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Chapter Eleven

The wedding of Captain James Wallace to Lydia Bennet was conducted with simple dignity in the small parish church of St. Mary’s in Leicester, three days after their initial meeting.

Elizabeth stood beside her husband, watching as her youngest sister spoke her vows in a clear, steady voice that belied her youth and the circumstances that had brought them all to this moment.

No white gown or orange blossoms marked Lydia as a bride; rather, she wore a modest gown of pale blue muslin that had been hastily altered to accommodate her condition, while maintaining the fiction that she was a recent widow now to be remarried.

The ceremony was brief, attended only by those who knew the truth: Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth, Mrs. Wilkins, and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

The local vicar, informed only that the bride was a young widow in delicate circumstances, performed the service with appropriate solemnity.

Captain Wallace, resplendent in his full dress uniform, spoke his responses with calm precision, his steady gaze never leaving Lydia’s face.

Elizabeth found herself studying the couple intently throughout the ceremony.

Despite the hasty arrangement and unusual circumstances, there was something unexpectedly fitting about the match.

Lydia’s natural vivacity, though subdued by recent events, seemed to complement the captain’s quiet steadiness.

When he slipped a simple gold band onto her finger, his hands were gentle, and the smile Lydia offered him in return held none of her former flirtatiousness, only a tentative gratitude.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar declared, and with those words, the fiction became reality. Lydia Bennet was now Mrs. Wallace, her unborn child granted legitimacy through this union of convenience.

As the newly married couple signed the register, Elizabeth felt Mr. Darcy’s hand slip into hers, offering silent support.

He, more than anyone, understood the complexity of her emotions in this moment, the relief mingled with lingering concern, the hope shadowed by awareness of the deceptions that had made this resolution possible.

After the ceremony, they repaired to a private dining room at the coaching inn where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth had taken lodgings.

A modest wedding breakfast had been arranged, the first meal shared by this hastily assembled family unit.

Conversation flowed more easily than Elizabeth had anticipated, with Captain Wallace revealing a dry wit that occasionally drew genuine laughter from Lydia.

“When will you depart for York?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired as the meal concluded.

“Tomorrow morning,” Captain Wallace replied. “I have secured lodgings for the immediate future. Nothing grand, but comfortable enough until more permanent arrangements can be made.”

“We shall see to those permanent arrangements shortly,” Mr. Darcy assured him. “My solicitor has been instructed to begin looking for a suitable property.”

Lydia’s eyes widened at this. “A house? You mean we shall have our own house?”

“A rented, modest one,” Mr. Darcy said with gentle firmness, “befitting Captain Wallace’s position. It would not do to establish you in a manner that might raise questions.”

Elizabeth watched her sister closely, half expecting Lydia’s familiar pout of disappointment. Instead, Lydia nodded with surprising comprehension. “No, of course not. That would be most unwise.”

This evidence of newfound prudence nearly caused Elizabeth to choke on her tea. Captain Wallace seemed to notice her surprise, for a small, knowing smile crossed his features as he glanced between the sisters.

“Mrs. Wallace shows remarkable adaptability,” he observed quietly. “A valuable quality in a military wife.”

On the morning of Lydia and Captain Wallace’s departure, Elizabeth found Lydia in the small private parlour at the inn, sitting at a small writing desk, her hair neatly arranged in a style more subdued than her former elaborate curls.

She wore a travelling dress of olive green that complemented her complexion while providing ample room for her growing figure.

At Elizabeth’s entrance, she looked up with a smile that contained both excitement and nervousness.

“Lizzy! I was just writing a list of things I must remember to purchase for our new home. The captain says we shall be able to purchase whatever we need in York, but I should hate to forget something important… this is everything I can remember of what Mama used to say were the essential things in a home, no matter how low.”

Elizabeth was struck by this uncharacteristic display of forethought from her youngest sister. “That seems most sensible,” she replied, taking a seat near Lydia. “Are you quite prepared for the journey? It is not inconsiderable.”

“The captain has arranged for us to break our travel overnight at an inn he knows to be comfortable and respectable,” Lydia explained. “He says it would not be wise for me to attempt the entire distance in a single day, given my condition.”

This consideration for Lydia’s comfort further elevated Elizabeth’s opinion of Captain Wallace. “He seems most attentive to your welfare.”

“He is very kind,” Lydia agreed, a hint of wonder in her voice.

“Not at all what I expected in a husband.” She placed her pen down carefully, turning more fully toward Elizabeth.

“He spoke to me last night about our life in York. He says we must live quietly at first, establishing ourselves as a respectable couple before we begin to receive visitors or participate in society.”

“That is wise counsel,” Elizabeth said, watching her sister closely for signs of rebellion against such restrictions. To her surprise, Lydia merely nodded.

“Yes, I thought so too. He explained that his position allows for some modest entertaining eventually, but that it would be better to begin with a small circle of acquaintances.”

Elizabeth marvelled silently at the transformation in her sister.

The Lydia who had departed Longbourn just a few short months ago would have protested vehemently against such limitations on her social life, demanding balls and assemblies and constant entertainment.

This new Lydia, subdued by circumstance yet somehow more substantial, seemed to comprehend the necessity of caution.

“And what of your correspondence with our family?” Elizabeth inquired, approaching the delicate matter that had brought her here this morning. “Have you considered what you will write to them of your marriage?”

Lydia’s expression grew more serious. “I shall write to Mama today, once we are on our way. I thought I would tell her that Colonel Fitzwilliam introduced me to Captain Wallace, and that we formed an attachment quickly.”

“That has the benefit of being mostly true,” Elizabeth observed. “And of your quick marriage?”

“I shall say that the captain’s military duties necessitated haste, as he was required to return to York immediately.” Lydia’s fingers played nervously with the edge of her writing paper. “Do you think they will be very surprised?”

“Surprised, certainly, but Papa and Jane will also be most relieved, I imagine. Jane will do everything she can to make Mama happy with the idea.”

Lydia nodded, then asked the question Elizabeth had been anticipating with some dread. “When might I visit Longbourn? I know it cannot be right away, but perhaps after the baby is born? I should very much like to introduce my child to our parents.”

Elizabeth drew a careful breath, preparing to deliver the difficult truth as gently as possible. “Lydia, I fear that visiting Longbourn will not be possible for some time. Your... condition... cannot be concealed now, and will only become more evident in the coming months.”

“But after the baby is born,” Lydia persisted, a hint of her old impatience surfacing. “Surely then I might visit with my child? I could say it was born prematurely.”

“The difficulty lies in the timing,” Elizabeth explained. “Your marriage has only just taken place. Even if you claimed the child was born prematurely, the dates would raise questions that could lead to the very scandal we have worked so diligently to avoid.”

Understanding dawned in Lydia’s eyes, followed by a flash of distress. “You mean I cannot see Mama at all? Or Mary and Kitty?”

Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“Not immediately, no. I believe it would be safest to wait at least a full year after your child’s birth before attempting any visit to Longbourn.

By then, the exact timing of events will have become less noteworthy, and it will be less obvious that your child was not, in fact, premature. ”

Lydia was silent for a long moment, absorbing this unwelcome reality. Elizabeth watched the play of emotions across her sister’s face: disappointment, frustration, and finally a resigned acceptance that would have been unthinkable in the Lydia of old.

“I see,” she said at last, her voice small but steady. “It is the consequence of my actions, is it not? The price I must pay for my foolishness.”

The maturity of this recognition nearly brought tears to Elizabeth’s eyes. “It is a temporary limitation, Lydia, not an eternal banishment. In time, when memories have faded and your marriage to Captain Wallace is well established, visits will become possible. Until then, letters must suffice.”

Lydia nodded slowly. “The captain said something similar last night. He suggested that after a year or so in York, he might request a posting to a London garrison, which would place us closer to Hertfordshire without being so near as to invite constant scrutiny.”

“That is thoughtful of him,” Elizabeth said, increasingly impressed by Captain Wallace’s consideration of his new wife’s feelings despite the circumstances of their union.