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“Oh,” said Lydia, stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I’m the tallest.”

— Pride and Prejudice

THE MOON WAS a pale white sliver in the black sky, but Lydia Bennet Wickham was used to the dark.

In the distance, she could see the king’s Royal Pavilion lit by countless lanterns.

The building had circular domes and pointed arches that reminded her of the Taj Mahal in India—Wickham had been positioned there for several years.

It certainly didn’t feel like any other building in Brighton, or even in Britain.

She’d always dreamed of going inside, like Cinderella in the fairy tale. But she’d learned long ago that dreams did not come true. Her late husband had ensured that.

Lydia weaved soundlessly through the streets, her pelisse dripping from wading into the English Channel, and the bottom of her thin dress clung uncomfortably to her tall frame. How she longed for a proper swim! She’d lived for several years in the Caribbean and still missed the warm waters.

Quickening her pace, Lydia knew she had three streets until she reached her one room at the lodging house.

And she still needed to find another two pennies to pay for next week’s rent.

She would have to sell something, but the only jewelry she had left was from her late mother—a necklace of more sentimental value than worth.

A shiver ran down her spine and her stomach rumbled—she hadn’t been able to afford a proper meal in weeks.

Feeling a bit weary, Lydia decided to take a shortcut through an alley.

She stiffened when she heard hushed voices in the dark.

Straining her eyes, Lydia saw the telltale signs of a ladder leaning against the bricks by a second-floor window and a young man in a redcoat uniform struggling with an even younger woman.

“I’ve changed my mind, George!” the young woman said in a high, frightened voice. “I don’t want to elope.”

He had the same name as her late husband.

Lydia hated all Georges.

The soldier clapped his hand over the young woman’s mouth to silence her. “You promised to marry me, and the hired carriage is waiting. It has cost me all of my coin. You can’t change your mind now.”

He wrapped his other arm around the young woman’s waist and began to drag her toward a carriage at the other end of the alley.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Lydia whispered under her breath. It was over sixteen years ago when she had been persuaded to elope from Brighton and found herself ruined and unloved. She was not about to let it happen to another unprotected young woman.

Lydia hadn’t lived among soldiers for so long without learning how to defend herself from unwanted advances. Running to catch up to the struggling pair, Lydia yelled, “Ho there.”

The soldier stopped and turned, giving Lydia the perfect opportunity to elbow him in the nose.

There was a crack, and her elbow felt sore—she hoped she’d broken his nose.

It was the least that seducers of innocents deserved.

Taking advantage of his surprise and the fact that he’d let go of the young woman to grab his bleeding nose, Lydia lifted her sodden skirts and aimed her boot between his legs.

Then, with both hands, she shoved him to the cobblestone ground of the alley where she kicked him three more times to make sure that he stayed down.

He was bigger and stronger than her. Lydia couldn’t risk a fair fight.

She grabbed the elbow of the now hysterical young woman and pulled her back to the ladder. “Climb back up to your room and lock the window.”

The young woman glanced at Lydia and then at her fallen swain who was using foul language and slowly getting to his feet.

“You should come with me for your safety!” the young woman said.

Lydia hadn’t intended to go anywhere this evening, but she could wait a little while until the young woman calmed down and then make her way home. “You first. When you’re safely inside, I’ll climb up.”

The young woman scaled the ladder quickly, and once she slipped inside the window, Lydia followed as fast as she could.

Her chilled fingers had barely reached the window when the bloodied young man began to move the ladder.

The young woman grabbed one of Lydia’s arms and helped pull her inside.

She fell to the wooden floor with a loud thud.

Lydia reminded the young woman, “Lock the window!”

Either Lydia’s fall or her shout woke up someone in the house, for she heard the sound of footsteps.

“Light a candle,” Lydia said, getting to her feet. “Your would-be fiancé won’t attempt to enter a well-lit room.”

The young woman grabbed a candle from her side table and lit it in the hearth just in time for a man to enter the room from the hall door in his nightshirt and a pair of trousers, carrying a candle of his own.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and bald.

Lydia thought his concerned face was pleasing without being handsome.

He wore spectacles, and she would have guessed his age to be around forty.

The man checked to see that his daughter was safe before turning his eyes—and his candle—toward Lydia. “What are you doing in my daughter’s room? Are you trying to steal from us? I shall call the constable at once.”

Lydia swallowed; despite the bottom half of her being damp, her throat felt very dry.

Her dress and pelisse were dripping onto the expensive carpet.

She opened her mouth to explain, but then the man’s daughter ran to his side and touched the sleeve of his nightshirt.

“You have it all wrong, Papa. This kind lady saved me from a fate worse than death.”

Unbidden, the corners of Lydia’s lips curled up. Her own marriage had been a fate worse than death.

“Chloe, please tell me what is going on? And why a strange, wet woman is in your room?”

The young woman’s eyes lowered, and she bowed her head.

“Oh, Papa. I have been so foolish. I was going to elope to Gretna Green with Captain George Peckham, but then I changed my mind, and he wouldn’t let go of me.

This kind woman knocked him down and helped me climb back up to my room and away from him. I would have been lost without her.”

The man’s eyes returned to Lydia. “Forgive me, ma’am. It appears that I owe you an apology and a thank-you.”

Lydia curtsied out of habit, even though this was not a formal introduction.

“Oh, you don’t owe me either. I was about your daughter’s age when I eloped with another man named George, and it was the worst mistake of my life.

I am happy to have prevented a young woman from making the same mistake.

Now, if you’ll lead me to your front door, I will stop dripping on your lovely carpet and continue on to my lodging house. ”

“But George—Captain Peckham could still be out there, and he might do you harm,” Chloe said. “Papa, you must escort her home safely.”

Lifting up a hand, Lydia assured them, “My lodging is only three streets away. I can walk there quickly and quietly. There is no need for you to go out of your way.”

The father lifted his candle as if to get a better view of Lydia’s face. “But you went out of your way, ma’am, to assist my daughter. It would be unconscionable if I were not to show the most basic of courtesies and walk you home.”

Lydia rubbed her chilled arms. “Then, I shall graciously accept your company. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s my lord—sorry, habit. I am Viscount Kingston and this is my daughter, the honorable Miss Holden.”

She was in the house of a lord, and she looked like a wet rat. Alas. Lydia curtsied again. “Mrs. Wickham, or Widow Wickham.”

Lord Kingston bowed his head to her in acknowledgment as if they were being formally introduced and not in his daughter’s room at night. “It is my honor to meet you, ma’am. Chloe, if you’ll get ready for bed. We can talk about tonight in the morning.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Mrs. Wickham, if you’ll come with me.”

Lydia followed the man out of his daughter’s fashionable room and down a hall to the stairs.

He set down his candle to put on his coat and hat before opening the front door for her.

His lordship locked it behind them, giving Lydia plenty of time to observe the town house by moonlight.

She knew Brighton well enough to know that this was a rented house and one of the most expensive ones in town.

Especially compared to her shabby rented room in the lodging house.

At least it was dark, and she would probably never see the viscount or his daughter again.

She no longer moved in such exalted circles.

Lord Kingston offered Lydia his arm, and she reluctantly took it.

Placing her fingers in the crook of his arm made her feel like a lady for the first time in months.

They walked together at an easy pace, for both their legs were long.

When they reached the end of his street, Lydia pointed to the right toward her lodging house.

“Don’t be too hard on her, my lord,” Lydia said, her voice low and a bit raspy. “Young girls with high spirits can sometimes find themselves in difficulties. And your daughter was wise enough to change her own mind before it was too late. I only wish I had been as wise at her age.”

“You also eloped at eighteen?”

“Barely sixteen,” Lydia admitted ruefully. “I thought I was all grown up, but I was still a child.”

“I take it that your George did not make you happy.”