Lydia’s Story (Jane Austen Cozy Mysteries: Pride & Prejudice & Potions #9)

Chapter 1

Music, magic, and moonlight sifted through the air in the early morning hours of November first. George Wickham had me under his spell, his gravity pulling me in.

I watched him slide his guitar into its case and brush a lock of dark hair from his eyes.

Most of the partygoers had already drifted out of Netherfield, leaving only the echo of the evening behind as he and his bandmates dismantled their makeshift stage.

Hundreds of candles still glowed throughout the grand hall, with the scent of pumpkin spice and melted wax lingering.

Crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead, their light refracting just enough to obscure the faint auras only I could see—soft halos clinging to everyone in the room.

I was powerless to pull my gaze from Wickham’s deep green aura, which bent the surrounding light, richer and brighter than the rest. Impossible to ignore, he pulled me toward him like a magnet.

The man was far too handsome for his own good—tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed—a literal rock star.

He played bass for the Grey Doors, spoke with a British accent, and until this moment, I’d never had a chance to talk to him.

If I let it slip by, I’d be kicking myself come morning.

I’d long since removed my mask, but still wore my gauzy Persephone costume.

Channeling every ounce of goddess-like confidence I could muster, I crossed the ballroom and pretended to inspect a piece of audio equipment.

Then I turned to George. “You must have been playing bass forever,” I said lightly. “I’ve been trying to learn.”

He glanced up, taking me in, and I resisted the urge to fidget as I ran my fingers through my honey-brown hair, which cascaded down my back in loose waves.

“You’re Lizzy’s little sister, right?”

“I'm Lydia. And you’re George Wickham?” As if I didn’t already know. I twirled one curl around my finger, letting it linger like a promise.

“Right.” He grinned, dimples flashing—enough to make my knees wobble, though I kept my composure.

“I really enjoyed your performance tonight,” I said. “Like I mentioned, I’m trying to learn guitar.”

Wickham hesitated, as if weighing something, then shrugged. “I’ve helped a few people before. If you stop by sometime, I can give you a few pointers.”

“I’d love that.” I smiled, blinking up at him.

Stage one of my mission—complete.

Two months later, on December 30th

My guitar skills were still lacking because I only ever practiced during my weekly lessons with Wickham. But my plan to date or marry or somehow make him mine was progressing, albeit slowly.

“Lydia, will you please get in the car?” Mom’s voice grew high-pitched at the word please.

So, I straightened the belt that I’d cinched around my tailored shirt to show off my waist, checked my hair, which was down in long caramel waves, then darted downstairs.

My usually sweet mother shot daggers from her eyes.

But I couldn’t see why. Kitty wasn’t even downstairs yet.

“Setting up our booth for the New Year’s bazaar shouldn’t take too long, but I’ve got to finish before the nurse comes to see Dad. How did my life become so hectic?” She handed me some supplies to load into the car and glanced at my outfit. “You’re lovely, dear.”

“There may be someone there I want to impress.” I double-checked my teeth in the entry mirror. During my most recent private lesson, Wickham mentioned that he’d be playing at the New Year's bazaar and hinted that he’d like me to come and see him.

Mary had been waiting in the entry for twenty minutes already and wore a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt. As usual, her aura was steady blue with no odd ripples or waves. Naturally pretty, she could’ve been stunning if she’d tried.

“Mary, are you sure that’s what you want to wear? What if your boyfriend’s there?” It’s not that I was critical of my sister. In truth, her laid-back, easy fashion sense was enviable.

“I’m good, thanks.” Mary shrugged at my comment.

A few minutes later, Kitty descended the wooden staircase.

“Kit, you nailed your outfit,” I said. She was everything a Bennet girl should be, silky hair, a nice in-season outfit, a shimmering purple aura, and scented like jasmine blossom. The better my sisters looked—and I had four of them—the better I looked, kind of like being gorgeous by association.

“Please, everyone get in the car,” Mom huffed. “Oh, my nerves.”

Frosty winter air nipped my cheeks as we arrived at Regency Meadows Park.

Fortunately, several members of the town council were fae, and every year, they would increase the temperature at the park on New Year’s Eve.

But today was the thirtieth, so we still had to freeze our tails off.

In the center, the old-fashioned white gazebo already had fairy lights and black, gold, and white ribbons covering it.

Fresh snow frosted the grass and trees, making the world sparkling white.

I’d worn an unbuttoned jacket to complement my outfit, but would have been more comfortable with a heavy coat.

But it was worth it. Because, just as I’d hoped, I saw George Wickham and a few of his bandmates setting up sound equipment in the nearby amphitheater.

He was like lightning cast against a cloudy sky.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. It wasn’t quite fair that he was so attractive and so talented.

“Lydia, aren’t you going to help us?” Mom called from several yards behind. She carried a handful of signs and some shelves for our display.

“Sorry.” I skipped to her and took the heavy shelves. All we had to do was hang a few signs for the baked goods and potions we were selling. I helped my family for a few minutes before attempting my escape.

“Mom, I’m going to walk around for a minute”—I paused to come up with a reasonable excuse—“to see what the other booths are selling.”

I expected an objection, but she was already so busy gossiping with Ms. Bates that she didn’t even care. Plus, Kitty and Mary could hang the rest of the signs in less than five minutes.

Perfect.

Wickham had given me a handful of lessons since the Halloween party months ago, and every time we met I fell further.

At first, Lizzy seemed interested in him, but nothing came of it.

So, he was fair game. The first few lessons were brief and less personal, but at my most recent lesson, he sat so close, showing me chords, the warmth of his breath touched the back of my neck.

All I needed was the opportunity to move our relationship to the next level.

Powdery snow sprayed around my ankles as I jaunted across the grass to the amphitheater. I stopped at the top of the stone benches, and Wickham glanced up from the stage. He hopped off and sauntered in my direction, so I made my way down the side set of stairs to meet him.

His beaming smile made me dizzy. “Lydia, are you here to help with the setup?”

“Yes.” It was the only word I wanted to say to this man. “Anything you want.” Literally anything. My heart and soul, a lifetime commitment, a trip for two to southern France. Take your pick.

“We’ve got the sound set up for the most part, but can you stand in the back to help with the mic checks?” He grinned, revealing his dimples and perfect white teeth. With his dark hair and eyes, leather jacket, and well-fitting T-shirt, I struggled to look straight at him without blatantly staring.

“Happy to.” I offered a smile, but I tried not to act too eager. “Should I stand near the back there?”

The amphitheater was a series of stone steps that were large enough to be used as seats and formed a semicircle around the stage below.

“Yeah, if you can hear me well, give me a thumbs up. If it’s too quiet, give me a thumbs down.” He winked at me, the flirt, and then pivoted around and climbed back up onto the stage.

“Testing, one, two, three . . .”

Thumbs up for the first mic. For the second, I held my thumb to the side because the balance was close but not as loud. The next few were fine.

And when he got to the final mic . . . “And are we still good for our date on New Year’s Eve?”

My jaw dropped, and I looked around behind me, then pointed to myself. “Me?”

“Who else?” He flashed that brilliant smile once more.

Definitely a thumbs up. I skipped down the stairs to the stage. “Well, aren’t you clever?”

“Would you hate me if I said we already checked the mics half an hour ago?” The corner of his mouth turned up, and he sat down on the edge of the stage by where I was standing.

“How many other girls have fallen for this?” I asked, not that I really cared as long as I was the last. It was no secret that George Wickham was popular among women.

“Only you.” He shrugged, and my knees wobbled. He needed to be careful, or I’d need to be treated for shock pretty soon.

“So, you want to hang out for New Year’s after the bazaar?” I asked.

He nodded. “The town council is keeping the area warm until midnight. We could go ice skating and then watch the fireworks?”

This guy. Where had he been all my life? “Sure. But I haven’t skated since I was little and broke my ankle. Maybe we can go really slow?”

“I’ll help you get the hang of it.”

Though every part of me wanted to stay, I knew better. So, I summoned my courage and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” And scurried back over to my mom and sisters. This was going too easily.

On New Year’s Eve, a fresh energy coursed through the bazaar. Sparkling cider, gourmet fudge, and popcorn scented the air. Fairy lights lined the booths, and moody contemporary Grey Doors music sounded in the background. It was magical. And I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Around nine o’clock, the main activities closed. The families with young children finally headed home, and vendors packed up their wares. I made my excuses to my family, checked my hair and makeup, and left in search of Wickham.