Page 65 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

“Y ou!” Miss Lydia snapped, jumping from her seat in the corner. She stood, her eyes red and puffy and her glare strong enough to fell an entire team of horses.

Darcy checked from where he was bowing over Mrs. Bennet’s hand.

“How dare you come here? How dare you?” Miss Lydia shrieked.

“Lydia, my love, what is wrong?” Mrs. Bennet asked, sending Darcy a quick, apologetic look.

Lydia’s glare never wavered from Darcy. “He sent George away.”

Darcy’s stomach plummeted. “Miss Lydia―”

“No, you have no right to address me. We were going to be married!” she wailed.

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open.

“Married?” Miss Bennet repeated blankly, walking over and putting an arm around Miss Lydia.

“George warned me that you always ruin everything,” Miss Lydia continued, seemingly unaware of her sister’s attempt to comfort her. “He warned me that you would try to destroy what we had between us, that I must conceal our connection, even from my own family, because you had already beguiled Lizzy.” She shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes. “Why could you not have waited a week? We would have been safely away.”

Elizabeth stood up and moved directly in front of Lydia. “Lyddie, are you saying you were going to elope with him?”

Lydia lunged at her. “It is your fault,” she hissed. “ You turned the neighbourhood against him. Sir William would never have listened if you had not started those rumours.”

Darcy quickly crossed the room, pulling Miss Lydia off Elizabeth and holding her arms still as she flailed, trying to hit either him or Elizabeth. “Miss Lydia, Wickham lied.”

She bared her teeth. “You may lie to them, but I know the truth, no matter what you say.”

“Miss Lydia, may I show you the documents that convinced your uncle and Sir William Lucas?”

She straightened, ripping her arms from his grasp and standing tall. “The documents you forged?”

“They are not forged, and if you require, I will bring witnesses down from my estate to testify to their veracity.” He held her gaze, trying to convince her that he spoke the truth.

Bingley came to stand beside him. “I do not know if you will believe me, Miss Lydia, but Darcy is speaking the truth. Mr. Wickham has lied to you.”

Miss Lydia softened. “Mr. Bingley, I know you do not mean to lie to me, but you believe Mr. Darcy’s lies. You are like Jane that way—you cannot see the worst in people, even when faced with the truth.”

“Lydia, let us sit down and hear what Mr. Darcy has to say,” Jane said gently. “You may then share Mr. Wickham’s perspective. After all, if he is wrong, Mr. Darcy would want to know.”

Lydia scoffed. “Men like him only want what they can squeeze out of others.”

“Yes, my love,” Mrs. Bennet said, bustling over to Lydia and pulling her over to the settee. “If Mr. Darcy has harmed poor Mr. Wickham, I should like to know.”

As the room turned its attention on him, Darcy hesitated. Whatever he said to Miss Lydia or Mrs. Bennet was liable to spread throughout the neighbourhood faster than floodwaters rose in spring; yet, if he was not entirely honest, would they believe him?

He took a deep breath, gathering strength from Elizabeth’s encouraging smile, and then sat down opposite Mrs. Bennet and Miss Lydia. “George Wickham is the son of my father’s late steward. Because my father so appreciated Wickham’s father’s work and was fond of the son, he sponsored Wickham.”

As William told her family the sordid details of his childhood with Wickham, Elizabeth watched him carefully. Though an occasional flicker of pain crossed his face, it was nothing like it had been the first time he had shared with her the depth of Mr. Wickham’s betrayal. He truly was free of the man. It was glorious to see! He had fought himself and won, and now the fruits of his valour were laid out for the initiated to see.

“Several years later, when the living became vacant, Wickham came to me and demanded it be given to him,” William continued. “I refused.”

“But he was your own father’s favourite! The son of his heart!” Lydia cried.

Mrs. Bennet looked at her with an expression of shock. “But if Mr. Darcy had already paid him such a sum, why would he give him the living?”

William smiled at Mama. “Why indeed? I was concerned that giving him the living would only harm the inhabitants of Kympton. Wickham hardly seems qualified to provide spiritual support.”

“As you should have been,” Mary said indignantly. “If this Mr. Wickham had no compunctions about frittering away a lifetime’s wages on vice, I doubt he would have any sense of responsibility towards his charges. Responsibility towards one’s fellow man ought to be the primary motivation for any clergyman.”

William nodded. “I would rephrase that as ‘love for one’s fellow man,’ but I share your sentiment.”

Lydia waved a hand in front of her. “Oh, poo! Who cares about that? You cheated him out of his rightful inheritance―”

“Miss Lydia, I gave him his inheritance in full . In fact, I gave him more than the living was worth. I ought not to have done so, as it merely provided the means for him to descend further into dissipation.” He took a deep breath. “In addition to his atrocious money management, Wickham has often made free with women. Over the years, I have accepted several of his natural-born children and their mothers into my household. I want more for you, Miss Lydia. I see such mettle and drive and potential in you.”

William leaned forward. “A man like Wickham does not deserve to marry a girl like you; you are too good for him. Nor would I wish that sort of life on anyone—married to one who would squander every cent that comes your way and unable to stay in any town for long because of the debts he would rack up and the people he would offend. Wickham seems respectable right now, but if he was really a respectable gentleman, if he truly cared about you more than anyone else, he would have courted you properly. He would have come to your parents and convinced them he would make a good husband for you. He would have won them over.” William held her gaze. “You deserve to have someone fight for you, not slink off in the dead of night. You deserve to be wed with fanfare and joy, not in secrecy and burdened by your family’s sorrow.”

Tears began to stream down Lydia’s face.

Mrs. Bennet pulled Lydia’s head to her bosom. “There, there, my love. Mr. Darcy is right—I would not want you to marry a redcoat either, especially one who seems to be somewhat of a cad.”

“But George loves me,” Lydia sobbed. “He would not have treated me poorly.”

Mrs. Bennet stroked her hair. “One never knows what one’s husband will be like until after one’s marriage, but I agree with Mr. Darcy—an elopement, as thrilling and wonderful as it sounds, is no way to start your marriage.”

Elizabeth stared at her mother, shocked that she could speak so rationally about the matter.

“After all, my love, do you not want wedding clothes? What of your trousseau? That is half the fun of getting married and if you elope you will not be nearly as well set up for keeping house!”

William’s lips quirked up for the barest second and Elizabeth avoided his eyes, knowing that if they locked gazes she would burst out laughing.

Jane stroked Lydia’s hair. “You would not wish to grieve Mama and Papa by running away, would you? We all would be so worried.”

“Would you not be pleased that I got married though, Mama?” Lydia asked, sniffling. “I wanted to be the first to wed, and now, unless Mr. Bingley leaves again, I will not be. You would have been so proud to have such a handsome son, one who looks so well in regimentals.”

Mrs. Bennet dithered for a moment. “Well, Mr. Wickham is exceedingly handsome and he does look well in his uniform. But I should not have liked to lose my Lydia.”

“You would not lose me!” Lydia protested. “Or at least not any more than you will when I marry anyone.”

William cleared his throat. “I am afraid that if you had eloped with Wickham, unless he had permission to be absent from his regiment, you would likely never have seen your family again. Deserters are not looked upon kindly. You would not have liked to spend your life moving from place to place, always running, never able to attend parties, would you?”

Lydia, who had looked recalcitrant initially, suddenly stared at him in shock. “No parties? But the regiment holds balls!”

“If Wickham had deserted, the last place you could have gone is to a regiment,” William said.

“And it is the last place you will go from now on,” Mr. Bennet said as he stepped into the room. “I knew you were one of the silliest girls in all England, but I did not think you so foolish as this.”

Lydia pouted. “I do not know why everyone is so upset.”

“Do you not?” Elizabeth asked, trying to hold her temper. “Any of the outcomes of your behaviour would have been detrimental to you and to us. Had you actually eloped with Wickham and married immediately, our family reputation would have suffered and you would have been lost to us. Not to mention that you would never have sufficient funds to run a household; that is not a life any of us wish for you. Had you only run off with Mr. Wickham and failed to marry him—which, given that Mr. Wickham requires funds and you have little dowry, seems rather likely—you would have tarnished all our reputations. We would be unlikely to find anyone to marry us, and you would have been cast aside the moment Mr. Wickham no longer needed you. Can you not see that this was a plot aimed at hurting Mr. Darcy?”

William silenced her with a look. “It does not matter who Wickham’s actions were aimed at; the point is that you deserve more than an elopement, Miss Lydia. Marriage is important, but marrying the right person—someone who will be your ally in every difficulty that comes your way, who pushes you to be a better version of yourself, and who has seen you at your worst and still loves you—is far more important than simply getting married. I still believe that finishing school would open many opportunities for you.”

Mr. Bennet suddenly staggered, clutching his head with a groan.

“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet jumped to her feet, knocking Lydia over onto Jane. “Oh, we will be cast out by Mr. Collins!”

Mr. Bennet straightened, a sheen of sweat covering his face. “I believe I have a touch of the headache. I shall retire now.”

Mrs. Bennet’s hand fluttered around him, and he brushed her off.

“Mrs. Bennet, I require quiet, not your nerves. Kindly leave me be,” he said and left.

Elizabeth gaped at him. As awful as her father regularly was to her mother, she had never seen him so abrupt with her.

Mrs. Bennet stepped back, clearly stung. She put a hand over her heart. “Well, I never. Oh, my nerves!” She glanced back at the group. “I believe I shall go and lie down as well. Hill!” she called out the open door.

William stood quickly and went to her, gently taking her hand. “Is there anything you require, Mrs. Bennet? I do not wish to intrude, but if there is something I can do for you, I beg that you will treat me as family and allow me to do it.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, you are a kind man. No, I―” She drew in a ragged breath. “It is just my nerves. I merely require my smelling salts and my bed. I shall be—I shall be right as rain before long.” She gave him a forced smile. “I am sorry not to give you an invitation to dinner tonight.”

He shook his head. “It is of no moment. If you require anything, even a doctor from London―”

Mrs. Bennet clutched at her chest. “You think Mr. Bennet will require a London physician? Oh, oh, what will become of us?” She rounded on Lydia. “If only you had not disturbed your father! And now, because of your foolishness, we shall all have to live in the hedgerows.”

“No, I believe Mr. Bennet will be perfectly well,” William said soothingly. He cast a worried look at Elizabeth.

Jane hurried to her mother’s side. “Mr. Darcy is just trying to think of anything we might need, not what we will need. There is no need to worry so, Mama. Papa will be well.”

“I—do you really think so?” Mrs. Bennet wailed, looking up into William’s face.

Darcy nodded, though privately he shared her concerns. The Bennet girls did not deserve to be orphaned in one day, however, and Mrs. Bennet’s nerves, though long an issue and apparently frequently bandied about, could still result in apoplexy. “Bingley and I will call on you tomorrow just to make sure you and Mr. Bennet are well.”

“Yes, Mama, why do not you go lie down now?” Miss Bennet gently drew her mother down the hallway and towards the stairs.

Darcy moved to Elizabeth’s side. “Are you well?” he murmured.

“I hardly know,” she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Well, I think it is your fault, Lizzy,” Lydia said petulantly. “If you had not refused Mr. Collins―”

“Miss Lydia, please do not speak to your sister in such a fashion,” Darcy said firmly. “I am not your father, nor your brother, but your parents are responsible for their own behaviour and their own responses to other people’s behaviour.” He took a deep breath, reminding himself that she was the same age as Georgiana and trying to pretend he was dealing with someone similar. “I am sorry you are distraught, but please do not blame others.” He smiled kindly. “I have heard you are excellent at lottery. Perhaps we ought to play a game.” If he could keep her at Longbourn for another few hours, Wickham would be safely away without any chance for her to trail along behind his carriage.

Miss Lydia pouted. “We do not have enough people for lottery.”

“Then perhaps you might teach me another game.”