The only thing about Lydia’s impending departure that saddened him was that it was also the departure of his baby son, Georgie. He would miss the little tiny bundle of joy, his beautiful blue eyes and his cheeky little smile. However, he knew, without a doubt, that he would see his son again before long, as he knew he would also see Lydia again. He simply did not know when. That all depended on how long the war lasted. Now that his mind had gone full circle and returned to the matter of war, he prepared himself to train his men. With the desire for the separation between himself and his son not to last long, he put all his energies and passions into making sure that his men not only new exactly what to do, but how to do it, and how to do it exceedingly well. They groaned and complained under his orders, but by the end of the afternoon when the light was failing and it was time for them to retire for the day and to hand over to the next duty shift, they were all congratulating each other, slapping each other on the back for a job well done. Even if Wickham did to say so himself, their ability with the bayonet had greatly improved that day.
When Wickham arrived home, it was already dark. He eschewed the attempts of Poynter and Turpin to divert him towards the Red Lion that night. Wickham had one thing on his mind. It was Lydia’s last night in Scarborough, and despite the fact that their marriage was far from perfect, Wickham knew the right thing to do was to be with her. Besides, he also wanted to spend as much time as he could with Georgie. The closer their departure date grew, the more Wickham regretted not spending so much time with his baby. He knew Georgie would be the one thing that would keep him sane in the heat of battle, and the one person who was sure to bring him home again.
As he approached the cottage, he saw Lydia anxiously waiting at the window. Their eyes locked and her face lit up at the sight of his arrival. This was the homecoming he wished he had every night. This was the homecoming that would have him eager to be home in his wife’s arms, and this was the homecoming that would have him eschewing the Red Lion and the company of Poynter and Turpin every night for the rest of his life. The sight of his wife lightened his heart and he hurried through the door and into her arms.
Wickham was not prepared to see the trunks piled high just inside the front door of the cottage. The very sight of them made his stomach lurch. He, his wife, and his beloved son were about to part ways. Wickham embraced Lydia as she ran out of the parlour and into his arms. All the discontent was forgotten in that moment. Wickham reached out and lifted up her chin. He looked into Lydia’s eyes and remembered why it was that he was attracted to her in the first place. She truly was a beautiful, vivacious woman. His eyes travelled across her face and down to her plump rosy lips. He never could resist Lydia’s smile. She smiled at him now and he bent his head towards her and kissed her.
Since the birth of their child, they had not made love. They remedied that now. The fire, which ignited them as Wickham kissed her, threatened to consume them before they even reached the seclusion of their own bedroom. Wickham scooped Lydia up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to their room. Their need for each other was so great that they tore at each other’s clothing. They crossed the space between the door and their bed in no time, lost in their passion.
It was sometime later, when Lydia started to shiver atop the bedclothes, that Wickham realised they had not yet eaten. “I’m half starved,” he declared.
Lydia giggled as she leant across him to reach the little bell to call Tess. As her breasts skimmed tantalisingly across his chest, Wickham groaned with pleasure, reached up and cupped one of the delicious, perfectly formed mounds, and gently squeezed it. Lydia, too, groaned with pleasure. Wickham pulled her down on top of him, and soon they were moving together in complete harmony as they made love once again.
By the time they descended the stairs to eat, it was getting very late, and they were both exhausted from their exertions in the bedroom. They clung onto each other as they had in the first few days after they left Brighton. They called for Tess to bring them something to eat. Wickham noted that the poor girl had dark circles under her eyes and was stifling a yawn.
“Tess, just bring the food and then go to bed. Mrs Wickham and I do not need attending this evening.”
Lydia blushed. Wickham noticed and wondered how a woman who could make him so angry could also drive him so passionately crazy. He wished he were not so tired and spent and that he could take her in his arms once more that night.
The food arrived, Tess was dispatched to her bed in the kitchen, and Lydia and Wickham fed each other and kissed like newlyweds. They drank what little wine there was leftover from the night before, ate hungrily, and quickly returned to the bedroom, where, within no time at all, they were both fast asleep in each other’s arms.
All too soon, however, the sun rose and little Georgie awoke them. Neither of them wanted to move, but both of them knew they had to. Although Wickham was not given permission to escort his wife to Hertfordshire, he was given permission to stay behind at home and see her safely on her journey. If he owned the truth, he was deeply grateful. He turned to lie on his side and propped his head up on his hand to watch as Lydia got out of bed, picked up their son, and put him to her breast. It was a beautiful image, and one he wished to mark indelibly in his mind. He never wanted to forget that wonderful sight. He wondered at the sentiments he was feeling. It was so unlike him. Nonetheless, he basked in the emotions as he watched the little boy feeding at his mother’s breast.
Reluctantly, Wickham climbed out of bed and slowly pulled on his clothes whilst still watching Lydia feed Georgie. Time was racing on; he would have given anything at that point to stop time and prevent them from going.
Lydia awoke groggy, in need of more sleep, but all aglow. She stretched lazily and slipped out of bed reluctantly. Little Georgie was demanding to be fed, and in so doing, he heralded the beginning of the day that would separate his family.
Feeding her son did not seem such an arduous task to Lydia now. She was still a little uncomfortable with it, and it still hurt her, but she did not whine and cry so much. She felt buoyed up by the thought that when she got to Longbourn, she would be able to persuade her parents to fetch a wet nurse to do the task for her.
She was aware of Wickham’s eyes on her and basked in the attention. Once again, her emotions threatened to overwhelm her when she thought that, in a few short hours, she would leave his side for she did not know how long. She bit down on her tongue so that the pain would prevent her from crying and stared down at her little boy as he fed.
From underneath her lashes, she watched Wickham walk around the bed, pick up the little bell, and ring it to summon Tess. She looked up at her husband with great sadness, only to see the same sadness reflected in his own. They remained thus until Tess arrived and broke the spell.
Wickham looked over at the maid as she entered their room. “Breakfast, if you please, Tess. Whatever you have to hand, no need to go to too much fuss this morning. But be quick about it, there is much to do.”
Tess curtseyed and left the room, and Lydia stared at the closed door until Georgie had finished feeding. The sprigged muslin dress in which she was to travel was hanging in the armoire, the bonnet in its box, and her little white boots sat on the floor in front of it. Everything was ready. She simply had to dress, have breakfast, and leave. However, it was, in reality, harder to do than she realised.
Wickham walked over to the nursing chair and took little Georgie out of Lydia’s arms, and she was free to begin dressing. A deep melancholic feeling settled in the room and permeated her heart. No matter how slowly Lydia tried to dress, she could not halt the passage of time. She sighed and reluctantly continued with the task. Once she was dressed and had loosely pinned up her curls, she reached out and touched Wickham’s arm. He smiled sadly down at her and placed little Georgie back into his crib. Together, and hand-in-hand, they descended the stairs and entered the parlour for breakfast.
It was just as they sat down to eat their meagre breakfast that Lydia rea
lised something and gasped. “Oh, dear Lord! I entirely forgot.” She looked at her husband with panic in her eyes. “Who will take care of you whilst I am gone?”
“Lydia, do you forget I am off to war?”
“Not at all. But who will take care of you, who will keep house for you once I am gone…before you leave for the continent?”
Wickham chuckled. “With everything that has been going on, I entirely forgot about that myself.”
“Oh, dear!” Lydia giggled. “What a pair we are!” She slipped off her chair, moved to the coffee table, and rang the little bell on it. “I shall have to send Tess off into Scarborough to fetch a girl to cook and clean for you, for I simply cannot spare Tess.”
Wickham swallowed his mouthful of toasted bread and shook his head. “Neither would I expect you to be without her. Do not engage a girl to be here the whole time; that would be a foolish waste of money, considering I will only be here in the evenings. Get someone to come once a day, to clean, do the washing, and to make me a hot meal for when I get home.”
Lydia nodded and repeated his words to Tess when she arrived. Within a couple of minutes, the girl was dispatched into town and they rested assured that the whole matter was resolved. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lydia sat back down at the table to break her fast. “I knew there would be something that I would forget,” she mumbled as she spread some plum jam on her toasted bread.
“Not to worry. It is remedied now.”
They both ate quickly and kept one eye on the parlour window that faced onto the road outside, knowing that the Bennets’ carriage would soon arrive.
Once they ate their fill, Lydia rushed off upstairs to their room and finished dressing. She muttered under her breath, “Oh, where is that girl? I need her to dress my hair.” She looked at her reflection in the looking glass. “I cannot very well travel abroad looking like this now, can I?” She huffed and turned to pick up her little boots. She hoped that if she put them on and buttoned them up slowly, then Tess would arrive back in plenty of time to do her hair. However, that was not the case, and Lydia reluctantly picked up the hair comb from the dresser and began to tease out her curls with it. Grudgingly, and with increasing irritation, Lydia began to pin up her hair one curl at a time, still hoping that Tess would return to do it for her.
By the time Lydia heard the sound of the latch on the front door signalling the return of Tess, she had finished pinning her own hair—not to her satisfaction, however. She closed her eyes in irritation and took a deep breath. “Oh, it will have to do. And who will notice? For I shall be wearing a bonnet, shall I not?” She turned to the bed and picked up the bonnet Tess had laid there and looked at it forlornly. “I do so hope Mama will take me shopping, for I scarcely own anything to wear that is not becoming shabby.” She lifted the bonnet up and pulled it onto her head. She tied the bow under her chin to the right side and once again appraised her reflection in the looking glass. “Hmm… Not too bad, I suppose.” She turned around, checked that Georgie was still sleeping soundly, picked up her reticule, and headed out of the door and down the stairs to the parlour.
She entered the room to hear Tess speaking to Wickham. “…she will be here from three o’clock until six o’clock in the evening, every day. If you wish her to stay later or to do extra work, she asks that you leave her a note on the kitchen table, sir.”
Wickham nodded. “Very good. Well done, Tess.”
Lydia looked down at the settee and saw Wickham had placed her pelisse and gloves there. She picked up her gloves and turned to the girl. “Who did you get at such short notice?”
“Old Mrs Marsh, my papa’s next door neighbour.”
“Oh. Have I met this Mrs Marsh?” Lydia asked archly.
“I don’t believe so, ma’am.” She shifted uneasily. “Although she did come here once to fetch me when Papa was unwell,” the girl added nervously.
“And does she come highly recommended?”
Wickham snorted. “Lydia, my dear, what does it matter? Her services will only be of need for a week or two.”
Lydia looked at him and frowned. “It matters to me, Wickham. What would people say if I did not ensure my husband was well taken care of in my absence?”
“I believe it matters very little what people may or may not say, Lydia.” He smiled.
Lydia ignored his comment and turned back to Tess. “Well? Does she come highly recommended?”
“I know she does some cleaning for old Mrs Timmins, and before she was married, I believe I remember her mentioning that she was in service.”
“Well…” Lydia huffed, “I suppose that will have to do. For I certainly do not have time to run around town finding a replacement now.”
“Indeed you do not,” Wickham said as he rose from his chair. “Look.” He pointed out of the window. Lydia turned to look at what he indicated, seeing for herself that her father’s carriage had just that moment arrived and stopped outside of their cottage.
Lydia’s stomach knotted and she squeezed the gloves hard in her hands. “Tess, go and fetch Master Georgie, and make sure we have everything,” she ordered, her voice cracking. She waited until the girl had exited the room before turning to Wickham. “So, this is it.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat and blinked repeatedly to fight back the tears.
Wickham stepped towards her and enfolded her in his arms. Lydia could not help herself then; she burst into tears and sobbed into his shirt. She wrapped her arms around him and clung onto him as though her very life depended upon it.
Wickham bent his head and kissed her forehead. “My love, we ought not to prolong our goodbyes, for it will only extend our agony.”
Lydia sniffed back tears and nodded. “You are right.” She took hold of his hands and squeezed them. “Promise me. Promise me that you will write. Promise me that you will write regularly,” she asked desperately.
“Of course I will.” He smiled down at her. “I will write to you as often as I may. You know I will be extremely busy, but I promise I will write when I can.”
“I expect…” She sniffed again. “…I shall be quite occupied. too. I’m certain Mama has arranged plenty of things to do to keep my mind from dwelling upon you, fighting in that ghastly war.”
Again, Wickham kissed her forehead and smiled kindly at her. “I am sure she has.”
Their intimacy was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat by the doorway. They both turned, taking a step apart, to see Mr Bennet’s manservant standing watching them from the door.
“Begging your pardon, Mr and Mrs Wickham. I’m here to fetch Mrs Wickham and take her to her parents’ home.”
Wickham step forward and gestured that the man should enter. “Come on in, man. Would you care for some refreshment?”
The man bowed and doffed his hat. “That would be mighty kind of you, sir. I’ve built up a great thirst on the way here.”
He stepped forward as Wickham poured him a cup of the by now almost-cold hot chocolate and handed it to him. “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.”
“Our maid is just fetching our child, and then you can depart as soon as you are ready.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Lydia picked up her pelisse and put it on. She turned her back on the manservant and Wickham. Now that the time had come to depart, she felt her emotions would overwhelm her. She roughly pulled on her gloves. The sounds coming from the hallway told her that Tess had brought Georgie downstairs and that they were ready to leave.
She turned towards the manservant but could not bear to look up at him. “Please, could you take my maid and child and settled them into the carriage? I shall be along shortly.”
The man bowed, gave the cup and saucer back to Wickham, and retreated to the hallway.
Lydia then turned back to her husband; her eyes brimmed with tears she had no power to stop. “Oh, Wickham!” she cried and flung herself into his arms.
They clutched each other tightly and grudgingly let e
ach other go.
Wickham reached out, lifted up Lydia’s chin, and kissed her passionately for the last time. “Have a safe journey, my love. Write to me as soon as you arrive.”
Lydia nodded, unable to speak. Wickham took hold of her hand and led her out of the parlour, through the hallway, and outside. Lydia prayed that none of her acquaintances were there to see her crying so. Nervously, she looked up and down the street, grateful to see no one was there. She turned one last time, stared into her husband’s eyes, and whispered, “I love you.”
Wickham smiled, took hold of her gloved hands, and kissed the backs lingeringly. “And I you.”
Lydia, with her heart feeling as though it would break, turned and climbed into the carriage. Wickham closed the door behind her, reached through the window, and squeezed her hand. “Take care of our dear boy.”
Lydia nodded and replied barely above a whisper, “I will.” She watched as Wickham smiled at her one last time, stepped back from the carriage, and called, “Drive on!” She leant out of the window and waved. She continued to do so as the carriage drove down the road away from her home and her husband, until she could no longer see him in the distance.
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