Chapter XV #4
“No word concerning this young lady is ever to leave this house. No servant is to speak of her. No gentleman is to hear of her. If gossip connected to this matter reaches society through your establishment, I will see this place ruined so completely that not one respectable man in London will cross its threshold again.”
The woman paled beneath her paint.
Darcy’s voice never rose. Indeed, the composure with which he spoke rendered the threat infinitely more alarming.
“You may choose whether silence or ruin proves more profitable.”
Neither spoke for one brief moment.
Then greed – and prudence – prevailed together.
“Sir,” she said quickly, “you may depend entirely upon our discretion.”
“I advise you to ensure that I may.”
The woman attempted another smile, though considerably weaker than before.
“Of course.” Her eyes moved briefly towards Lydia before returning to Darcy. “What do you intend to do with her?”
Darcy looked at the woman coldly. “I do not intend to do anything. I know her family. I shall try to restore her to them if it is still possible.”
The woman blinked, plainly surprised. “Oh.”
“Yes. Well.” Darcy’s impatience returned at once. “You will also provide proper clothing in the morning. Nothing conspicuous.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A coach will be waiting for her with a maid.”
“Yes, sir.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, dismissing her without another word.
The instant the door closed behind her, the room seemed to breathe more freely.
Only then did Lydia speak again. “You are truly taking me away?”
Darcy turned back towards her. “Yes.”
She twisted her hands together in silence. Then, very quietly – with none of her usual thoughtless boldness remaining – she asked:
“Why?”
Darcy looked at her steadily.
“Why are you helping me?”
The question seemed to surprise him.
“Because someone ought to.”
Lydia lowered her eyes.
“And because I would like to think someone would do the same for my sister.”
Lydia looked up at once. “You have a sister?”
“Yes, Georgiana. She is your age, I believe.”
Lydia hesitated before saying in a small voice, “But she would never behave as I have.”
Something altered faintly in Darcy’s expression then.
For several moments, he seemed uncertain whether to continue at all. He had guarded Georgiana’s history so carefully for so long that even now speaking of it aloud did not come easily.
Yet Lydia’s frightened shame – and perhaps Elizabeth’s face continually present in his thoughts – overcame his usual reserve.
“You are mistaken,” he said after a pause.
Lydia blinked in confusion.
“A year ago,” Darcy continued slowly, “my sister very nearly trusted Mr. Wickham herself.”
Lydia stared at him in astonishment.
Darcy moved away briefly towards the fireplace before continuing, as though the recollection itself rendered stillness difficult.
“She had recently left school. She was shy, affectionate, inexperienced, and inclined to think well of everyone who treated her kindly.” A trace of bitterness entered his voice. “Wickham understood that perfectly.”
Lydia listened now with complete attention.
“He persuaded her that he loved her. That he wished to marry her. She believed him entirely.” Darcy’s hand rested heavily against the mantel. “Had I arrived only a few hours later than I did, she would have eloped with him.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “He wished to marry Miss Darcy?”
“Perhaps.” The answer came coldly. “He wished for her fortune.”
The bluntness of it silenced Lydia completely.
Darcy continued more quietly now. “My sister believed herself deeply attached to him at the time. She was persuaded that affection alone justified everything else.” His gaze lifted briefly towards Lydia.
“That is not wickedness, Miss Lydia. It is youth – and trust placed where it ought not to have been.”
Lydia’s face crumpled. She shook her head.
“I know I was foolish. I thought what a marvellous thing it would be if I married first among all my sisters. I thought I was very clever… Miss Darcy was saved.”
The words carried such misery that Darcy understood what she truly meant: and I was not.
He looked at her without speaking. Then he said with calm firmness, “You are not beyond saving either.”
Fresh tears gathered instantly in Lydia’s eyes. “I thought…” She swallowed hard. “I thought once a girl ran away, everything was over forever.”
Darcy’s expression darkened slightly, yet he tried to sound soft. “For some people, society is eager to make it so.”
The bitterness beneath the words surprised even Lydia.
“But I do not believe a single act of folly ought to condemn a person entirely – particularly when others far guiltier escape censure far more easily.”
Lydia stared at him. For perhaps the first time since coming to London, Lydia felt herself treated with seriousness rather than contempt.
Darcy drew a slow breath and straightened slightly, returning again to practical composure. “You will remain quietly with my sister for the present. She is kind-hearted, and I think… perhaps… the two of you may comfort one another better than either expects.”
Lydia began crying again, though quieter than before.
Darcy turned towards the darkened window.
Beyond it lay London – vast, indifferent, and full of places where a man might conceal himself if he wished.
Wickham had succeeded for nearly two months.
He would not succeed much longer.