Page 32 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

On the road to Meryton

A Few Days later

Dust puffed up around Lydia’s ankles as she trudged down the road towards Meryton.

The maid servant kept pace beside her, shivering just a little in the chill air.

Lydia pulled her pelisse closer about her shoulders gratefully.

She was no longer constantly cold, since Mr. Bingley had sent the load of firewood.

Now there was enough to keep fires burning overnight, and she could sleep comfortably without waking nearly frozen.

Jane was lucky, she thought gratefully; indeed, they were all lucky that a wealthy man had fallen in love with her eldest sister and was willing to help support them.

His assistance had been great enough that Mr. Bennet had decided at breakfast that they could spare a few shillings for altering Lydia’s and Kitty’s adjusted dresses, thus bringing about the trip into town today.

Lydia could only be pleased for Mr. Bingley’s kindness and generosity.

He was most absorbed in Jane, of course, but he did not look at Lydia herself with the sneering derision that so many people she had known her whole life did, including her own mother.

Her heart clenched miserably at the thought, and she picked up the pace to distract herself.

“Hurry up, Mercy, let us go in where it is warm,” she ordered, eyeing the approaching town with relief. The maid gave a small squeak of agreement, rubbing briskly at her red nose.

A flash of scarlet up the street caught Lydia’s eye, and she watched the familiar dark hair and handsome back of Mr. Wickham disappear into the library.

Her heart lifted. “You go on to the butcher’s,” she ordered the maid, “and I will meet you at the dressmaker’s after.

I have another errand to run.” She watched Mercy walk down the street to the butcher’s door before she herself ran lightly up the wooden steps and disappeared inside the bookstore.

She was well aware, now, that it would be extremely foolish to pursue Mr. Wickham in hopes of soliciting an offer of marriage.

He was not wealthy, and his tendency to run up debts was unfortunate.

But his company was pleasant and his manners charming; he never failed to praise her beauty, comparing her favorably even to Jane.

She relished his careful flattery, so different from the disdain besetting her every time she walked into town.

The bookstore smelled of dust and paper and ink, just as it always did.

Numerous lazy dust motes floated in the sunbeams lancing in the windows, and Lydia looked about, puzzled.

There was no one in sight. She could hear Mr. Egerton in the back room where customers were not permitted, but there was no immediate sign of Wickham.

He must have gone to the circulating library room, she realized, and moved towards the doorway.

As she stepped in, she could hear his voice, speaking softly to someone else. A woman, she realized in shock, and stepped hastily to hide behind a shelf, eyes wide as she listened to the words floating to her ears.

/

“My dear, I assure you, it would be a genuine gift to Mr. King,” Wickham said in his most persuasive tone.

“Your grandfather is an old man, and seriously ill. I would not wish to put him to the trouble of calling the banns, and your dear cousin, Miss Dodd, must be overwhelmed with overseeing the household with your grandfather so unwell. It would be cruel to add the burden of preparing a wedding breakfast in the midst of all this trouble.”

Mary stared up into Mr. Wickham’s eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. It was true that Grandfather was sickly, but on the other...

“But surely we cannot go to Gretna Greene, Mr. Wickham?” she asked timidly. “It would take us days to drive north to Scotland and...”

“No, no!” Wickham interrupted, grasping her hands in his own and lifting them to plant loving kisses on her fingers.

“I would never ask that of you, my dear. No, we will drive to London in a hired carriage. I have friends in the city, and they will assist me in purchasing a license and finding a church. We will leave at night and be home by the next evening as man and wife. Now, does that not sound delightful, my precious, beautiful, love?”

Mary swallowed hard and tears formed in her eyes. It seemed beyond belief that she, freckled and thin Mary King, could have won the love of this handsome lieutenant. Was it possible that dreams really did come true?

“Please,” she began, and then blushed fiercely and continued, “Mr. Wickham, do you truly love me? It seems impossible when there are so many far prettier girls, like the Bennet ladies.”

Wickham waved a hand dramatically and said, “I suppose the Bennets are pleasant enough, but I far prefer your lovely face and sparkling eyes, my dear. I confess that when I came here to Meryton, I had no idea that I would promptly be captured by the most exquisite woman in all of Britain, but I thank God every hour for His gift. Please, Mary, will you not make me the happiest of men and become my wedded wife?”

Mary King swallowed hard and cast aside any feelings of inferiority or jealousy. “Yes, my dear Wickham, yes, I will!”

The lieutenant bent down and kissed her tenderly on the lips, which the girl returned with fumbling enthusiasm. Oh, to be beloved by such a man! How could she hesitate?

“When will we leave?” she asked breathlessly when they finally broke apart.

“Tomorrow night, my angel,” Wickham said tenderly. “Can you creep out of the house and meet me half an hour before midnight in the courtyard behind this building? There will be no one nearby at that hour, and we will reach London by dawn and be married by noon.”

“I am not certain whether I can creep out of the house with any sort of luggage,” his prospective bride said dubiously.

“Oh, as I said, we will be back in Meryton by evening, my love! There is no need for you to bring anything except your beautiful self.”

“Then I will be there!” Mary said.

Wickham beamed down at her and kissed her again, this time gently. “Thank you for your love for me, my darling, and your trust!”

/

Netherfield

“Are you both quite certain that you and Lydia are comfortable at Longbourn with Mr. Bennet away?” Louisa Hurst asked kindly. “There is plenty of room if you would care to stay here until your father returns from London.”

“Oh Louisa, thank you for the offer,” Jane replied, “but it is not necessary. My sisters and I have plenty to keep us busy at Longbourn, and of course a number of trusted servants are there.”

“Besides,” Elizabeth chimed in, “our father will be back in a day or two.”

“Do you have enough firewood?” Louisa demanded. She had been told by her brother to ensure that his bride was not growing chilled in the night, and she had every intention of fulfilling that directive.

“Oh, you are very kind,” Jane said. “We are well enough for now, but I will send word when our stores are low.”

“Do you promise?” Louisa demanded with comic suspicion.

Jane laughed and nodded.

“Very well,” Louisa continued and then shifted to another topic. “Now, we were speaking of the curtains in the music room last time we met, and I collected a few swathes of possible material to replace them. What do you think?”

Jane’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm at this question, and she immediately switched her seat to one next to Louisa so that they could discuss curtains.

Elizabeth smiled at the sight, and with a quiet word of excusal, made her way to Netherfield’s library in search of reading material.

There were not a great many books on the shelves, but after so many hours of hard work, she wanted nothing more than to curl up next to a fire and lose herself in the written word.

She was pleased to discover an English translation of Don Quixote , and she settled happily in a comfortable chair and began learning of the trials and tribulations of the imaginative, comical, sometimes tragic character of Don Quixote.

It seemed but a moment later when the door swung open and the sound of boots caused her to lift her face from the page to observe Mr. Darcy, who was gazing at her appreciatively.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. “I hope you are well today?”

“Yes, very well,” he replied. “Are you enjoying Don Quixote ?”

“Yes, very much,” Elizabeth remarked with a thoughtful stare at the book in her hands, “though I find it mightily peculiar.”

“It is,” Darcy agreed. “Now I have been dispatched to fetch you for tea since you must return to Longbourn before the snow gets any worse.”

Elizabeth turned her head toward the window and discovered, to her astonishment, that fat, glistening flakes were indeed twirling and swirling outside the window.

“I did not even realize it was snowing!” she declared, regretfully returning the book to its shelf and stepping back. Darcy, to her surprise, promptly marched over to take the book off the shelf and hand it back to her.

“I suggest you take it back to Longbourn, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a grin. “You know that Bingley will not care to read an odd book about a man who charges windmills.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and said, “I really have so much work to do at home that I ought not to read a book.”

“Did we not agree that it is appropriate to rest from one’s labors on occasion?”

“I do not think we agreed, exactly,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle. She hesitated, staring longingly at the book, and then she said, “But I cannot deny that I very much wish to read more of this book. Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I assume you have read it?”

“I have,” Darcy said, holding out his arm. Elizabeth took it with a comely blush, and together they walked out of the library and into the corridor. “I understand that it is better in the original Spanish, but I fear I do not speak more than a few words of Spanish.”

“And I cannot speak a word of the Spanish tongue, so will enjoy the English translation,” his companion said.

/

Longbourn

That Evening

“Good night, Lydia,” Jane said, and Elizabeth echoed, “Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, Jane. Good night, Elizabeth,” Lydia replied. She opened the door to her current bedchamber and rushed over to the fire, which had recently been replenished with wood and was pumping out dazzling heat.

Lydia took her time changing into her bedclothes, reveling in the pleasure of being truly warm. Finally, she crept into her bed, turned on her side, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

She had not had time to truly think after overhearing Mr. Wickham and Mary King in the circulating library.

She had rushed away when she heard the couple preparing to depart, and then had caught up with Mercy at the dressmaker’s shop.

The rest of the day had been busy. With Jane and Lizzy at Netherfield for most of the day, it had fallen to Lydia to talk with Mrs. Carter about the evening meal.

To her surprise, she had rather enjoyed it.

She felt very grown up, very mature, while discussing the plans for dinner.

She had also been rather curious about the process of transforming the raw beef from the butcher’s shop into a delectable meal.

But now she had time to think about the discussion she overheard between Mr. Wickham and Miss King.

Part of her still bristled in outraged incredulity at the mere memory; she had been shocked when she heard Wickham saying such lovely things to the plain and unattractive Miss King.

But she had brought the other girl up at dinner a few hours previously, and Jane, always ready with her sympathy, had mentioned that old Mr. King was in poor health once again and was not expected to live much longer.

Miss King, his closest remaining relative, stood in expectation of inheriting all his wealth.

Wickham’s enthusiasm for poor, dowdy Miss King was obvious to Lydia now.

His only interest was in supporting his own spendthrift ways.

Lydia huffed in indignation and turned over in bed.

Poor Miss King, to be so deceived by such a callous man!

Lydia did not know the girl well, but she pitied Miss King, being tricked into marriage in such a way.

But what could she do? Her first instinct was to confide in Lizzy and Jane.

But with Father gone to London, would anyone credit a warning in this matter?

Her elder sisters were well-liked and respected, but Mr. King never attended the public functions – would he believe them?

Or dismiss them? Lydia knew well how charming Wickham’s person and manners could be.

Would her sisters’ concerns outweigh the lieutenant’s persuasion?

Perhaps … she could do something herself?

Everyone was lauding Mary as a heroine, adulating her courage in saving Mrs. Bennet.

If Lydia saved the hapless Miss King from a shameful elopement, would she not also be a heroine?

She could sneak out and interrupt the couple’s rendezvous, exposing Wickham’s foul lies, and then everyone would look at her in admiration rather than contempt!

Bolstered by these joyful plans, Lydia fell asleep.