Poynter shook his head as he wept. “No. It cannot be.”
Wickham did not have any words to say. Together they watched, on their knees, as the regulars picked up the dead body and began to take him away.
“Impossible,” Poynter whimpered. “Not Tommy. It cannot be.”
Wickham’s heart grieved as hard as Poynter’s, and he openly wept in the clearing for his friend. However, his head knew it for a fact. Their dear friend, Lieutenant Tommy Turpin, was dead.
Sir Percival Etherington fascinated Lydia. Everything about him captivated her, from his thick, wavy blue-grey hair to his elegant clothing and the velvety way he spoke to her. She was enthralled by him, and was determined to flirt outrageously with him. It did not take much effort at all to ignore Kitty and the daggers she was throwing at her with her eyes.
For once in her life, she found the subject of politics, Parliament, and the goings-on in Westminster fascinating. The intricacies of the life of a politician fascinated her, and if she was not wrong—and she was usually intuitive in these things—Sir Percival was more than a little flattered by her attention. If his constantly wandering eyes were anything to judge by, he was just as mesmerised by Lydia as she was with him.
The afternoon flew by so quickly that, before Lydia realised it, it was time to retreat to her room and dress for dinner. She pouted at Sir Percival as she stood to leave.
He patted her on the knee and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “Not to worry, my dear Mrs Wickham. I am sure with a little bit of manipulation, we can be certain of sitting together again at dinner and continuing our conversation.”
Lydia flushed with excitement. There was nothing she wanted more than to spend more time with Sir Percival. Happily, she exited the room, ignoring the censorious looks from Mr Bingley, Jane, Mary, and Kitty, but smiling at her mama, who smiled back at her. “Well done, Lydia,” she called out as she passed by. “I knew I could count on you to keep our guest happy. You always were such an agreeable girl.”
Kitty huffed and pushed past Lydia, running up the stairs. Lydia sighed and went directly to her room, not caring a jot what Kitty felt. Within a few minutes, there was a discreet tap at the door. For one heart-stopping moment, Lydia hoped it was Sir Percival. She opened the door and was disappointed to see it was Kitty. “Oh, it’s you.”
Kitty burst into the room, pushing past her sister. “How could you, Lydia?” She sobbed.
“How could I what?” Lydia spread her hands. She did not understand what Kitty was crying about.
“Sir Percival, that’s what!”
“Sir Percival what?” She tutted and went to her armoire to choose a dress for dinner.
“I wanted him. He was supposed to be mine, Lydia, but you are flirting with him. You are married! You have a husband! It just isn’t fair!”
“Oh, come now.” Lydia turned around and frowned at her sister. “I was doing it for you, Kitty.”
“What do you mean? How can your flirting with Sir Percival be for my benefit?”
Lydia crossed the room and embraced her sister tightly until she succumbed and hugged her back. “Dear Kitty, I am merely doing what the mamas in the Ton do.” She bit her bottom lip and hoped Kitty believed the untruth.
“What do society mamas do?” Kitty sniffed and wiped her face on the back of her hand.
“Oh.” Lydia laid her head to the side and smiled kindly at Kitty. “They engage in a little flirtation, of course.” She could tell by the look on her sister’s face that she did not believe her. “It is the easiest way to find out everything there is to know about a gentleman, and to ascertain his character as fully and as swiftly as one can.”
“Really?” Kitty frowned.
“Yes! You know, Mama usually does it, but she was not doing it for you today, and I was so concerned that I took it upon myself to perform the odious task.” She could tell Kitty was thinking about what she said. “Next, I will ask questions about his income and estate; then, after dinner, I will encourage him to ask you to dance. You know a dance is the best way for a young couple to get to know each other and talk without being overheard.”
Kitty giggled and clapped her hands. “Yes!”
“I am convinced by the time his visit to Longbourn and Netherfield is concluded, he will have secured Papa’s vote and you will have an offer of marriage, Kitty!”
Kitty hugged her. “I’m sorry that I doubted you, truly I am.”
Lydia smiled back at her as she pulled out of the hug and turned back to her armoire. She did not intend to plead Kitty’s case to Sir Percival at all; she intended to have some fun—Kitty would have to make her own case if she wanted him.
Lydia could not comprehend why there was no sympathy in the house for her plight amongst her family. It was bad enough that her husband was away on some foreign field, fighting the French, but she also had to endure the censorious opinions of those around her with regards to her mothering of young George. After she spent a most pleasant evening in the presence of Sir Percival, the women retired to the drawing room to take coffee.
Before she had taken one single sip, Hill entered the room. “Begging your pardon, Mrs Wickham, but young Master George has been calling for you for an hour since. I cannot get him go to sleep. Would you be so kind as to visit the nursery and see him?”
Lydia was incensed at the intrusion. “Hill, can you not see that I am occupied? I cannot very well tear myself away and attend to the boy. No, you must do it.”
Even Mrs Bennet looked at her daughter in shock as the others sat looking at Lydia, open-mouthed.
“Lydia!” Jane cried. “Go to poor Georgie!”
She snapped her head round to stare at her elder sister. How dare she! “What is it to you if I remain here?”
“You are his mother!” Jane’s voice was shrill with emotion. “Do you not feel you should be by his side?”
“Jane.” Lydia rolled her eyes and put down the china cup in her hands. “You are not yet a mother. How can you possibly know where I should or should not be?”
Anger was clearly etched on Jane’s face. She reddened all the way down to the delicate lace that edged her silk taffeta dress at her bosom. “I may not have brought forth the life I now bear within me, but I can assure you, Lydia, I know where my duties lie as a wife and mother. Should any child of mine call for my attention, whether I am enjoying myself in the presence of company or not, I will go to them immediately.”
“Jane,” Elizabeth interrupted, “please do not make yourself uneasy on Lydia’s behalf. If she cannot muster up enough motherly affection to care for her child, then the fault is hers and hers alone. We will visit the child in the morning ourselves; I am certain that will cheer the boy up.”
Lydia huffed, but could not escape the looks of censure from her sisters and mother. She looked at Hill. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“But the lad cries incessantly, ma’am,” she pleaded.
“What care I if he is badly behaved? That is your domain. I have only you to blame.” Lydia put her nose in the air and refused to say any more on the matter.
“Lydia!” Elizabeth and Jane gasped in unison.
Hill remained staring at Lydia, and then at Mrs Bennet and back again.
“I do not know why you look at me so intently, Hill. What am I to do with her? You know what she has been like since a child,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed. “If Lydia does not wish to do something, a team of wild horses will not make her!”
Hill grumbled as she exited the drawing room. All eyes remained on Lydia, and she tried to ignore them. The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. She stuck out her jaw and picked up her cup and saucer again. She had almost finished the drink before they began to talk amongst themselves again. Lydia noted that not one of them spoke to her.
She put her cup down with a clatter. “Oh, all right, if it will make you all civil to me again, I will go up the nursery and see the tiresome child.” Mrs Bennet and Jane exchanged smiles, and as she passed s
he spat, “And I hope you never have such bothersome offspring, Jane, Lizzy!”
Lydia stomped up the stairs to the nursery. She felt deeply wounded by their attitude. The boy has a nursemaid now, why on earth would he still need me to visit him?
She would have thought that her mother, at the very least, would have been sympathetic to how trying being a mother was. She longed for the day when Georgie would grow up and she would no longer be at his beck and call. She felt more compassion for her mother’s nerves now more than ever. How she coped with bearing and bringing up five children of her own, Lydia just did not know. She had begun to despise the way Jane always talked lovingly about becoming a mother, after seeming to wait such a long time for it to happen. She never appeared happier than when she and their mother discussed baby names—Charles if it was a boy, and Elizabeth if it was a girl.
Lydia pulled a face and gripped the banister bitterly. She did not believe any of it. It was impossible to be so blissfully happy as mother, she was positive—she most certainly was not. She reached down and touched her belly and prayed that never again would her body be as ill-used as it was in bearing Georgie. No, Lydia had made up her mind. Whether Wickham came back from the war alive or not, she would never be so foolish as to allow herself to bear another child. She had borne her husband a son. She had done her duty by him. From now on, she would live her life as she wanted to.
Upon alighting on the landing that led to the servants’ rooms and the nursery, she could hear Georgie screaming. “Can you not give him a drop of brandy to quieten him?” she asked loudly as she crossed the threshold to the room and stuck her fingers in her ears.
“I’ve given him a little on the end of my finger, Mrs Wickham. I daren’t give him more,” Hill called out over Georgie’s shrieks. The child looked around to see who it was Hill spoke to and his crying stopped immediately as his eyes fixed upon Lydia. The grin that broke out on his tear-stained face made Lydia’s throat tighten.
“There now, Mrs Wickham.” Hill stood and brought the child to Lydia. “I told you he wanted to see you.”
Lydia still could not understand why Georgie would wish to see her, or why his seeing her affected such a change in him. She had no choice but to take the child in her arms, as he leant so far towards her as Hill approached that he would have fallen had she not reached out. He felt so soft and warm in her arms as he nuzzled his face in to her neck and mumbled mama’ma, but she still could not shake a feeling of irritation—she was convinced she missed out on the fun below stairs, and suspected the gentlemen had joined the ladies by now unquestionably.
Georgie gripped her sleeve tightly in his tiny hand, and before long, he was making little cooing noises and his breathing changed as he drifted off to sleep.
“Well, we shall have to get you up here more often, Mrs Wickham. The tyke’s fallen straight off to sleep.”
Lydia gave her a withering stare. She had no intention of making a habit of this. “I only came up because my mother and sisters insisted. I do not wish Georgie to grow up to be a clingy child—that I could not bear at all.” She gratefully handed the now-sleeping child back to Hill, who placed him carefully in his crib. Lydia noted the lemon yellow blanket Hill covered him with, and thought she remembered it from when she was a child. Is there nothing new for my child? I expect there would be new things bought immediately when Jane gives birth. She huffed and turned on her heel, leaving the room.
She thought to go to her room and freshen up before descending to the drawing room again. As she reached out her hand to grasp the door handle, another hand clamped over hers, and she gasped in surprise. However, her surprise turned to delight when she turned and saw it was Sir Percival. A shiver of excitement ran down the length of her spine. In the dim light, she watched the corners of his full mouth twist into a mischievous smile.
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Mrs Wickham…” Sir Percival breathed, his voice thick with the desire his eyes unmistakably expressed. “…Lydia.”
The sound of him saying her name so, as he leant in closer to her, made her knees weak. She could feel his hot breath on her face, and the proximity of his body to hers caused a reaction in her that she knew all too well. She giggled headily. “Sir Percival.”
He chuckled, and a tingle went down her spine. “‘Percy’ will do, I think.”
“Percy,” she breathed. Her voice was as thick with desire as his own.
“Let us not fool ourselves, Lydia,” he said as he pulled gently at one of the tight spiral curls at the side of her face. “We both recognise desire when we see it.”
Lydia flushed and was glad of the dim light on the landing so he would not see her girlish reaction. “Desire?”
“Oh, is that how you wish to play?” He leant closer still and chuckled again so close to her ear that his breath gave her goose bumps all over her body. Gently and teasingly, he kissed her earlobe.
Lydia groaned with pleasure.
He kissed her lobe again, this time nipping at it with his teeth.
“Oh, Percy!” She gasped and leant her head back to allow him better access.
He traced a finger down the length of her neck and kissed her jaw, setting her skin ablaze as he went. Her eyes opened a little and she saw him smile as he watched her shiver. His pleasure from hers only served to fan the flames, and the heat rose in her body and her breathing grew shallow. She had never wanted Wickham with such intensity as she now wanted Sir Percival. As he kissed temptingly along her jawline, she leant into him and heard him groan when she pressed her bosom against his chest. He placed his hand on the middle of her back and pulled her tighter to him. She was astonished to feel the hardness of his hunger for her, and it only served to make her crave for him more.
Lydia tilted her head, hungry for his mouth to claim hers as he inched closer. Impatiently, she made the move. She could wait no longer. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers. Their lips touched and his moan of pleasure spurred her on, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth just as he plunged his own into hers. She thought she would combust from the fire that now threatened to consume them both.
When he moved his right hand to cup her left breast, Lydia thought she was lost. She would have willingly opened the door to her bedroom and given herself to him that instant had the drawing room door below them not opened, spewing out the sound of Mary’s piano playing mingled with laughter and conversation. They both froze, locked in their embrace, neither wishing to part.
Lydia sighed and rested her head against his chest. “Oh, Percy,” she cooed.
Sir Percival kissed the top of her head. “I know,” he whispered tenderly.
What does he know? Lydia frowned. Did he wish to have her as much as she wanted him? Inside, she suspected he merely wanted a little fun; however, a spark of something had ignited in Lydia. A desire she had always wanted from Wickham and had only received in the beginning before they were wed—to be wanted and cherished. She opened her eyes, and telling herself not to be so foolish, pulled gently away from Sir Percival.
Nevertheless, it seemed, he was not finished with her yet. He forcibly pulled her back into the embrace and claimed her mouth with his once again. Lydia melted into his arms and gave herself to the hot, wet pleasure his tongue excited in her. If he did not stop his agonisingly delicious kiss, she would be a lost woman. She never intended the flirtation to go this far. Oh, how she wanted it to never end! How she wanted to lose herself in his warm flesh, to drown in his musky scent and never awaken from this forbidden dream.
Again, the door to the drawing room opened, and this time the thought passed between then silently; they knew they would be discovered if they lingered. “We must return,” Lydia said huskily, hardly recognising her own voice.
“Yes, we must. Damn it, but I would stay with you, Lydia. You are a temptress the likes of which I have never known.” He breathed into her hair, his grip on her as tight as ever. “Oh, how you affect me.” Lydia giggled with the pleasure of t
he thought and he growled, “You vixen.”
Lydia tried to push him away, but her hands on his body only served to thrill hers with shocks of lightning. “We must away.”
“I swear to you, Lydia, I do not know if I can control myself.”
She shook her head and tried to think clearly. “I am a married woman; you ought, mayhap, to think of Kitty.”
Sir Percival threw his head back and laughed—the sound echoed in the confines of the landing. “Married? You should have thought of that before you kissed me with such passion, Lydia. Your body clearly tells me everything I want to know, and I know you want me as much as I want you.” He cocked his head to the side, and Lydia caught a glimpse of the depth of his ocean blue eyes and heaved a sigh. “And as for Kitty, why would I want her when I need a woman like you, Lydia?” Her stomach filled with butterflies. “I’m a widower, I’m used to the marriage bed, Lydia—I do not want a timid maiden. I need a woman who knows what I want, and knows how to give it to me.” Lydia felt her knees would give way from under her. Sir Percival released his grip and stepped backwards, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards teasingly. “Until next time, my sweet vixen.” He winked and Lydia reached out to grasp the doorframe to steady her.
How can a man have such power over me? She watched him descend the stairs. As he departed, he looked back at her, longingly and every bit a ravenous lover. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was Sir Percival Etherington, MP, once again—his composure regained.
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