Lydia Bennet's Story

by Jane Odiwe

  She fetched out a book from the shelf in the alcove at her side, and finding it had plenty of pictures to amuse her and not too many words, she settled down to idly turn the pages. Most who observed her as they passed by the door would have believed her to be entirely engrossed. Of course, she hardly attended to the pictures, and she bit her lip more than once to stop herself from crying. Her sadness had turned once more to anger and she wished she could see George if only to give him a piece of her mind. She did wonder where he had gone and guessed that he would more than likely be making his way to London with all haste. Good luck to him, she thought bitterly. I would not have him back if he begged me. I will never be fooled by such a man again nor give my heart away so readily. She did not think she would ever be so silly as to fall in love again. Perhaps Alexander Fitzalan was right after all. She would be more careful in future to keep her feelings in check.

  A voice at the door broke her reverie. “May I join you?”

  She looked up to see Alexander regarding her from the door and she started a little. He was dressed like a country gentleman in breeches and a blue coat, which made his eyes appear as blue as the cornflowers in the jug by the window. He looked younger than usual, she thought, and decided he must leave off his black clothes more often, especially if he was ever to capture Miss Rowlandson’s heart, though she quickly realised she must avoid that subject again if she were to make her peace with him.

  “Of course, do come in. I was waiting for Isabella and I thought this looked just the place,” she answered.

  He walked in, took a newspaper from the table, and sat in the chair opposite. He spent some considerable time arranging himself and the paper to his satisfaction, and all the time Lydia observed him surreptitiously. She was pleased he did not seem to be in the mood for conversation, and she wished Isabella would hurry up before the silence prompted him to speak. She went back to her pictures and didn’t look up even when it became clear that his eyes were upon her. Why did he stare at her in such a fashion? She could not think what she had done now to upset him, and though she could feel his gaze still upon her, she continued to look at her book with an air of study such had never before been seen.

  “I owe you an apology, Lydia,” he stammered, his words tumbling out almost incomprehensibly.

  “I beg your pardon,” Lydia answered, quite sure that she must have misunderstood him.

  “I wish to tell you something, and I must apologise to you.”

  Lydia looked at him and waited. She could not quite believe her ears.

  Alexander got up to look out of the window, and she wondered if he had changed his mind about talking when he did not speak again for some time. Finally he turned to face her, and she could not help noticing that his blue eyes were clouded, as if in sympathy with the greyness of the day. There was an air of great sadness about him and she smiled at him in reassurance.

  “Forgive me, I have not told you the truth.” He took a deep breath before beginning again. “Would it surprise you if I admitted that I too have loved as you have yourself?” he asked.

  Lydia was astonished, and she feared her expression would give her away.

  He hung his head. “I lied to you about my past . . . and when you were doing your best to advise me, to be kind to me, I chose to avoid the truth.”

  “Oh no, please. I do not want to hear anything you do not wish to tell me. I did not mean to force a confidence,” she entreated.

  “I will tell you the truth. I did love a girl once,” he continued, as he looked out of the window once more and stared at the coaches rumbling past. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth, yes, even died, for her. But it was not to be. She did not love me as I thought and . . . well, there were other complications.”

  “You too have suffered,” Lydia whispered in response.

  “I fought for her and lost. I am not so unfeeling as you suppose, and I am well acquainted with loving where hope of being loved in return is gone. I have felt such sorrow as made me want to deny the existence of such an emotion. I have lied to myself, Lydia, and buried those feelings which consumed me.”

  “I am astonished,” Lydia answered, “though it is easier now to understand your behaviour towards Miss Rowlandson. Does Isabella know what happened?”

  “She knows all about it, the whole sorry tale. I could not bear to have Miss Hunter talked about after everything that passed, and I made Isabella swear to deny her existence. She was not able to discuss the affair with anyone, I made sure of that, not even with her closest friends. Indeed, I have not talked of Susan or even spoken her name these two years—not until today in fact.”

  “But you need not have said anything at all. I am sorry to have made you confess, to bring back a past which must be so unpleasant for you.”

  “No, I am glad you made me talk of it, made me think of her again. I admit, I am now a cautious man and I would have to be convinced by a very constant heart before I gave myself up to such folly again, but I can think of Miss Hunter without too much sorrow now.”

  “Then perhaps you will allow yourself to fall in love again.”

  “Oh no, Lydia, I do not believe I am ready for such a step. Love is too fickle for my constitution, I confess.”

  “But believe me, constancy of affection does exist,” Lydia insisted. “We have both been unlucky, I am sure. I believe there must be someone for everybody. You may yet find happiness with Eleanor. Perhaps she is unsure of your regard for her. If another is making his feelings more certain and paying her more attention, she is likely to think he is the right one to make a claim and she will turn to him.”

  “Ralph Howard has more to offer; she will be the lady of the manor, she will have everything she desires and far more than if she opts for a mere clergyman.”

  “But you would be offering so much more, do you not see? I never thought I should say so, but truly, gowns, jewels, and riches are one thing, love, constancy, and fidelity are quite another. The true prize, I should say. To be loved without condition and give the same in return must be quite wonderful. You must give yourself another chance.”

  Alexander looked at her for a moment, a frown on his countenance and all Lydia could think was that he must be wondering what on earth she could know about any of it to be giving him such advice.

  The door opened and Isabella marched into the room. “What are you two about? I am starving, and if we do not hurry, they shall feed our lobster and asparagus to the horses!”

  ***

  Lydia did not get another chance to speak to Alexander that evening and they were soon off on the last leg of the journey to Bath early next morning. Isabella prattled on about the wonderful dinner and the cheesecakes they had finished for dessert, but Lydia noted that Alexander was as thoughtful as ever. No doubt two young ladies, namely Miss Hunter and Miss Rowlandson, consumed his thoughts, but she was pleased to see that he appeared on the whole to be more cheerful.

  The weather had improved, and her first view of Bath lived up to all her expectations. The view from the top of Kingsdown could not have looked more romantic to her ideas; all was vapour and mist, and the buildings, as fine as palaces, glittered white in the sunshine. At last they entered Bath at one o’clock and were settled in lodgings in Quiet Street, which suited the girls perfectly for its proximity to the shops in Milsom Street and the Pump Rooms, which were just a little further down into the town.

  Tuesday, May 17th

  Though we are not come to be merry, Isabella wants to show me all the delights of Bath and from what I have observed so far, I am as thrilled with it all as if I were a young girl in my first season. I am very pleased with my little bedroom on the first floor, which is neatly fitted up with a bed, a cupboard, and the sweetest dressing table, all draped in muslin and ribbon. We have a view giving a glimpse of Queen Square—not the most fashionable district, but splendid nevertheless. I have been standing at the wi
ndow to witness the afternoon sun shining on the passersby, conveyed on foot or by carriage, phaeton, or gig. Two ladies in gauze cloaks caught my eye, the fringe on their parasols swinging in rhythm, their white muslin dresses fluttering back outlining their pretty figures. A gentleman in a green coat swaggered along on the opposite path and hailed them with a wave of his hat and a bow. The constant clattering of the horses’ hooves, the rumble of coaches, and the cries of tradespeople can be heard all around, and I cannot help but be fascinated by all I see. If only circumstances were different, I might enjoy myself in Bath immensely.

  I am very nervous about what the next few days will bring, and I feel a dreadful sense of obligation to my dear friend, Isabella. Alexander is being so kind, and I find my opinion of him changing. To discover that he has been crossed in love, as I have myself, and to hear him confess that he wished to enlighten me of his past has made me realise why he always seems so gloomy and irritable. However, I could never be like that myself; misery is not a state I enjoy. Perhaps we will be able to cheer him up a little whilst we are here, though working on my behalf and having to deal with the legacy of my past folly is hardly to be described as an amusing occupation! I cannot believe how different Alexander appears when he is not dressed as a clergy-man. He looks so much softer and very vulnerable somehow—it makes me feel almost protective towards him. I think I am beginning to understand what it must be like to have a brother for a sibling and almost envy Isabella and Harriet!

  Chapter 32

  THE VERY NEXT MORNING a visit to the Pump Rooms was resolved upon. Lydia was feeling more than a little anxious when Alexander announced that he was to go to Walcot Church to make his enquiries, and so it was at Isabella’s suggestion that they should go out.

  “The waters will help calm your nerves,” she said, “and besides all that, seeing all the fine company will give you something else to think about.”

  “You do wish me to act for you, Lydia?” begged Alexander. “You are quite sure that you desire me to go to the church?”

  “Yes, of course. I thank you, but I admit I am concerned at what the outcome may be. I could hardly sleep for thinking last night. In my heart, I must admit that I shall be far from upset if I am to discover that Wickham is already married. I must confess that I long to be free. Is that very wicked?”

  “No one could blame you for feeling that way, Lydia,” Isabella declared, taking her friend’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “You are not to think you should answer for your husband’s activities.”

  Lydia looked across at Alexander who said nothing. It was clear his opinion of her had not changed. “At the same time, if indeed it is found he is already married, my worries are for my future. What will become of me? I dare not think on it. And worse still, my greatest fear is that Mrs Molly Wickham is no such creature and that I will be bound to George Wickham for eternity. To have to return to Newcastle with him is a fate I cannot endure.”

  “I must go,” Alexander announced, picking up his hat and an umbrella, for the sky beyond the window displayed grey clouds that threatened more rain. “If I were you, I should go out now Isabella, before it pours and the streets become too dirty. Here, you take this,” he said proffering his umbrella, “you will have more need of it than I. Now, do you have enough money for everything you need? I know you young ladies will not be able to resist the shops. Isabella, take what you need, do not argue. Let us meet here again in two hours.” He paused to pull on his hat and turned to address Lydia. “I hope I will have some news for you, some news you would like to hear.”

  Lydia thought him generous in his remarks. He had that grave expression again, but at least he was being compassionate. She thought his attentions towards his sister very thoughtful and envied Isabella for having someone to think about those things for her; indeed, she thought how she too would have liked such a sibling. Four sisters were all very well, but to be looked after and cared for by a sympathetic brother, who saw to all the small necessities, would have been something else entirely.

  They set off for the Pump Rooms but made slow progress for the shops were there to tempt and tantalise, and though Lydia protested several times about being far too upset to shop, she found after little more than a yard and a half, she could hardly pass one without stopping to look in a window or encourage her friend through its doors.

  “Didn’t I tell you we would see some frights?” declared Isabella laughing after leaving one of the milliner’s shops.

  “Quite so,” agreed Lydia, giggling as well. “I thought I’d come across a rare hybrid tree till the young lady who bore half a hundredweight of apples and cherries on her head moved to step on my toe.”

  “And I am not at all sure about Parisian bonnets, are you? I would not like to be seen with such a helmet on my head.” Isabella chuckled at the thought.

  “Still,” said Lydia sighing, “I am vastly happy with my sprig of orange blossoms which will become my bonnet very well. You were right, Isabella; a little shopping has certainly improved my constitution!”

  They carried on down the town and had soon joined the crowds, entering the doors of the Pump Rooms, which were very full. Ladies and gentlemen glided about the floor as though in some intricate dance, meeting and parting, greeting friends and old acquaintances amidst a cacophony of chattering sounds. The girls did not know a soul, and after walking up and down a while, as Lydia attempted to give the impression that this was not her first time in Bath, they decided it was time to try the waters.

  “Follow me,” urged Isabella, grabbing Lydia by the hand so as not to lose her, “I think this is a queue of sorts. They weaved their way through the crowds, which eventually jostled and pushed them to the front of the pumper’s counter, and were handed cups of water which they dutifully drank.

  “Good Lord!” gasped Lydia, pushing out her tongue in a most unladylike manner. “I would have not ventured on such folly had I known how disgusting it would be. Does anyone actually drink this foul tasting stuff for pleasure?”

  “You will see how good it is for you in time,” insisted Isabella, draining her cup to Lydia’s astonishment, “though we should need to be here for several weeks to enjoy its true benefits.”

  They sat on a bench under the Tompian clock and watched the fashionable set, the ladies like butterflies alighting on lavender scented beaux, flouncing and flirting, flourishing and flitting from one group to another.

  “I hope you do not think it unkind of me, but I have written to Harriet to tell her what has happened,” admitted Isabella.

  “No, of course not, and I am sure she will not be very surprised to hear of it, having acquainted her in my letters with many hints and instances as to the state of my marriage.”

  “She will be most concerned, I know.”

  “Well, enough of my circumstances! We haven’t had a chance to be on our own, and I haven’t had a moment to ask you about your beau. Did Mr Rowlandson get his chance to propose at Netherfield?”

  “He did not. I think he was more than a little embarrassed by his sister’s behaviour. I am sure you must have seen her throwing herself at Ralph Howard. You know Freddie and I had hoped there was an attraction between Eleanor and Alexander, that something may happen between them. But now I am not sure if he ever liked her that much.”

  “I believe I have been mistaken in some ways about your brother,” Lydia ventured.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “His manner, his reserve, his disdain for love, for dancing and flirting, his dislike of all the pleasurable pursuits, I did not immediately understand him. I had not realised he had been wounded by a former love.”

  “Did he tell you about Miss Hunter?”

  “Not in any great depth, but I now understand his caution.”

  “I admit, Lydia, I am surprised he confided in you. I am sure he has never told another soul.”

  “I forced his confidence,” Lyd
ia confessed. “I did not mean to, but there it is. I hope he will forgive me.”

  “I am sure he has already, indeed. Alexander does not disclose any information he does not care to impart. And perhaps I should not be so surprised. If anyone could make him talk, I am sure it would be you.”

  “We are easier in one another’s company now, I think.”

  “Good, I am glad to hear it.”

  Lydia frowned. “Alexander seems to think Ralph Howard has more to offer Eleanor; he is backing off without a fight.”

  “My poor brother does not think very highly of himself and, for all his lamentations on being a mere clergyman, does not give himself credit. He may not have Ralph Howard’s manor house, but he is to inherit in his own right one day, you know.”

  “Is he really?” asked Lydia, quite intrigued.

  “Why yes. Our uncle has a sizeable estate near Amwell and Alexander is his heir. It is true he cannot compete with Ralph Howard at present and our uncle is only fifty, but one day Alexander will be quite a wealthy man and a match well worth consideration.”

  “I suppose Eleanor must be ignorant of this information or she might be more attentive to your brother.”

  Isabella laughed. “That is quite true, Lydia. I am sure it has never cropped up in conversation, and I think I am not inclined to supply her with such intelligence either. I hate to say it, but my opinion of that young lady is quite changed.”

  “But you have not answered my question,” begged Lydia, changing the subject. “Freddie must have left you with some feeling of his regard for you.”

  “There was a note left at the rectory before we came away, I confess. I did not tell you because you had other things on your mind.”

  “Did he tell you how much he loved you?”

  “Not in so many words, but he did say he was looking forward to seeing me soon and that he would miss me much more than he could express on paper.”