Mrs Bennet perked up at such a thought. “Well, indeed, now I understand, and I must say, Kitty, you are correct. The best thing you can do as Maria’s friend is to visit with her often in Portsmouth.” Lydia watched and shook her head at her mother. “And…” Mrs Bennet continued as she patted her youngest unmarried daughter on the arm. “…you would do very well there, I am sure. You will be introduced to all sorts of men of the Navy, and one or two may very well fall in love with you!”
Kitty giggled. “Mama!”
“Well, my dear, I always hope to see you as happily settled as your sisters. And, if one or two do happen to fall in love with you, why, then, you may have your pick of the best!” Kitty and Mrs Bennet laughed at such a notion. Mary tutted, picked up a book from the table, and retreated to the corner of the room to read in comparative solitude.
Kitty, still laughing, sat herself between Lydia and their aunt Gardiner. They both had to shuffle along to make room for her. “Lydia, you’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. Edmund Fairbrother has asked Mr Collins to perform the wedding ceremony!”
Kitty giggled, but Lydia groaned. “I would have thought it would be too far for Mr Collins to travel from Derbyshire to Portsmouth just for a wedding.”
“I thought so, too.” Kitty looked serious for a moment. “But apparently he jumped at the opportunity. He said something to the effect of ‘nothing would make my dear Charlotte and I happier than if I were to personally wed two such delightful people.’”
Lydia groaned aloud again. “Oh, that Mr Collins! I had hoped never to see the snivelling man again.”
“Come, come, Lydia. He may be a little foolish and nonsensical, but he cannot be all that bad, surely?” Aunt Gardiner reproved.
“You are fortunate, Aunt. You have not spent very much time in his company,” Kitty scoffed.
“Still, he must have some merits for Charlotte Lucas to have married him, and for Mr Darcy to invite him to Pemberley as curate.”
Lydia shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot speak for Charlotte; I do not and I believe I never will understand why she would choose to marry such a man as he. As for Mr Darcy, whom Lizzy loves dearly, I must own I also do not understand him. I find him officious and overbearing whenever I have the misfortune to come into contact with him; therefore, strangeness of character must attract strangeness to itself.”
Aunt Gardiner laughed. “Are you suggesting the reason Mr Darcy likes Mr Collins is because they are both strange?” Lydia huffed and folded her arms; she did indeed view both men as strange and not at all likeable. “Oh, Lydia, I fear you misapprehend them both.”
Lydia shook her head and looked at Aunt Gardiner haughtily. “I do not believe so, Aunt. My dear Wickham is my idea of a perfect gentleman.”
Mrs Bennet nodded. “I do believe I have been blessed with three of the best sons-in-law in all the land. Yes, I do.” Lydia beamed at her mother. She took her words as confirmation that she was right; Wickham was a fine gentleman, husband, and son-in-law. “If only Mary and Kitty could be so lucky, I would lie content in my bed at night, I would.”
Lydia grinned smugly at her sister beside her, however, Kitty squirmed and she wondered why. “Do you disagree with Mama, Kitty?”
Kitty threw Lydia a look of disbelief. “No, I…erm.” All eyes turned to Kitty, and she blushed. “I certainly agree that Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy are fine gentlemen. Such a husband would be beyond my wildest dreams.”
Lydia turned towards her, astonished at her choice of words. “And what about my dearest Wickham? Is he not a fine gentleman also?”
“Well, I…” Kitty, she could see, was at a loss for words.
Lydia crossed her arms. “I see. Because my husband does not own a fine estate in Derbyshire, he is beneath your consideration as a gentleman? Is that so?”
“No, not exactly, Lydia.” Kitty shrank away from Lydia’s glaring eyes.
“Then what is it you disapprove of? Hmm?” Lydia pouted. She could not fathom why her sister did not desire a husband just like him.
“I…you see…well…” Kitty could not speak.
“Lydia, you must own that your courtship and marriage to Mr Wickham were…shall we say, unconventional,” Aunt Gardiner interjected.
“He cut such a dashing figure at the church, did he not?” Lydia smiled and her eyes glazed over as she lost herself in her memory.
“That is hardly the point, my dear.” Uncle Gardiner joined in. “Despite what you may feel for each other, your match caused a great deal of bother and distress to your whole family. Surely you see that.”
Lydia rounded on her uncle. She was affronted. How dare he say such a thing! “Wickham may not have been your choice of husband for me, Uncle, but he is a fine man, and my father approves of him. Do you not, Papa?” She looked to her father, leaning on the mantelpiece, for assurance.
Mr Bennet merely shook his head. “You continue to think that, my child, if it gives you comfort.”
Lydia’s eyes welled up with tears and her throat tightened at her father’s words.
The moon was high in the sky when the tents were finally erected. There were many fires blazing around the camp, all with pots of stew swinging above the flames. The smell of food and charcoal filled the air and he knew the boar had been distributed—they would eat well again. Wickham’s stomach growled and he realised how famished he was. He turned and looked about him. It seemed all his men were accounted for, taking care of their arms, or busy attending to the evening meal. Wickham stretched. Every muscle in his body ached. It took all of his strength to move one foot in front of the other and head towards the tent he was to sleep in. As he reached the canvas-covered structure, he felt his body could move no more, and lifting the flap to enter took a great deal of effort. He shuffled into the tent and let the flap fall closed behind him. He let out a groan of discomfort as he bent to sit on the edge of the cot bed. He closed his eyes. The comforts and delights of England seemed a thousand miles and a lifetime away. He wondered if he would ever see those shores again, and reached down to pull off his knee-high black leather boots. They felt as though they were sewn to his skin and he had to fight to remove them. As soon as they finally came off, he breathed a sigh of relief and fell back onto the cot, exhausted.
When he awoke, it was to the sound of a metal dish being placed on the chair by the side of his cot. Wickham’s eyes were too heavy to open and he grunted at the intruder.
“Lieutenant Wickham, sir.”
Wickham stirred again. He opened his mouth to speak but all he could say was, “Urgh.”
“Lieutenant Wickham, sir. I’ve brought your rations. It’s boar stew. You must eat, sir.”
Wickham tried to move, but could not. He listened and heard the sound of the intruder leave the tent. He breathed in heavily through his nose, and the scent of the food the visitor mentioned stirred him more. His stomach growled in response and reluctantly, he forced his eyes open. He lay still for a while, willing his body to sit up and, after what felt like an hour, he managed to rise and sit on the edge of the cot. He reached out, picked up the metal dish, and was relieved to find it was still hot. He brought it to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled edible. The brown concoction did not look particularly appetising, but he recognised potatoes, carrots, and something that looked like the boar meat he ate earlier. He smiled. Yes, this is precisely what I need. I am famished, he thought. He picked up the spoon from the chair and tucked in. It may not have been the sort of food he was accustomed to in England, but to him, at that moment, it tasted even better.
As he ate, another soldier called from outside the tent, “Lieutenant Wickham, I’ve brought hot water, sir.”
Wickham grinned. “Enter.” Perfect. He would be able to wash some of the grime from his body, as well as fill his stomach. The night was improving by the minute. The young man entered and left the pitcher of hot water with a bowl, too. “Good night,” he muttered as the soldier departed. He knew that after eating and washing, he would sleep well
again until the trumpet awoke the entire camp the next morning.
The first sound that greeted Wickham’s ears the next morning was familiar, yet so alien in such surroundings that he thought he dreamed it. However, again he heard the sound and opened his eyes. Slowly he rose from the bed, stretched his still-aching body, and walked to the tent entrance as he pulled on his breeches. Just as he emerged from the tent, the young soldier who brought him stew the previous night approached with a plate of what looked like eggs and bread. “Eggs?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Commandeered from a local farm.” The man beamed at him.
Wickham salivated at the sight of them and reached out for the plate. “Do my ears deceive me, or do I hear horses whinnying?”
The man chuckled. “You didn’t hear the bugle, but you hear them?”
Wickham rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment.
“Indeed, sir,” the soldier continued. “Some men from the fifth regiment brought them over this morning.”
“Really?” Wickham frowned. “I wonder why.” The reason they were given horses did not matter at all to him. What he focused on was that he would not have to walk any further the next time they marched out again. As an officer, he would be given a horse to ride.
The young soldier saluted as he turned to leave. “I shall return shortly, sir, with water for you to shave.”
Wickham nodded at him. “Very good, and soldier…” The young man turned back to look at him. “If you salute me again in the open like this, I’ll have you demoted. Understood?”
The young man paled and looked around him nervously for an invisible assailant who could possibly have identified Wickham as an officer from his careless salute. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He reddened deeply and scurried off to fetch hot water.
Wickham returned to his tent to eat his eggs and bread. He chuckled to himself as he dipped a crust of bread into the yellow yolk and stuffed it into his mouth. Again, nothing tasted so good as this food. He wondered what Lydia would think of him if he admitted such a thing to her. He was certain she would be outraged. The thought of her made him long for home, and to see his son. Wickham shook his head and banished all such thoughts from his mind. They were not productive and he had to concentrate on his duties now, not pine away like some lovelorn lad.
The soldier soon returned with hot water and a mug of coffee, and within no time at all, Wickham had washed and shaved and joined Poynter, Turpin, and the other lieutenants in Captain Brook’s tent, where he was poring over maps of the local area.
Breakfast was an interminable affair, the next day, with Mr Bennet and Uncle Gardiner droning on about the state of the country and whether they would defeat Napoléon again or not. Lydia had no solace from it by gossiping with Kitty throughout the meal, as Mary sat between them and felt it necessary to punctuate the conversation with admonitions from the Bible about war and speaking ill of the regent or government. Lydia wished she had taken breakfast in her room, or that she was upstairs in the nursery. Not that she particularly wanted to nurse Georgie—that only made her anxious, and she was ill prepared to tend to his needs—but at least she would be out of the dining room and away from such a tedious topic of conversation.
By the time they had eaten their fill from all the tempting plates on the table, the conversation had turned once more to husbands. For some reason, the conversation about the war and then about husbands rubbed on Lydia’s emotions, and she felt a little choked. So much so that she could not swallow her slice of apple. After a while, she gave up trying to eat any more, lay her napkin down on the side of her plate, and tried hard to swallow down the lump in her throat and fight back the tears that stung her eyes.
“Whatever is the matter with you, child?” Mrs Bennet asked her sharply.
Lydia sniffed. “I was thinking about my poor Wickham fighting in France.”
“Well, there’s no need to fret about it, dear. You can scarcely do anything to help him from here, can you?” Mrs Bennet’s idea of sympathy did not meet Lydia’s expectations, and she swiped at the tears that fell onto her cheeks. “Oh, do pull yourself together, Lydia. No one wants to hear your whining and complaining here. You would be better off putting your energies into helping me get Kitty and Mary married off. Lord knows they cost enough to keep!”
“Mama!” Kitty protested.
“Well, if you will always be gallivanting about the countryside and needing this and that. Your father is not made of money, you know.” Mrs Bennet scooped more butter onto her plate and roughly began to spread some on a slice of toast. “You’ll have to find a rich husband, you will, with such rich tastes.”
“I hardly think that’s fair, Mama. I have not been gallivanting at all. I went to visit with Lizzy in Pemberley. I hardly think visiting Derbyshire constitutes gallivanting about the country, and I only asked for two new dresses, if you remember.”
Mrs Bennet waved her hand and dismissed all Kitty said. “What about that young man who visits with Edmund Fairbrother? What’s his name?”
“George Worthington?” Kitty pulled a face at the thought of the man, as though she sucked on a bitter lemon. “Mama! What a preposterous notion! The man is repulsive!”
“You must not be quite so choosy, Kitty. I hear he has an income of more than a thousand a year. That’ll do you quite nicely, I am sure.” Mrs Bennet nodded sagely, as though the matter was decided.
Lydia felt for her sister and interjected. “But if Kitty does not love Mr Worthington, then she will be miserable in marriage, Mama. Surely you do not wish that for your daughter.”
“Oh, tish, Lydia! Romance is all very well and good, but it does not pay the household bills, now, does it?” Mrs Bennet ate another mouthful of her toast. “No, Kitty had better take what she can get, or else run the risk of ending her days a spinster.”
Lydia looked at Kitty. She only wished to help her sister, but had not achieved anything of the sort. Her visit to Longbourn was not turning out the way she had hoped it would. She smiled sadly at Kitty across the table. Mayhap they would have time to talk in privately later in the day—she certainly hoped so.
The day stretched on and Mrs Bennet found every excuse to send Kitty into Meryton in the hopes of seeing Mr Worthington. The day could not have continued in a more tedious manner, as far as Lydia was concerned. She was forced to sit with her mother and aunt in the drawing room and listen to her mother drone on. The conversation bored her, and she suddenly felt very old indeed. Her mother spoke to her as though she was an old married woman and Kitty was the young marriageable maiden. More than once, Lydia was tempted to remind their mother that she was indeed the youngest of all the Bennet children. Lydia tried in the evening to catch Kitty on her own, but with such a small company, they could not speak confidentially.
By the time she climbed the stairs later that night, she was feeling decidedly depressed about herself and her life in general. Her mother, that evening, had even alluded to her being past her bloom. That particular comment stung. She closed the door to her room, kicked the foot of the bed, and immediately wished she had not. Her slippers did not protect her toes from such a vicious attack on the furniture and she yelped with the pain.
A gentle knock on the door stopped Lydia’s hopping up and down with her hand over her mouth to mask her yelping. She hobbled across the room and let Kitty into the room. “I knew it was you,” she whispered and closed the door quietly again.
Kitty flung her arms about her sister’s neck and embraced her. “Oh, Lydia. I am so sorry about this evening.” She pulled away from her and Lydia watched her frown. “Mama was so inconsiderate of your feelings.”
Lydia knew her sister would understand. “I am no old married woman, Kitty,” Lydia pouted, “and for Mama to assume that my dancing days are over simply because I am a wife is preposterous!”
Kitty nodded. “You always were the first to dance, Lydia, and I expect you always will be.” She cocked her head to one side and her side curls fell across her face and
shielded her expression from view. “Fancy Papa and Uncle Gardiner being so very impolite about Wickham, too!”
Lydia took a deep breath in through her nose. She was far from amused that the censure of her beloved husband continued. “Why they do not approve of him is beyond me.”
“Aunt Gardiner says it’s because the way in which you eloped with him. She says you brought shame and disgrace on our family, and that all of our reputations were very nearly tarnished.” Kitty wrinkled her nose, walked over to the bed, and sat upon the edge. “However, I still cannot see that you did anything very naughty.”
“Quite right!” Lydia nodded emphatically and stuck her nose in the air. “I followed my heart. Far too many women, in my opinion, marry for money or for convenience, for my liking, and I was determined that would never be my fate.”
“Oh, can you imagine how awful it would be if we had to marry for money or convenience?” Lydia watched as she closed her eyes, and then they snapped open again. “Like Charlotte Lucas!”
Lydia fell onto the bed in fits of giggles. Many were the times when they laughed together about their sister Lizzy’s best friend, Charlotte Lucas, who married their cousin, Mr Collins. “Such a detestable man!”
“Can you imagine how disagreeable it would be to have Fordyce’s sermons read to you before bed each night?”
“No thank you!” Lydia squealed. She had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard at the very thought. “That would most certainly put a dampener on any thoughts of amour one might have!”
“Oh, Lydia!” Kitty screeched with her hands over her face. “Please do not speak of amour and Mr Collins in the same sentence!”
The two sisters collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles. This was what Lydia wanted to come home to Longbourn for—time with Kitty to laugh, talk, and feel loved. She did not know why her relationship with her mother had changed, but she did not like it one single bit. As she rolled about on the bed giggling like a young girl again, she completely forgot all about her troubles. She forgot that her son—her only child—lay upstairs in the nursery fighting for his life, and that her husband was hundreds of miles away, across the channel, fighting the formidable French foe.
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