Page 35 of The Mercy of Chance

T he morning after the Netherfield ball seemed a perfect day for walking despite the chill that lingered in the autumn air.

Lydia had insisted upon showing Miss Darcy the path to Oakham Mount, declaring it “the only view worth seeing in all of Hertfordshire—unless one counts Lieutenant Sanderson in his dress uniform,”

which had made Kitty dissolve into giggles and even coaxed a blush from the reserved Miss Darcy.

Georgiana Darcy had proved a revelation to the Bennet sisters.

Although painfully shy upon first acquaintance, she had gradually revealed a quiet wit and genuine sweetness that endeared her to even the most boisterous of the family.

Her visit to Netherfield alongside her brother had initially caused a stir in the neighbourhood, but the girl’s modest demeanour had quickly dispelled any accusations of pride or pretension.

“I declare, Miss Darcy, that you played beautifully this morning,”

Lydia commented as they walked the path toward Meryton.

“I have never been patient enough for such an accomplishment.”

“Thank you,”

Georgiana replied.

“Although I thought Miss Mary’s performance most accomplished as well.”

“Mary has improved tremendously,”

Kitty agreed.

“She manages to practise even though she has so many other duties.”

“Indeed,”

Lydia nodded.

“Although I must say, Miss Darcy, your playing has a particular sensitivity.

Mary plays with technical precision, but your music tells a story.”

Georgiana’s laugh was unexpected and delightful.

“My masters always insisted that technical proficiency without emotion was simply... noise.”

“Well said,”

Lydia agreed.

“Now, shall we take the path through town? We might refresh ourselves at the confectioners.

Mrs Wilson has just received a shipment of candied fruit that is supposedly divine.”

The three turned toward Meryton, their conversation flowing easily between discussions of the ball, the dances, and the company.

Lydia was in the midst of a lively recounting of their disastrous attempt at a quadrille when they rounded the corner onto the main street of Meryton.

“And then I stepped directly on poor Charlotte’s—”

Lydia broke off as she felt Georgiana suddenly stiffen beside her.

The girl had gone deathly pale, her eyes fixed on a point down the street.

Following her gaze, Lydia spotted the familiar figure of Mr Wickham emerging from the haberdasher’s shop, his red coat bright against the grey stone buildings.

He had not yet noticed them.

“Miss Darcy?”

Lydia asked quietly.

“Are you unwell?”

Georgiana’s breathing had quickened, her gloved hand clutching convulsively at her companion’s sleeve.

“I—I think I should return to Netherfield,”

she whispered.

Kitty looked between them in confusion.

“Whatever is the matter?”

With unexpected quickness, Lydia guided Georgiana to a stone bench outside the apothecary’s shop.

“Sit a moment,”

she instructed, her usual exuberance replaced by gentle authority.

“Kitty, see if Mr Jones has any smelling salts or lavender water.”

As Kitty hurried inside, Lydia positioned herself to shield Georgiana from the street view.

“It is Mr Wickham who distresses you,”

she stated rather than asked.

Georgiana’s wide eyes flew to Lydia’s face.

“How did you—”

“You went pale as a ghost the moment he appeared,”

Lydia said matter-of-factly.

“And he is the only unfamiliar gentleman in view.” She hesitated, then added more gently, “You need not tell me anything, Miss Darcy.

But I assure you, whatever history lies between you, that man is not worth a moment’s distress.”

A tear slipped down Georgiana’s cheek.

“You know him?”

“Unfortunately,”

Lydia replied with uncharacteristic grimness.

“He has made himself known in Meryton these past weeks, although he conspicuously avoided the ball last night.

I suppose your brother’s presence proved...

discouraging.”

Georgiana dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“He... we...”

She struggled visibly.

“As I said, you need not explain,”

Lydia assured her.

“I have taken his measure quite thoroughly and found him wanting in every aspect that matters.”

Kitty returned with a small vial of lavender water, confusion still evident on her face.

“What has happened?”

“Mr Wickham,”

Lydia said simply, “Miss Darcy is acquainted with that scoundrel of the first order.

Did you know, Miss Darcy, that he was pursuing Mary King with a desperation that would be comical if it were not so transparent? All because the poor girl inherited ten thousand pounds.”

Georgiana looked up, surprise momentarily displacing her distress.

“Indeed,”

Lydia continued conversationally as Georgiana dabbed a handkerchief with the lavender water and pressed it to her temples.

“Although I hear Miss King has been spirited away to Liverpool by her aunt.

Most disappointing for Mr Wickham’s creditors, I imagine.”

“Creditors?”

Kitty asked.

“Oh yes,”

Lydia nodded sagely.

“Mr Denny let slip that our gallant lieutenant owes money to half the tradesmen in Meryton.

Apparently, his charm extends only so far when the bills come due.”

A flicker of relief crossed Georgiana’s features.

“He...

always lived beyond his means,”

she offered hesitantly.

“A man of grand aspirations and minuscule accomplishments,”

Lydia agreed.

“All flash and no substance, as my grandfather would say.

Like a peacock who has borrowed his feathers from the pawnbroker—and failed to make the payments.”

Georgiana’s lips twitched.

“He always claimed great things would come his way.”

“And so, they do,”

Lydia nodded sagely.

“Bills, primarily.

Followed by creditors.

Then disappointment.

A most reliable procession.”

“He once lived near Pemberley,”

Georgiana whispered.

Lydia’s eyes flashed with sudden understanding, but she kept her tone even.

“Did he indeed? How convenient for him.”

“My brother...”

Georgiana began, then stopped.

“You need say nothing,”

Lydia finished for her.

“For Mr Wickham’s character speaks loudly enough without assistance.”

Just then, Wickham himself glanced in their direction.

His initial expression of idle curiosity transformed rapidly—first to recognition, then to unmistakable calculation as his gaze landed on Georgiana.

A slow smile spread across his handsome features, and he changed course to approach them.

“Oh dear,”

Kitty murmured.

“He’s coming this way.”

“Excellent,”

Lydia declared with unexpected relish.

“Miss Darcy, you need do nothing but stay seated.

I shall handle Mr Wickham.”

Georgiana looked terrified, but something in Lydia’s confident manner steadied her.

She nodded.

Wickham was halfway across the street when Lydia rose and stepped forward, the late autumn wind lifting the hem of her cloak like the banner of a knight, placing herself between him and Georgiana.

His step faltered momentarily.

“Mr Wickham,”

Lydia called, her voice carrying clearly.

“How extraordinary to see you abroad so early.

I had understood from Mr Denny that you were quite indisposed after last night’s card game at the tavern.

What was it he said? Ah yes—’deeper in debt than the ocean is deep and likely to sink.’ Such colourful language our officers employ.”

Wickham stopped abruptly, his practised smile slipping.

“Miss Lydia,”

he acknowledged stiffly.

His eyes darted past her to where Georgiana sat.

“I see you have company.”

“Indeed,”

Lydia replied brightly.

“Miss Darcy has been kind enough to grace Hertfordshire with her presence.

Such an accomplished young lady—and so well-connected.

Her cousin the Colonel has come to Meryton as well.

He is particularly attentive to her welfare.

Quite ferocious in his protection, one might say.” She leant forward as if sharing a confidence.

“I have heard he once challenged a man to a duel for just looking at her improperly. Terribly mediaeval, but what can one expect from such ancient family lines? The Fitzwilliams have been guarding their treasure since the Conquest, I believe.”

Kitty’s eyes widened at this embellishment, but she managed to nod solemnly.

“Most fearsome when provoked, the Colonel.

The stare of a hawk and the memory of an elephant.”

“An interesting combination of animals,”

Lydia mused.

“Although effective in its imagery.”

At the mention of Colonel Fitzwilliam, Wickham’s expression soured visibly.

“I regret I cannot stay to make Miss Darcy’s acquaintance.

I have a...

prior engagement.”

“How disappointing,”

Lydia remarked, her lifted brow suggesting it was anything but.

“Although curious.

A moment ago, you seemed most determined to approach us.

Perhaps you recognised Miss Darcy and wished to renew your acquaintance? Although I cannot think why, unless you are collecting rejections from every family in England.”

Wickham’s jaw tightened.

“Another time, perhaps.”

“I think not,”

Lydia said pleasantly.

“Miss Darcy’s circle is rather selective, you understand.

Quality over quantity, as they say.

And you, Mr Wickham, have been weighed, measured, and found remarkably...

lightweight.”

A dull flush crept up Wickham’s neck.

“You seem to have formed quite an opinion of me, Miss Lydia.”

“An informed one,”

she agreed cheerfully.

“Based on observation and evidence.

I find it far more reliable than charm and empty promises.

You might try it sometime.”

Wickham’s handsome face hardened.

“Good day, Miss Lydia.”

He turned sharply on his heel and strode away in the opposite direction, his back rigid with suppressed anger.

Wickham’s boots scuffed clumsily against the cobbles as he turned tail.

Lydia watched him go, then turned back to her companions with a satisfied expression.

“My goodness,”

she declared, loud enough for passersby to hear, “I had no idea militia men were so easily frightened.

Three girls of sixteen and seventeen, and he retreats as though facing Napoleon himself! Perhaps that explains why the French have been so successful—they may have discovered that deploying young ladies is far more effective than cannon fire.”

A strangled sound escaped Georgiana.

For a horrified moment, Lydia thought she had upset the shy girl further—until she realised that Miss Darcy was struggling to contain laughter.

“I—I’m sorry,”

Georgiana gasped, her eyes dancing despite the lingering traces of tears.

“But his expression when you said he was ‘remarkably lightweight’—”

“Like a countess addressing a slug,”

Kitty supplied, now giggling herself.

“And did you see his face when you mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam and duels? I thought he might actually faint!”

“Well,”

Lydia sniffed with mock hauteur, adjusting an imaginary tiara, “one must occasionally remind certain gentlemen of their proper place.

Which, in Mr Wickham’s case, appears to be as far from respectable society as possible.

Perhaps Australia would be sufficient distance? I hear they are accepting volunteers.”

Georgiana’s laughter subsided into hiccups.

“Thank you,”

she said simply.

Lydia waved away the gratitude.

“No thanks necessary.

I’ve made it something of a personal mission to deflate Mr Wickham’s pretensions wherever possible.

Most entertaining pastime.”

As they resumed their walk, Georgiana fell into step beside Lydia.

“My brother was right about you,”

she said quietly.

“Was he?”

Lydia asked, surprised.

“I was under the impression Mr Darcy found all of us Bennet sisters quite beneath his notice, save perhaps Jane and Lizzy.”

Georgiana shook her head.

“Not at all.

He said there was more to you than met the eye.

That beneath the high spirits was a shrewd observer who would make a formidable ally or opponent.”

Lydia blinked, genuinely taken aback. “Well,”

she said after a moment, “perhaps there is more to your brother than meets the eye as well.”

Linking arms with both Kitty and Georgiana, Lydia led them toward the confectioner’s shop, her natural vivacity returning in full force.

“Now then, we simply must try Mrs Wilson’s candied orange peel.

And you must tell me everything about London society, Miss Darcy.

Is it true that Lady Jersey’s winter ball is the most coveted invitation of the season? Kitty has been reading about it in the papers for weeks.”

Behind them, the retreat of a red coat down a side alley went unremarked upon, save by a group of officers who observed the exchange with poorly concealed amusement.

“Good morning, ladies,”

Captain Morris called as they passed.

“I see Mr Wickham has remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere.

Most conscientious of him.”

“Most cowardly, you mean,”

Denny muttered, tipping his hat to the young women.

“Bested again by Miss Lydia.

The man will never live it down.”

“Good,”

Morris replied quietly.

“Some lessons are best learnt publicly.

Although I fear Mr Wickham may require several more volumes of instruction before the lesson takes hold.”

“The problem with teaching Wickham anything,”

added Lieutenant Carter as he joined them, “is that his self-regard leaves so little room for his brain to operate.”

“Two fine young men,”

Mr Bennet remarked to his granddaughters.

“The Colonel possessed a mind as disciplined as his manner.”

“And remarkably free of the pretensions one might expect from the son of an earl,”

Elizabeth added with a sidelong glance at her sister.

Jane’s slight flush that coloured her cheeks told its own story.

“Indeed,”

was all she said, although her eyes followed the Colonel’s figure until he disappeared from view.

“Shall we resume our work? I suspect that will be our one and only visit from the son of an earl.

They return to London on the morrow.”

Elizabeth said briskly.