Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
As expected, Lydia and her new husband arrived at Longbourn the following Tuesday, leaving directly from the church where they had been married and travelling in a hired carriage into Hertfordshire. They reached the house in time for tea, where they were received by her parents and sisters.
“Oh, Mama! See how fine I look in my wedding gown,” Lydia cried the moment she entered, twirling in the hall so that her ribbons fluttered.
“Is it not lovely? It is not new; it is one of the gowns that you purchased for me for my trip to Brighton, but dear Wickham says I looked the handsomest bride he ever saw. Do you not envy me, Jane? I am only just sixteen, but the first of my sisters to wed. I know you envy me, Lizzy, for did you not always admire Wickham?”
Without saying a word, Elizabeth forced a smile, exchanging a nervous glance with Jane. The triumph in Lydia’s voice pierced her heart, for she felt no envy for her sister—only sorrow at the price Lydia did not comprehend she had paid to have been the first married.
“You need not look so solemn,” Lydia pouted to all her sisters.
“I am a married woman now, and you must all call me Mrs Wickham. Does it not sound grand? And just think—when you come to visit me in Newcastle, I shall show you everything. Wickham says the officers there will be so lively, and I shall be the envy of them all. I will be able to escort all of you, even you, Jane, to parties since I am now a married woman.”
“It is all quite delightful, my dear,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “The first of my girls married! And only just sixteen! Oh, how happy I am!”
Mr Wickham bowed smoothly to the assembled family, his smile perfectly in place. “You are all most kind. I assure you, Mrs Wickham and I anticipate nothing but happiness in our new situation.”
Elizabeth studied him with unease. His words were well chosen, his manner polished, but, to her eyes, he seemed entirely too rehearsed to be believable.
How she hated that she had ever listened to him.
Would things have turned out differently if she had not?
She mentally shook away these thoughts for there was little point in revisiting them now.
Instead, she would be happy that things had worked out as well as they had, and she anxiously awaited her sister’s departure.
Lydia, however, was unbothered by this lack of enthusiasm from all but her mother.
“Yes, indeed! Wickham has a new commission—such a fine thing to have a place in the regulars as an officer! We shall live so well there, and of course, I shall write to you all constantly so you do not miss me too much. Oh, Kitty, you must advise me on which gowns I ought to order first. I cannot be expected to make a fine impression in Newcastle with only the few things I brought away with me. Of course, that will require a longer stay here at Longbourn.”
Mrs Bennet clapped her hands. “Of course, my love, you shall have new gowns at once—”
“No,” Mr Bennet interrupted firmly, his brows rising. “Your mother is mistaken in this. You will begin your married life with what clothing you already possess. Since you chose to forgo having a wedding at home, you have chosen to forgo a trousseau as well.”
Elizabeth caught the flicker of annoyance in Wickham’s eyes before he smoothed it away, and her heart ached anew. Lydia saw nothing, cared for nothing, save the appearance of triumph.
Poor Lydia. She believes herself fortunate, when in truth she has bound herself to a man who cannot love her and will not protect her. I am thankful that Mr Darcy ensured Mr Wickham will be watched, and will be required to treat her well.
Lydia pouted again, but her disappointment quickly gave way to more chatter about her imagined life in Newcastle.
That the circumstances of her union were discreditable seemed not to trouble her in the least; if she sensed the coolness of her sisters’ replies, she either could not—or would not—comprehend it.
Calls were paid on both Wednesday and Thursday by Mrs Bennet and the Wickhams, though none of the Bennet sisters accompanied them.
Neither did Mr Bennet, but he had spoken quietly with the dressmaker before Lydia’s arrival.
He instructed her that no gowns were to be made for Mrs Wickham—the stay being too short for it to be possible.
The woman was an inveterate gossip, but Mr Bennet’s threat—that all their custom would be taken elsewhere if a single word escaped—was enough to ensure her silence.
Fortunately, their visit was a short one, and they departed after only three nights at Longbourn. Both Lydia and Mr Wickham attempted to extend their stay several times during their visit.
“Oh, Papa,” Lydia pleaded on Thursday evening, “surely we might remain until Monday? It would be so dull to leave so soon. Wickham says he enjoys the country air so very much, do you not, my love?”
Wickham gave a smooth smile. “Indeed, my dear,” he replied, giving his wife what appeared to be an affectionate smile, but it fell away as soon as his head was turned.
But Mr Bennet was immovable. “The carriage meant to convey you to Newcastle departs Friday morning. It will not be detained. If you wish to remain longer, you will have to pay for your own travel north.”
Once again, Elizabeth noticed the tightness in Wickham’s jaw, though he masked it quickly. Lydia faltered at once, for she had no money of her own, and her husband plainly had none to spare. Their protests ended there.
On Friday morning the Bennet family assembled to see their visitors off.
Mrs Bennet wept and fussed, lamenting the departure of her favourite, though Lydia herself was far too animated to be sorrowful.
She seemed almost giddy at what she clearly considered the beginning of a grand adventure.
Wickham, by contrast, wore an air of indifference, bowing and smiling as required but betraying no genuine sentiment.
Not for the first time, he contrived to draw Elizabeth aside. “I understood from your aunt,” he said in a lowered voice, “that you visited Pemberley during your trip to Derbyshire.”
“We did,” Elizabeth replied shortly, unwilling to add anything more.
“Did you happen to visit the village of Kympton?” he pressed. “I only ask because it was the living I ought to have had.”
Elizabeth raised her brows. “And how would you have liked making sermons, Mr Wickham?”
“Oh, I would have enjoyed it very well indeed,” he answered smoothly, his tone implying the confession of some private truth.
“Truly?” Elizabeth’s voice carried a thread of disbelief. “For I was given to understand that you never intended such a life, and that you received recompense for the living you declined. Since you are an officer of militia and not a clergyman, may one safely assume you never took orders at all?”
Mr Wickham had no words in response, and he moved away from Elizabeth to take his leave from his new father by marriage.
If he had hoped that either Mr or Mrs Bennet would have offered some additional funds for their journey north, he was disappointed, for Mr Bennet studiously refused to hear any of the hints either his daughter or new son offered, and Mrs Bennet clearly heard them, but had been threatened most seriously by her husband about the result should she do so.
With far too many words, mostly between Mrs Bennet and Lydia, the Wickhams finally boarded their hired carriage and departed, much to everyone’s relief.
Only a few hours later, Mrs Philips arrived at Longbourn with the latest piece of neighbourhood gossip: Mr Bingley was expected to return to Meryton early the following week.
Mrs Bennet was beside herself with joy, declaring that this could only mean he intended to court Jane, and she began to crow triumphantly about soon having two daughters married.
Jane bore her mother’s exclamations in mortified silence, her cheeks tinged pink, and it was not until after their aunt departed that she and Elizabeth slipped away to the stillroom to speak privately.
“Are you well, Jane?” Elizabeth asked gently, watching her sister’s face.
“I am, Lizzy,” Jane answered with an attempt at composure, though the heavy sigh she let forth betrayed her. “It is a pity that a gentleman cannot return to a house he has leased without inciting endless speculation.”
Elizabeth set down the bundle of herbs she had been sorting and regarded her sister carefully. “But will you be glad to see him again? When I met him at Pemberley, he enquired after you most diligently. It was plain he still thought of you.”
“Perhaps,” Jane admitted after a pause, her expression softening.
“Yet for all his thoughts of me, he has not returned until now.” Her sigh deepened.
“I cannot deny that I still think him the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but I do not wish to expose myself—or us all—to another round of supposition. His presence here will surely invite it. Is it too much to hope that he will not call here, at least if he has no intentions towards me?”
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, moving closer to her sister and wrapping her arms about her waist in comfort, “I do believe he cares for you still. There is a good chance he is coming here to court you, but if you are not open to his doing so, I will not press you. Please, Janey, tell me what you wish and I will aid you against Mama’s machinations. ”
Jane turned to face her sister, taking Elizabeth’s hands in hers.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” she said. “I will admit that I do not know what I wish. Had he returned as planned last November, I would have had no question about whether I ought to accept him. However, I wonder now if he is too easily led by his sister and others, and if a marriage to him would be a happy one. I suppose some of my feelings towards him will depend on Miss Bingley’s joining him—if she does, will she spirit him away as she did before?
I know you think me too inclined to see only the best in others, but I have come to realise that Miss Bingley played a significant role in his not coming to me.
I would not be surprised if she never told him of my being in London. ”
“I know for a fact that she did not,” Elizabeth said firmly. “I spoke of it with Mr Darcy in the spring. It… it was one of the matters raised when I refused him.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “You did not speak of me to Mr Darcy, Lizzy?” she asked, astonished that her sister would have done such a thing.
“I did,” Elizabeth admitted, colouring. “My anger carried me away during his proposal, and, amongst other things, I accused him of separating you from Mr Bingley last autumn. He believed you indifferent and feared his friend might be drawn into a marriage of unequal affections. I could not show you that part of his letter when I returned from Kent. Even now I think him officious in this matter, but I was forced to acknowledge that, in his place, I might have acted the same—if I thought you in danger of a loveless marriage.”
For several minutes the sisters were silent. At last Jane said quietly, “Your feelings towards Mr Darcy have changed, have they not?”
Elizabeth gave a rueful nod of her head. “So very much, Janey,” she admitted. “And I have another secret to tell you—though I pray you will not be angry.”
“Another secret, Lizzy?” Jane raised her brow, in a gesture so like her sister’s that Elizabeth could not help but smile.
“Mr Darcy sent me a birthday gift,” she said softly.
“A book—one we had spoken of at Pemberley.” She hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal.
During his brief visit they had not discussed what might be shared with others.
Both had confessed their love and even exchanged a few kisses, but he had not renewed his proposal, and Elizabeth did not yet know whether they were engaged or merely courting—or what he would say upon his return.
Choosing to keep the visit itself a secret, she allowed only a little more.
“In the book was a note, directing me to read one of Shakespeare’s sonnets,” Elizabeth continued after a pause.
“I read it, and I am almost certain he meant it as a testament of his constancy. I expect he will return with Mr Bingley—and I would not be surprised if Mr Bingley’s sisters do not.
I cannot imagine either gentleman wishing for Miss Bingley’s presence when they come again to Hertfordshire. ”
Jane’s eyes widened, and the questions tumbled out at once. “So you think Mr Darcy will return with Mr Bingley? Are you in love with him? Do you think he will propose to you a second time?”
Elizabeth laughed merrily, her heart lightened by her sister’s eagerness.
“Yes, I do expect that Mr Darcy will accompany his friend. As to your other questions—” she smiled, “you already know that my feelings for him are nothing like they were in April. I do hope he will ask for my hand again. In fact, Janey, it is my dearest hope that both you and I will be married before the year is out.”
Jane laughed in return, not wholly convinced her sister’s prediction would come true, but still warmed by the pleasant fancy.