Page 20 of Hidden Desires

“HURRY, OR WE WILL LEAVE YOU BEHIND.” Lydia waved at Mary, trying to make her walk faster. “You offered to come, but now you lag so much we might not reach Meryton before dark. Is something wrong? Do you want to go home?”

Mary lifted her eyes from the lane and studied her sister’s impatient expression. “I am enjoying myself,” she said, gesturing to the flowers blooming along the road. “Is it wrong to admire what the Lord has given us? I, for one, am grateful for this beauty.”

Lydia sighed and shook her head. “If you felt no great need to get to Meryton, why did you hurry us from the house before our meal ended? I barely had one scone, and now you dawdle along as if the whole day lies ahead.”

Mary smiled but said nothing, knowing any reply would reveal the truth. She turned back to the flowers, leaving her sister to complain to Kitty or keep her silence.

Lydia did neither. She scowled, waited for Mary to catch up, then moved ahead with Kitty, the two leaning close as they whispered. Their glances made it clear Mary had become their subject, for each time Lydia looked back, she turned to Kitty with a smirk that brought a nod and a giggle.

Mary tried to focus on the walk, but guilt lingered. At breakfast she had casually remarked that this would be Mr. Bennet’s final day at Netherfield, a statement crafted to draw Lydia’s attention.

She knew her father’s refusal to let Lydia spend time with the officers without supervision still caused resentment, so she dropped a hint she knew would tempt her sister into action.

As a result, Lydia invented a reason for visiting Meryton, Kitty supported her tale, and Mary offered to join them under the guise of protection, hoping to spare them their father’s anger.

As expected, Lydia accepted the offer with poor grace.

She adjusted her bonnet, which she had put on before breakfast to prevent her younger sisters from seeing the change to her appearance. Once they noticed what Elizabeth had done, the taunts and cruel jokes would begin. Though she told herself their remarks meant nothing, their sting lingered.

Elizabeth had improved her looks, but second thoughts kept Mary awake most of the night.

From experience, she knew Lydia and Kitty would not offer honest opinions, so she avoided them both and waited for the only judgment that mattered.

If Mr. Wickham noticed her in Meryton, she would find a way to uncover her hair and watch for a sign of approval.

Am I doing the right thing, or would Reverend Fordyce demand I repent of my pride and confess the lie I told about Papa?

He is not at Netherfield today, despite what I claimed.

Lizzy said Mr. Darcy plans to call, and though I may not have lied about Papa’s preference that I accompany them, she did say he disliked how often we go.

No one suspects I am the cause of these frequent visits, and though I know it is a sin, I cannot keep that man’s face from my thoughts.

I might have accepted Lizzy’s offer of a new dress, but if he laughs at my appearance, what would be the point?

Changing everything at once would only give my sisters more cause to mock me.

Better to adjust one thing at a time, wait for the result, and if the ridicule eases, then ask Elizabeth for help with my wardrobe.

Though temptation urged her to walk ahead, Mary stayed beside Lydia, who glanced at her once but said nothing. She and Kitty carried on their private conversation, interrupted by giggles and smirks cast in her direction.

Mary paid no attention, her thoughts fixed on how best to arrange a chance encounter with Mr. Wickham.

If he believed their meeting was accidental, she might learn whether his past kindness meant anything.

Should he suspect her feelings, however, he might retreat, and that was a risk she could not take.

She wanted Lydia’s advice but dared not seek it. Her sister’s shameless behavior with men had earned a reputation Mary feared sharing, and her stubbornness made her an unworthy model. What respectable man would court someone so heedless?

Worst of all, Lydia pursued any man who pleased her eye, no matter his age or wealth. Of all those she had admired, Wickham alone showed any sense, for he offered only a polite greeting to her sisters and, during their conversation, directed his attention solely to Mary.

His interest puzzled her. What had he seen in her that turned his notice away from the others?

She had never drawn a man’s attention before, not in all the years since she came of age, which made his regard feel both thrilling and suspect.

Though she hoped it would continue, she preferred to learn the truth now, rather than mistake politeness for interest and have some careless remark of Lydia’s twisted into ridicule by the gossips in town.

As they entered Meryton, the sun spilled over the main street, casting long shadows across the shops and the steady stream of patrons. Mary walked ahead, her senses alert to the sights and scents that drew her forward: fresh bread baking, meat roasting, and the possibility of something more.

Her pulse quickened as hope and dread fought for dominance, each step threading her through the shifting crowd as she edged past those who blocked her view. She searched every face, unwilling to stop until she found him, yet if he was there, he stayed out of sight.

At the end of the road, she turned and walked back, scanning each passerby, but reached the town’s entrance with nothing to show for her effort.

“Again?” Lydia whined as Mary set off once more. “How many times are you going to do this? You must have seen everything by now. Let’s go to the regiment’s camp. That is more fun than wandering up and down this street all day.”

Mary nodded, which drew a grin from her younger sister. Lydia skipped ahead with Kitty, eager to find someone in uniform, while Mary followed at a slower pace, her eyes continuing to search the crowd.

Then she saw him. Her gaze met Mr. Wickham’s across the street, and her heart skipped. She bit her lips to hide the smile forming on them, the sight of him both thrilling and unsettling.

He crossed the thoroughfare, weaving around those in his path with smooth precision, never pausing, never looking away, his eyes fixed on her alone.

Lydia and Kitty faded from her mind as the distance between them narrowed. For a moment, she longed to push forward and meet him in the center of the street, but she held still, unwilling to reveal how much this meant.

She heard her sisters laughing as he drew near but ignored them. He was coming for her, not them, and she would not let their mischief intrude on what might become something rare.

“Miss Mary, how good to see you,” he said, removing his hat and sweeping it across his chest in an exaggerated bow. “What a pleasant surprise. I had not expected to find you in Meryton today.”

Her face flushed at the warmth of his greeting. She removed her bonnet and waved it before her face, not to cool herself, but to reveal the change she had made, and his widened eyes told her he had noticed.

A sudden breath behind her made her turn to find Kitty had returned with Lydia, whose mouth hung open in astonishment.

With a soft chuckle, Mary placed a finger beneath her sister’s chin and closed it. “If you leave this open, you will catch flies,” she said in answer to the scowl that followed.

Mr. Wickham smiled. “What a kind gesture. Your sister is a thoughtful and beautiful young woman.”

Kitty giggled at the compliment, which turned his attention toward her. For several minutes, the four of them traded pleasant remarks about the weather, the movement of the crowd, and the festive atmosphere along the street.

His tone never faltered. Each reply to Kitty’s questions carried the same warmth and civility that marked his first words to Mary. Lydia, though still recovering from the earlier embarrassment, listened closely and began to take part.

Mary returned her bonnet to its place and observed the scene, content to listen as the others spoke and laughed like old friends. Her manner remained composed, but her thoughts raced with the thrill of being seen, included, and not dismissed.

Despite her inexperience with men, the warmth of his company felt like a gentle embrace she never wished to end.

As the conversation continued, Lydia’s tone shifted. The coyness in her voice, so often dismissed as foolishness, gave way to something more deliberate, revealing the carnal interest that always seemed to lie just beneath the surface.

“It seems Meryton does not offer much to occupy a man,” she said, her words light, but the implication far from innocent.

Mr. Wickham’s gaze flicked from Kitty to Lydia before settling once again on Mary, sending a sharp chill down her spine. He licked his lips and offered a crooked smile, one brow rising as though uncertain of what he had heard.

Lydia stepped closer, her voice softening as she leaned in, her lashes low and her eyes gleaming. “Perhaps you know of other diversions one can find after dark,” she said, her tone thick with suggestion. “Ones that promise a bit of excitement.”

Mary’s entire body stiffened. A surge of anger flooded her chest, and for a breathless moment, she nearly struck her sister. How could she speak that way—and to a man in uniform? Did she have no shame?

Mr. Wickham’s smile faded, though his voice remained steady. “There are one or two, I suppose, but none that appeal to me,” he said, his eyes on Mary. “I spend most evenings polishing my boots or sharpening my sword, unless Colonel Forster has something for me to do.”

“We need to leave,” Mary said at once, taking hold of Lydia’s arm and turning her toward the road out of town. With a firm push, she sent her stumbling ahead, then faced Kitty.

“We are going home,” she declared, pointing her toward the retreating figure. “Unless you would rather stay and explain this to Papa.”