Chapter 15
Prone to the unenviable iniquities of vanity and jealousy, Lydia sulked.
Any occasion during which she found herself in the company of an officer donning a red coat who did not deem her the object of his ardent admiration was a source of a great deal of displeasure.
Being slighted by one particular officer, especially in her own home, was unthinkable.
Such an unsettling situation needed to be addressed, and Lydia possessed just the right combination of brashness and daring to see to it.
Seizing her chance, she commanded his attention in a corner of the room.
“Mr. Wickham, I am extremely disappointed, for it appears to me that Georgiana Darcy thinks she has some manner of claim on you.”
“Miss Lydia, it is a pleasure to see you too. How very considerate it is of you to seek me out this evening at a time when I supposed I would be competing with all the other officers for the pleasure of your company.”
“Sir, all the flattery in the world will be wasted should you persist in bestowing it merely to change the subject.”
“Yes, well, you will recall my saying that Miss Darcy and I grew up at Pemberley. Although I am older than she is, she remembers our time together with such great affection. I like to do whatever I can to pay her those little compliments that young ladies enjoy hearing.”
“So, you do not like her?”
“On the contrary, I like her very much.”
“But, I suppose what I mean to say is, do you love her?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions, Lydia? How can I possibly love her when you have stolen my heart and ruined me for all other women?”
“If that is true, then when do you suppose we shall be married?”
He coughed. “Married? So, you think you should like to get married? Do you not suppose that you are rather young to even consider such a scheme?”
“Oh, no! On the contrary, it is all I ever think about. In fact, I spend my days and nights dreaming about it.”
He bit his lower lip. “Days and nights, you say? What is it about marriage that intrigues you so?”
“I should think it shall be fun to be married before Mary and Kitty, for they are older than I am. I should have a good laugh at them were I married first.”
“Ah, is there anything else about marriage that you look forward to?”
“La! Other than marrying before my older sisters, what else is there?”
“I would ask you to take a moment to think about it.”
Lydia placed her finger to her cheek and contemplated what she would say next. “I suppose being mistress of my own home and having my own servants and my own pin money will be a good thing, but I never really think about such matters.”
“When I have thought of marriage, the thing I consider most is what takes place intimately between a man and his wife. Although, I do not ever suppose I would marry someone if I did not know in advance what to expect in that regard. I trust you understand what I am saying.”
Lydia pursed her lips in a rare moment of reflection. “No, I have not the slightest idea.”
“What I am saying is, before I marry I expect my bride to give herself to me—before we exchange vows.”
Covering her mouth with her hand, she looked around to make certain no one else in the room was privy to their conversation.
“Mr. Wickham, I have never heard such a thing, and I have always been taught to know that a bride must wait until after the wedding to consider such a thing, and then she must find it terribly unpleasant, else her husband will think she is wanton.”
“I am not surprised that you would have been taught that, but I am … shall I say … rather well-proportioned, and I should like to know in advance that everything fits my bride—it is essential if I am to make the right choice, for I believe strongly in the notion of there being one woman for one man; however, it must be the right woman in every way.”
“It sounds as if you are saying that a woman does not stand a chance of being your wife unless you … unless she—”
“That is exactly what I am saying.” After glancing about the room, Wickham took Lydia’s hand in his and kissed the inside of her palm.
“While it is true that you have stolen my heart, I will need something far more meaningful—a confirmation, if you will, before I can entertain the notion of our being man and wife.” He smoothed his thumb against the back of her hand, before releasing it.
“You would like me to consider making you my wife, would you not?”
“Oh, Wickham, you know I would.”
“Then you now know what you must do to help me along.”
Lydia did not know what to make of the dashing officer standing before her.
He was offering her the key to his heart, and all she needed to do was prevail upon herself to accept it.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine how it would be, but she had nothing with which to measure the prospect.
His mention of being well-proportioned conjured images of the horses in her father’s stable.
She opened her eyes, stole a peep at the shiny buttons on his jacket, and then allowed her eyes to wander free—lower and lower still.
There was something there, but nothing like the horses.
Perhaps it would not be too bad, and she really, really wanted to be married.
She gazed up into his eyes and saw something she had never seen before.
Indeed, his piercing gaze bore all the best markings of love.
She placed her hand on her ample bosom. “I do want to be your wife, and I am willing to do anything to prove it.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“I am positively certain. I should not imagine anything better than being called Mrs. Lydia Wickham.”
He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. “Can you get away from the house at morning’s first light?”
“Oh, no! I never rise as early as that!”
He drew a frustrated breath and then quickly recovered his former attitude. “It seems you are not ready after all. Oh, well … will you pardon me, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia grabbed hold of his arm. “I suppose I can make an exception, for, as I said, I would do anything for you.”
He shook his arm free. “Indeed. Then we shall meet first thing in the morning.” Speaking in hushed tones once more, Wickham told her the precise time and place to meet him.
He calmed her uncertainties with sweet assurances that he would be there waiting for her, eager to embark upon their new adventure—together.
“Mind you, you are to tell no one what you are about. This must be our particular secret.”
Wickham walked away with his head full of the notion that he would have that silly girl whimpering in his arms in a matter of hours.
He was no stranger to the flesh, but it was not often that he took a virgin.
At least, he hoped she was a virgin, but even if she were not, she was supposed to be a gently bred woman.
She would serve as a pleasurable distraction while he wooed Georgiana Darcy.
A connoisseur of carnal pleasures, he had taken his fill of servants, and bedding one of Darcy’s sisters while wooing the other was in every way fitting, in Wickham’s opinion.
Of course, he did not actually plan to share a bed with the girl.
Visions of taking her on the bare ground, against a tree, or sprawled over a bale of hay all came to mind.
George Wickham’s manhood was practically dancing, and he knew that if he did not steal away to the coolness of the fresh night air, he might embarrass himself, such was his desperate need of relief.
Perhaps, he would take a servant—just for the night.
Fifteen minutes in a dark corner was all that it would take, and he had just the woman in mind.
She even looked like Lydia Bennet with her long, dark hair, and her womanly curves: generous hips and rounded breasts.
Were it not for his urgent desire to feast upon those luscious offerings, he would surely take her from behind and pretend he was having his way with Lydia.
The way Lydia had flaunted her breasts in his face that evening had almost been his undoing with her low cut décolletage leaving little to his imagination. Did she even know what she did to him?
Thoughts of the morning to come accompanied George Wickham as he quietly escaped the room and made his way to the back of the manor house.
He hoped he would see Sally, and after a quarter hour spent lurking about in the shadows, he did.
It was indeed his lucky night for she knew exactly what he was about.
She required no wooing at all. She nearly raced into his arms. He steered her to an empty storage room.
Immediately, he pulled down her chemise and buried his head in her ample bosom.
With her, he could do things that his first time with the Bennet girl would never allow.
No, it might take at least a week before he could do to her what he planned to do with Sally.
Her soft moans recalled him to his purpose. She needed her release just as much as he needed his, for that is what kept the likes of her coming back—wanting, needing, beseeching. Soon, Lydia Bennet would be begging him for more too.