Lydia Bennet's Story (2 page)
I wore my tamboured muslin, which becomes me extraordinarily well, and received so many compliments I was quite the belle of the ball. So smitten by my saucy looks were the officers of the Derbyshire militia, I swear I sat down not once! I danced the first two with Mr Maybury, then Mr Denny, Mr Wooton, Mr Blount, and Mr Wooton again; then, a simpering coxcomb, Mr Cavendish, followed by Mr Wickham. That gentleman danced and teased me by turns—he has a way of looking into my eyes which I find most disconcerting. Mr Wooton begged to dance again, but I was heartily sick of him, so as the supper bell rang, I affected a fainting seizure with an attack of the vapours, which had the opposite of the desired outcome, making him attend me all the more. It also meant that I missed dancing the Allemande, which I love—hateful man!!
Mr Blount took me quite unawares at the supper table by presenting me with a small package. On closer examination, I guessed it had been sent from Mr Howett who was indisposed this evening. Enfolded in a piece of violet scented paper was what I can only imagine to be a lock of his hair (nasty, wispy sort of stuff), with a page of sentimental poetry (clearly not of his own invention). As soon as I had the opportunity, I disposed of this unwanted gift as I happened to be passing the huge chimneypiece on one side of the room. Unfortunately, I had not taken into consideration the stench a large lock of hair like that would make or that the paper would smoulder and only half burn. It caught the attention of my mother who is generally not so observant but she has a suspicious nature. However, I managed to convince her that it was merely a lock of my own hair, which I had cut off because it was being unruly, wrapped in an old laundry bill. Fortunately, I am the apple of her eye and she is easily placated.
Mr Maybury asked me to take a turn with him in the grounds as he suddenly became overheated whilst conversing by the fire. No sooner had we stepped through the French doors than the naughty man was begging to steal a kiss and, as I was thus constrained between a jagged wall and a rugged man, I was forced to surrender. Note to myself—will hereafter forbear kissing gentlemen with whiskers—they tickle too much!
Mr Wooton is threatening to pay court and at the very least will call tomorrow. His eyes are too close together and he has damp palms, bad teeth, and breath reminiscent of a stableyard privy. No doubt he will bring Mr Blount for my poor sister, Kitty. He is equally captivating, being two feet nothing, with more fat than a hind of pork, and with eyes that squint out from a florid visage like a slapped behind. Mr Edwards will be dragged along in tow to plead their case—we must visit Aunt Phillips and escape the deputation.
His whiskers might tickle but he is so gallant. I long to see Mr Maybury again! Mrs Lydia Maybury—there, that looks very well!
Thursd ay, April 22nd
As a result of certain incidents that have lately taken place, I have decided to reside quietly at home and forgo any trips to Meryton or flirtations with officers for a month at the very least. Likewise, when the time comes for me to step out into Meryton again, I will be more cautious in my choice of company and look for more than a handsome face amongst the gentlemen. I shall not let Mr Maybury know he has quite broke my heart— I daresay I shall never look at a fellow again! He is a very sly young man and, as Kitty pointed out, not only is his nose too long for sincerity of character, but I have also had a narrow escape from an alliance which surely would never have been happy. She quite rightly says that I am none the worse for the experience; only she and Mr Wickham know of his dallying with my heart, and I can trust both of THEM implicitly.
It is my greatest desire to fall in love and catch myself a husband, yet, whilst I am truly proficient in the art of becoming enamoured, so far finding my partner in life eludes me, however vigilant I have been in the endeavour. My fondness for an officer as befitting exactly what I require in a husband is so well established that it would take a good looking man indeed to capture my affections if he had not the added attraction of a scarlet coat. But to tell the truth, I am fast learning that not all soldiers are the marrying kind!
I have decided to devote the next few weeks to refining and polishing my accomplishments, which, due to my good fortune, I am already liberally blessed. I am to give more time and effort to preserving my Beauty, Health, and Loveliness, whilst exercising a Graceful Attitude in Deportment and cultivating my Superior and Beautiful mind. Kitty and I have drawn up some ideas and instructions (gleaned from some Ladies’ books on the Art of Beauty and Accomplishments) for a new plan, and we have both agreed that we will not entertain any officers even if they should call!
Friday, April 23rd
Kitty and I have had a most wonderful day devoted to ourselves. Hill woke us at a little before five as requested, but we decided it might be more fortuitous to our walk and our constitutions if we could actually see where we were going. We had not considered the lack of daylight on a cold April morning, and so we determined to delay our ramble until eight, thereby shortening the time and distance to be covered and thus being duly returned by the breakfast hour. We set off in the direction of Holly Knoll but had only got half way when the sun disappeared behind a black cloud; we then had the misfortune to be caught in a sharp shower and were drenched through with rain. We have decided that in future, we may just as well lie in bed and postpone our brisk walking until June at least, as tramping through mud, rain, and cowpats is strictly injurious to a graceful carriage of the body.
We sat down to breakfast at the appointed hour, but it was a rather poor affair: toast and tea instead of the requested steak and ale. Mama was in ill humour.
It has to be said that Rebecca and Mrs Hill were not as delighted to see us in their kitchen as we might have expected but were very helpful, especially with the recipe for a face mask. Lord how we laughed; the breadcrumbs kept falling off, despite the sticking effect of egg whites and vinegar. Finally, Rebecca suggested that we sit round with our heads lain upon the tabletop. Just as we were made comfortable, Mr Hill came in and asked if he should cut off our heads to match the chickens that were lying on the other side awaiting plucking. We could not help but laugh at him, although his manner of speaking was such that, if you didn’t know better, you might think he meant it.
Rebecca was sweetness itself in making up our faces and declaring she had never seen such beauties. For her kindness, we returned the favour, but I am not so sure that she was as pleased with our efforts as we were with hers. It has to be said that the canvas we were working on is no painting in oils, and Kitty’s insistence on applying the “Liquid Bloom of Roses” was rather too artistic. Rebecca looked more likely to be at home in Drury Lane, but Ned the stable boy seemed rather to like it and chased her around the kitchen begging for a kiss from her ruby lips!
We pressed on with our dancing practice, and Kitty had the marvellous idea of asking Rebecca and Ned to join us. The poor boy was quite worn out before we had finished with him and played the part of the gentleman exceptionally well, though I had to scold him for his insolence. As Rebecca and Kitty were whirling one another round in a very dizzy fashion, he whispered in my ear that he had never seen such pretty ankles as mine in the dance. I did not like to admonish him too much; after all, I am sure what he says is perfectly true!
Still, our performances certainly cheered up mama, who laughed and clapped and hummed songs for us until Mary deigned to give us a few tunes on the pianoforte.
We have spent the evening in refined conversation with papa, who did not attend to a word we said, so just to vex him we took turns about the drawing room, walking with great Fluidity and Elegance. Mama was in such excellent spirits that the workbox did not make an appearance and we three were all in high spirits. Kitty and I are determined to keep up our admirable routine, though we have been persuaded to venture out tomorrow by a missive from dear Harriet Forster who has promised news and gossip not to be missed. I do not think I shall come to any harm just by strolling out to Meryton and have cause to think that a little exercise and company can only do me good!
THE TRUE MISFORTUNE, WHICH besets any young lady who believes herself destined for fortune and favour, is to find that she has been born into an unsuitable family. Lydia Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, not only believed that her mama and papa had most likely stolen her from noble parents, but also considered it a small miracle that they could have produced between them her own fair self and four comely girls—Jane, Lizzy, Mary, and Kitty—though to tell the truth, she felt herself most blessed in looks. Lydia’s greatest desire in life was to be married before any of her sisters, but a lack of marriageable beaux in the county and her papa’s reluctance to accompany her to as many Assembly Balls as she wished had thwarted her efforts thus far.
The youngest Longbourn ladies, Lydia and Kitty, were employed in preparations for a trip out into the nearby town of Meryton. Their bedchamber was strewn with cambrics, muslins, and ribbons, all cast aside for want of something better. Slippers and shoes, sashes and shawls spilled over the bed and onto the floor. Feathers, fans, and frills flowed from open drawers like a fountain cascade. Amongst the spoils, Kitty reclined against propped, plump cushions to regard her sibling, one arm resting behind her head whilst the other held back the heavy bed drapes, so as not to obscure her view. Lydia sat before the glass on her dressing table, scrutinising her reflection as she put the last touches to her toilette. She dusted a little powder over her full, rosy cheeks and twisted the dark curls on her forehead with a finger, patting them into place until she was satisfied with her appearance.
“Is it not a face designed for love?” she asked Kitty with a chuckle, practising several expressions she thought might stand her in good stead with the officers, or at the very least amuse her sister for five minutes. She was perfecting what she could only describe as a “passion promoter” to great comic effect, pouting her generous mouth and flashing her wide, black eyes with slow sweeps of her lashes, which had Kitty reeling on the bed with laughter. “No doubt, I shall capture Mr Denny’s heart once and for all!”
“I do not think making faces at Denny will make one jot of difference to his regard for you,” Kitty declared, spying a bauble amongst the strewn bedclothes and sitting up to clasp the necklace about her throat. “But, in any case, is it wise to spend so much time on a young man who has such a glad eye? I should have thought you would have learned your lesson by now!” Kitty was the sister with whom Lydia shared all her fears and secrets, cares and woes, secure in the knowledge that she was acquainted with as many of Kitty’s confidences, as her sister was of her own. Lydia would never divulge what followed when Charles Palmer detained Kitty in the conservatory and proposed to show her the illuminations, nor disclose intelligence of the letters that passed between them afterwards. Their confidence was absolute.
“I do hope Denny will like my new hairstyle,” Lydia went on, tying a length of coral silk around her tresses and ignoring her sister’s comments. “I daresay he will; he is always very attentive to every little thing. Why, I only changed the ribbons on my straw bonnet from white to coquelicot last Sunday and he had noticed before the first hymn was sung in church. Oh, Denny, he is so very sweet, though perhaps he is not quite so gallant as Mr Wickham, whose compliments are without doubt the most accomplished. I wonder what he will have to say. Do you think Mr Wickham will notice my hair?”
Kitty did not think Lydia really expected an answer to her question but ventured to comment on the fact that Mr Wickham, one of the best looking officers of their acquaintance, might have his attentions engaged elsewhere. “I do not think Mr Wickham’s notice extends much beyond that of his present interest in Miss Mary King. I hate to disappoint you, Lydia, but quite frankly, you could have Jane’s best bonnet on your head and he would not notice you! Pen Harrington believes he is quite in love.”
“Well, I am not convinced he is in love with Mary King,” said Lydia, liberally sprinkling Steele’s lavender water on her wrists, “but with her ten thousand pounds! Money will certainly give a girl all the charm she needs to attract any suitor. If you and I had half so much, do you think we should still be single?”
“Well, be that as it may, whatever Mr Wickham’s true feelings are on the matter, I declare that I shall never forgive him for his conduct to our sister. I think he used our Lizzy very ill,” Kitty cried, as she drew a white chip bonnet from its pink and white striped box and pulled it on over her ebony locks. “No wonder Lizzy went off to Hunsford to visit Charlotte Collins. I think Mr Wickham quite broke her heart.”
“Mr Wickham is a very amiable, but wicked, man and if he were not so charming or so handsome, I swear I would snub him forever,” Lydia replied. She stood up to smooth her muslin gown over her hips, pulling it down as hard as she could and sighing at its length in despair. Jane, the eldest of the Bennet daughters was a little shorter than herself, Lydia reflected, tugging at her castoff gown. Indeed, none of her sisters were as tall. And whilst she enjoyed her superior height, she knew that nobody else had to suffer the indignity of wearing clothes that were too small. If only she could persuade her papa that she really needed a new dress for herself alone, she knew she would be the happiest girl alive. But that was impossible. There was never enough money and, if there was any left over for the occasional luxury, as the youngest of five daughters, Lydia knew she would be the last to feel its effects. Tacking on another length of fabric from the workbox was the only answer, but there just wasn’t time for that now. If they were not careful, they would be late and miss all the fun.