Chapter Three #4
“A marriage settlement,” Mr. Bennet said heavily, “is a legal document that sets out the terms of a marriage. It specifies how a lady’s dowry is to be applied, what pin money she will receive for her own use, what provisions are made for any children, and what portion will be hers should her husband predecease her. ”
“It protects a wife’s interests,” Mr. Darcy added. “And ensures she is not left destitute should misfortune befall her husband—or should he prove profligate with money.”
Lydia blinked, struggling to understand. “But—Wickham said we would be married and live in a cottage and be happy. He did not speak of settlements or—or pin money.”
“No,” Mr. Darcy said. “He would not have.”
Mr. Darcy let silence settle for a moment before continuing. “Perhaps it is best we speak plainly of what such a marriage would mean. Miss Lydia, what portion or provision have you to carry into such a marriage?”
Lydia looked confused. “I—I do not understand.”
“A dowry,” Mr. Bennet said flatly. “What fortune do you possess? What settlement can I provide?”
“I—” Lydia faltered. “I have my clothes, and—and you give me pin money—”
“Fifty pounds per annum,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Whilst you reside with me. Which I might continue to provide, or I might not. You would get a share of your mother’s one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother’s decease.
That is all that you may ever be entitled to.
That is the sum of your fortune. You have no independent income, no property, nothing settled upon you. ”
Lydia’s face crumpled further.
“What are Mr. Wickham’s prospects?” Mr. Darcy asked, his tone still even. “He has deserted the militia and may face court-martial should he return. He has no profession, no living, no income of any kind. He possesses debts amounting to several thousand pounds.”
“But—but he will find something,” Lydia whispered. “He is clever, and—”
“I offered to purchase a commission for him in the regulars,” Mr. Darcy said.
“It would provide him with a modest allowance—perhaps eighty pounds per annum. But his expenses would be considerable. He would need to pay for lodgings, as quarters are not always provided. Food, clothing, a servant if he wished for any comfort at all. The army makes no provision for wives in barracks.”
Mr. Bennet leant forward. “Allow me to describe what your life would be, Lydia. You would follow the drum, moving from posting to posting as the regiment required. You would live in rented rooms—mean lodgings, for that is all you could afford. You would have no servant or perhaps share one with several other officers’ wives.
You would do your own washing, your own cooking.
You would wear the same two gowns until they fell apart, for there would be no money for new ones. ”
“Your husband would be away on duty much of the time,” Mr. Gardiner added. “And when he returned, you might find that his pay had already been spent on cards or drink, leaving nothing for the rent or food.”
Lydia shook her head mutely.
“There would be no balls, no assemblies, no new gowns or bonnets,” Mr. Bennet continued remorselessly.
“No visits to friends, for you would have no friends—officers’ wives are not received in polite society when their husbands are known to be in debt.
And should you bear children, you would raise them in those same cramped rooms, with no money for a nursemaid, no hope of education or advancement. ”
“That is what marriage to Mr. Wickham would mean,” Mr. Darcy said. “Even were I to assist him in securing him a commission. Without that, your circumstances would be far worse.”
Lydia’s grip on Elizabeth’s hand had become crushing. “I did not know,” she gasped. “He said—he said we would be happy—”
“Happiness requires more than affection,” Mr. Bennet said grimly. “It requires food, a sound roof, and the means to maintain them.” Elizabeth looked at her sister’s pale and tired face and sorrow filled her. What future awaited Lydia now? Poverty and shame, whether she married Wickham or not.
“There is another matter we must consider,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice cutting through Elizabeth’s dark thoughts. “The terms Wickham has set forth as the price of marriage.”
He produced yet another document from his portfolio.
“He requires that all his debts be paid in full—some four thousand pounds. He insists upon a settlement of twenty thousand pounds, to be placed wholly at his disposal, and not held in trust for Miss Lydia or any future children. And he insists upon a fixed income to be allowed him without limit of time.” Darcy’s composure faltered.
His countenance tightened, his anger at last discernible.
No one spoke.
“Twenty thousand pounds?” Mr. Bennet’s voice was hollow. “The man is mad.”
“He also refused to consider the commission in the regulars,” Mr. Darcy continued. “He called it beneath him.”
Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy’s jaw tighten slightly, and she understood what he was not saying—that Wickham had also expressed his contempt for being bound to Lydia. Her uncle’s face had gone very grave, and her father looked as though he might be ill.
Lydia stared at the paper Mr. Darcy held. “Twenty thousand pounds?” she repeated faintly. “That is—how much is that?”
“It is about ten times your father’s annual income,” Mr. Bennet said gently. “It would take me forty years to save such a sum, if I spent nothing on food or servants or anything else.”
Lydia’s face went slack with shock. She looked at her father. “But—but where would you get it? How could—”
“I could not,” Mr. Bennet said flatly. “Even if I could mortgage Longbourn itself, I could not raise half that sum.”
“Mr. Wickham does not care where the money comes from,” Mr. Darcy said, his tone still measured but with an edge now. “He cares only that he receives it, with no expectation that he should work, nor any check upon his expenditure, nor answerable to any man for it.”
He paused, then continued. “I have no obligation to Mr. Wickham. I have paid his debts before, given him far more than he was ever owed, and he has squandered it all. My patience is exhausted. I would as soon see him in debtors’ prison as give him another shilling.”
Lydia made a small, choked sound.
“However,” Mr. Darcy said, looking directly at her now, “I shall not see you suffer for his villainy if it can be prevented. You must comprehend what marriage to this man would mean, so that whatever course is taken, it is taken with full understanding of its consequences.”
He bent closer. “I must ask you plainly: What are your wishes? Do you still want to marry Mr. Wickham? Knowing what you now know of his character, his debts, his treatment of other young women, his demands—are you willing to be his wife? If that is your choice, I shall come to an arrangement with Mr. Wickham on your behalf.”
Lydia’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Elizabeth, then at her father, then back at Mr. Darcy. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I—I do not know,” she whispered. “I thought—I thought he loved me. I thought we would be happy. But he—” Her voice broke. “He does not love me at all, does he?”
No one answered. The silence was answer enough.
Lydia’s face crumpled entirely. Great, heaving sobs shook her frame, and she bent forward, clutching her stomach as though she had been struck.
Mr. Bennet made a small gesture toward the door. Elizabeth understood at once. She helped Lydia to her feet, supporting her sister’s weight as they made their way from the library and up the stairs. Lydia could barely walk, stumbling and gasping between sobs.
Once in the bedchamber, Elizabeth guided her to the bed. Lydia collapsed against the pillows, weeping so hard she could scarcely breathe.
“He said—he said he loved me,” she wailed. “He said we would be so happy, that—” She broke off into fresh sobs.
Elizabeth sat beside her, one hand on her sister’s shoulder, waiting for the storm to pass. There were no words that could ease this.
Finally, Lydia’s weeping subsided into gasps and hiccups. She turned swollen eyes to Elizabeth. Her voice wavered. “Is he truly a worthless rake?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. To say it aloud, to confirm what Lydia already knew, seemed cruel. But there was no kindness in lies now.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I am sorry, Lydia, but yes. He is.”
Lydia let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a wail.
She pressed her fists to her head, rocking slightly.
“What am I to do? I cannot marry him—I cannot! But I cannot—” She looked up at Elizabeth with desperate eyes.
“I must find a way out of this. I do not want to be poor and shabby and miserable. Live in wretched lodgings and wear the same gown until it is worn to rags. I cannot bear it, Lizzy, I cannot!”
Elizabeth hesitated, then forced herself to speak the words that must be said. “But Lydia, we must also consider—that is, there is the possibility that you might be—that there might be a child.”
Lydia’s weeping stopped abruptly. She stared at Elizabeth with genuine confusion.
“A child? But—but that cannot be. Wickham said—” Her voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper.
“He said a woman could not become with child unless she wished to. Unless she took pleasure during—” She stopped, her cheeks flaming.
“He said I need not worry because I was frightened and found no pleasure in it, so nothing would come of it.”
Elizabeth stared at her sister, horror seizing her anew. The lies Wickham had told this foolish girl—the deliberate, cruel lies designed to make her compliant and unsuspecting.
“Lydia,” she said, her voice tight. “That is—that is not true. That is not how—” She stopped, flustered. “I must fetch Aunt Gardiner. She will explain matters to you properly.”
She rose quickly, grateful for the excuse to escape the room, and went in search of her aunt. Mrs. Gardiner must correct Lydia’s understanding of the matter.
Elizabeth found her aunt in her chamber reading. At Elizabeth’s urgent whisper, Mrs. Gardiner set down her book and rose immediately.
“The poor child,” she said as they walked together. “What nonsense has been put into her head?”
“Such wicked lies,” Elizabeth could barely control her ire. “Wickham told her—he made her believe that a woman could only become with child if she experienced pleasure. That if she were frightened or unwilling, no consequence could follow.” Her mortification was too great to utter another word.
Mrs. Gardiner’s expression grew grave. “Of course he did. It is an old falsehood, meant to make innocent girls compliant. I have heard of such claims before, always from men who seek to evade the consequences of their actions.” She paused at the bedchamber door.
“I shall speak plainly with her, Lizzy. She must understand the truth of these matters, however unpleasant the matter. She must also know she was cruelly deceived, and the fault is entirely his.”
“Thank you, Aunt. I could not.”
“I know, dear. Leave her to me—.”
Elizabeth heard the murmur of voices as she retreated down the hallway—her aunt’s calm, measured tones and Lydia’s occasional gasps or exclamations.
She did not wish to know the particulars.
It was enough that someone with sense and experience was correcting the dangerous falsehoods Wickham had planted.