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W e are going through Croydon?” Lydia asked. “But we should be heading west now, should we not?” Lydia had paid very little attention to her studies in general, but she had always hoped to travel, and thus had some notion of geography.

“We are first going to London,” George Wickham replied.

“But why?” Lydia asked.

“I have not enough money to get us to Gretna Green, Lydia, my sweet,” Mr. Wickham replied. “But I am owed money by a man in London, and once I have that, we can be on our way to Scotland.”

Lydia felt uneasy at this, but then he began to kiss her and fondle her, and she forgot her misgivings. Once they arrived in London, however, she was shocked at the lodgings he intended for them. “You cannot be serious,” she told him, head high.

“You wished for adventure,” he reminded her. “You wished to do things your sisters had not done, did you not?”

She admitted that this had indeed been her goal.

“Well, I assure you that none of your sisters has yet to stay at an inn in Whitechapel,” he assured her, smiling. “And, in any case, this is all I can afford just now.”

“But when you get your money…?”

“Yes, then things will be quite a bit better.” He seemed to be growing impatient, so Lydia made no further protest.

Upon entering the inn, she was given to understand that there would be only one room, and she began to feel some alarm. “We must be married first,” she informed him.

“We will be married, of course,” he said. “And in my mind, we are already married, my darling Lydia! Can you possibly doubt me? Couples who are engaged often sleep together, you know.”

She knew not how to respond to that, and so the inevitable took place that night.

***

The next morning, the inevitable took place again, despite Lydia being rather sore from the previous night. “You will get used to it,” her almost-husband assured her. “This morning I must go to get that money I am owed.”

“I will come with you!” she said. “For I long to see London!”

“No, indeed, this is a matter for men and men only,” he told her. “You must wait here.”

It was only after he left the room that she realised there had been no mention of breakfast. She dressed, tidied her hair, and made her way downstairs.

“I would like a tray in my room,” she informed the innkeeper.

“This ain’t Mayfair,” he informed her, brusquely. “There are no trays! You can eat in the common room.”

“But I am alone!” she protested. “I cannot eat in the common room at an inn.” She was shocked at the suggestion.

“Then you will be hungry,” he said, shrugging and turning away.

Lydia started up the stairs to return to her room, but she had not eaten since getting into the carriage with George yesterday; the smell of food was too tempting to resist. She turned back to the common room and bore the stares and leers of the men as she quickly ate her eggs and toast. She was shaking by the time she finished her meal, and she scurried upstairs as fast as she could.

Those terrible men! What could George mean by leaving her here alone?