Lydia Bennet's Story (21 page)

I have some very good news that I cannot wait a minute longer to share! Mr Wickham is raised to a Captain with all thanks due to Lizzy, I am certain. She has been aware for some time of the lack of funds and dire financial straits to which Wickham and I have succumbed, through no great fault of our own. I daresay she must have told Darcy; he must help us and of course, no sooner does my sister express a wish than it is granted. I must say her husband is very attentive to all her needs—it quite puts me out of countenance! Well, I am vastly happy about it all, and I daresay George is thrilled too, though I have not had a line from him to know one way or t’other or if he is even aware of his good fortune. Husbands do not make good letter writers it seems to me, but I can hardly complain, as I have not written a word to him either. I am never certain of his exact direction; I believe he moves from place to place. In any case, he is in Bath on regimental business until the middle of December and will meet me at Netherfield, where we plan to stay for at least two months complete!

Pemberley is a great place, though rather too large in my opinion; I am sure I should not like such a cavernous dwelling to call my home. I am thankful I will not be here for Christmas—you could get lost out in the wilderness amongst the high peaks, which seem to make up the landscape round about, and if there is snow, I am certain we should have to be dug out!

The shops are far more appealing to my way of thinking, and Lizzy has taken me to Bakewell where I have made friends of the draper, the glovemaker, and the milliner if you understand my meaning! My purchases are all charged to the Captain, and Lizzy has been most generous also, insisting that she settle most of my bills. I cannot think why she is so anxious about such trifling matters; Wickham can afford a few treats for his wife now he has been promoted.

We went to Buxton yesterday, in the box barouche, which has the family crest emblazoned on the side. I could very easily get used to being treated like royalty. People fawn over my sister wherever she goes! We took the waters and walked along the crescent; it was a pleasant outing. Lizzy treated me to silk and muslin for three new gowns, which were given directly to Mrs Reynolds to supervise their making up. I shall certainly look the part of a Captain’s wife!

Please send my love to papa and tell him that I would welcome a letter from him occasionally. Well, I daresay he is too busy to spend the time writing to me, and I shall see him soon enough at Netherfield. Send my best and most affectionate felicitations to my sisters. I do miss them, even Mary!

It was time to leave Pemberley for Netherfield. Lydia left with some reluctance; she was enjoying herself very much and thought more than once about extending her visit by a few more days, but Mr Darcy had kindly sorted out her travelling arrangements. The improvement in his manner to her was such that he would brook no refusal when it came to accompanying her to the inn at Lambton where she was to meet the post chaise, and he even insisted on seeing her into the carriage, instructing the postillions to drive swiftly. Lydia was most impressed!

Jane welcomed her sister with her usual grace and charm. It was not long before Lydia was recounting all her activities in Derbyshire and describing for her sister the grand way of life that was Lizzy’s existence. Lydia met up with her husband at Netherfield who was greeted affably by Mr Bingley and with true affection by Jane. Relations were strained between the Wickhams, but Lydia tried to make the best of the situation, and Christmas passed as happily as it could. She managed to see her old friend Isabella, who was still keeping house for her brother Alexander, a clergyman in a village not far from Netherfield near Amwell. Isabella Fitzalan was the unmarried sister of Lydia’s dearest friend Harriet Forster. She had acquainted Isabella with her misfortunes on their seeing one another again and took every opportunity to confide in this young lady, discussing her troubles when they met. Isabella was a good listener and a dear friend.

The Wickhams frequented the Assemblies in Meryton, and despite the disapproval from her papa, Lydia fancied herself as a matchmaker when it came to finding suitable beaux for Kitty, though she insisted on trying out her sister’s partners on the dance floor.

“Believe me, Kitty, if a man cannot dance, he is not worth knowing, and if I can judge one thing, it is a man with a talent for prancing, even when he is standing still!”

All in all, Lydia enjoyed her visit and managed to come to an understanding with her husband. Although they were able to stay for a month and see the New Year in, Mr Bingley managed to sort out their travel arrangements back to Newcastle sooner than either of them would have liked. Visiting Netherfield and Pemberley had been a joy; Lydia loved her sisters’ style of living, which was exactly suited to her taste. Therefore, as soon as Wickham announced that he had business to attend in far flung places once more, she was off on her travels again. Her solo expeditions gave her a sense of freedom, independence, and more pleasure than she would admit.

Monday, May 2nd
I am here again in Hertfordshire at Netherfield to see Jane and Isabella. Captain Wickham is to meet up with me after his jaunt to Bath, which is an arrangement to suit us both. As far as anyone in Newcastle is concerned, we leave together and come home together, which provides no fuel for the gossips, and I do not have to answer to anyone. I cannot say I am truly happy or unhappy about our style of living and arrangements; my husband does not treat me badly, and my marriage, though sinking into indifference on both sides, gives me respectability if not much else. Marriage to George is not as I had imagined it would be, but I must admit that fault is entirely my own. I have made an imprudent marriage; I understand that now, especially when my sisters’ own successful alliances are observed firsthand and appear to be in such great contrast to my own. I do envy my sisters their attentive husbands; even Mr Darcy is a paragon in that respect. Bingley is an angel—I once thought my George to be such a man, but I have lived with him long enough to discover the truth. He does not love me—he never did. George has never felt the same about me as I do or did of him. I should have realised when he admitted to me all that time ago that he was not capable of loving anyone. But I was blind. My passion was all consuming and overrode every other consideration. I was incapable of seeing the truth, a young fool who is now paying heavily for my mistaken folly. And though I am loath to admit it, I have none to blame but myself.

There are few to whom I would admit these thoughts, and on days like this, when I am consumed with sadness for what might have been, I find it hard to be at peace. For my own sake, I keep up the pretence that I am as giddy and light-hearted as ever; I would not give the world the satisfaction of knowing anything else—in my heart, I am still the young girl who believes that perhaps my husband will realise that he has been in love with me all along and cannot do without me. But, I suspect my longings are all in vain.

AT NETHERFIELD, MRS WICKHAM and the Bingleys were sitting in the pretty breakfast parlour at the table, having finished their early morning toast and chocolate. Lydia was holding court as usual, talking nineteen to the dozen, Charles Bingley was doing his best to appear attentive to his sister-inlaw’s every word, and Jane was trying to run through a list of tasks she had to accomplish.

“I hope you do not mind, Jane, but I wrote Isabella to say she might call today,” Lydia announced. “I do not want to put you out. We could venture abroad, but then I cannot be bothered to walk as far as Meryton, and you know I am not a great walker. I cannot think why you both wish to surround yourselves in so much countryside. It is too quiet for my taste. Give me the hustle and bustle of town life any day. You would simply adore Newcastle for its lively ambience. Even when Wickham and I lived in that dreadful Eastcheap, I must say I preferred it above any existence I have ever suffered in the country.”

“It is a good thing we are not all the same, Lydia,” her sister professed, putting aside her notes. “For myself, I could never be happier than when I am at Netherfield, with all its associations. I would not wish to bring my children up in the town.”

Lydia cast a sideways glance at her sister who was the very picture of contentment. She was expecting their first child, and though she was apt to tire easily, Lydia envied her increasing beauty and healthy bloom.

“I think I like to be in town almost as much as the country, Mrs Wickham,” added Mr Bingley, smiling at Lydia, “and though Netherfield will always have a special place in my heart, we must fix on getting properly settled somewhere soon and secure a place of our own.”

Lizzy perhaps,” said Jane.
“I always think Yorkshire a pleasant sort of county,” added
Bingley.
“Oh yes, my love, if we settled in Yorkshire we would be
so close to our dear sister and brother. We should be able to
visit frequently.”
“I will mention it to Darcy when they get here. He might
well know where the best houses are to be had.”
The conversation was halted when Mrs Garnett, the housekeeper, popped her head around the door and addressed her
mistress. “There is a Miss Fitzalan and Mr Fitzalan called to see
Mrs Wickham, my lady. Shall I show them in?”
“Oh Lord,” Lydia declared, “Isabella has brought that dull
stick of a brother with her.” She sighed. “What’s his name . . .
Alexander?”
“Lydia,” admonished her sister, “that is unfair. Mr Fitzalan is
a very pleasant young man. He is a little quiet perhaps, but there
is no harm in that.”
“Silent and dour, you mean,” cried Lydia. “Well, I have so
much to tell her, and I just won’t be able to speak to Isabella
properly, if you take my meaning.”
“Mrs Garnett, do show in Mrs Wickham’s guests. Would you
like some more tea, Lydia?” Jane asked. These civilities over, she
and her husband rose to leave the room.
“Thank you, Mrs Bingley, you do think of everything. Though
if we could have some more delicious plum cake and bread rolls,
Mrs Garnett, that would be wonderful. I am still feeling a little
peckish. Lord! I have such an appetite, it must be the country air!” Isabella was as beautiful as ever, in a pink pelisse with a straw
bonnet adorned with pale blush roses and sweet ribbon to match.
Her brother stood at her side. In complete contrast to the fair
Isabella, he was dark like his sister Harriet; a tall, well-built, ravenhaired man with the same startling forget-me-not blue eyes as his
siblings. Lydia would have called him good looking but for his
expression, which was always severe. She did not think she had ever
seen him smile. Lydia thought him more sombre than cousin
Collins and twice as dreary. She half expected him to fetch out
Fordyce’s sermons and sit her down to read them, there and then. “Isabella, it is a tonic to see you,” Lydia cried. “How are you?
The country air is certainly suiting you.”
“My sister looks well, does she not?” Mr Fitzalan added. “Alexander, you would say that, you are always such a kind
person,” his sister laughed. “He never has a bad word to say
about anybody, truly.”
“A paragon indeed,” Lydia answered, her eyes meeting his
across the room. He always looked at her with distaste, as though
she were something he had just scraped off his highly polished
boot. “Do take a seat.”
“How are you, my friend?” asked Isabella.
“I am well enough, thank you. Wickham has gone to Bath to
enjoy his usual haunts and other pleasures of which, thankfully,
I am unaware, though truth be told, I should like to go to Bath
myself. But there it is; that is how we rub along, and I daresay it
is for the best. At least it keeps his ‘other interests’ out of
Newcastle and my hair.”
Mr Fitzalan coughed with embarrassment and shifted his feet
on the Turkey rug.
Lydia did not understand why Isabella had brought her
brother along with her; how on earth they could conduct a
conversation together with him spluttering every two seconds
she could not account. There was a silence. Lydia looked across
the gravel walk for inspiration whilst she tried to think of a topic
more suitable for discussion with a clergyman. “Have you heard
from Harriet or Pen lately? I have not heard a word from either
of them, though I daresay I may have missed some letters, which
have gone to Newcastle. Is either of the Miss Harringtons
engaged yet?”
“Both of the Miss Harringtons have had the luck to find
young men and are settled in Harrogate with a twin brother
each. I believe they are both in an ‘interesting’ condition. I am
surprised you had not heard they were now married.” “Heavens above!” Lydia cried. “Is it really that long since I
heard from them?”
“Harriet and Henry are in Brighton again, enjoying the sea
air and she is very well,” Isabella went on. She looked sideways
at her brother before making a gesture with her hands aimed at
Lydia, indicating an increasing girth.
“Good Lord,” said Lydia laughing, “is the whole world at it?” “It would seem so,” Isabella grinned. “I should not say it, but
I daresay you will be soon swelling the ranks also.”
Mr Fitzalan got up out of his seat and went to the window and
seemed to be studying something of great interest down the drive.
Why he had decided to invite himself, when it must have been
obvious to anyone he would be in the way, Lydia could not tell. She took his seat next to her friend. “I doubt it quite
honestly; it’s not for want of trying, believe me, but I would have
thought something might have happened by now,” she whispered. “To be truthful, it does not upset me in the least. I am not
maternal, you know; I consider it a blessing. And with Jane and
Lizzy both increasing daily, I shall have all the babies I want to
dandle on my knee. Besides, Captain Wickham has all the
endearing qualities of a demanding child, I can tell you.” “Oh, Lydia, you have not lost your sense of humour
anyhow,” said Isabella with concern.
“No, I am fortunate that my spirits remain high, despite
much provocation. Tell me, how is your mother?”
“Her health is not good, but she is as well as can be expected.
We are fortunate that Bertha, our housekeeper, is a very good sort
of girl. She will always sit for a while if I wish to go out.” “Well, that is good to hear because I have some exciting
news which I am sure will put you in good spirits,” said Lydia.
“My sister is giving a ball; she says it will be the last she will give for a while, as it will not be long before she is too fat for dancing.
I am allowed to invite my friends, so you must come.” “Alexander, did you hear?” cried Isabella. “We are invited to
a ball at Netherfield! How very exciting.”
Lydia had not meant to include Alexander in the invitation
also. She could not bear the thought of having to entertain the
rector. Cousin Collins was bad enough, but at least he approved
of dancing. On the last two occasions Lydia had been at a dance
in Meryton and witnessed Alexander’s behaviour, he had been
austere; she had not seen him dance once, and when she had
hinted that he might take a turn with her, he had muttered
something incomprehensible and shot out of the room. Her
dislike for him had increased tenfold from that moment. Mr Fitzalan turned from the view and bowed in Lydia’s direction with a little nod of his head. What was that? Lydia
wondered. Is he accepting my invitation or has he a nervous
twitch? For the life of her she could never understand why
Isabella seemed so fond of this brother. If this was what one had
to expect, she was pleased she had none. What a perfect ninny!
“It is to be held on Friday and will go on all evening and into the
next morning I shouldn’t wonder,” Lydia boasted. “My sister’s
hospitality knows no bounds; there will be champagne and lots
of food, wonderful dancing, and Hertfordshire’s finest beaux. We
will have you married before the night is out!”
“I should think such a match would be most imprudent,” Mr
Fitzalan remarked. “Not a recipe for success I would have thought.
You would not recommend such a marriage yourself, would you,
Mrs Wickham?” His eyes were like ice—cold and glacial—as he
returned to his seat to stare at her uncompromisingly. Lydia wanted to shake him. She was sure he was making
some veiled reference to her own nuptial arrangements. She
would show him she did not care to be intimidated. “You do not
believe in love at first sight, I take it?”
“I do not, Mrs Wickham,” he answered, with a grim, unsmiling
expression. “I think one should be very cautious of feelings which
only obey the emotions of the heart. Quite frankly, I do not believe
in the kind of false love which you describe. Poets and writers seem
to rate it highly, but for myself, I have never experienced such a
state of confusion nor do I wish to.”
Lydia looked him up and down with distaste. She did not
think she had ever met anyone so wholly unattractive. There
was nothing about him she could like, and she found it impossible to imagine that anyone else would ever see anything of any
merit in him. She was most decidedly persuaded that the single
state was one he should certainly get used to; he was never going
to fall in love nor inspire love in another.
“It takes time to know one’s future partner,” he insisted. “I
must confess, I am an avid advocate for long engagements.” Lydia could quite believe it; he had made it very clear that he
had no passion in his soul whatsoever. He was a cold fish. No doubt
Isabella had given him a hint about her own hasty and imprudent
marriage. That he did not approve of elopements, she was sure. “Promise me you will come and visit us at the rectory,” Isabella
interrupted. She hated to see those she loved at odds with one
another. “Please come tomorrow if you are not engaged.” “I should like that very much,” Lydia answered. She bit her
lip but was tempted to voice her hopes of Alexander’s absence.
With luck he would be out and about seeing to his parishioners. “I am so very glad you are here, Lydia,” Isabella professed on
rising. “We will make the most of our time together, but I must
get back for mother. Until tomorrow; then, we will have a nice
long chat.” She kissed her friend, Mr Fitzalan bowed but uttered
not a syllable and off they went.
Despite Mr Fitzalan’s unwelcome presence, Lydia felt better
for seeing her friend. She missed her company and that of
Harriet too. There was nothing like a true friend for sharing
confidences. Being married to a man like George was hard work,
and once the novelty of being called Mrs Wickham had worn
off, she thought there were few delights left. Isabella would listen
to her troubles with understanding; she would just have to wait
till tomorrow to hear her news.