Page 16

Chapter 1 6

13th December 1812, Friday

Longbourn and its neighbourhood was awash with merriment.

The day before, as soon as Mr Darcy had left for Derbyshire, Mrs Bennet had dragged her five daughters over to Aunt Phillips at a completely unacceptable hour and called on her sister to share the good news.

Mrs Phillips, though half asleep when she had greeted her visitors, was all agog when she heard of the betrothal, and together, the two sisters had managed to wake not only Mr Phillips with their shrieks and squeals, but also Mrs Ravenbelt, a rather elderly widowed woman who lived next door and ran the milliner’s shop her husband had left her.

A celebratory dinner was quickly planned for the next day, card games and charades and other parlour games were approved of and invitations were quickly sent off.

Everybody who was anybody was invited.

Mrs Bennet was determined to laud her success over anybody willing to listen.

And to think!

It was Lizzy who had made such a fine match!

Fanny was convinced that if a girl like Lizzy who, though pretty, was really a hoyden and a bluestocking, could make such a match, her favourite and more beautiful daughter Lydia could very well catch herself a duke!

Oh, she could just imagine it!

Her eldest will live just next door as mistress of Lucas Lodge, her most troublesome will be far away in the north and her youngest and liveliest will be a stylish and fashionable titled lady getting invited to the Almacks every year !

The dinner party held at Longbourn that night was one that would be remembered for years after.

A total of ten courses were served including leek and ham soup, cabbage and spinach cake, port wine sauce, potato pudding, Fish with wine and mushrooms, Raspberry cake, and Syllabub.

The gentlemen drank Mr Bennet’s finest port after dinner while the ladies retired to the drawing room to discuss wedding plans and a bridal trousseau fit for the future Mrs Darcy.

The rest of the night after the members of the two genders reconvened was spent in raucous gaiety with quite a few prominent members of the community displaying embarrassingly ill behaviour with both their words and their actions.

As much as she missed Mr Darcy, Elizabeth could not help but be grateful that he was absent for at least this particular celebration.

Truly, if she could spare him the mortification that was to be the wedding breakfast, she would not mind getting married at the Longbourn chapel all by herself while they wrote their vows to each other in a letter and sent them via post through those hundred and fifty miles that separated them now.

While most of the society was making merry and rejoicing the Bennets’ good fortune, there was at least one person who was decidedly not having a good time.

The militia had not been invited to the dinner party, but the good Colonel Foster had been asked to come for the after dinner entertainment.

The generous offer was such that he had been encouraged to bring along with him as many of his fellow officers as he wanted to.

The colonel had taken up the invitation happily, considering the otherwise limited society of the small town, and brought with him Captain Carter, Officer Jacobs, Officer Denny, Officer Larson and Lieutenant Wickham.

Wickham, who had not attended the more private dinner and dance party thrown by the Gouldings, was dismayed and shocked at the news of Darcy’s betrothal.

That the man had captured the heart of the woman who once claimed to hate him, indeed, who once championed Wickham himself against him, chafed at him.

Miss Elizabeth might not be the most beautiful woman in Meryton- no, that title undoubtedly went to the eldest Miss Bennet- but she was a close second, and whatever she might have lacked in beauty, she thoroughly compensated with her charming liveliness, comely fashion and twinkling eyes.

Wickham had targeted her out of all the ladies at Mrs Phillips party even before he had found out about her past dislike for his nemesis.

He could not marry her, of course, the girl was penniless.

But he hadn’t even gotten the chance to properly seduce her before Darcy had somehow found out about his interest and contrived to steal her away, just like he had done with everything.

No doubt even the ever noble and intelligent Miss Elizabeth was not immune to Darcy’s wealth and his place in society.

For what other reason would she have accepted that boor’s offer in marriage when she had someone as handsome and charming as Wickham paying her attention?

That Darcy had taken yet another thing from right under Wickham’s nose angered him, and so when the colonel had invited him to attend the dinner party at Longbourn celebrating the engagement of his arch rival, Wickham had accepted with the sole purpose of ruining the said engagement.

Darcy’s pride would not allow him to honour a betrothal if the lady in question was compromised by another man, even more so if the man in question was the same who had very nearly succeeded in ruining his little sister.

Miss Elizabeth was cautious of him, giving him suspicious looks every now and then but she could not ask him to leave in front of so many people gathered in Longbourn’s drawing room.

No doubt Darcy had poisoned her against him just like he had done it with anyone else he deemed important enough to bring to his side, but Wickham was not deterred.

Everytime she shot him an ill-concealed glare, he responded with a helpless little smile, making an effort to look both apologetic and lovelorn.

He would approach her, but Lord, was the woman well protected!

At any moment, she was either surrounded by her sisters, her friends, the neighbourhood men, or her parents with all of them congratulating her and Darcy and wishing the couple all the happiness and felicity in their marriage .

Gag.

It was not until some of the guests began to leave that Wickham noticed Elizabeth discreetly make her way to the staircase leading to the family rooms.

He smirked.

Quickly and efficiently ending the trifle bit of flirtation he was having with Miss King, he excused himself and walked out of the room to follow Miss Elizabeth upstairs,

Just as he was about to start climbing, he felt someone grip his forearm tightly and pull.

In a moment, instead of in Miss Elizabeth’s bedroom, Wickham was being pushed into an unaired and unused little parlour room behind the staircase.

A couple of candles standing lit on the mantelpiece were the only source of light, and it took Wickham a moment to adjust to the dimness.

When his eyes did accustom themselves, he saw the person who had intercepted him was the youngest Bennet chit- Lydia, he had finally learned the name.

Wickham raised a brow at her petulant face, her two fisted hands resting angrily on her hips,

“Miss Lydia.” He drawled, a corner of his lips lifting up in a smirk, “How can I help you tonight?”

Lydia just looked put out at his nonchalance, “When are you going to marry me, Wickham?”

Wickham blinked, surprised.

He had thought maybe she had pulled him in this darkened room for another one of their little trysts.

This was decidedly different- decidedly less fun.

His smirk fell off his face,

“What the hell are you talking about?” He demanded gruffly,

Lydia did not seem intimidated, “We need to marry before Lizzy, Georgie!” She exclaimed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “I have to be the first of my sisters to marry! Imagine me! The youngest! Married before beautiful Jane or charming little Lizzy! Mama would positively die of happiness!”

Wickham gave the empty-headed birdie in front of him a look up and down.

Compared to her sister, Miss Lydia was taller, stouter, and better endowed.

Her dresses were usually of a lower neckline and a thinner muslin so as to leave very little to a man’s imagination.

Miss Elizabeth was more of a delicate sort of beauty, not thin to a sickly extent, but still all subtle curves and slender frame.

Her dresses were tight enough to be flattering on her smaller curves and low enough to be enticing on occasions but mostly, she did not give the impression of a woman desperate for male attention.

Any sensible man, when looking for short-term pleasure, would pursue a woman like Lydia, boisterous and young and stupid, for she was easier, wilder and freer with both her affections and her virtue.

No respectable man would, however, want such a flirt for a wife.

“Who said we’re going to marry?”

Lydia stopped her effusions for long enough to frown at him, “Of course we are going to marry. We’ve anticipated our vows.”

Wickham raised a brow, a little amused, “I cannot anticipate something I never planned on making.” When Lydia still looked confused, Wickham sought to clarify himself further, “I can’t marry you, Miss Lydia, you have none of the things I am looking for in a wife.”

Lydia gasped, looking affronted, “I am beautiful and lively!” She threw back those two attributes as if they made her the goddess Aphrodite.

Wickham made an unconvinced sound at the back of his throat, “You’re passably pretty and annoyingly loud.” He retorted instead, then added, “Besides, you’re poor. ”

Lydia gasped again, though it felt a bit more wretched this time, “I am a gentleman’s daughter! I bet my quarterly allowance is more than what you earn as an officer in a whole year!”

“Maybe.” Wickham shrugged, his hands casually in the pockets of his breeches, “But I was given a gentleman’s upbringing and so I have a gentleman's taste for leisure. I can’t marry a poor girl being poor myself. Why should I? When I can seduce an heiress instead.”

Lydia looked a little scared now, but her bravado hid most of it, “Then why did you seduce me?”

Wickham laughed, “Oh my dear Miss Lydia, you and I both know very little seduction was needed.” He waggled his eyebrows in a lewd manner so ungentlemanly and dishonourable, Lydia gave him a disgusted scowl. Her arms were crossed over her chest so tightly it was as if she was trying to hold herself upright. Her anger at Wickham’s apparent reticence to marry her had given way to fear. When she did not speak, for really, what could she say? Wickham rolled his eyes and walked over towards the door to leave,

His hand was on the knob when she gathered enough courage to say in a trembling voice, “My courses did not come this month.”

Neither of them was innocent enough to not know the unwanted conclusion such a news usually brought. Wickham paused, but did not turn. All was silent for one deafening moment.

At that moment, he thought maybe he should marry her. Not because he was suddenly eager to take responsibility and be a father to the bastard spawn growing inside her but because it occurred to him that Lydia Bennet was no longer just a mediocre country gentleman’s ill-dowered daughter. She was to be Fitzwilliam Darcy’s sister. And if the rumours were true and Darcy had indeed made a love match, then he would eagerly part with a pretty penny to save his betrothed’s family from ruination.

But then again, what was a silly bride and a few thousand pounds he would squander in a couple of years to the satisfaction of seeing Darcy miserable for the rest of his life when he found out he could not marry his lovely Elizabeth.

And if Wickham knew anything about Darcy, he knew the fastidious arse would not even contemplate marrying her. Not with her family disgraced and her youngest sister up the pole.

“Try throwing yourself down the stairs.” He replied to Lydia glibly and opened the door, the light from outside filtering in and highlighting a single tear as it rolled down her face and onto her quivering lips, “I’ve heard that works.”

Upstairs, Elizabeth had stolen into her room for a moment of respite. She loved her family and her neighbours dearly, really she did, but extended exposure to their exuberance and crass behaviour could sometimes grate even on her nerves. Instead she walked into her bedroom in a bit of a daze. Last night, when sleep had been elusive, she had begun to write a letter to Fitzwilliam, though she hadn’t written much before she had fallen asleep on her writing table. She went and sat on the table now, and after reading through it once, decided to scratch it and begin anew,

Dear Mr Darcy,

It feels very odd to write to you, and yet there are so many things I want to say. So many things I want to ask. When compared to the intensity of our affections, our acquaintance has been very slight, and I find there is much I want to know about you .

But tell me first, how does your cousin fare? And your aunt? I cannot imagine getting such news of my own child. I pray for his speedy recovery and her serenity.

Mama organised a dinner party today and invited all and sundry for the after supper entertainment. I confess I was very glad you were not present for the spectacle, Mr Darcy, for I was sure I would’ve spent the night blushing for my relations if you had been. She is very excited, you see, and very proud of me (her least favourite daughter!) for having caught such a rich, handsome, eligible fellow as yourself. Any offence you might have given to anyone in Meryton has to now be forgot. By marrying one of their own, you have shown your penitence quite well and have been forgiven any little trespass.

Sir William too, spent almost three whole courses at dinner rhapsodising about your many virtues, though he did take me aside for a moment later in the night and asked what had become of your engagement with your cousin, a Miss De Bourgh? I confess I was just as confused as him. It seems your cradle betrothal to Lady Catherine De Bourgh’s daughter is a very well-known fact in all of Kent and my cousin, Mr Collins, who is a rector under her parish, was very put out when he heard about your proposal to me.

Jane is very happy for me, though she confessed to being very confused last night. You must commend me, Mr Darcy, for I have done a most wonderful job keeping my growing regard for you a secret. There is no other person in the world closest to me but my Jane (though, I suppose that is to change soon) and even she could not believe that I had come to love you so ardently. And so we spent most of last night with me recounting our every encounter to my sisters. From Mr Wickham’s lies, to your going to London, to our subsequent apologies to each other, to even our clandestine (and, I can now admit to myself, quite improper) morning walks together. I must warn you- you have become the very epitome of the romantic man to my sisters and me. Kitty went as far as to say she liked you better than even the ever amiable Mr Bingley! For what is a man who is good to everyone and anyone he meets to a man who is only good to his beloved ?

It is very late as I write this, and my eyes refuse to keep awake despite myself. Now that I have begun writing to you, I do not know how to end. Perhaps with one of the many questions that I want to ask you,

Tell me Mr Darcy, do you favour a particular colour? (and you must not say, in a fit of amour, that it is the colour of my eyes, for I know my eyes are a very dirty, very mossy colour and nobody can favour them.)

Missing you dearly,

Elizabeth Benne t