Chapter 2
TWO
Lydia rubbed at her sleep-encrusted eyes as she stomped down the stairs at half-past noon the day following her ‘rescue,’ tired and out of sorts.
She had been forced to borrow one of Elizabeth’s frumpy gowns—she had some sort of aversion to lace, tassels, and all the other accoutrements that were a staple of Lydia’s wardrobe—since most of her own were still in Brighton, and the one she had hastily donned the night before had been irreparably soiled by ten days on the run with Wickham.
Miserable cur. Lydia would not soon forget how he had fled, half-naked, and left her behind to face whoever happened to be breaking down the door.
Any admiration she had once harboured over his wavy golden locks and the slim fit of his red coat had gone out the window with him, never to be seen again.
Lydia could not abide a coward; it was one of the reasons she preferred officers above and beyond other men.
She had determined hours ago that Wickham was no loss, and refused to feel any heartbreak on his behalf. Let him scamper about the city bare-arsed, seeking a hole to hide in. Good riddance.
Knowing that breakfast in the Gardiner household would have long since finished, Lydia made directly for her aunt’s favourite parlour overlooking the street.
It was a cosy room, slightly smaller than the one at Longbourn, and far less cluttered than her mother’s style.
It was also painted in a charming shade of blue that reminded Lydia of a peacock she had once seen in a menagerie on another trip to London years ago.
Unfortunately, the parlour was not going to be any sort of haven for Lydia today.
She had only barely crossed the threshold when she caught the burning scald of her elder sister’s glare.
Elizabeth stood by the window, as was her wont when forced indoors, and turned instantly away from the view when Lydia entered.
Lydia sighed, long, loud, and put-upon. “Go on then. Harangue me as much as you like, and then order some tea. I am famished.”
Elizabeth had already looked fierce enough, but somehow she managed to enhance her outrage still. Her lips were thin and white, her eyes narrowed into glittering slits, and her shoulders were stiffly set. She reminded Lydia of Mary, all told.
“I cannot believe your gall sometimes,” Elizabeth spat. “Have you absolutely no shame for what you have done?”
Lydia flounced over to their aunt’s sofa and threw herself upon it, lounging deep into the corner with her legs propped upon the cushions.
She truly had no stamina for her sister’s indignation at the moment.
It had been a long night, a longer journey, and she was simply too tired to attend any lecture on her ‘incorrigible behaviour.’ She had heard it all before.
“If I say ‘yes,’ will you ring for tea?”
Her elder sister marched over to the sofa and forcefully pushed Lydia’s feet back to the floor.
Lydia was given no opportunity to object before her sister launched into her diatribe.
“That is all you can think about? Your stomach? After everything you have put your family through? We thought we would never see you again, Lydia!”
Unable to help it, Lydia rolled her eyes. “What rot. I would have come home for a visit as soon as I was married.”
“And when was that supposed to be, hm?” Elizabeth challenged, propping her fists on the crests of her hips. “You were missing for almost two weeks, ample time to see the deed done, yet there is no ring on your finger.”
“I always meant to marry Wickham, but he kept putting it off. How was I to know he had other intentions?”
“Because anyone with half a brain would have suspected it.”
Lydia shrank back with a wince at the sharp edge in her sister’s voice. “Yes, well, I shall be more careful next time.”
“You expect there to be a ‘next time,’ do you?” Elizabeth scoffed, rather rudely in Lydia’s opinion. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are ruined. No respectable man will ever look twice at you now.”
She could not help a sceptical snort at her sister’s doomsaying. “Pish, I do not see why I cannot marry in the future, so long as no one learns of this business with Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened from their glare into incredulous circles. “You would withhold the truth from your future husband?”
Lydia shrugged. “What he does not know cannot hurt him.”
She turned her back on Lydia then, her hands clenching into fists at her temples as if fighting off a particularly strong headache.
After a few deep breaths which seemed to calm her, Elizabeth pivoted back with a fresh argument.
“You have been sharing quarters with Wickham for a fortnight. May I assume that you are no longer chaste?”
Lydia wrinkled her nose at Elizabeth’s implied condemnation, but knew a falsehood would be pointless. “I thought he was going to marry me and it would not matter in the end.”
“And this is exactly why I called you foolish,” Elizabeth snapped. “Have you not considered that you might be with child at this very moment? If so, your dalliance will not be quickly forgotten. Indeed, it shall follow you about for the rest of your days.”
The notion of a child gave Lydia pause. She had not considered that aspect of her adventure—or, if she had, put it immediately out of her mind as unimportant in the grand scheme of being married. With Wickham in the wind, however, the issue seemed far more pressing.
Her voice quavered as she asked, “Do you think I am?”