Lydia’s Story #3
I shrugged. “They learn from their parents, as all children do.” I added some cucumbers to my straw basket. “I will have far more berries, cucumbers, and tomatoes than I could ever hope to eat since my children are spending the summer with my sister.”
“Ah, the estimable Mrs. Darcy. I trust she is well?”
“Well enough to meddle in my life,” I retorted before catching myself too late. “You must forgive my impertinence. I have never been good at holding my tongue.”
“If your sister is meddling, surely she means well.”
“Lizzy always means well.” Not only was Lizzy wealthy and generous, she was also pretty—second in looks only to our eldest sister, Jane—and easily won people over with her intelligence and gentle, teasing manner.
By contrast, I was not only considered compromised but also brainless and impulsive.
A reputation I could not shake no matter how many years had passed since I’d behaved recklessly.
“I usually allow Lizzy to interfere, but this time I must draw the line.”
He regarded me with interest. “Why is that, if I may ask?”
“She thinks I should remarry in order to salvage my reputation as well as my future.”
“And you do not wish to take another husband?”
“One was quite enough for me.” I aggressively pinched off the flowers of the cucumber plant. “But Lizzy can be most persuasive. I have agreed to allow her to bring Mr. Wilson for tea the day after tomorrow.”
“Mr. Wilson is the name of your suitor? Perhaps you will find him appealing.”
“He is twenty years my senior, but Lizzy insists he is very respectable.” I tore off a couple more flowers. “Respectable enough for me to be able to visit Pemberley more often.”
Little frown lines appeared between his brows. “You are not welcome at your sister’s home?”
“I am welcome in small increments, but my character is too compromised for me to live there.”
“That is… unfortunate.” I registered the banked anger in his voice.
I smiled at him. “We cannot all be as forgiving as a vicar.” Mr. Haddad was surprisingly easy to speak to. I couldn’t remember the last time I had an actual conversation consisting of more than a few sentences with any of my Castleberry neighbors.
He followed the motions of my hands as I cleared out the flowers. “Are you taking your frustration out on the cucumber plant?”
“Only the male ones,” I said as I added a flourish to pinching the flowers.
“Ouch,” he replied, and I heard the smile in his voice.
“One picks off the male flowers to encourage the production of female flowers, resulting in more fruit. Which means,” I added, “that I will have more vegetables to donate to the parish.”
“As it happens, that is why I have come.”
“To make sure I am tending to my garden?”
“To save you the trip to the vicarage to drop off the vegetables.”
“I see.” A chill passed through me. “You’ve come here so that I won’t go to the church.”
He smiled. “Precisely. Given that you are kind enough to donate so generously, the least I can do is come and pick them up rather than expecting you to deliver these heavy loads in your basket.”
“I understand.” And I did. He didn’t want me anywhere near the church or his respectable parishioners. “Your timing is fortuitous.” I cooled my tone. “As you can see, the basket is almost full. I’ll just add some tomatoes and berries, and then you can be on your way.”
“May I help? I’m not much of a farmer, but I can pick fruit.”
“That’s not necessary.” I quickly gathered the remainder of my donation. “Here you go.” I handed him the laden basket.
“That’s a very generous portion. The parish will be grateful.”
I doubted that. “Good day, Vicar.” Without giving him another glance, I turned on my heel and walked back to my cottage, where I firmly closed the door behind me.
Lizzy gazed out my cottage window. “Mr. Wilson should be here at any moment.”
I set the porcelain teacups out on the tray. “Hopefully, he will not stay too long.”
She shot me an accusing look. “You agreed to give Mr. Wilson a chance.”
“And I will.”
“You could endeavor to at least pretend to be a little excited.”
I reached for the tin containing biscuits I’d baked that morning. “You forget that I’m no longer a boy-crazy fifteen-year-old.”
“That is not true. I see who you are now.” Her words were gentle. “You have made an effort to be more responsible, and you live a quiet life. And I truly admire all of the work you’ve put into your garden.”
I bristled. I didn’t require anyone’s approval.
Yes, Lizzy married well, even if the man was insufferable, but that did not mean that she was better than me.
Of course, society thought that Lizzy was miles above me and admired her for looking after her wayward sister.
But the truth was that Lizzy wasn’t superior to anyone. She’d just chosen more judiciously.
My feelings for my sister were complicated.
I loved her—everyone did—but I resented being in the position of needing her assistance.
We’d grown closer over the years because Lizzy came by more often than my other sisters.
I did see Jane, but she was busy with Bingley and their children.
I visited with Kitty and Mary the least. Kitty, the wife of a clergyman, was occupied with church activities.
And dour Mary, who married last of all of the sisters, had finally found a husband among one of our Uncle Phillips’s clerks.
I was received at Longbourn, my late father’s estate, which was now in the possession of Mr. William Collins, our distant cousin. Although I was fond of his wife, Charlotte, Mr. Collins was an absurd character, and I avoided Longbourn due to his insufferable sense of self-importance.
“You look very pretty,” Lizzy remarked.
“I promised to make an effort, did I not?” I wore one of my better gowns, which was plain compared to the selections in Lizzy’s extensive wardrobe. But I adored my long-sleeved gown of the palest gold with pretty bows adorning each wrist.
“I am certain Mr. Wilson will appreciate how fine you look,” she said.
I changed the subject. “Do you remember someone named Michael Haddad from Meryton?”
Lizzy looked thoughtful. “I remember the Haddad family. It was a large family, six children, if I remember correctly. Why do you ask?”
“Because one of those children is the new vicar in Castleberry.”
Lizzy’s eyes rounded. “You’ve met the vicar? Does that mean you’re attending church again after all of these years? That is encouraging.”
“No. I had occasion to meet Mr. Haddad when I dropped off produce from my garden for the parish.”
“Oh, well. What is he like?”
“He is young.” I thought of dark liquid eyes and perfectly molded lips framing a slightly arrogant nose. My insides went warm and fluttery. “And quite agreeable.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Delight lit Lizzy’s face. “Your future husband awaits!”
“Stop teasing me. This meeting is uncomfortable enough as it is.” The last time I’d interacted with a man as a potential mate was with Wickham when I was barely more than a child.
I might be twenty years older now, but I absolutely was not any more experienced when it came to the opposite sex.
I still had no sense when it came to men.
My body’s lamentable reaction to the young vicar was proof of that.
“Mr. Wilson.” Lizzy greeted the new visitor warmly as she opened the cottage door. “Welcome. Do come in.”
“Mrs. Darcy.” The man’s voice was deep and not unpleasant. I got my first look at him when he stepped inside and his gaze immediately found me. “Good day. Thank you for allowing me to visit.”
I was tongue-tied and profoundly embarrassed. I really had no idea how to behave around men, especially those with noble intentions.
Lizzy broke the silence. “Lydia, this is Mr. Wilson, a delightful acquaintance of ours from Lambton. This is my sister, Lydia Wickham.”
“Mr. Wilson”—I finally found my voice—“welcome to Castleberry.”
He gave me a nervous smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Wickham. It is a lovely village.”
We settled in the parlor. I could see what Lizzy meant about the man’s lingering appeal.
Mr. Wilson had obviously cut a fine figure of a man back in his prime.
Even now, in his fifties and well past middle age, despite his jaw no longer retaining the sharpness of youth, Mr. Wilson’s good looks were still in evidence.
He retained a full head of hair, now liberally streaked with gray.
“I could not help but notice your garden,” Mr. Wilson said. “It is impressive.”
“Thank you. Do you garden?”
“I do. I am very fond of spending time with my plants.”
Lizzy beamed. “You both enjoy gardening. How fortuitous!”
Having found a subject in common, Mr. Wilson and I managed to carry on a slightly less stilted conversation about properly preparing the ground before planting cucumbers and strawberries. I’d just served the tea and biscuits when a knock sounded at the door.
Lizzy looked at me. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” I rarely had visitors, except for Lizzy or another of my sisters. Both of my parents had passed in recent years. And obviously my neighbors never called on me.
I was shocked to find Mr. Haddad on my doorstep. “Vicar. This is a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope.” He held my basket in his hand. “I thought I’d return this.”
“How considerate,” I said without enthusiasm. I’d gotten the message. He did not need to keep reiterating his desire for me to steer clear of his precious church.
“Who is it?” Lizzy appeared in the small foyer.
I had no choice but to introduce Lizzy to the vicar when all I truly wanted was for the man to make a hasty retreat. I’d misjudged his kindness. Deep down, the vicar was like everyone else in Castleberry who wanted to avoid being seen with me.
“Mr. Haddad,” I said with a sigh, “you might remember my sister, Mrs. Darcy.”
“Of course.” He stepped inside even though I hadn’t invited him to do so. “How lovely to see you again.”