Chapter XIII
Lydia was confused. Mr. Wickham, the handsome man she meant to have as a husband, who had made her such pretty promises, was even now making his way to Meryton, intending to spirit her off to her wedded bliss.
For weeks now, Lydia had been bursting with the need to laugh, for she would be the first of her sisters to marry, showing them all exactly how one should go about catching a husband.
Jane, the prettiest, and Elizabeth, the cleverest had not even managed such a coup.
Perhaps even dowdy Mary would learn enough to find her husband, though Lydia did not doubt the man would be as dull as she!
Had she not injured herself getting into the carriage, Lydia might have been married already.
That blasted step had foiled her carefully laid plans, conspiring with her infernal boot to keep her from her destiny, forcing her to languish in Hertfordshire while Harriet Forster enjoyed the officers’ attention in Brighton.
The attention she should have had! How Lydia had endured the indignity she could not say, only the hope of Wickham’s steadfast love kept her from lashing out at all within range.
Now, however, all was topsy-turvy, for Lydia could make little sense of what she heard.
Wickham a bounder, a faithless debtor, and an abuser of women?
Impossible. Wickham had tried to inveigle his way into mousy Georgiana Darcy’s affections?
Unfathomable! Lydia would not believe it, unless it was for Miss Darcy’s dowry, which she had heard was substantial.
Yet, Lydia could not quite dismiss the charges the Darcys had laid at Wickham’s door.
Would a girl of Miss Darcy’s prominence and importance in society invent such a history when the threat of exposure might ruin her reputation?
Lydia did not know what to think; she only knew that those who droned on about respectability and restraint—people such as Mr. Darcy and his sister—would not play so cavalierly with their status.
Elizabeth’s comments concerning Wickham’s attention to Mary King also brought her pause.
Had Lydia herself not deplored Wickham’s faithlessness when he had abandoned the town to follow her rival to Liverpool to rescue his connection to her?
Notwithstanding her frequent disparagement of Mary King, Lydia had heard little harm of the girl, much of her dislike based on how she had stolen Wickham away.
Thinking little of Mary King’s charms as she did, what other interpretation was there for Wickham’s interest in her, other than the wish to secure her dowry?
The answers to all these questions led Lydia back to the account Mr. Darcy had given of his former friend.
It was a fact that Lydia wished to discount the gentleman’s charges, but anyone of any sense must know his information must cast serious doubt on Wickham’s claims. Lydia had never considered herself bereft of sense, regardless of her father’s teasing or Elizabeth’s sometimes frustrated exclamations.
Though she had been ready to throw all caution to the wind and depart with Wickham for the promised elopement, now Lydia meant to provoke answers from Wickham before she allowed him any power over her.
Her sisters appeared watchful, but when she announced her intention of going out herself, Elizabeth stepped in and allowed it without hesitation.
Not one to question her good fortune, Lydia took the opportunity and departed, eager to have the answers Wickham owed her.
From there, it was a simple matter to enter the haberdashers and make her way through the shop out the back door, and from thence to the alley Wickham had designated for their meeting.
“Ah, Lydia, my sweet,” cooed Wickham as he espied Lydia entering the corridor. “How I have longed to see you again.”
The sheer sensual pleasure of being in his company, of knowing his eyes lingered on her in appreciation, nearly caused Lydia to swoon.
What woman would not be affected by his handsome countenance, knowing that such a man valued her above all other women?
Lydia almost threw herself into his arms at that moment, all her ruminations cast aside for the immediate gratification of his caresses.
Before she could more than consider it, however, the curve of Wickham’s lips, a leer rather than the smile of true delight she had always supposed it to be, drew Lydia’s attention.
Then the memory of all she had heard of him flooded back and she remembered her determination to receive answers from him.
This prompted Lydia to exert control over her steps, to stop and regard him, wondering if she had ever known the man behind his mask of good humor.
Wickham appeared disappointed that she had not run into his arms on first seeing her. “You are a sight I have longed for these past months, my dear, for I love you so much it brings an ache to my heart. We must depart at once, for we must put as much distance between us and any pursuit.”
“Oh, there will be no pursuit, at least not soon,” said Lydia, the flippancy of her response at odds with her rapidly darkening mood. “Word of my disappearance must make its way back to Longbourn before Papa can do anything.”
“Gretna is five days from here,” replied Wickham smoothly. “In such time, much might happen. We may need every moment of that time to reach it before your father catches us.”
He had made no move toward her, which served Lydia’s purpose.
For a moment, she thought about telling him of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence, laying bare the accusations against him and demanding he account for the truth.
A certain insight, however, informed Lydia that he would do nothing more than deny them, and the news of the gentlemen’s presence might prompt him to act differently.
Though it might jeopardize her happiness, Lydia’s suspicion was now so high that she could not think of leaving without knowing how he would respond.
“We shall go directly,” said Lydia, still refusing to move toward him. “But first you must answer my questions, for there are a few matters of which I must know.”
“There will be time for this later,” said Wickham, stepping forward and reaching out a hand.
Without thought, Lydia retreated, unwilling to allow him to lay hands on her.
A flash of anger passed over his features, gone so quickly that had she not been looking at him, Lydia was certain she would have missed it.
The man sighed with resignation, and looked at her, his kindly smile once again engraved on his countenance.
“I shall answer whatever you wish, of course. But we must make haste, for you would not wish to risk our escape on such inconsequential matters.”
Wickham’s manipulative nature struck her at that moment.
She had not even voiced her concerns, yet he called them insignificant.
He only emphasized her supposed fear of discovery, urging haste, taking no thought for the immense step she would take if she went away from him.
It was becoming clearer that she had never known him as well as she believed.
“Do you truly mean to marry me?”
As first questions went, it sounded insipid to Lydia’s ears. Wickham, however, regarded her, attempting to present the perfect image of affection, but giving the impression of condescension.
“You know I wish for nothing more. I might wonder whence this sudden caution arose, Lydia; have I not made my affection clear?”
Lydia ignored his question. “What of the debts I have heard spoken of in town, obligations you did not discharge before you departed for Brighton?”
It appeared she caught him off guard for his disguise slipped, only to be returned to place at once. “Nothing more than disagreements, I assure you. When I am at liberty, I shall speak to the merchants and clarify matters.”
“How do you clarify such things? Either you have paid your debts, or they are still outstanding. No other interpretation exists.”
“There may be many other interpretations,” said Wickham. “It is all a misunderstanding.”
“And what of your position in the militia?” demanded Lydia. “I cannot imagine Colonel Forster has allowed you time enough away to travel to Gretna and back.”
“The colonel did not stop me.”
Full of doubt, Lydia stared at Wickham. The answers to her questions were not answers at all, rendering his claims nothing more than obfuscation.
“Tell me, Mr. Wickham,” said Lydia, feeling fury sweep into her breast, “do you mean to deflect my questions, or will you eventually answer one of them?”
“I have answered them, Lydia, my dear,” said Mr. Wickham, his facade turning brittle. “It is unfortunate, but you as a young lady having led a sheltered life can understand nothing of my world. Allow me to consider such things and you will be much happier. Now, let us depart.”
Lydia glared at him and shook her head. “You are exactly what Mr. Darcy said you were.”
This got Wickham’s attention, for he dropped all pretense at congeniality. “Darcy? What has that insufferable prig to do with anything?”
“Insufferable he may be,” spat Lydia, “but at least he is not a liar.”
Wickham regarded her for a long moment, apparently trying to make her out. “I believe I see. Darcy lied to Miss Elizabeth of me, and like a good little fortune-hunter, she returned from Kent full of his tales. It is typical, I suppose, though I might have thought better of her.”
“Lizzy is not a fortune hunter!” cried Lydia. “You are a liar, a thief, and a libertine, and I will have nothing further to do with you.”
Being thwarted prompted Mr. Wickham to show his true colors, for an ugly expression twisted his lips. “You are quite amusing, little Lydia, but the time for talk has passed. I am afraid you must come with me whether you are willing or not.”
“She will go nowhere with you!”
––––––––