Love Unsought

by Kay Bea

  She woke to strong hands around her wrists as she was pulled from the chair. Her eyes flew open to see George Wickham, smelling as though he were deep in his cups. “Unhand me at once, sir. Are you out of your senses?” she demanded as she attempted to wrench herself free.

  “Lydia! You have done naught but tease me all night!” He pressed closer to her, and Elizabeth struggled to free her hands and push him away.

  “I am not Lydia!” She protested loudly, but her shouting was to no effect.

  “Hush, woman! You shall wake the entire house with that noise!” To Elizabeth’s horror, the man leant down to kiss her. She was spared that indignity when they were interrupted by a shout from the doorway.

  “George! What are you doing?” Lydia’s voice rent the air, and Wickham’s attention turned from the woman he held to the one standing at the door. Confusion came over his features.

  “Lydia? But, then who?” He looked from her to the figure in his arms and grimaced. He seemed surprised to discover his mistake.

  Lydia began to yell. “Lizzy! My own sister! How could you? I might have known with all your talk of protecting our reputations that you would be of easy virtue! Mama always said you were thoughtless and headstrong! You could not get Mr Darcy, and you could not get an officer of your own, so you decided to steal mine? Well it will not work! George loves me!” While Lydia raged against Elizabeth, Wickham stepped away. Elizabeth was suddenly freezing. She clutched her shawl closer and backed away from the pair. She was too shocked to speak, much less defend herself against the vile accusations spilling from her sister’s mouth.

  Lydia’s voice had, by this time, become loud enough to draw the attention of the whole household, and in moments the trio in the library was joined by an alarmed-looking Colonel Forster and then his wife. They were trailed discreetly by their housekeeper. Mrs Forster did not seem wholly surprised at the scene, and Elizabeth spared a moment to wonder at the woman’s reaction. The colonel took in the entire scene with the eye of one accustomed to ascertaining minute details at a glance. He first saw Lydia’s nearly purple face, then Wickham’s drunken state, the way Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with shock and how she clutched her shawl like a shield, and finally the look of guilt in his own wife’s eyes. “Mrs Forster, have you something to share?”

  “What? Me? Why, no, of course not! I am as surprised as you to find the lieutenant with Miss Bennet.”

  “But you are not surprised he is here?”

  Mrs Forster could make no reply and looked at a place somewhere behind her husband instead of meeting his eye.

  In a trice, the colonel had his household under good regulation. His wife was sent to her rooms with the promise he would be seeking an explanation, Wickham to his study to await an escort back to camp, and the Miss Bennets to their rooms under the care of his housekeeper. When Lydia made a noise as though to protest, a single look from her host was enough to render the girl silent, though she did glare mutinously about the room.

  As soon as the sisters were alone, Lydia left her room to confront her sister. Elizabeth was seated in a chair by the fire when Lydia entered and began her tirade afresh. “I hate you!”

  “Shut up, Lydia.” Elizabeth’s voice was a whisper. The words ‘ruined’ and ‘marriage’ reverberated in her mind and, as Lydia raged, all Elizabeth could think was that she had lost Darcy forever. “Do you think I wanted this? I would not wish that poor excuse for a man on anyone, and now because he thought I was you…I cannot even give voice to what may happen. Stay away from me, Lydia, and stay away from him. He cannot offer you anything good.” Elizabeth’s voice broke.

  Elizabeth’s words were lost on her sister except the implication that Elizabeth and Wickham might have to marry as a result of the night’s events. “George will never marry you, no matter how you tried to trap him! Your tricks did not work!”

  The housekeeper arrived in time to hear the last of Lydia’s words. “Miss Lydia, that is enough! Go along to yer room and ‘ave a nice cup of tea while I see to yer sister. There ye are.” Mrs Brooks had deftly manoeuvred Lydia out the door and into the company of a maid as she continued speaking in level tones. “This’ll have ye feelin’ right as rain in no time at all, miss.” Elizabeth saw the housekeeper quickly mix a few drops from a small bottle into Lydia’s cup before nodding to the maid and coming to Elizabeth.

  “Come, dearie. Let’s put an end to this terrible night.” Mrs Brooks extended a hand to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth raised her eyes and looked at the older woman, expecting to see judgment and condemnation, and was relieved to find only compassion. She was shivering again and gratefully accepted the older woman’s assistance in changing for bed. As she lay waiting for sleep to claim her, Elizabeth noted Lydia’s voice had grown silent, and she sent up a prayer of thanks for what she assumed was the laudanum the housekeeper had slipped into Lydia’s tea.

  In Hertfordshire, Mr Bennet and Darcy were tucked away in the former’s book room engaged in what was promising to be a lengthy chess match. Georgiana was visiting their Matlock relations and would join him later in the summer. He had been in Hertfordshire less than a se’nnight, having come after the Bingleys’ return from their wedding trip. He was holding to his promise to gain the support of Elizabeth’s family and to repair his reputation in Meryton. He had listened well to Elizabeth’s reproofs in Kent and to the words of his cousins. On reflection, he realised his preoccupation with Georgiana, as well as his resolution to keep his affairs private, had rendered him aloof and given him an air of superiority. He was determined to show Elizabeth that the changes she had witnessed in London and in the few days they spent together in Hertfordshire were not fleeting. He had called on all the principal men of the neighbourhood and found that, with little effort on his part, they were ready to forgive any offense he had caused.

  The primary object of Darcy’s campaign was, of course, Mr Bennet. Darcy knew in what high esteem Elizabeth held her father before he forced her to Brighton. Given what he had witnessed of Mr Bennet’s remorse over that decision, he felt certain the two would repair their relationship. He hoped to have Mr Bennet as an ally when Elizabeth returned and so had called daily on Longbourn. His first call had been somewhat awkward. However, once he engaged Mr Bennet in a friendly game of chess, the two found they were able to converse easily on a variety of topics, their favourites being history, Elizabeth, politics, philosophy, Elizabeth, economics, and Elizabeth.

  There had been more than a few tense conversations as Mr Bennet began to reflect on the behaviour of his daughters when compared to that of Miss Darcy, and Darcy finally revealed the whole of his history with Mr Wickham. Darcy began to think he was winning the older man’s grudging respect. Mr and Mrs Gardiner had been forced to cancel their planned visit, and Darcy was considering revising his plans for the summer to include a trip to Brighton.

  The two men were entering their second hour of play when they were interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a servant.

  “Begging your pardon sir, but the post is come,” the servant said.

  Mr Bennet took the proffered letters. Through the opened door, Mrs Bennet's cries could be heard: “Oh, Mr Bennet! What news? Is there news of Lydia?”

  Mr Bennet did not reply and instead closed the door to his book room. “They are from Brighton,” he said almost to himself.

  “Perhaps I should allow you to see to your correspondence.” Darcy made a motion to stand but Mr Bennet stopped him.

  “Stay, Mr Darcy. If these letters concern my Lizzy, they concern you as well,” Mr Bennet said and then set to opening the first letter. “Ah, this first is from Lizzy. She is increasingly anxious to return home. She says Lydia’s reputation will soon be in tatters, and it seems Mrs Forster is a most negligent chaperone.”

  “What will you do?”

  Darcy was not disappointed in his host’s reply. “Oh, I shall send for them immediately. I am sure Lydia will wail and Mrs Bennet will complain of her n
erves, but it is no matter. Lizzy should not have the burden of a younger sister who does not wish to listen.”

  Mr Bennet then opened the second note, his face turning first white, then grey.

  “Mr Bennet?”

  Mr Bennet could not speak. His hands trembling, he waved the page vaguely and indicated that Darcy should read it for himself. The younger man did so, occasionally muttering an oath.

  “I will kill him,” Darcy said with deathly calm. “I should have done so in Ramsgate. Would that his father had never known his mother, then the world would have been spared the likes of George Wickham.”

  “And what of my Lizzy, Mr Darcy?” Mr Bennet’s voice was a whisper.

  Darcy stared gravely at him for several seconds. “This changes nothing. When she returns to Hertfordshire, if Miss Bennet will have me, I will marry her. We can have the banns read as soon as may be.”

  Mr Bennet seemed surprised. “If word of this gets out, Lizzy’s reputation will be in ruins. And it would seem Lydia has surrendered her virtue to that cad. Can you withstand the scandal of being connected to such a family? What damage will be done to your own sister if her brother is married to such a woman?”

  It was evident Mr Bennet was troubled by the words he spoke, but he was determined to have the truth. “I will not hold you to your words. You are not obligated to my family.”

  “Society be damned. I love your daughter, Mr Bennet. She is the sole reason I returned to Hertfordshire. I had thought to ask for your consent this week to go to her in Brighton and ask her to be my wife. This incident merely hastens my plans. If she will not have me”—Darcy paused, barely able to give voice to the thought—“if she cannot remain in Hertfordshire, then you and I will devise a plan for her protection. Rest assured, Mr Bennet, I will see to Elizabeth’s safety and comfort for the rest of her life whether she marries me or not.”

  “That is a great solace to me, sir. Our Lizzy will need you now more than ever.” Mr Bennet gathered himself for a moment before he continued. “Now, we must attend to this unpleasant business. I shall send to Netherfield at once. I believe Elizabeth will want her sister. Though I do not envy their travelling with Lydia.” Mr Bennet retrieved his writing supplies to respond to Colonel Forster and to pen a note to Netherfield.

  “I shall be happy to render whatever assistance you require.”

  “I thank you, Mr Darcy. First, let us see what Mr and Mrs Bingley have to say.” Mr Bennet rang for Mrs Hill and indicated his note must be delivered with the utmost discretion. Within minutes a servant had been dispatched with all haste to Netherfield, and Mrs Bennet was none the wiser.

  “What will you tell Mrs Bennet?” Darcy was keen to know. Aside from his plain dislike of the woman, he did not trust her discretion.

  “For now, I will tell Mrs Bennet nothing. I believe Lydia can be bribed into silence, and since you are willing to protect Elizabeth, there is a chance she will be safely away from Hertfordshire before any rumours reach the village.”

  “While I do not share your optimism, sir, I agree it is best to delay any notice to Mrs Bennet until it is absolutely necessary.” Darcy began to weigh the benefit of possessing a common licence against the cost of losing time in getting to Brighton. In the end, his desire to protect Elizabeth won out over his need to avenge himself upon Wickham, and he determined he would go to London.

  Mrs Bennet was in high dudgeon. She had little time to worry over the post which arrived that morning. Two letters were delivered directly to Mr Bennet’s hands—he dismissed her questions with the turn of his back—and a third was given to her. Mary came to her as Mrs Bennet was opening the letter.

  “Mama! Did Papa not say that any messages were to be delivered directly to him?” her third daughter asked with a pointed look at the missive barely visible in her hand.

  “And who are you to question your mother, young lady? Am I not the mistress of this house? Do I not have the right to answer my own door and receive my own post?”

  Mary looked properly abashed and stammered. “Of-of course, Mama.”

  Mrs Bennet clutched the letter in her fist, leaving her daughter in the hall, and retreated to her chambers.

  Penwood Cottage, Brighton

  Dearest Mama,

  Oh Mama, it is too terrible! I was having a merry time and making so many friends with all the officers until last night. I danced every dance, and twice with Mr Wickham! You remember him, of course. He said the loveliest things about my new gown, and it was ever so pretty, you know, with the new lace you bought me. And my dear George was beginning to speak to me of marriage! Imagine it, Mama! Me, the youngest of all my sisters, married to an officer! Would that not be droll?

  The most dreadful thing happened after the assembly! I returned to the Forsters just the tiniest bit late, for I was speaking to Abbott, who you do not know. He is new to Brighton and, if I was not already in love, I might have liked him very much. When I went into the house, I went to my room directly and was preparing for bed when I realised I had dropped my glove. I went to find it because it is new and, when I passed the library, you will not guess what I saw! I found my own sister trying to seduce my George! I cannot bear to describe it. Of course, Wickham was trying to put her off, and I yelled as loud as you please until I was joined by the whole of the house.

  ’Tis not fair, Mama! I did not do anything, and I am kept to the house! Lizzy tried to steal George away, and she is allowed to roam about. You must help me! You know Papa will take her side. Wickham and I cannot marry if he is sent away.

  Please, please, help us, Mama! Any little money will do so we can get to Scotland. I did want to marry from Longbourn and to make all my sisters be my bridesmaids and have all my friends congratulate me on being the wife of an officer of the regiment, but Lizzy has spoiled it all, and now the only way I can be with the man I love is to run away. Think how lovely it will be when I next write to you and sign my name Lydia Wickham!

  Your loving daughter,

  Lydia

  Mrs Bennet voiced her fears to the empty room. “Oh, my poor, darling, girl! What can be done for her?” She is right, her father will do nothing. He has always favoured Elizabeth above my other girls. That horrible, ungrateful, headstrong child! I have tried to teach her, but she will not listen, and now she has proven herself to be wild and has tried to ruin my dear Lydia’s hopes!

  She rifled through her small jewel box, looking for whatever pin money she might still have. When she had gathered what remained of her own money, she crept first into Kitty’s room and then Mary’s looking for theirs. When she was done, Mrs Bennet had collected sufficient funds to send to her favourite child.

  Then she sat at her writing desk and composed two letters, one to each of her daughters in Brighton. She tucked the money neatly inside the letter to Lydia and waited for her opportunity. She was convinced that whatever was happening in her husband’s book room was somehow connected to the news she had received from Lydia. But it mattered not, she would be sending an express to Brighton today.

  Mr and Mrs Bingley were spending the morning ensconced in her private sitting room enjoying its view of the gardens. “I must say,” said Bingley, “it is convenient that Darcy has decided to call on your father most mornings. I confess when I invited him to stay, I did not anticipate how much I would miss spending time alone with my lovely wife.”

  “I miss you as well when we are apart. But we cannot always be together, else how would we manage our home and estate? Besides, I do not believe our friend calls on my father for our convenience.”

  “No? What reason can he have to call at Longbourn then?”

  “Can you think of no reason? I did not think his attentions to my sister were that discreet,” Jane said this with a light laugh.

  “Of course, he means to befriend your father. Darcy is a wise man.”

  “Yes, he is. Lizzy is my father’s favourite, his lack of judgment in sending her to Brighton notwithstanding.”

  “I shall have t
o tell Darcy the secret to gaining your father’s consent,” Bingley said with a smile.

  “And what is that?”

  “He may follow my example. When your father teased about withholding his consent for my suit, I threatened to enlist your mother!”

  The pair laughed at that. “A worthy move, I think.”

  “Speaking of Mother Bennet, what time do you think she will arrive today?”

  Jane sighed. “Not a moment later than absolutely necessary I am certain. I do not mean to be ungrateful, but I wish she would not visit so often.”

  “When do Lydia and Lizzy return from Brighton?” he asked with mock innocence.

  “Not for another month at least. We shall find no respite there.”

  Bingley was spared a response when a light knock sounded, and they were informed of an urgent message from Longbourn. The couple descended to the main floor and a note was handed to Jane who read it quickly then asked the messenger, “Have you any other information? Is someone ill?”

  “I apologise, Miss Bennet, that is, Mrs Bingley, but I cannot say. That is, I do not believe anyone is ill. The post come to the house not twenty-minutes before I was sent. The post came, your papa set to reading, then he came out right quick-like looking all ghostly and Mrs Hill told me to come here and give you this and wait on the answer.”