by Jane Odiwe
“And I am sure we are all delighted for Miss Rowlandson,” declared Alexander. “Do send her my congratulations.”
“And mine too,” added Lydia, who thought Mr Fitzalan did not look quite as composed as his countenance suggested. His cheeks were quite pink, especially when he caught her eye. Indeed, the blush deepened, and she saw him pick up a book from the table and study its leather covering intently.
At once, Isabella and Freddie suggested a walk out to Sydney Gardens to get some air. Lydia felt she could hardly refuse, everyone had been so good to her, and besides, she would like to see the celebrated gardens and get lost in a maze.
The girls hastened to get ready, Isabella calling Lydia to her room to help her choose a suitable bonnet for such an auspicious occasion.
“Oh, Lydia, I cannot believe it! I am so lucky. I am beside myself with happiness. Whatever have I done to deserve such a wonderful man? I am sure I do not know.”
“It is not luck, you goose; no one could resist falling in love with you,” Lydia answered. “You are not only too beautiful to resist, but you are the kindest creature in the whole world. I wish I had always been the friend you have been to me.”
“But you have been the loveliest friend; you are very dear to me.”
“And I am sure I do not know what I have done to deserve your friendship, Isabella.”
“But what do you think of Eleanor and Ralph Howard becoming engaged?”
“I am not surprised,” Lydia confessed. “She is clearly a fast madam, as my mother would say. Only I feel so for Alexander. He does not deserve to be so hurt. Did you not see his face?”
“Yes, I did notice his regard. Indeed, I have been watching him very closely of late, but I do not think he is in the least bit upset about Eleanor. In any case, he never looked at her the way he looks at someone else.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Lydia demanded. “Is Alexander in love with someone else?”
“I think he is, Lydia, though I am not sure if he knows it himself yet, or if he does, he is unsure what to do next.”
Lydia could not think why the notion made her feel suddenly ill at ease. She had certainly never seen him looking at another woman apart from Eleanor with anything more than disregard.
“Do you not know of whom I am talking?” Isabella asked with a wry smile.
“I confess I do not,” Lydia replied as she took in her friend’s expression.
Isabella laughed. “Why, it is you he admires.”
“Oh no, Isabella, you are quite wrong,” she insisted, regarding her friend’s face closely. Isabella pinned another rose onto her hat and laughed. Lydia glanced at her own reflection in the glass and considered that despite everything she had been through, she still possessed a certain bloom. Bath air was suiting her; perhaps all that rain was good for her complexion after all. “Do you really think he admires me?” She looked sideways at her friend, hardly daring to meet the amusement in her eyes.
“I absolutely refuse to comment on any observations I may have made unless you can tell me that you might find it in yourself to love my brother.”
“Isabella, I do not know. I doubt I shall ever fall in love again. I admit I find Alexander a very attractive man, and he has been very kind to me.”
“And he has excellent prospects, you know.”
Lydia laughed. “Be that as it may, I think you are quite mistaken in his regard for me.”
“Lydia Wickham, or should I say, Lydia Bennet is exactly the sort of girl he admires most, whatever appearances might suggest. You are a vibrant personality, a girl who loves life and does not take it too seriously. You do not allow mere trivialities to upset you; you live passionately and carelessly. Though Alexander could never be like that himself and professes to dislike such qualities, he is drawn to such zeal, zest for life, and disregard for convention.”
“Yes, a penchant for folly and frivolity: qualities to attract and ensnare the most sensible of men!”
“Lydia, we are none of us perfect. We all have lessons to learn in life.”
“I have certainly chosen to learn mine the hard way.”
“Come, let us go. The gentlemen await our company.”
They set off, marching down to town, all four in step with the girls leading the way, striding out with a purpose as they chattered about wedding clothes and wedding rings. It was only when they were halfway down Pulteney Street that Lydia found herself at Alexander’s side, Isabella having latched on to her fiancé to walk in raptures with him and to discuss their new situation. Mr Fitzalan offered his arm. Lydia took it without hesitation and wondered again at the ease with which they fell into a comfortable step. Once more, she thought how much she enjoyed walking with him in that way.
“Will Wickham be happy in his new profession, do you think?” Alexander asked after a moment or two.
“I hope so for his sake,” Lydia answered. “I for one am relieved to think I shall not have to see or meet with him again.”
“And now you must start a new life.”
“Yes, I must. I admit I am a little anxious, but I will rise to the challenge. I must. I will go home to Longbourn and make the best of it. I shall be a sweet old maid and look after all my nieces and nephews as a good aunt should.”
Alexander became quiet and Lydia sensed he was holding back. That he wished to say something else on the matter she was sure. He turned his head and Lydia noticed how his dark curls brushed against his brow, wild tendrils which escaped from under his hat. She would like to reach out and touch one.
“I would like to be of some assistance to you, Lydia. I may presume too much, but Isabella and I are very happy for you to continue living with us at the rectory if you wish.” He looked away across the road before finding the courage to speak again. “But of course, you may have other plans and when Isabella marries, you may want to . . . well, I just wanted you to know you have a choice.”
“You are so very kind, Alexander,” Lydia cried, scarcely able to believe her good fortune and wishing she could throw her arms about him. “I cannot think of anywhere I would rather live and with such dear friends, even if one of them can only dance in a mediocre fashion.” She smiled up at him and witnessed the laughter in his eyes. “No; jesting apart, forgive me for saying so, but I think Miss Rowlandson has made a great error. She will regret you in time. You have a true and noble heart.”
“Aye, a true heart which has been forced into an uneasy acquaintance with disappointment in love.”
“Forgive me, you are talking of the girl you loved and lost. I have spoken out of turn yet again.”
“No, it is not Miss Hunter to whom I refer.”
“Then it must be Miss Rowlandson of whom you speak. Please forgive me, Alexander. It is not my wish to upset you with reminders of all your past hopes.”
Alexander laughed. “I do not think you understand, Lydia. I wish her happy with Ralph Howard. No, my heart is not broken by Miss Rowlandson.” He hesitated for a moment, searching the skies as if looking for his next words. “How can it be when this heart is in love with another?”
Lydia looked up at him and did not know what to say. All she knew was that she did not want to hear that he was in love with someone else. She bit her lip and looked down the length of the road to glimpse the gardens coming into view. All at once, the heavens opened, Alexander reached for his umbrella, and the raindrops fell, spattering with a loud retort on the cloth over their heads, contrasting greatly with the uneasy silence which existed between them until he spoke again.
“Yes, I am in love with another,” he said as he looked at his companion intently, “but although I am falling very much in love with her, there is nothing to be done. She does not return my affection.”
Lydia’s heart hammered as she returned his gaze, which seemed to melt into her very soul.
“I have battled with my feelings but
I am worn down, and I cannot keep my counsel any longer, though in my heart I know I should,” he murmured. “What should I do, Lydia? Should I tell her how I feel?”
“Do I know of this lady?” asked Lydia both dreading and demanding to know his answer.
He nodded, screwing up his eyes as though intent on something or someone yonder and appeared to have changed his mind about revealing her name. Lydia could only hear their feet tapping along together on the pavement, each footfall ringing in her ears, and the rain, still dripping incessantly.
She stopped him and pulled on his arm. “Who are you in love with, Mr Fitzalan?”
“Do you truly not recognise the one I love?” He stopped and taking her hand raised it to his lips. “Dear Lydia, please say it is not so. Please tell me that you know my heart beats for you, always for you, that given time you might even be able to return my affection, perhaps even consent to marry me.”
Until that moment, Lydia could honestly say that she was unaware that Alexander was in love with her, but she thought she recognised the strength of his feeling now. And whilst she put her mind to it, she knew, at last, that she was not only capable of acknowledging and returning his affection but that she was a long way to already being in love with him too. Who was to say that a second attachment might not be preferable to a first and that one conducted with less haste might be infinitely more successful? Alexander, she was sure, was capable of making her a very happy woman. She would never have believed that she would consider being married to a clergyman, but perhaps the idea of being a rector’s wife was not so unpalatable after all. Everybody would be delighted, though she was certain that her own family would be very shocked and surprised. When next she wrote to Kitty, she must remember to recommend clergymen for making suitable husbands. Most wonderful of all, she would have two delightful sisters in Isabella and Harriet and a home to call her own, though truth to tell, the rectory would need more than a few alterations in her opinion. In any case, when she and Alexander were married, they might take possession of the larger manor house sooner than they knew. Of one thing she was certain: He was without doubt one of the most handsome men she had ever set eyes on, and if she could just see him in his garden, in shirt and breeches once more, she had no doubt of what might follow in the summer house.
“I do know, Alexander, it is too true,” Lydia cried in earnest with that thought in view, “as my heart beats for you. Always for you!”
FINIS
About the Author
Jane Odiwe is an artist and author. She is an avid fan of all things Austen and is the author and illustrator of Effusions of Fancy, consisting of annotated sketches from the life of Jane Austen. She lives with her husband and three children in North London.