Chapter 19 All Mouth, No Trousers
“Please! I do not want to marry Mr Wickham,” Lydia pleaded in a thin voice, her meekness turning to outrage the next second. “You cannot make me!” she cried indignantly.
Elizabeth was stunned, horrified even. “You do not wish to marry Mr Wickham?” Her youngest sister’s change of heart was the last thing she had expected.
Lydia huffed and turned away with her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I thought you liked Mr Wickham. Perhaps even suffered a slight infatuation.”
“So did you, when you first met the man,” Lydia accused.
“I did not,” Elizabeth protested, aghast.
“You surely looked at him a great deal.”
“That was because he paid me unsolicited attention. I was keeping an eye on him so that I could plan my escape if he were to approach me again.”
Lydia wrinkled her forehead. “Why did you avoid him? What attention?”
“It was not so much his attention as it was his debauched and sinful past, but he did ask importuning questions.”
“You knew what he was and did not tell me?” Lydia rose from her chair to pace in front of Elizabeth. “How could you?” she accused. “Look!” Lydia rolled up her sleeve and shoved her arm before Elizabeth’s face.
It was covered in bruises, finger marks to be exact.
What a wretched sister she was. Why had she not informed Lydia about Wickham’s true nature?
Because she did not trust Lydia, that was the truth.
She did not believe Lydia would listen to her or even refrain from using the information in a nefarious scheme to wound Darcy.
Darcy had become her primary concern early in their acquaintance, at a cost to her family. Wretched, wretched mistake!
“Dear Lord! What has he done to you?” Elizabeth asked with foreboding simmering in her stomach. If Mr Wickham had hurt her sister, she would never forgive herself.
“He kissed me! Without my consent, I might add. He would have wanted more if I had not fought him with all my might. The rake now sports eight blood-red marks down his face from a hostile encounter with my nails. And I bit his lip, though he deserved much worse. Do you know how it feels to have such a precious gift taken away from you? No, I am sure you do not, but I do. Do not look so surprised—it does not become you, Lizzy. I do like to flirt. It flatters gentlemen’s vanity, and they like me.
But that does not imply that I am a light-skirt who would give favours to all and sundry. Quite the contrary!”
“I am sorry, Lydia. I have failed you most grievously. I can only apologise and marvel at your aplomb. When did you become so wise? You have grown up before my eyes, but I have been dreadfully blind.”
“It has been some months since we have seen each other,” Lydia allowed graciously. “While you have been gadding about in London and showing your bottom to half the ton, I have been to Brighton. My sojourn thither was educational.”
“How so?” Elizabeth enquired, dread still lingering in her stomach.
“Mrs Forster is dreadfully dull and not at all clever. She was a decent friend in Meryton, but once we entered the more varied society in Brighton, she lorded over me as if I were a child. The colonel cannot afford a lady’s maid, so she ordered me to fetch this and that.
Her skills with a needle and thread are atrocious.
I had to mend her hem after an officer had trodden upon her gown and ripped it.
In fact, if not for Mrs Forster’s fortune, they would not have been able to rent a house.
They would have been forced to live in the barracks. Have you ever visited barracks, Lizzy?”
“No, I have not.”
“Then let me apprise you. Even the colonels only have one small room, with no possibility to entertain. I could not live like that! I need society to be happy. An officer, with no additional funds, cannot provide for me. Oh no, I would much rather marry a gentleman with property, or even better, one with a title who has not already gambled away his fortune. Mr Wickham already owes more than a decade’s pay in IOUs and bills at various merchants in Brighton.
Imagine if one counted what debts he left in Meryton, London, and all the other places he has visited. ”
The images of a thin and weary Lydia flashed before her inner eye. Sitting in a small room in a threadbare gown with five or six hungry children tugging at her skirt, while Mr Wickham was losing his wages in a filthy gaming-hell.
“I am pleased to hear you speak so prudently. To jilt Mr Wickham is a wise decision, I am sure.”
“You need not act so high and mighty. I must say that the gossip I have read in the newspapers was most scandalous, and here I thought my sister was so very proper. One might even assert that I am more proper than you. I have not attended a ball with my bottom on display.” Lydia grinned, obviously finding the entire scandal highly entertaining.
“I can assure you, neither did I. Someone has been targeting me since we entered London’s society, making the most scandalous accusations, depicting me in the most embarrassing positions. It has been awful.”
“You must prove them wrong!”
“I would if it were possible. I have tried everything within my power, but nothing will change their opinion of me.”
“Then why do you not hie away to Pemberley? It is far enough from London to give you a respite from the jealous cats.”
“Mr Darcy does not want to admit defeat. These people are his family, friends, and acquaintances. Forfeit is not an alternative.”
“Oh dear, you have no hope of redemption. So, what do we do about my problem? Please, tell me it is not as dire as yours.”
“No. I shall think of something.”
“I shall accept my fate, as long as it is not marrying that rakish, dissolute Wickham. He smells of mould and tastes like cigars. I loathe the smell of tobacco, and now I know that I do not like the taste either.”
“You have my word, I promise you. I have failed you before, and I shall not do so again.”
“Thank you,” Lydia whispered. “I trust my fate in your hands.” Then she yawned, none too subtly.
Elizabeth quashed her mirth at the most unladylike gesture.
Lydia was wiser, if not quite the epitome of genteel comportment yet.
With clarity and determination, she descended the stairs to where her family was gathered and halted in the middle of the floor.
It had not the dramatic effect she was hoping for.
The conversation continued as if she were not there.
“If I secure Wickham a position in the regulars, they will have something to live on, though they might have to move rather quickly. Perhaps, Mrs Bennet, I could depend upon you to return to Longbourn and oversee the packing? You could take Miss Catherine to aid you.”
“Of course, Mr Darcy,” her mother hastened to reply.
“I shall escort the ladies to Longbourn on the morrow,” Mr Bennet promised.
“You may stop your negotiations about the settlement. Lydia is not marrying Mr Wickham,” Elizabeth declared with conviction.
“Are you out of your senses, child? Mr Wickham is an officer! Of course he must marry my Lydia,” Mrs Bennet protested.
“I am not a child!”
“No. You are not a child, my Lizzy, but that does not alter the fact that Lydia must marry the scoundrel. However much I might dislike the notion, I can think of no other alternatives. Word has spread all over town, thanks to Mary’s caterwauling.”
Elizabeth glared at her father. “But he has nothing to offer her, no money to live on. Are you to allow your daughter to become a beggar on the streets?”
“Of course not. I have settled a hundred pounds per annum upon her.”
“What a relief.” Elizabeth could not prevent the sarcasm from lacing her voice. “You are aware that is all they have to live on? Once Mr Wickham’s debts have been deducted, they will have nothing left.”
“I shall settle his debts,” Darcy related in his usual confident voice.
Elizabeth whirled round to face him. “You cannot! The expense is staggering. Lydia said that he owes more than a decade’s pay.”
“Most likely,” Mr Bennet agreed with a sigh. “If what he left unpaid in Meryton is the same as in Brighton and London, his debts exceed three thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth slapped her hand across her heart and twirled back to Darcy. “It is too much.”
“It has already been settled,” her husband informed her firmly. “Do not make yourself uneasy on my behalf. I can bear the expense well enough.”
Darcy may have the funds, but it was his, hard earned and fastidiously saved. He should not deplete his coffers for her family any more than he already had done. Considering all the expense she had cost him, he could not have much left…
Her husband looked tired, the wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced, and his colour was pale. What an emotional drain she and her family had subjected him to. How he must regret marrying me!
A plan began to take form in her mind. It was a significant risk but had the potential of a great reward. She would try to convince her husband once they were in the privacy of their room.
Elizabeth seated herself close to Darcy and paid no notice to the conversation humming around her. Mrs Gardiner regarded her with sympathy. Mr Gardiner, however, wore an expression of distaste. Perhaps he could be worked upon?
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