Chapter Two
“So this party is only for senior officers?” Lydia checked as Harriet primped before the mirror.
“And their wives, of course. My darling Forster had to seek special permission to bring you, even! There will not be a single officer there below the rank of Major.” Harriet looked quite delighted by the fact.
“Perhaps we will find a suitor or two for you, Lydia! Would it not be a fine thing to write to your parents, that you have a senior officer courting you?”
“Hm,” Lydia said noncommittally, thinking privately that she was certainly not going to marry someone as old and staid as Colonel Forster, no matter how eligible he might happen to be.
The man was as old as her father! No, she wanted a young, vigorous man, one who would not become exhausted after a single dance, who would take her to balls and parties, who would laugh and sing and not chide her for being too exuberant.
The party wasn’t even an evening affair where there might be dancing, but an afternoon tea at the house of one of the most senior generals and his wife.
Frankly, Lydia wouldn’t have minded at all if Colonel Forster hadn’t been able to obtain an invitation for her.
She could have gone for a walk at the seafront with Polly the maid, showing off her prettiest new dress and smiling at lots of handsome young officers.
When Lydia had suggested she might prefer not to attend, though, Harriet had acted quite shocked and actually called her ungrateful.
Startled, Lydia retreated. For a moment there, her normally carefree friend had sounded just like Lizzy!
Maybe she really was being ungrateful. Harriet had to attend the boring tea party, after all; it wasn’t too much of a favour to ask Lydia to keep her company.
With a small sigh, Lydia steeled herself to endure an exceedingly dull afternoon.
Maybe it won’t be so bad after all, Lydia thought an hour later.
It seemed that not all senior officers were as old as Colonel Forster; there were quite a few who still appeared youthful and at least one she thought quite handsome.
Tall and fair-haired, he cut a very fine figure in his red coat.
She openly admired his broad shoulders and long, muscled legs from across the room as he stood with head bent, listening to Lady Briar, their hostess, chattering away.
“Harriet,” Lydia plucked at her friend’s sleeve. “Do you see him?”
“The blond man by the window?” Harriet shot her a sly smile. “I do indeed; I knew he would excite your interest!” She giggled, sounding more like the merry friend Lydia had made in Meryton. “I sent my dear husband to effect an introduction and introduce him to us.”
“Bless you!” With an answering giggle, Lydia squeezed Harriet’s hand.
She had to be nice to several colonels and one general who patted her cheek and told her she reminded him of his granddaughter.
Which at least meant the old goat wasn’t examining her bosom, Lydia thought, deciding to talk to the grandfatherly General Lewes until such time as Colonel Forster was able to introduce her to the handsome blond gentleman.
At least the general was senior enough to keep most of the others at bay.
He was rather sweet, actually, she thought as he escorted her to the refreshments table and told her she must try the scones.
“Ah, and here is a nice young man you must meet. More interesting than an old bore like me, I’m sure.” Lewes’ blue eyes glinted at her from below his bushy grey eyebrows.
“You are the life and soul of this party, sir; how could anyone possibly be more interesting than you?” Lydia said, proud of her flattery when the general chuckled and patted her cheek again.
“Sweet child.” Looking over her shoulder, he said “Be careful with this one, Fitzwilliam. She’s a charmer.”
Lydia smiled fondly before turning around and preparing to greet yet another older man. To someone of General Lewes’ age, fifty would probably be ‘young’.
Instead, she found herself looking up at the handsome blond officer she had admired just a little while ago. Colonel Forster stood beside him, bowing ingratiatingly to the general.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the general said, ignoring Forster, “allow me to present this charming young lady, Miss Lydia Bennet.”
He had blue eyes, Lydia noticed, as his brows raised and he bowed to her, eyes which stayed locked on her face, examining her minutely.
“A pleasure to meet you, Colonel,” Lydia dropped him a saucy curtsy.
“The honour is mine.” His returning bow was very correct. “I wonder... I lately made the acquaintance of another Miss Bennet, in Kent, and you resemble her somewhat. Are you perchance related to a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire?”
The smile dropped from Lydia’s face. The first attractive new officer she’d met on her whole trip, and he had somehow already met Elizabeth first!
“Elizabeth is my eldest sister but one,” Lydia admitted sullenly.
“A charming young lady,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I believe my cousin Darcy was quite taken with her.”
“You’re related to Mr Darcy?” Actually, she could see the resemblance now; not so much in the fairness of his colouring, but in his oh-so-correct stance and his faintly disapproving expression.
What a dull stick. And what a disappointment.
She didn’t even listen to his explanation of his relationship to Darcy, that fearsome bore.
Fitzwilliam studied Miss Lydia Bennet from a covert distance as he listened to two very senior generals expound on the topic of their preferred artillery deployments.
She was like her sister, and yet not; taller and a little plumper, her hair was a glossy brown a few shades lighter than Elizabeth’s dark locks, but just as curly, framing a face very similar in shape and colouring.
She even had the same eyes, those bright, intelligent eyes that had so ensnared Darcy.
The biggest difference between the sisters, though, was that Fitzwilliam had never seen a petulant expression cross Elizabeth’s face, not even when she was annoyed with Darcy or Lady Catherine was being particularly condescending. Nothing like the bored pout Lydia was sporting now.
He tried to recall what Elizabeth had said of her sisters; she spoke often of the eldest, Jane, in glowing terms, praising both her beauty and her sweetness, but didn’t spare many words for the others.
He thought the middle sister was Mary or Margaret, and Elizabeth had called her pious but said little more.
Of the two youngest, she had only described them as ‘silly, but hopefully they will grow out of it’.
Elizabeth had declared her age as ‘not one and twenty’ but she had also said that all her sisters were out.
Which meant, he supposed, that if this Lydia was the second-youngest, she could be eighteen, or almost so.
Certainly, despite the pouting, she looked and acted rather more mature than Georgiana, who had just turned sixteen a few weeks ago.
As though sensing his scrutiny, Miss Lydia turned her head and caught him staring at her. She cocked her head at him curiously before seeming to dismiss him with a toss of her brown curls, turning away again.
Amused, Fitzwilliam smiled to himself. Silly, just as Elizabeth had said, but very young.
She would grow out of it, just as Georgiana was growing into a sweet young lady.
Hopefully, Miss Lydia Bennet would not have the misfortune to encounter any cads like Wickham.
At least the Bennet sisters had no dowry to attract the attention of such reprobates, which was quite fortunate, in his opinion.
Their beauty alone made them targets. What could Mr Bennet be thinking, allowing a lovely young woman like Lydia Bennet loose in Brighton with only Colonel Forster and his silly young wife for chaperones?
Quietly, Fitzwilliam resolved to keep a weather eye on Lydia Bennet, make sure no undesirables started sniffing around her skirts.
While Darcy had left Kent in a foul temper, he had not told his cousin why.
Fitzwilliam had added two and two together to make four and surmised that Darcy’s anger was his enforced separation from Elizabeth Bennet.
Anything that distressed Elizabeth or one of her family would be cause for Darcy’s distress as well, and his cousin had suffered enough in the last year.
“Caught your eye, has she?” a voice said, and he turned to smile at General Lewes.
“I will certainly cede the field to you, sir.”
The general cackled, giving him a knowing look. “Too young for me by about forty years, Fitzwilliam. There’ll be plenty of young and not-so-young bucks sniffing around her skirts, though. Best move quickly if you’ve a genuine interest.”
About to say that he could not afford a wife without a dowry, Fitzwilliam hesitated.
Lydia was far too young for him anyway, but Darcy had an interest in this family whether he would admit it or not.
Keeping a friendly eye on the girl would hardly be a hardship, but he had no valid reason to do so that would withstand scrutiny unless he joined the ranks of her prospective suitors
. “I don’t like to rush into things,” he said finally.
Lewes humphed, peering at him sharply from those knowing blue eyes, and Fitzwilliam felt briefly like a raw recruit again.
“Well, I don’t doubt your tactical abilities,” Lewes said finally. “Just remember, faint heart never won fair lady.”
He had no intention of actually winning the lady, but he bowed and thanked the general for his sage advice.
“With your permission, sir, I may go and chat to Colonel Forster. Make myself agreeable to the fellow. He’s her guardian while she is here in Brighton, after all.”
“Aha, you have a plan of attack already, I see. Go to it, Fitzwilliam, don’t let me keep you. Lovely girl, but she needs a firm hand on the reins, I suspect, and you’d be just the man to provide it.” General Lewes nodded as though it was already a determined matter, and turned away.
Dismissed, Fitzwilliam glanced around the room.
In all honesty, there was nothing else he needed to be doing at the present time; General Hazlett, his own commanding officer, gave him a nod, but was comfortably conversing with Wellington and the Earl of Richmond, so Fitzwilliam was quite at a loose end.
No time like the present, he thought, and set off with a determined step towards Forster, currently filling a plate at the refreshments table.
“Ah, Fitzwilliam,” Forster said pleasantly as he came up beside the older man. “We did not get much chance to talk before, but I wanted to tell you I’ve read all the accounts of your charge at Corunna and I was most impressed. Most impressed, indeed! A valiant effort!”
The blood and dust of the Peninsular War was the last thing Fitzwilliam wanted to talk about, now or ever. Corunna still haunted his nightmares. He nodded in polite thanks and immediately changed the subject, asking Forster about his militia regiment.
Forster was wise enough to happily switch to talking about spending the winter in Hertfordshire and the difficulty of keeping men’s mind on marching and fighting when the comforts of home and England were so close at hand.
Mr Darcy’s cousin was watching her, and Lydia did not understand why.
Oh, he was conversing with Colonel Forster pleasantly enough, but she could feel those blue eyes almost burning a hole into her, even when she turned her back on him and chatted with a major who was at least young, though not at all handsome.
A quick glance over her shoulder told her Fitzwilliam was indeed watching her. Whatever could he mean by it? Was he like his cousin, watching only to disapprove? He was smiling, though, most unlike Darcy. Lydia was sure she had never seen a smile cross Darcy’s face at all.
Maybe if Mr Darcy smiled, he’d be as handsome as Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Still, she wasn’t going to waste her own smiles on someone from that family.
Darcy was impossibly high in the instep, and Harriet had already whispered excitedly that Fitzwilliam was the second son of an earl!
The chances of his being allowed to pay his addresses to the daughter of a country squire were non-existent, and Lydia was not stupid enough to think she might dream so high.
Turning away with a huff, she focussed her attention on the pock-faced major, vowing not to look at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s handsome, smiling visage again.