one couldn't beg and cry themselves out of trouble, then a pretense of shame was a wasted endeavour. Of course, in a dispute with Kitty, the only thing she had to fear was being tattled on; aside from which, nothing. Before glares and whispered insolence became volcanic, a whistle pierced the air that caused both girls to jump. All out in the mock battlefield ceased activity. Colonel Forster's voice off in the distance gave orders to a couple lieutenants. Among those fighting with sabers, a large semi-circle formed round a couple randomly selected pairs. These men resumed position, and ordered to demonstrate their skill, progress, and any weaknesses.

Most of the officers were watching. Those among the archers seemed less attentive. Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny were leaning into whispers and bantering about something. Wickham's joke, and Denny slugged him in the arm. Something said by one or the other prompted both to resume their bow and arrows. They declared their target, took positions. The only great difference between Colonel Forster's drill and their own was a neatly folded, very tightly folded wad of bank notes.

"It's a bet!" giggled Lydia. How much was staked was impossible to discern.

"If I had to guess, it would be who makes the most bull's eyes."

With a roll of the eyes: "That's a clever guess, Kitty."

There was momentary debate, with shrugs and smirks. Denny could be heard very faintly as he proposed five. Wickham contradicted, smiling in return, with the ever more confident counter-offer of three. To that, both men agreed.

"Best two out of three," surmised Lydia. If Mary had been with them, she'd have been able to tell all that passed.

"I'll wager," began Kitty, "Denny will shoot the best, if not the most bull's eyes."

"You wager? What do you wager, Kitty? First of all, in case you've forgotten, I'm quite penniless."

"In the first place, you're hardly destitute. Not with Mama by your side."

"Oh, don't start that now—"

"I'm not interested in money."

"Really?"

"If Denny wins the contest, he's mine: mine to pursue, to have, and you withdraw any claims upon him."

"Hush! Wickham's about to shoot."

"Lydia? Do you agree to the wager?" persisted Kitty, brows raised.

"Very well. I'll agree to it. And if I win, the same rule applies to me. He's mine, and you withdraw your claim."

Mr. Wickham went first, and was watched equally, if not more intently. For while he had no share in their wager, it was rather important whether he won or lost this personal contest. Kitty held her breath as she watched Denny's competitor draw his bow. The arrow sliced through air, and struck bull's eye with fatal precision. One for Wickham! True, he was far more dashing in the redcoat, but without its confinement, the natural beauty in figure and form showed more distinctly. There was something about the pull and tension of muscle as he drew back the arrow in the bow more fascinating than any uniform.

For his second shot, however, he missed the mark by two rings. It wasn't a miss but it wasn't the best. Perhaps the sun was moving inconveniently into his eyes, or distant movement and noise in the militia corp distracted in those fractions of a second to matter. Denny taunted for a moment. But on his third shot, Wickham rallied and made a shot that would've done old Mr. Darcy proud. The second arrow skimmed the first, fitting snug and close to it on the bull's eye.

"Two bull's eyes!" gasped Lydia. An in a surge of warm devotion: "Mr. Wickham is the handsomest man there ever was; there's nobody his equal."

"Good reason for me to win and have Denny for myself."

Kitty was unheard by her younger sister, who was wide-eyed and fixated. Seemed hardly fair of their father to call them the two silliest girls in the country. For Lydia had outdone herself by degrees. Mary King was nowhere to be found in her thoughts, nor her conscience.

"Alright, Denny's turn," whispered Kitty, eager for it.

Denny did not take his time. He did not seem to need those few extra seconds to find his stance, fill his bow, and make his shot. And shamefully, most disgraceful of him, got a bull's eye! Lydia's lovesickness turned woebegone. On the second bull's eye, colour nearly drained from her face. Great dilemma was upon her. Either way, no matter if the next arrow succeeded or missed, no matter if Denny or Wickham should win, she would lose. When he drew his final arrow, raised and poised to shoot, the dilemma was solved instantly by a ingeniously-timed, impulsive scream.

"Lydia!" snarled Kitty. "You sore loser!"

Both officers and a few nearby took note, turning toward them. Instantly spotted, both girls took off running. Lydia roared laughing, as she hopped over spots of mud and fallen boughs. Denny and Wickham yelled after them. Still, they kept running. Lydia gained a slight distance ahead of Kitty, without really caring where they ran. For Colonel Forster would certainly be displeased with them trespassing on his time and officers' attention.

"Oh dear, Lydia! They're coming after us!"

"Run faster!"

The girls were suddenly separated when Kitty most unfortunately tangled her foot in a wayward oak root and deceptive patch of clover. It seemed level when she placed her foot on it, only to sink a couple inches, throw her off balance, and contort her ankle against the root. She fell heavily, the force of which also threw her bonnet out of alignment on her head.

"Kitty! Kitty! Are you alright?" Who else would see her and come to her at that moment but Denny. It was both a moment of joy and utter shame. One cheek had been scraped up by that tumble.

"Where's your sister?" asked Wickham, standing above them both.

"I don't know. She's outpaced me," groaned Kitty. While Mr. Wickham pursued, Mr. Denny stayed to assist her to a standing position. Now weakened at the ankle, she was forced to find stability in the same offending tree.

He sighed and chuckled at the sight before him. "What on earth were you girls doing out here? You know Colonel Forster doesn't like civilians to be looking about and watching during training. It's kind of against rules."

"I'm sorry. I certainly did not intend to disturb any of you. Lydia was the one that screamed. For what reason, heaven knows!"

"This doesn't bode well. Did you twist your ankle?"

"Yes." She tried it out gingerly.

"Out of commission?"

"Yes."

"Will you allow me to escort you to the camp? Let me get you to our medical tent. Carter will take a look at it. If need be, I can ask leave to escort you home."

For as clumsy the fall and pitiful her face borne the injury, it was a good day's work for Miss Katherine Bennet. Lydia would've admitted as much, if not for their wager. Kitty limped confidently, supported by her champion's shoulder, that he'd have won easily.

"Matthews! Dalton! Can one of you fetch Captain Carter? Send him to medical quarters."

Mr. Wickham pursued the transgressor and trespasser quite a long ways from the camp. He wasn't familiar with the area and properties entirely. By the time he came to an open meadow, on the bank of a local stream, without a glimpse of Lydia, he was ready to turn around and give it up. One of the lieutenants caught them chasing the girls out, but having come this far, he'd certainly have a reprimand for it. Both banks of the stream were overgrown, full of hiding places. For the sake of nothing but perhaps amusement, he baited curiosity by poking around a few bushes, around a few larger rocks, a tree here and there.

Near one tree, a snap of twigs was detected. She was attempting to slip the opposite direction. In the instant he got that glimpse, he reached for the streaming ribbon from her bonnet and gave a tug. With a scream and laughter, she dashed a few yards but her bonnet tumbled. Her vigorous sprint had also taken its toll on her hair, with curls spilling in disheveled fashion, out of containment from its braided bun.

"How uncharitable of you, Mr. Wickham!"

"How uncharitable of you, Lydia, to cause such a racket during our practice."

"Oh, that? I'd hardly call that practice, between you and Denny."

A playful smirk. "True. You've caught me there."

"If anything, I've saved you! You nearly lost your bet with Denny."

"So I ought to thank you then?"

"Why yes!"

"… I suppose so. But I am quite put out."

"Oh, you've nothing to be put out about, silly man! I saved you a loss of money. You, on the other hand, have torn my sweet bonnet asunder."

He picked it up from the ground. "I believe it was the violent force of your movement and head that did the damage here." A part of the straw up around the brim had torn, not so much from her force but the tension on the ribbon.

"Oh no…"

"Hopefully nothing irreparable?"

"Well, it's not a terrible loss," she resigned. "It's just I like this one. It's my spring cap. Goes perfectly with this blue frock. I'd even got the ribbon specially to match it."

"Perhaps, I can make amends?" Waving a hand near her ear, grazing the edges of her hair, he produced by sleight of hand, a single shilling coin.

"Aww, you're just an angel. You need not do that!"

"I insist."

"That is sweet of you. It is an old bonnet after all. It was bound to fall to pieces soon enough. Oh heavens, I'm done in."

Quite exaggerated was her exhaustion, for a girl of high animal spirits. She was still heaving in attempt to catch her breath. Laughter and screams had also taken their toll. But Mr. Wickham took the hint, and properly suggested she sit down and rest a moment. Both defaulted to a fallen tree near the stream, making for an overgrown yet available bench. It was an ideal place for repose, half in sunlight, half shadowed by the woods. Such shadow and snow on the ground chilled the air about them, but all that chasing and running had warmed them enough to be comfortable.

"I hope Colonel Forster shall not be too angry about this."

"Don't concern yourself," he assured. "I doubt if he'll notice I'm gone."

"I would notice if you were gone."

"I know, well enough, that nothing escapes your notice, my girl."

"Perhaps I could tell you things I've noticed, but I doubt you'll care to hear it."

"Perhaps, or perhaps I wouldn't mind it."

"I notice things, things that are there and things that aren't there; and I have to say, for a man soon to be married, I notice no great enthusiasm."

"Perhaps, you do touch upon a sensitive topic."

"Mr. Wickham, we're all good friends, are we not?" Lydia conjoled. "Anything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence."

"I do not know how much I believe that," he teased. "Sometimes, womankind can be very cunning and ruthless when it comes to the pack."

She responded in kind: "What do you mean?"

"I mean that, often, where you may be sweet and kind and sheep-like with us, you can be like wolves with your friends and sisters."

"Nonsense!"

"Lydia, really, I should not be saying such things to you. Such things…"

"What things?"

"Such things that… it's not fair to say of a fair and kind lady."

"I suppose you refer to Miss King? Well, I could've guessed. It's no secret from anybody how you care about her."

"I do care about her."

"That's just what I've noticed. You care about her, and seem to take great care of her in company. But I see no symptom of burning love."

He meditated carefully before answering. The silence was almost lengthy enough to concern Lydia, whether she had offended him. "In all honesty, you're right."

"No?"

"No. I've had different ideas, different ideals about my prospects. As a boy, my expectations in life were very different. You know enough about that. But also, my thoughts and hopes were of a very different kind. I like a lively companion with a mind of her own, someone that is a blend of many qualities. Such a woman that is sweet-tempered, kind, modest, and supportive, but also, someone who is fiery, passionate, and at times, a force to be reckoned with."

"And Mary King is none of that; well, not the fiery type of girl. Certainly not that type of girl you were looking for, I daresay."

"Perhaps my choice is more mature than my ideal."

"Well, I shall not say a word against her. She's a dear friend of ours. You make her very happy, and she is a fortunate girl."

"I hope so. I hope you will enjoy similar good fortune before long."

With a giggle and blushing dimple, nobody, not even her own family, had seen her so glowing and adorable. "I believe I am as hopeless as yourself. You have your ideals and I have my own. For it would be wonderful to meet with someone, likewise, fiery and brave, heroic. Someone clever, someone to make me laugh…"

"Well, bravery and heroics, you've come to the right place. However, I wouldn't start your shopping expedition until after drills are over, in future." Mr. Wickham stood to depart, now that she'd apparently caught her breath. He offered a hand, which she accepted but was not enough. It was a mistake to be polite and offer the hand, for it left his arm open for the girl to grasp hold of it. Back the way they came, they strolled much more gracefully through the dirt and grass.

"I'm glad you and the regiment are here this time of year. Meryton is quite charming countryside in spring, beautiful greenery and the lanes full of blooms. Of course, I'm sure it doesn't compare with Derbyshire."

"It's not to be compared no, but don't heed my opinion. I'm partial to Derbyshire. Have you ever been to Ramsgate?"

"No. Where is that?"

"It's a seaport in Kent."

"How far is that from Hunsford?"

"Not a journey but not a short distance. I'd been there to visit within the last year or so, and it's a pleasant place. Bustling but pleasant."

"How charming!"

"One day you and your family might go and visit on holiday. It's rather common to meet families from all parts of the kingdom, renting little cottages near the beach. There's a common area for sea-bathing, apart and far separate from the ship port, which can be clamorous during the day."

"I should love it above all things, all of it, the peace of home and the roar of town. But you'd have a hard time convincing our father to take a holiday anywhere. For such a well-read man, he is adverse to travels… I do not understand him sometimes."

They were crossing back through thicker parts of the woods, naturally weakening sunlight. That warm and glorious feeling of spring, green, and new life left. All had gone unusually quiet. The best way to stem boredom, to keep a man's interest, was to keep on talking and talking. Silences cast langour and awkwardness on the company. It was best avoided at all costs. Girls that ran out of subjects to talk about could risk boring and losing his interest. Lydia's silence was not an absence of things to say, it seemed. For she might have relieved her feelings by relating the incident of her writing-desk, smashed on the floor.

"Are you alright, Lydia?"

"Oh… yes, I'm alright. I was merely thinking."

"Why would you want to do a thing like that?" he teased.

"Papa and I quarreled recently. We're still quite angry with each other. It's so easy to makeup with Kitty or Mary. Doesn't take much effort to put them back in a good mood. Papa is rather hard."

"I'm sure he'll come around, my girl."

"Eventually."

"...Perhaps he has good reason to be angry. He is a respected man and father, but he's growing older. His daughters are growing up. His life is altering against his expectations, and perhaps, you are feeling a little of that bitterness."

"I had not thought of it that way," sighed Lydia. "I'm sure he doesn't mean to be cruel, but he was very cruel to me."

"Give him time. I'm sure he will, in time, repent of it, and you'll both be merry and loving once more. Ah, don't cry my girl." A handkerchief was produced.

"Forgive me. It's such a silly thing to do," Lydia mumbled, heartily ashamed of herself. It was one thing for cheeks to be rosy, another thing for her nose and cheeks to glow. Instead of simply handing it over, he turned her and wiped away the tears himself, those from the eyes and the nose.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as that," he soothed. "All is well. All is well. Now, I just dried her eyes. Stop that, no more of this weeping! I have only one handkerchief."

It cured her instantly. Lydia burst laughing in his face, swallowed and choked away the remainder of tears, and finished tidying her complexion herself. Having Wickham tease and scold her tears as if they were villains brought a solace that a father's most tender words and forgiveness could not have done.

"Dear Wickham, you are too sweet to me."

"Let's walk slowly. By the time you're reunited with your sister, there will be no trace of tears left."

"Oh Lord, I forgot all about Kitty!"

Forgotten but far from miserable was Kitty on the arm of her conquest. He needed no prompting to offer his arm, and happily offered too. Mr. Denny guided the way into the camp, out of reach from prying eyes and whistles from the young cadets. She was invited to seat herself on one of two beds in the medical tent. In real world circumstances, in a real war, more beds were assembled. What was the worst that could happen in their native country during military exercises? Unless one of the men dehydrated to the point of sunstroke or a silly, inexperienced lad accidentally aimed and shot one of his betters, extra beds were superfluous.

Captain Carter arrived looking completely a man of business. Mr. Denny was most civilly and directly asked to step aside. Brief explanations were made on her behalf, to be followed by some teasing remarks to Kitty. Mr. Denny did not escape Captain Carter's smile and knowing looks either. For it was the most discreet reprimand.

"Where's Lieutenant Hargave?" inquired Mr. Denny. "I may explain all to him."

"He's about to have a look at the archers. It'll be better now than later."

"I'm not concerned about that. Tell me, what do you think of Miss Kitty's injury?"

He was in a humouring mood today. He turned from his fellow officer. "May I have your permission to remove your shoe, Kitty?"

"Certainly."

Examination and diagnosis required less than a minute of his time. No bones had been broken. Grasping her ankle and testing flexibility produced discomfort but no incredible pain. Proper pressure was applied and tested on the heel, the toes, as well as the top of the foot—at which point his fingers hoovered. Some little winces of pain came under Kitty's breath.

"Does that hurt you?"

"A little," she answered bravely.

"I can imagine. You feel this down by your smallest toes?"

"Yes! Oh! That really hurts."

"Up here, you have a mild sprain. It'll be all right in a few days or so. But down here, there's a hairline fracture in the fourth toe… and the fifth... No, just the fourth." Captain Carter proved thorough, inquired about the other foot, then set to the task of treatment. "This tiny fracture is nothing serious, not to worry. It'll heal in a matter of weeks. It shouldn't incapacitate you, but you'll need to give it rest. Keep your foot elevated for about a week. Do you keep any ice at Longbourn?"

"Yes. We do have an ice house, just a short walk from the house."

"Good. Use ice for the swelling, or a cold compress if ice is not possible. It'll help to heal faster the more you do so. Wear more comfortable, open shoes, flat soles would be best."

"And then, you'll need to keep to bed and wait for the fever to break," Denny interjected. Kitty couldn't help the giggle, even when Captain Carter turned back at him, rather annoyed.

"Are you quite through? I might go and find Hargrave myself."

"Ah, lighten up Carter! She's quite fine. And we're both most grateful for your services."

Paying him no heed: "One more thing, Kitty, and you must keep it wrapped whenever you're not putting ice or compresses on it. Ten days to two weeks, no more."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll do the honours for the first time. Whether you do it yourself or have someone else do it, be sure and not wrap it too tightly or you'll make it worse."

At seeing the gauze come out and ready, Mr. Denny leaped back to his side. "Since you have other duties to attend, Carter—"
"Duties I was called away from—"

"Might I relieve you and finish up with the patient?"

He was still smiling, but rather done with him. The roll of gauze and its privilege was bestowed with the command: "Much obliged for your assistance, Denny. I shall be very glad to have your assistance during my next surgery," he retorted. "Shall you be needing anything else?"

"Yes! Kitty is hardly fit to walk home. I'll need leave to escort her."

"… How long do you need?"

"I'd say at least two hours."

"I'll see what I can do." With a flap of the tent canvas, he left them to it. Mr. Denny perched her foot on his knee cap, and proceeded with the wrapping.

Shamed and blushing, she felt for his position. "I can see this is quite an inconvenience."

"Pay him no mind, little lass! I am at the point today I would love an excuse from more drills. I'd be glad to escort you home. No arguments, please," begged Denny.

"Very well. Captain Carter is certainly a tease. I hardly expected that."

"Yes, he can be, but don't be fooled by a little banter like that. He covers for me all the time. Now, if Hargrave or Colonel Forster were in here, I'd be a little more afraid to ask them for favours."

"It's a hard life always being told what to do, everyday, month after month, year after year of your life. Don't know how you all stand it. But I'm sure you do what you must."

"Not every man is made for our strict regimens and routines, indeed. But it has plenty of compensations in other ways. Which reminds me, I promised you a dance at the next party at Lucas Lodge, didn't I?"

"Oh dear," moaned Kitty. "I completely forgot. It's nearly Easter. And I was so looking forward to it too!"

"Not to worry! I'll save you the first dance for next time, as soon as your foot has recovered. I wouldn't wish to aggravate injury. Not to mention, Carter would probably have my hide for going against orders to his patient."

"Since I cannot dance then, will you be so good and sit with me?"

"But of course! We'll be quite merry in any capacity. And while you'll be confined at Longbourn for a couple weeks, I'll bring you some confections from the baker's."

"Delightful! And we can hobble out to the garden, enjoy the sunny days now."

"Oh yes. You can bring out your painting or sketching, and I'll bring my harmonica."

"I do not paint, or sketch, Mr. Denny. The best I've ever done were flowers. Although, maybe I will attempt it sitting in the gardens, and be inspired."

"I hope we will have plenty fun yet…"

"Hope? Any reason why we shouldn't? What's the matter?"

"Well, hopefully the regiment will still be camped here some few more weeks, at least. I've heard rumours that we shall be decamping before the summer."

"Oh no!"

"We know for certain it will be before summer, but where we're going next is yet to be announced in the camp."

"This is unthinkable! Does Colonel Forster have any plans on returning to the neighbourhood later in the year?"

"It's very unlikely. He has orders from the war office. They'll decide where we go."

For several minutes, both were lamenting the social pleasures and season's diversions to be missed by orders. Kitty perhaps took the news much harder than himself. The men were off to new adventures, new sights and experiences, new society. The thought also crossed her mind what short time was left to her, and her pursuit of the man that had captured her heart. What would happen once the regiment decamped? They would settle in another country town. In a new neighbourhood, her Denny might meet with another young lady, superior in beauty and fortune. Or worse, some frightful report from the Continent would send all the men to France, into battle, and get him killed. Lost to her forever! It nearly brought her to tears, imagining such prospect. For it would almost be better to lose him to another girl than to a mass grave.

Before any such concerns were voiced, or he could change the subject to happier topics, they were joined by Lydia and Mr. Wickham. Her younger sister had been remiss not to have turned round and helped her, if she herself had not been running for her life. But apparently, all was well in Mr. Denny's hands. The injured foot had been wrapped and tended. Mr. Denny was to escort Katherine home, which service was also extended to Lydia. It seemed the most natural expectation for Lydia to jump at the invitation. Kitty almost cringed, even though leaning upon Denny's own arm. However, Lydia chose to be magnanimous. She conceded to letting Mr. Denny offer his arm to poor Kitty, if only dear Wickham shall accompany them.

He declined, more than once, Lydia's capital idea. By pressing entreaties, alternating between promises of hospitality and pouting for his lost company if he did not accept, she finally got an affirmative. As long as the men had leave from their superiors, who was to be offended by it, excepting maybe, Miss King? For at the very least, going by Longbourn would not take them through town, and no chance of a possible sighting therefore from the Barnes' cottage window.

Well, we have it: Kitty and Denny. Lydia and Wickham. No good, isn't it? For those speculating about Kitty's prospects and her match, please don't despair. Her preference for Denny does not mean it's final. In the 1940's version of P&P, they had her pairing off at the end with Denny, but that's an adaptation that condenses a lot of the story. It's cute, but it doesn't follow the novel at all precisely.