by Leenie Brown
“If it is a lie,” said Harris, looking slyly over his glass at Aunt Tess. “You should have seen the audience she drew in Brighton and the flirting…not at all proper.”
“Indeed,” Aunt Tess looked to the others. “Is she such a flirt as to be expected to do more than bat her lashes? Is that what must follow a pretty girl drawing attention from gentlemen?” She looked back at Harris. “She is pretty?”
“Very,” supplied Marcus.
“She is,” agreed Captain Harris.
“I had no idea that being pretty was so dangerous. I am very lucky it was not so in my day or my reputation would have been well and truly ruined, for I did like to flutter my lashes.” She chuckled at the open but speechless mouths of both Marcus and Harris.
“I say it sounds as if our cousin is jealous,” said Philip. “Did she reject you?” Lucy’s elbow caught her husband just below his ribs, and he winced.
Harris shook his head. “I would have had to get close enough to be rejected, a feat that was nearly impossible with all the lieutenants buzzing about.”
Marcus chuckled drawing his cousin’s attention. “You would have stood a better chance than any one of them since you are a captain.”
Harris’s brows furrowed. “My rank would give me an advantage?”
Marcus nodded. “A slight one, and an even greater one if you were well liked and worthy of a promotion — an officer with a future, so to speak. You see, a captain’s pay really is as low as a lady should go when accepting offers, and then only if she does not think a better rank is possible. However, if a girl is very pretty, she might aspire to at least a colonel. Though,” he chuckled remembering how Lydia had told him all this as she rode his horse, “colonels tend to be old and stodgy. A few have been known to be not so terribly old, but nearly all have lines,” he pointed to the corner of his eye, “which means they are at least thirty, which is not old, but not young either. And, the more lines and older one becomes, the less enjoyable his company. So clearly, any young lady who does not wish to be a young widow would do well to look at a captain with a good reputation since that is a man who will be promoted.” He looked at the confused faces around him. He must have explained it just as Lydia did to earn such expressions, and the thought delighted him. “It is really not so difficult to understand. The older a man, the sooner he dies, and although widows, who are well provided for have a bit of freedom, not all ladies look good in black and to wear it for a full six months would be quite dreadful.” He could see her pout as she said that bit. He had felt exactly as his listeners looked – bewildered. “I can guarantee you she is not as you think.”
Aunt Tess was the first to recover herself. “It does make sense in a way.”
“If you squint your eyes and tilt your head,” muttered Marcus with a smile.
“Aye, you may need to do that,” said Aunt Tess as she tilted her head and looked at Marcus. “She refuses to marry Mr. Wickham because he is a lieutenant?”
“No,” said Marcus, “she refuses to marry him because of his character.” He held up a finger. “Which she had deciphered on her own to be deplorable. Forgive my indelicacy, but she can name for you the women he has been with in Brighton and in Hertfordshire. She suspects at least one maid has not truly gone to help a sick relative. And she has a list of his debts — to whom they are owed as well as the amount and an estimated date of when the debt will need to be covered for Mr. Wickham to avoid any unpleasantness. It is information that she used quite skillfully to garner his assistance in finding her way to Derbyshire.”
“And yet she travelled with him alone and did not expect to be forced to marry him?” asked Lucy.
Marcus sighed. “She was not alone. She had her maid, but yes, that is the conundrum named Lydia Bennet. Wise to a point and foolish thereafter.”
“Misguided,” said Mr. Dobney. “Not foolish.”
Marcus nodded. “Do you remember Eris when she was young?”
“Earned her name with the strife she caused in the stables,” said his father. “Kicked a hole in the gate because the pail of oats had spilled, and she was not satisfied with what she had been given.”
“Miss Lydia is like that.”
His father patted Marcus’s arm. “Eris has become a fine mare, however — after much training.” He motioned to the clock that sat on the mantle. “Our meal should be ready.”
Marcus handed his glass to his sister and then helped his father to his feet and assisted him in walking the short distance from his father’s particular drawing room to the dining room.
“Bring her to meet me,” Mr. Dobney whispered to Marcus. “I think I would like her.”
“I think you would,” agreed Marcus as he waited for a footman to pull out his father’s chair.
After Mr. Dobney had taken his seat, he grabbed his son by the arm and pulled him close, so he could whisper one more thing. “This house could use a mistress, and it has survived one spirited lady already.”
Marcus looked at his father in surprise.
“Think about it, Son.”
“But you have not met her.”
Mr. Dobney smiled. “Although I wish to, I do not need to. I see the way she affects you.” He patted Marcus’s arm and then shooed him to his seat.
Chapter 6
Lydia studied her reflection in the mirror. It was not as pleasing as it could be. Her eyes were dull, and her lips did not care if they smiled or not. They, like the rest of her body, was tired — so very tired.
“I can only do so much, miss,” her maid commented, hearing her mistress sigh deeply. “Lack of sleep can only be disguised to a point. Eventually, you will need to sleep.”
Lydia sighed again. It was true. She had not slept well in many nights. She thought back: how long had it been? Brighton. That was the last place she had truly had a good sleep. The floors of inns and the cramped interior of the coach had not been conducive to rest, especially when one must keep a hand on the knife in her pocket and an ear listening to Wickham.
Lydia had expected Wickham to find some way to leave her at each turn. It really had been a most trying journey! And then, to arrive to such displeasure and lectures! A third sigh escaped her.
The corner of that shed had been more restful than her bed the past two nights. She tucked a curl behind her ear. She was certain that the reason sleeping had been easier in that shed was because there, she had been free of the awful possibility of marriage to Wickham. Here, the thought constantly swirled around her. Her aunt and uncle spoke of it. Her father sighed over it, and her sisters whispered and smiled sadly. “Is being a maid very horrid?”
Margaret looked at her in surprise. “I could not say, Miss, with it being the only thing I have known.”
Lydia pursed her lips. “Are you content?”
Margaret paused in arranging Lydia’s hair. “I suppose I am. Not that I would not like to have dresses as fine as you or beaux, a plenty.” She smiled in the mirror at Lydia. “But I would look rather silly in a fine gown and wouldn’t know what to do if even one gentleman came to pay me a call.” She rested her hands on Lydia’s shoulders. “You are made for society, and I am not. It is not my planning,” she returned to pinning Lydia’s hair, “it is the good Lord’s. ‘Twas he who selected our parents.” She placed one last pin and then, with a true look of delight, declared her work complete.
“Margaret,” Lydia called to her as she was about to leave the room. “I am sorry I did not take you with me the other day, but I knew I could not pay for two. You deserve to be better kept…”
“Oh, miss!” her maid exclaimed cutting off the rest of Lydia’s comment. “Think nothing of it. You have been returned to us safely, and that is all that was needed to put me to right. I was sore afraid for you. Wandering in the night with who knows what monsters lurking in the shadows.” She shuddered. “I am pleased you have returned.” She dipped a curtesy and scooted from the room.
Lydia looked at the closed door in surprise. A second person had worri
ed for her safety? Neither had been her family. Her family worried only about her reputation, not her safety. If they cared one jot for her safety, they would not keep suggesting she marry Wickham.
She gathered the needlework from her bag and went to the sitting room. Perhaps she would be fortunate, and everyone would be occupied elsewhere. She would spend another day in her room, but Mr. Dobney had said he would call, and she would endure the presence of her relatives to see him.
“Lydia,” called Mrs. Abbot as she hurried toward Lydia in the hall. “You have callers.” She placed an arm around Lydia’s shoulder. “You look tired, my dear.”
“I am,” Lydia admitted. There was no use denying what was so evidently etched under her eyes.
Mrs. Abbot squeezed Lydia’s shoulder. “You will find rest comes more readily once we find a solution to your problem.”
“I am certain you are correct.” Lydia wished the lady would release her shoulder. Mrs. Abbott was just another person worried about fixing the problem of Lydia.
“And a solution will be found,” Mrs. Abbott said with another squeeze to Lydia’s shoulder. “And its name shall not be Wickham.” She winked at Lydia as she released her.
“You do not think I should marry him?” Lydia’s shock must have shown clearly on her face for Cecily Abbot smiled very sympathetically at her.
“No one wishes you to marry him. They only wish for your reputation to be saved so that you will not face a life of misery.”
“Truly?”
“Ah, my dear.” Cecily wrapped Lydia in an embrace. “Do you not know you are loved?”
Lydia shook her head and blinked at the tears that formed.
“You are,” Cecily said, grasping Lydia’s chin lightly. “Very much.” She smiled again. “Now, you have guests awaiting you in the sitting room.”
“Who are they?” Lydia asked with a slight bit of trepidation gnawing at her stomach. Silently, she wished them to not be Mr. Wickham and that grumbly Mr. Williams. One interview in the sitting room with them had been enough.
“Mr. Dobney, Mrs. Barnes, and Miss Dobney,” replied Cecily. “Go on.” She waved Lydia toward the sitting room. “And if they ask you to go for a drive, I will tell your father and sisters of it when they return.”
Lydia sighed in relief. Her sisters were gone and so was her father. Perhaps for a few moments, she would be able to have a conversation without someone bringing up that horrid man, Mr. Wickham.
“Miss Lydia,” Marcus rose as she entered the room and bowed before extending a hand to lead her to a chair. “I trust you have recovered from your journey.”
“Not yet,” she replied with a smile. “I have had much to think about,” she added softly.
“I was pleasantly surprised to find my cottage unused.” He smiled. “I even cleaned it some. A friend told me it was a bad show to let one’s inheritance sit in neglect.”
“And so it is.” She glanced at the others in the room, who were watching her curiously.
“My sister, Mary Ellen, and Mrs. Barnes.” He turned to Lydia. “Mrs. Barnes is Lucy’s Aunt Tess, which is what we all call her.”
“Lucy?” Lydia looked at him in confusion. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Forgive me. You have not met my brother, Philip, and his wife, Lucy. I forget you have not been at Willow Hall long enough to make friends.” He smiled at the surprised blink of her eyes. She might not think she would find friends in Derbyshire, but he knew if they could see her as he did, she would not want for friendship.
Lydia turned and politely greeted each lady.
“Lucy was here when you arrived,” said Mary Ellen, “although you may not remember her.”
Lydia’s brows furrowed as she thought back to her arrival. There had been three ladies with her sisters. “She left the room with Elizabeth?”
Mary Ellen confirmed the fact to be true, and then, the group slipped into an uneasy silence.
Aunt Tess, a small lady with bright eyes and just a few streaks of grey in her nearly black hair, tipped her head and studied Lydia for a moment. “No need to squirm, my dear Miss Lydia,” she said as she noted Lydia shifting the position of her crossed ankles, “I am not finding fault. You are as pretty as I was told.”
Lydia blushed and ducked her head just a bit. “Thank you.”
“I had thought you might be bigger for all the stir you have created, but you are so petite,” Aunt Tess smiled at Lydia as she said it. “But, we, who are capable of such things, are usually rather surprisingly short in stature.”
Lydia giggled uneasily. She was uncertain if she should like this lady or not, but she did.
“Marcus has told me a bit about your predicament,” Aunt Tess explained in a quiet voice as if not wishing to let anyone who might enter during their discussion know what was being said.
It was, Lydia thought as she turned startled eyes toward Marcus, as if Aunt Tess did not wish to cause her any embarrassment. Marcus’s reassuring smile quelled the small flutter of nerves she felt at the topic being broached, and she took a steadying breath. Surely, she could trust him.
“He thought I might be of assistance, you see,” continued Aunt Tess in the same soft tone as before. “I am thinking of hiring a companion. I resisted the idea at first, but I find I miss Lucy’s company. She was in my care for many years,” she said in answer to Lydia’s questioning look. She straightened a glove. “I was wondering if you would be so kind as to give me a practice run at having someone about once again. I would like to have you with me for at least three months as that should give me sufficient experience to know if I truly desire a companion or not. However, you would not have to remain with me any longer than you wished, even it that time was less than the three months.”
“It would give us time to sort things out,” said Marcus. “You could send a note to your friends in Brighton letting them know that you have arrived safely and are happily installed with Mrs. Barnes. It would also,” he paused not quite sure of how to proceed with the rest of his thoughts.
“It would give time, my dear,” said Aunt Tess, “to prove that your story to the innkeeper was not true.”
Intense heat flooded Lydia’s cheeks, and her eyes dropped to her hands.
“We may believe you,” said Marcus softly, “but if there is gossip…”
Lydia nodded her understanding. “I assure you,” she said, glancing at Mary Ellen and then at Aunt Tess. “It is not true.”
“We will speak no more of it beyond this,” Aunt Tess looked at Marcus, “proving you are not with child does not restore your reputation. There may still be those who will think you ruined. You must know the realities of the situation.”
Lydia sucked the right corner of her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep tears from forming and nodded. When she felt she had control of her emotions, she spoke. “If there is gossip and my reputation is ruined, and I have served you well, would you consider allowing me to stay with you — instead of hiring someone else?”
“That is a possibility,” said Aunt Tess.
“Might I begin today?” asked Lydia before tilting her head and furrowing her brow. “Although, I do not know precisely what a companion does? How does one learn this?” She turned to Marcus. “And what do I do about Margaret? I am certain a servant cannot employ a maid. Oh, how will I get dressed? I am not as good at fixing my hair as Margaret is…oh, I will need a cap. Are there particular caps that must be worn? And will my dresses be too fine? Margaret said she would look foolish in such fine dresses. I do not wish to look foolish. And my things from Longbourn…”
Marcus reached over and took her hand. “We do not need to know everything at once.”
“Indeed, we do not,” said Aunt Tess, there was a hint of laughter in her voice. “Things might work out in such a way that you will not require my assistance.” A smile formed on her lips as her eyes flicked briefly from Lydia to Marcus.
“Why do you wish to begin today?” asked Mary Ellen.
“One never knows about these things,” said Aunt Tess, her lips twitched with barely concealed humor, but it was not the sort of humor that laughed at a person. No, from the sparkle in Aunt Tess’s eyes, Lydia could tell that the lady was merely enjoying herself.
“I had hoped to spend a bit of time getting to know you this afternoon,” Aunt Tess continued, “and I must discuss this proposition with your father. It is his decision as much as it is yours.”
Lydia pulled her lips into a smile and nodded politely. She was certain that her father would be happy to be rid of her so easily, and the thought cut deeply.
“My father has heard about you,” said Mary Ellen, “and would like to meet you.”
“Yes, he has asked that we bring you for tea,” added Marcus. “He would have joined us on this visit, but he does not travel, as he is unwell.”
“Oh, of course,” said Lydia without a moment’s thought, her free hand rising to cover her heart in compassion, and the one that still remained in Marcus’s hand gave his a small squeeze. “Shall I get my hat? Or will we go later?”
Marcus chuckled and released her hand as warmth crept up his neck. He had completely forgotten that he held her hand until she had squeezed his. He really must learn to not take her hand, for it seemed once he did, he was wont to let it go. He tipped his head toward the door. “Get your hat.”
Chapter 7
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and a dry, cool breeze was blowing just enough to make the flowers dance and the leaves on the trees twirl slowly. Marcus had requested that the canopy be lowered so they might all enjoy the fresh summer breeze. Lydia was quite pleased to be looking about the countryside and exclaiming about this or that. Aunt Tess had insisted that Lydia be given the seat next to Marcus, so she would have the best view of her new surroundings.