Page 26 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

The Dining Room

Kympton Parsonage

“I do not like the curtains in here, Alexander,” Lydia remarked, frowning at the navy blue drapes, which were currently shut against the chilly outdoors. “Perhaps pink would be pleasant, or green? Is this the only china you have? I would like some different china. This is rather dull.”

Alexander deliberately set his fork down next to his plate, checked to make certain that the door was firmly closed, and said, “Lydia.”

She turned to him in confusion. “Yes, Husband?”

He smiled a little at this. It was true that he was her husband, and she was his wife, and while Lydia was not the wife he would have chosen, she was a beautiful and vibrant young woman. He could only hope that her rampant desire to spend could be curtailed.

“We can speak of purchases later,” he said softly, “but I wished to discuss a more important issue.”

Lydia’s eyes dropped to her plate.

“Yes?”

“I am aware that you were intimate with my brother,” Alexander said directly, his cheeks warming at this statement.

Her own cheeks flushed a deeper red, and she nodded. “Yes.”

“It is the custom of a man and wife to come together after their wedding,” Alexander said, “but given the peculiar circumstances, I think we should wait for a season.”

She looked up quickly, and while he did not know her well yet, he was confident that her expression was one of relief.

“Very well,” she said and then wrinkled her brow. “May I ask why?”

He reached out, placed his hand on hers and said, “You are still very young, Lydia; not yet sixteen. I do not pretend to know a great deal about such matters, but I think it would be safer for you to wait before having a child.”

She frowned at him in bewilderment. “But surely it is not possible. I am not yet grown up, after all. Mamma was twenty when she gave birth to Jane!”

“It is possible to bear a child earlier,” Alexander replied and picked up his fork again to take a bite of apple tart. “But I quite agree that it would be better if you were older. Now, given that Mr. Bennet will be leaving soon, would you care to write a letter to anyone at Longbourn?”

“Oh, yes!” Lydia exclaimed, casting down her napkin and rising to her feet. “Thank you for reminding me, Alexander. I simply must write Mamma and tell her about the wedding!”

***

Dining Room

Longbourn

The Next Evening

The dining room at Longbourn was quieter than usual, partly because three of the Bennets were elsewhere, but mostly, Darcy thought, because everyone was too anxious to talk at length about common matters.

Bingley, who had, at Mrs. Bennet’s request, taken the seat at the head of the table, periodically bent his head toward his fiancée to speak, and based on her smiles, was doing a magnificent job of reassuring her.

Mrs. Bennet herself seemed a peculiar mix of happy and worried. The news that Miss Lydia would soon be, or already was, married to Alexander Wickham was excellent. However, Darcy himself had carried the news to Longbourn, and Mrs. Bennet doubtless wished for a family member to arrive and tell her exactly what was happening.

As for the other two Bennet daughters, Miss Mary and Miss Kitty, both were solemn, though their appetites were good.

Abruptly, the door to the dining room opened, and Mr. Bennet entered the room.

“Oh, Husband!” Mrs. Bennet cried out as she rose from her seat at the foot of the table. “You have returned!”

This was, Darcy thought, a ridiculously obvious statement, but Mr. Bennet merely smiled and said, “I have indeed. Since I arrived here only minutes ago, I would like to refresh myself upstairs before speaking at length, but I wished you to know that I have arrived safely.”

“Where is Lizzy?” Miss Kitty asked, and Darcy felt his entire body tense at this innocent question.

“She did not return with me,” Bennet explained. “She offered to stay with Lydia and her new husband for a season.”

“So Lydia is married?” Miss Bennet asked anxiously, and her father nodded and said, “Yes, she married yesterday. Now I know you have a great many questions, but I really do need to ascend to my bedchamber and clean up.”

“Of course, Father,” Miss Bennet said, and her usual beauty was accentuated by her obvious relief.

Darcy, watching her, realized that he too was enormously relieved. The former Lydia Bennet was now Mrs. Lydia Wickham, and the Bennets no longer faced societal ruin.

The other information of interest was Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s current location. She was in Kympton, in Derbyshire, which meant that the lady he found so fascinating was presently living so close to his ancestral home.

He had been thinking about returning to Pemberley for the New Year, and thus might well see her again soon.

That would be very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed.

***

Breakfast Parlor

Longbourn

The Next Morning

Mr. Bennet drained his cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair in satisfied. He never felt comfortable away from his home, his bed, and his library, which had made the last week even more difficult than the natural inherent problems when one’s fool of a fifteen-year-old daughter decides to run off with a roguish idiot.

The anger and self-disgust over his own responsibility for Lydia’s flight was fading, but he had no intention of having another experience like this one. Not that Elizabeth or Mary would ever do such a thing, but Kitty was a follower, and now that Lydia was well married, she might consider doing exactly the same sort of thing.

It had been many years since he had bothered to discipline his daughters, preferring instead to amuse himself at his children’s expense. Even now, it seemed a great deal of trouble to make needed changes at Longbourn, but he reminded himself that Lydia’s flight had resulted in near ruin and a considerable amount of exertion on his part.

For all his failings as a father, he genuinely loved his older children and was even fond of his younger ones.

So he would make the necessary changes, as tedious as it was.

The door opened to reveal his wife along with Jane and Mary and Kitty, and he sat up straighter and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” the ladies chorused, and Jane walked over to kiss him on the cheek. “We are so happy you have returned so that Charles and I can soon be married.”

“I am as well, my dear,” Bennet said.

“Speaking of the wedding, Mr. Bennet,” his wife began. “We have most of the arrangements for the breakfast in hand, but there are still a few details, so…”

“Mrs. Bennet.”

He spoke with sufficient sternness that she stopped talking, her expression one of confusion.

“We can speak of the wedding breakfast later,” he said, “but there is something I need to tell you now that I should have told you long ago. Elizabeth is the heiress of Longbourn.”

***

Church

Meryton

Two Days Later

The newly married Jane Bingley bent over the wedding book and signed it, and her husband signed after her, and then they walked outside arm in arm and entered the carriage, which would carry them to Longbourn for the wedding breakfast.

Darcy, who had acted as best man, found himself standing in a corner of the church looking over the crowd of well-wishers who had attended the ceremony. It had been a surprisingly large gathering, but then Miss Bennet was the reigning beauty of the area, and Mr. Bingley was very well liked. He was also cynically aware that there was substantial curiosity about Lydia Wickham’s recent marriage, and many of the people attending were motivated to attend the ceremony by their curiosity as much as kindness.

“Mr. Darcy,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned quickly and then relaxed at the sight of the parson of Meryton, Mr. Allen. The man was some sixty years of age, well respected and well read, and Darcy liked him very much.

“Mr. Allen,” he replied with a bow.

Allen bowed as well and said, “I am glad you were here today to support Mr. Bingley on this most important of days.”

Darcy smiled and said, “I am honored to be here, though I do not think Bingley truly needed support; he was merely anxious to wed Miss Bennet as quickly as possible.”

“I am confident that the newly married couple will be happy together,” Mr. Allen said. “The couple seems very well suited to one another in temperament.”

“I agree entirely,” Darcy replied and felt a familiar throb of envy in his heart. Given his position as the master of the greatest estate in Derbyshire, he was obligated to marry a woman of connections and fortune. It would be glorious to wed a lady whom he truly liked and admired, like Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but alas, such a marriage was not for him.

“Darcy?” a familiar voice said from a few feet away, and he turned quickly and grinned at the sight of his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.

“Richard!” he responded. “Thank you for coming so expeditiously. Welcome to Meryton!”

***

Longbourn

Two Hours Later

Wickham took a bite of syllabub and savored the delicate flavor. His plate was filled with food from Mrs. Bennet's dining room table, which was even more excellently set than usual. The solid oak groaned beneath the weight of ham and bacon and kippers and pheasants and ragout and potatoes, both boiled and mashed, and carrots and peas and pies and cakes and pasties and trifles and rout cakes.

Wickham had, initially, regretfully decided he had best not attend the wedding breakfast, despite knowing it would be magnificent. However, a servant had arrived from Longbourn, bearing a note from Mrs. Bennet, very nicely inviting him personally to the breakfast. After all, as she pointed out, they were now connected through her youngest daughter's marriage to his twin. Wickham had smirked and accepted.

He did not regret his decision, though he kept an eye out for Darcy through the open door of the Longbourn dining room. He had little wish for an encounter with his arch enemy to spoil the delectable meal he was enjoying. Thus far, the most trying moment had been when he shook Mr. Bennet's hand. Trying, although not for Wickham himself. He had thoroughly enjoyed the tightness of the man's eyes and the careful courtesy of his words. Both men were well aware that should word ever escape into the area that George had been the one to run off with Lydia Bennet, it would damage the Bennets’ reputation substantially. He would not, of course, gossip out of turn because of Colonel Forster’s threats, but he relished the power over the master of Longbourn.

A paltry power, granted, considering his upcoming fate as a foot soldier, but he was beginning to doubt that even that would happen. He had not seen hide nor hair of Darcy in days. Word had it that he had stood up with Bingley at the wedding ceremony this morning, but weddings were boring, and Wickham had no wish to subject himself to this one. He wished Jane and Charles Bingley well, but not nearly well enough to appear at their humdrum nuptials. It seemed odd, though, that Darcy would attend the wedding but not the breakfast. Likely he had come with the Bennets, before guests had begun to arrive, and was even now cloistered with a meager plate in the library, poring over some dusty tome. Darcy always had preferred books to people, the arrogant snob. Certainly he would not have stirred himself to mingle amongst the other guests and, knowing Darcy, might even be going out of his way to avoid the militia officers. Fastidious as he was, he would not wish to make a scene in front of them, so Wickham had made sure to arrive securely in the middle of a group of his fellows.

Darcy's absence meant that George was free to eat in peace, and flirt with the prettiest local ladies, and charm the matrons and these farmers with pretensions to the gentry, and just generally enjoy himself. He felt so in charity with the world that he even joined the assembly of well-wishers to see off the newlyweds as their carriage rolled down the lane for Netherfield. Once the equipage vanished from sight, guests began gathering reticules and pelisses and coats and muffs, trickling down the drive back towards Meryton or calling for their own carriages. Wickham, watching the crowd of guests thin, decided he had best follow their example before either Darcy popped out of the woodwork or Mr. Bennet decided an awkward conversation was in order. And after all, Wickham had achieved his aim in coming this morning, to socialize and gorge on Mrs. Bennet's excellent food.

He stepped back in to bid farewell to his hostess and found her with her two remaining daughters in the dining room, each of them taking the opportunity to eat in relative peace. He gave dull Miss Mary only the most cursory of glances as he made his bow and smiled charmingly at Mrs. Bennet. “I fear I must take my leave, madam, but I must congratulate you on the most successful wedding breakfast it has ever been my pleasure to attend.”

“Well, that is very kind of you, I'm sure,” the lady fluttered. "We certainly hope to see you again."

Surely this woman is a complete fool, he thought. “That is my hope, also,” he responded courteously, winked at Miss Kitty – drawing a becoming blush to her pretty face – and departed the house, whistling softly to himself as he walked toward Meryton. It was a rather cold day, but none so bad that a brisk walk would not warm a body, and the air was crisp and fresh. It was good to be alive and free and well-fed.

“Mr. Wickham,” a well-modulated voice said from his right, and he turned in surprise to observe a carriage standing next to him. The man sitting in the window seemed vaguely familiar, and he frowned in bewilderment, which was followed by a gasp of astonished horror as the door suddenly flew open and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam leaped onto the ground, grabbed him harshly, and threw him bodily into the carriage, where he found himself on the dirty floor.

As he scrabbled in confusion and dismay, he felt the cold diminish as the door shut, and then the carriage jerked into motion.

A moment later, as he managed to rise to his knees and look around, Fitzwilliam Darcy reached out a well-manicured hand and helped him onto the rear-facing seat alongside the man who had called his name, whom Wickham now recognized as Mr. Percy, Darcy’s personal valet.

“What is this?” he demanded, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, sitting adjacent to him, grinned unpleasantly and said, “I am here to escort you to Brighton to join the Regulars, old friend.”

Wickham leaned back farther against the squabs to put a little more space between himself and the colonel. “That is, erm, very kind of you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but it is not necessary. I can make my own way…”

He trailed away and turned to look out the window. The carriage was, by now, passing through Meryton, and he felt his throat close with near panic.

“Can you please stop?” he requested, making his tone as winsome as possible. “I need to pack my things.”

“We will make arrangements to have your belongings sent to Brighton,” Darcy said coolly.

“Which is more than you deserve,” Fitzwilliam declared. “As for stopping the carriage, we have no intention of doing so until we reach London, where you and I will spend a cozy night discussing old times together. The next day, we will journey on to Brighton, and I will speak to Colonel Masters, a very good friend of mine, to arrange for your entrance into the Regulars. Is that not a wonderful plan?”

George Wickham shuddered. His life of freedom was over.