Page 45 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
S ome time earlier, Kitty had approached Wentworth’s party in search of her youngest sister. Elizabeth had dismissed her offhand, and so had Jane, as they were both expected to join in the dance. Having searched through the throng of dancers, however, Kitty was sure Lydia was not among them.
Wentworth had been having what he might call an interesting conversation with Colonel Forster and his inexcusably young wife when Kitty appeared.
To Kitty’s distressed plea, Harriet Forster shot her a look of panic and placed a finger over her mouth, urging her to silence.
That finger soon turned into a hand covering a shrill giggle.
“What is it, Harriet?” her husband demanded.
“I cannot tell. I promised,” she answered, attempting to stifle a grin.
“ Harriet …” he warned, his age and demeanour making him appear rather fatherly .
“Oh, pooh,” she pouted. “You never let me have any fun. And it was going to be such a good joke too.”
“Where is Miss Lydia, Mrs Forster?” Wentworth demanded, a knot of dread forming in his chest.
“But I promised poor Wickham. You shall see soon, anyhow. She was to meet him outside and sneak him in amongst the dancers as soon as the first set started. What a fine joke it will be—to see that nasty Mr Darcy go apoplectic upon sight of poor Wickham. They are probably dancing now.”
But Kitty had been right; Lydia was not among those standing up, and it was well into the second dance. Wentworth, knowing what the blackguard was capable of, left them posthaste in search of Darcy, calling behind him to the colonel, “Find Sir William.”
“La, Wickham, why should I wish to go into the family rooms when there is dancing to be had?” Lydia Bennet cried.
Wickham was trying to convince her that he needed to warm up by a good fire before he could be prevailed upon to join the ball in earnest. They stood near the corner of the great house, shrouded in the shadow of the tall hedgerow that stood between them and the torches of the driveway.
The cold November air was proving an opponent with which neither wished to contend much longer.
“I cannot dance; I am frozen to the bone from standing out here all evening waiting for you. Come, now, the least you can do is join me for a few moments’ conversation while I regain feeling in my fingers.
” Wickham had learnt the way to the private rooms from Mrs Forster, who had been a guest at Netherfield with her husband.
He took Lydia’s hand and led her, not to the front steps, but towards the side of the building, where he knew stood a door which led up to the main floor.
“Where are we going? I thought your whole purpose in coming tonight was to confound that awful Mr Darcy; we cannot do that unless we are in the ballroom . And besides, you shall be plenty warm whilst we are dancing. Come. ” Lydia tugged him the other way, towards the door through which the guests had entered that evening.
He pulled her hard and, with a spin, she was in his arms, her body pressed against his.
She let out a yelp, which he silenced with a fervid kiss upon her open mouth.
Rather than melting into his embrace as he had presumed she would, however, he found himself having to hold her tighter so as to keep her in his grasp at all.
Oh, she is a fighter, this little vixen ! He was equal to it. As Lydia’s hands pushed and scratched, he kept his mouth firmly on hers to muffle her screams.
Wickham released her lips only to say, “Come, kitten, retract your claws. This is what you came out here for, is it not? I leave tomorrow, so let us stop all this pretending. You have made your show of maidenly outrage; now let us get on.”
That moment of freedom was all she needed to produce a scream that would carry throughout the grounds of Netherfield.
Wickham quickly turned her in his arms to cover her curst mouth with his hand, then dragged her kicking into the hedges.
He had to decide at that moment whether to carry his point with the flighty little flirt or cut his losses and pretend he had never been there.
The cut of her gown revealed to him the glistening sweat beading on her heaving bosom; he made his decision.
It was unseasonably cold, but the biting wind had been far more pleasant than the scratching spikes of holly leaves now attacking him.
The accursed shrubbery snagged his jacket and the fabric of Lydia’s gown, slowing his progress away from the stone face of the manor house.
Not that the wriggling bit of baggage in his arms was any help, either. He had half a mind to leave her go.
In for a penny, in for a pound , he thought as he felt her soft body against his.
Before Wickham could make it through the thicket and find a suitable place to carry out his intention, however, a wrenching pain tore through his injured shoulder.
A large hand clutched him from behind, pulled him through to the other side of the hedge, and none too gently threw him to the frozen ground.
Wickham lost hold of his captive, and his lip curled into a sneer of pure contempt as he watched Lydia Bennet fly into the arms of none other than Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Darcy held Lydia Bennet’s head close to his chest, much as he had when comforting his own sister after her encounter with the same man.
Unlike his mild and calm Georgiana, however, Miss Lydia was sobbing, weeping into the lapels of his wool frock coat in utter distress.
Georgiana had been a willing participant in Wickham’s schemes; it was clear that Lydia Bennet had not.
At least, not in the schemes he had put upon her after their agreement to meet outside the ball.
When Sir William and Colonel Forster arrived, alerted to their location by Miss Lydia’s wails of fear and grief, the girl threw herself into the more familiar embrace of her neighbour, who stroked her hair and asked her in fatherly tones, “What has happened, dear one? ”
“He tried to get me to go with him to the family rooms, to be alone with him, and when I would not, he grabbed me. I tried to scream, but he kissed me and covered my mouth. Oh God, what would he have done to me?”
“He seized you and intended to take you somewhere, away from here? Is that right, Miss Lydia?” Colonel Forster asked seriously.
She nodded furiously and burst into a fresh flush of tears. “I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.”
“That would explain the scratches on his face,” Forster said.
“This man must be placed under arrest immediately,” Sir William commanded.
“Oh no, this is a military matter. And we take kidnapping and the attempted assault of a gentleman’s daughter very seriously,” the colonel stated firmly.
“Kidnapping is a capital offence, is it not?” Wentworth asked, still holding the villain by the neck, one hand digging into his shoulder.
“I believe so,” Forster replied, casting a repugnant glare upon the man who had charmed them all so heartlessly. “I shall see that he is dealt with, one way or the other.”