by Leenie Brown
“Send my wife to prison?” Wickham dropped into a chair, his face white, his knees failing him.
“It would not be my first choice, but if necessary, yes.” Denny leaned forward and looked his friend in the eye. “George, it has to stop. This storm has been building for years. Lydia has been coddled all of her life — first by her parents and then you. When was the last time you did not give her what she begged for?” He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “I would venture that you have never denied her a thing. You must completely cut her off except for a small allowance. You must teach her what others have not. If she cannot love you as you love her, at least she can respect you.”
Wickham scrubbed his face with his hands. “There is no other way?”
“You know the answer.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The trip to Derbyshire was one of the longest Wickham had ever experienced. The miles were not so very many, but the dread of seeing Darcy again, mixed with the anxiety of dealing with his wife, increased with each mile until he was sure that his heart was going to explode from the racing of his pulse. If not his heart, then surely his head would not survive the constant pounding. Death, death would be more welcome than the mortification he would surely face at Pemberley. However, both his heart and his head would not cooperate. Both soundly refused to succumb to the pounding of his pulses, and so he arrived, alive, at the doors of Darcy’s estate.
He clutched his hat in his hands, worrying the brim and studying the floor, as he and Denny waited in the entrance hall. He looked up as Darcy approached, swallowing hard against the bile of trepidation that rose in his throat. “She is here?”
“In my study. Do you wish to refresh before beginning?”
“No.”
Darcy motioned for them to follow.
Lydia was seated in a large leather chair in front of Darcy’s imposing desk. A footman, or rather a guard, stood beside her. She flew out of her chair as Wickham entered the room and threw herself at him, clinging to his neck. “Oh, I knew you would come for me. They have been so horrible to me. No one here has any idea of how to have the least amount of fun.”
Wickham pulled her arms away from his neck and stepped back. “Fun? You call this fun?” His voice trembled with anger. “Lydia, sit down, and do not move from that chair. I shall dismiss your guard, but he will remain outside the door should I need him.”
“Oh, George, why are you being such a bear?” Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.
“Because you are being a ninny.”
Lydia huffed and turned her face away. It was a word she had heard before, but coming from his lips, it stung as it never had when her father had called her such.
“You do not have to look at me, Lydia, but you will listen to me.”
“I will not listen to you with those two in the room.” Lydia scowled at Darcy and Denny, who stood behind her husband, feeling the disappointment of her husband would be hard enough to bear without it being observed by the husbands of two of her sisters.
“Yes, you will. They are to remain as witnesses to the agreement that you will be signing if you wish to return home with me and ever see your children again.”
Lydia’s eyes grew wide in astonishment. “Agreement?” she sputtered. Was he not going to ask her why she had left? Had she not explained it sufficiently in her note? Surely, there was no need for an agreement!
Wickham pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. “Denny helped me draft it up rather quickly before I travelled.”
Lydia snatched at the paper, but Wickham deftly moved it out of her range.
“Oh, no, my dear, you shall not touch it until you pick up a pen to sign it. I will tell you what it says. And just so there is no misunderstandings later, Mr. Darcy, would you please look this over so that you can verify to my wife that what I am telling her is contained within this document?”
Darcy nodded and took the paper from Wickham and began reading it over. His eyes grew wide in astonishment as he read. It was impressively thorough.
“Denny already knows what the document contains, Lydia, so he too can verify the accuracy of what I am to say.”
Her heart panicked. Memories of lectures from her father and scowls and scoldings flooded her mind. She was certain she could not countenance such treatment from her husband. It would be far too painful, so she affected her most sweet and alluring expression and attempted to dissuade him. “George, there is no need for that paper. I will go home with you. We shall forget all about this little bit of adventure, and things will return to normal. You know I only want to be with you and make you happy, dearest. You have been so busy with the shop lately, and I got bored.”
Wickham’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Normal is about to change, my dear. Boredom is not a reason to leave your husband and children. Nor is it a reason to put our family’s reputation in such a precarious position. Do you have any idea the effect your actions could have on our shop?” Wickham towered over her, hoping to make her feel a bit of unease. He needed her to feel the weight of what he was going to say.
Lydia stared up at him blankly. She had not considered much beyond her need to see her sister and request the money she needed to cover her over expenditures — not that she would tell him that, especially with Denny and Darcy in attendance.
“I did not think you did. I, quite honestly, believe you have never had a thought about anyone other than yourself. That too is going to change. You will return to our house, but you will be assigned one of the guest rooms. You will be attended at all times by your maid. I will not accept you back into my bed until I know for sure that you are not with child. If you are with child, it will be your full responsibility, should you decide to keep it.”
Lydia gasped; her temper flared. Did he really think so meanly of her? “But, it could be your child. There is no way to know if it is not.”
Wickham turned away from her. His stomach roiled at the thought that she had not denied the possibility of a child. “I do know when you have your courses, and I do know that there is no way that you could be carrying my child.” Wickham paced to the window and back. He clenched and unclenched his hands and breathed deeply.
Calming, he continued. “You shall receive only a small allowance from me for your personal use. Every item purchased for our children or our household will be approved by me, receipted and recorded. No household money shall be used by you for anything that you may need beyond what I deem necessary. Your allowance will also be used to pay the bills that you have incurred on your little adventure. Should you require money beyond what you are given, you shall have to earn it honestly. Any money that you earn must be reported to me along with the method in which you earned it.”
“You expect me to work?” Lydia jumped to her feet in anger.
“Only for those things that you want that are beyond necessity. I shall not let you starve, nor shall I let you walk about in rags. However, rags will be defined by me and not by a fashion magazine. Now, sit back down.”
She plopped into her chair, arms crossed. “So that is all?” Lydia tapped her foot. “There are no other restrictions? Shall I forever have to live as a child?”
“Lydia.” Wickham knelt before her. “I do not have to take you back. No one would condemn me for cutting you loose. But, I will not do that. Our children need their mother, and I need my wife. I love you far too much to not care about your behavior. I have failed you on that account up until now. But this,” he waved the paper before her, “you have brought upon yourself, and you are the only one who can remove it. Crying about the rain will not make it go away.”
Wickham stood and laid the paper on the table. “Read it, and choose if you wish to accept me or not. I will be leaving in the morning. I hope that you will be travelling with me.” He laid his hand on her cheek and kissed her on the forehead. “I do love you,” he whispered. Then, he left the room.
Anger still simmered within her, overshadowing the hurt, as
Lydia stared at the paper before her. Every requirement he had listed was there, to be followed until a day six months in the future when the need for such requirements would be reviewed. Indeed, there was to be a review every six months until two years had passed.
Lydia bit her lip to keep it from quivering as she read the bottom of the form, underneath where her signature was to be written.
It was not written in Denny’s tight hand, but in the familiar long and looping hand of her husband. It was his pledge, his agreement, written down in one simple statement and signed as he had always signed his messages to her.
Through every storm of life, I shall love you.
Yours forever,
George
Lydia reached for the pen.
Chapter 2
Wickham had slept, but it had been fitful at best. He pulled out his watch fob. One more hour, one more hour and they would be on their way. He paced the length of his bedchamber, his stocking clad feet making a soft padding sound as he paced. His boots stood ready by the door; his bag was packed and waiting. Fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes and Denny would join him to break his fast. Five more minutes of pacing and turning over what he needed to do in his mind. He checked his watch one more time; then, he straightened his cravat, slipped into his coat and tugged on his boots before proceeding down the hall to his wife’s room. There, he gave a loud knock before throwing the door open and striding into the room.
Lydia shot up in bed, clutching the blankets to her. “George!” she squealed. “You gave me such a fright. What do you mean disturbing my sleep so early?”
“We leave in less than an hour. If you wish to dress and eat before entering the carriage, I suggest you get out of bed now.” He spun on his heels and strode out of the room, leaving a gaping and sputtering Lydia.
“Good morning, Wickham,” said Denny as they descended the stairs. “I see you have taken to my method of rousing the wicked.” Denny laughed and smacked Wickham on the back.
Wickham smiled. “Seems effective.” He could hear his wife banging about in her room.
Denny and Wickham were the first to enter the breakfast room and hungrily filled their plates from the steaming serving dishes on the sideboard. They were both half way through their plates and on their second cup of coffee when Lydia stomped into the room.
“Good morning, Lydia. Nice of you to join us,” said Denny.
“As if I had a choice.” Lydia rattled the plates and clanked the serving spoons to show her disgust as she filled her plate.
“You had a choice. Eat or go hungry.” Wickham spread jam on his toast. “If you break the dishes, you will pay for them. I will not. I suggest you swallow your annoyance and start acting like a lady instead of a spoiled child. Good morning, Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.”
Lydia huffed once again and sat her plate down on the table rather heavily while shooting her husband an obvious look of displeasure.
“You are off early this morning?” Darcy asked.
“Yes, there are bills to be paid. Mr. Hamilton is expecting Lydia to report for work this afternoon.”
The cup of tea Lydia was lifting to her lips stopped in mid-air and slowly moved back down to the table. “Mr. Hamilton? Work?”
“You remember Mr. Hamilton, do you not? He is the owner of the inn that you left without paying.” Wickham forced himself to calmly sip his coffee. “Denny and I have made arrangements for you to work off your bill since your allowance seems to have already been spent.”
Lydia gaped.
Wickham finished the last of his toast and coffee. “You will want to hurry if you wish to pack before we leave.”
“Is there not someone to do that for me?”
“No. I have informed Darcy’s housekeeper that her staff have done quite enough for you already. After all, you did arrive unannounced. It is the least you can do.”
Wickham could see Lydia’s ire beginning to bubble up. He steeled himself for the coming storm.
“You want me to pack my own things?”
“And carry them to the carriage.” Wickham’s face was implacable, though, his insides churned.
“Do you wish me to drive the carriage as well?” Lydia was on her feet leaning across the table towards her husband.
“If I thought you could manage it. But, I would like both you and the carriage to return home unharmed.”
Lydia was well and truly beside herself. She stamped her foot and crossed her arms. “And if I do not wish to do those things and work at an inn?”
Wickham pulled a small notebook and pencil from his pocket. He opened it to a clean page and wrote the date.
“What is that?” Lydia demanded.
“A journal.”
“And what is it for?” She eyed him warily.
“It is to be an account of your behaviour. We do have a review of your agreement coming in six months. I would like to think that I would remember every detail between now and then, but I do not wish to risk missing some important point. So, what should I write? Shall I write that you refused to accomplish your first task?” Wickham cocked an eyebrow and stared at Lydia.
Lydia flopped into her chair and glared at him.
Wickham held her gaze and tapped his pencil on the page. “I really do need an answer, my dear.”
“Fine. I will pack my own things and carry them down. Happy?” She spat the words at him.
Wickham scratched a note into his journal, then looked at her. “Nothing about this situation makes me happy, Lydia.” He tried to keep the pain he was feeling from tinging his voice, but to those who were listening, it was there. He stood. “I will see to the carriage and horses. We leave on the hour. Be ready.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Drops of rain merged and raced a track down the carriage window. Wickham shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The rain had forced both him and Denny to abandon their horses for the dry confines of the carriage.
“You could sit on the other side,” suggested Denny.
“You know I cannot. Not yet.” Wickham looked across at his sleeping wife. He longed to be next to her, to have her head resting against his chest, to have his arm around her shoulders. Beyond reason, he loved her.
Love is not an easy option, son. He could hear his father say. It is an all consuming thing that takes strength and fortitude. It can be the most wonderful comforting feeling in the world and the most painful at the same time. Though he knew that his father had loved him, it was not a subject that often crossed the old man’s lips. Wickham remembered as a boy accompanying his father in his duties at Pemberley. They had come upon Mr. Darcy just as he was finishing yet another lecture to his son.
“Father,” George had asked. “Why does Mr. Darcy not love his son?”
“Why do you say he does not love the young master?”
“He is so hard with him. He is always instructing and correcting.”
“And you think that instruction and correction are not signs of love.” His father had smiled down at him. George had always loved the way that smile made him feel. “If he did not love his son, he would not care about his future. Master Fitzwilliam will one day be the Master of Pemberley. Without proper instruction, he would fail at the task. If his father did not instruct him and correct him, his character and knowledge would be lacking, and the whole of Pemberley, including Master Fitzwilliam, would suffer. Would that be love to allow a child to grow into an adult who would suffer because of lack of proper instruction and correction?”
Wickham had not been convinced at the time that his father was right. He saw the pain caused by Old Mr. Darcy’s constant demands. He knew how hard his friend tried to please his father. Perhaps Mr. Darcy had loved his son, but to never tell him, to never praise his efforts unless perfect, what kind of love was that? He sighed and reached forward and brushed a wayward strand of hair from Lydia’s face. He was still convinced that his father was not completely correct. Love was a combination, instruction and demonstration.
The carriage rolled to
a stop in front of an inn.
Lydia stretched. “Why are we stopping?” she asked sleepily.
“It is time for work.” Wickham climbed out of the carriage and offered his hand to his wife. Her hand trembled as she placed it in his. Inwardly, he was slightly pleased by this sign of discomfort over her circumstances while his gut wrenched at the idea of her being afraid. Father had been right about that. Love was a mixture of opposing feelings. He held her close to him as they dashed into the inn.
“Mr. Wickham, Colonel Denny, it is good to have you back.” A short, stout man wiped his hands on his apron as he approached.
“Mr. Hamilton, it is good to be both out of the rain and out of the confines of the carriage. I trust the men I sent settled the bill left behind by my other officer?” Denny extended his hand and clasped the older man’s hand, giving his arm a good pump.
“Yes, yes. It has been settled. Fine attachment of men you sent, quite proper the lot of them.” He turned to Wickham.
“Mr. Hamilton, allow me to present my wife, Lydia Wickham.” He glanced around the busy public room. “Is there a place we could speak regarding the remainder of the outstanding bill?”
Mr. Hamilton’s eyes narrowed as he studied Lydia. “Mrs. Wickham,” he said with a bow. “If you will all follow me, there is a private dining room where we may have such a discussion.”
Wickham placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back and gave her a nudge to follow.
Lydia moved slowly. This was the part she disliked the most, the part when some ill-thought-out action was dredged up, and she was made to feel stupid. She had planned to pay the gentleman on her return trip. She sat in the chair Wickham indicated. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and prepared to be lectured and berated. She thought of presenting herself as she often had to her father and as she had to Wickham just yesterday. While pretending to not care and pouting had worked especially well with her father and until yesterday with her husband, she felt sure that today, such tactics were not going to be effective. So she sat, allowing her shame to settle in around her instead of being held at a safe distance.