by Leenie Brown
“Oh, it must be used once again. A small party is often just the thing to lift the mood and aid in recovery. One cannot feel poorly for long when surrounded by good humor and music. One must have music even if it is just a pianoforte or a harp. There is nothing quite like it to set one to right.”
Mr. Dobney chuckled at her enthusiasm for the scheme. “I may have to try your remedy.”
“Oh, I shall help you, if you need it,” Lydia offered, her excitement growing at the thought of an elegant soiree. “My mother is quite adept at planning parties, and I do think I take after her in that way.”
Marcus bit the sides of his cheeks to keep from chuckling. Having met Lydia’s father and older sisters and having listened to many of her strange rationalizations, he suspected that Lydia took after her mother in more ways than just planning parties.
“The paintings in that room along with the mirrors must absolutely sparkle when the candles are lit! And with the doors that open onto the garden,” she clasped her hands in delight, “the air would not become stuffy and unbearable, even in winter.” She leaned toward Mr. Dobney slightly and whispered. “You can open them just a crack when it is cold. The fresh air will come in and the crush of people will ensure the room stays warm.”
“I shall keep that in mind,” he assured her.
“And lanterns must be lit in the garden along these paths, for I am certain that someone would like to take a stroll along them in the moonlight.” She sighed. “It would be quite romantic, but there must be light so that nothing untoward happens.”
Mr. Dobney chuckled. “It sounds delightful. Marcus, we must plan a soiree before the summer ends.”
Marcus shook his head. As much as he wished his father to leave his rooms and open the doors of their house to visitors, he did not wish to rush the proceedings and tax him unduly. “Perhaps in the autumn.”
“Oh, at Michaelmas,” said Lydia. “There is always an assembly at Michaelmas in Meryton. It is such good fun.” She sighed. She did not mean to sigh, but the thought of missing an assembly and dancing in a new dress with so many willing partners was too much to contemplate without a sigh.
“Then at Michaelmas, we will have a small gathering,” said Marcus. Lydia’s small cry of delight and the clapping of her hands pleased him greatly, and from the smile his father wore, it seemed he was not alone. “Shall we continue our tour of the garden? I believe Aunt Tess and Mary Ellen will have made a complete circuit twice over before we have completed our first.”
“I should like to go just as far as your mother’s roses, and then you may leave me there and continue on your way,” said Mr. Dobney as Marcus took his place behind the chair. “It is my favourite spot to sit,” he explained to Lydia. “The fragrance of the flowers brings back such pleasant memories.”
Lydia took his hand and gave it a small comforting squeeze. “Then you shall sit there as long as you wish,” she said softly. How sad it must be to miss someone you loved. Would there be things, after she had been in Derbyshire for a time, which would remind her of her mother and Kitty and which she would seek out just to feel not so far away from them? Mr. Dobney must have heard the small sigh she tried not to make, for he squeezed her hand gently and he did not release it until they had come to the spot where he wished to sit. Then with a smile, he released her to his son’s care and instructed them not to hurry. He would be quite content to sit as he was for hours if need be.
Marcus led Lydia down the path, and as much as he had planned to be quick, the pleasantness of her at his side and her hand on his arm slowed his feet. It was at least half an hour before they returned to escort his father back to his drawing room. Then, after a thorough report from Lydia to Mr. Dobney about the delights of his garden, it was time for Lydia to return to Willow Hall.
Chapter 9
That evening, Lydia tried to make herself as small as possible where she sat next to Jane at the foot of the table. Her visit with Aunt Tess and the Dobneys had been so lovely that she did not wish to have the pleasant feelings it had given her flee before they must. And she knew they must eventually be displaced, for there was still a conversation — a dreaded conversation — to be had with her father regarding her future.
Happily, Mr. Bennet had been occupied with Mr. Gardener in a game of chess, and Jane and Elizabeth had been conversing with callers when Lydia had returned to Willow Hall. This arrangement of her family members had meant she could say a quick word of thanks to Marcus and Aunt Tess and then slip away to her room unnoticed. In her room, by herself, she could relive the afternoon in her mind, uninterrupted by sad sighs and disapproving looks.
“You are very quiet this evening,” said Mrs. Abbot, leaning towards Lydia. “Did you enjoy your visit with Mr. Dobney?”
“I did,” Lydia answered and turned back to the pudding that had just been served.
“You have nothing to share of your day?” Mrs. Abbot raised a brow as she asked the question. “I am certain I would not have the strength to keep silent after a visit to such a place. I have been to Aldwood Abbey once for a small dinner just after we arrived at Willow Hall. I was quite struck by its elegance.”
“Oh, to be sure,” agreed Lydia. “The house is well-situated, and the gardens are well-tended.”
“The gardens?” Mrs. Abbot drew in a quick breath. “Oh, I should like to see the gardens. There is nothing quite like a walk through the gardens of a home to get a true feel for the place, you know.” She smiled at Lydia. “A well-designed garden affords so many differing and pleasing views of the house.” She sighed softly. “And then there are the special flowers that are of significance to some member of the family. Gardens speak volumes.”
Lydia could not agree more. Gardens were delightful places, and the one at Aldwood Abbey was perhaps the most delightful she had ever seen — not that she had seen many. “Mr. Dobney asked to sit by his wife’s roses.” Lydia could not help but share that fact. It was the one thing, out of all the beautiful views in the garden, that had captured her attention the most.
She had watched him when she could while she listened to Marcus tell her of little things that had happened in this place or that. He, of course, had caught her looking back. He always seemed to see what she was about.
“He loved her very much, did he not?” she had asked in response to Marcus’s question as to why she kept peering at his father.
“He still does,” Marcus’s reply had been so soft that Lydia had looked up to see if he had actually spoken.
Mr. Dobney was not the only Dobney to still love and miss Mrs. Dobney. Lydia could tell by the way Marcus fixed his eyes on some spot in the distance, and by the sad expression which caused his lips to turn down ever so slightly, that Marcus had loved his mother deeply.
That was what had made the prospect so captivating. To be loved so very much as to be sought in the face of a flower after you were gone gripped Lydia’s heart and would not let go. She had read and heard of such a love, but to see it — well, it was quite irresistible. Something so rare must be committed to memory.
Lydia sighed and poked at her pudding as Mrs. Abbot waited for further description of the visit, which Lydia gave as briefly and carefully as she could. She did not wish to draw the attention of her father by exclaiming over anything in particular. It was a task which was not easily accomplished, for Aldwood Abbey had captured Lydia’s imagination, and she longed to share about the party that was to be held in September. However, she most certainly could not mention plans for the autumn, even to Mrs. Abbot, when Lydia, herself, was not entirely certain her father would allow her to remain in Derbyshire for that long.
“It sounds beautiful,” said Jane, who had been listening intently and asking nearly as many questions as Mrs. Abbott. “I should very much like to see it.”
“Why?” asked Lydia.
“Because it sounds lovely, of course,” said Jane in surprise.
“There is no other reason? You do not wish to make it your home?” Lydia’s heart thu
mped loudly within her chest. Jane was beautiful and proper. She would make an excellent mistress to any estate. Indeed, Jane would care for any home very well, and to have Aldwood Abbey in such good care should make Lydia happy.
However, the thought of Jane as the new Mrs. Dobney was not settling well in Lydia’s stomach. In fact, it seemed to be stirring up the contents. Lydia put down her fork. Although she had not finished her meal, the remaining portion was unappealing. And since she was apparently becoming ill, it was best, Lydia decided, to leave a bit of food on her plate. She hoped the apothecary would not have to be called. She detested the taste of his tinctures.
“No, I had not thought to make it my home.”
Jane ‘s voice sounded incredulous at the idea, but her cheeks, Lydia thought, coloured suspiciously. Lydia bit back a grimace as her stomach roiled. She would need to go straight to bed if she wished to avoid truly being ill. She rubbed her temple lightly as Mrs. Abbot stood to leave. A headache due to tiredness should give her the excuse to retire early without causing any great concern and drawing unwanted care. She would just follow Mrs. Abbot to the hall and then plead her excuses.
“Lydia.”
Lydia froze and turned slowly toward her father.
“Have a seat. Up here by us.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. The rest of the ladies exited the room, and she thought her uncle and Mr. Abbot would join them, but they made no move to leave.
It was apparently going to be a demanding discussion if they all needed to remain. Lydia rubbed her temple once more as she took a seat closer to her father. She would not need to feign a headache now.
“I had a very interesting discussion with Mr. Dobney,” her father began.
Lydia clasped her hands in her lap and waited. Marcus had told her of his plan to speak with her father. In fact, she had sat near the window to watch him depart. He had not looked angry or flustered, so she had dared to hope her father had agreed to Marcus’s plan. She had even ventured so far as to write a letter to her mother telling her of the exciting news. However, now as Lydia sat here in the dining room with her father, her uncle, and her host, she wondered if perhaps her hope had been rash.
“You are not going to ask me about what we spoke?” There was a note of disbelief in her father’s tone as he leaned closer and peered at her.
Lydia shook her head. “There is no need. I knew of Mr. Dobney’s intentions in speaking to you.”
“And you are agreeable to them?”
Lydia nodded. She had enjoyed her time with Aunt Tess. It would not be so very bad to do her bidding. She seemed to be a kind and sensible lady. Surely, she would not be overbearing or unreasonable. And, by accepting a position with Aunt Tess, Lydia would be able to visit Mr. Dobney at Aldwood Abbey and help him plan his soiree.
“Shall I have Mr. Philip Dobney call the first banns this Sunday, then?”
Lydia’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth dropped open until she saw that his eyes were laughing. She snapped her mouth shut, and her eyes narrowed. Of course, she was the source of an amusing joke. She waited for him to chuckle and continue on with the joke, but he did not.
Instead, her father sighed. The twinkle in his eye faded, and he rubbed a hand across his eyes as if he were very tired. “I should not tease. I know.” He smiled at her sadly. “I only wish I were deciding whether or not to give you to such a proper gentleman instead of whether or not to allow you to take a position with Mrs. Barnes.”
“She is very kind.” Lydia held her breath waiting for her father to either tell her she might stay or that she would be returning home.
“She is, but your mother had such hopes for you…” He rubbed his face again. “I suppose those hopes vanished the moment you stole away from Brighton.” He shook his head. “No, they were gone when I gave my permission for you to travel to Brighton. You were too young to be venturing so far from home. I see that now.” He drew in a deep breath and released it. “But, that is neither here nor there. It is very unlikely that you will be able to return to Longbourn without some gossip swirling and making you and your mother miserable, so the best option is as Mr. Dobney has suggested.” He cocked his head to the side, a small smile tugged at the right corner of his lips. “Unless you would prefer that the banns be called. I really do not believe Mr. Dobney would be opposed to taking you for a wife. He seems keen to see you safe.”
Lydia’s mouth dropped open again. Marry Mr. Dobney? He was so old. No, she corrected herself, he was not old. He was just not young. But he was handsome, and his estate was beautiful. She pressed her lips together. It was not a suggestion without merit. Perhaps it was something she should consider. After all, he knew her circumstances and yet had not shunned her. Yes, she would give it some thought — later. Right now, however, she needed to secure her place with Aunt Tess. “So I may stay with Mrs. Barnes?”
Her father nodded. “It does seem best. I am not certain how I shall break that news to your mother. She is expecting you to return from Brighton at the end of the summer, and she does not even know you have travelled to Derbyshire.”
Lydia sat forward in her chair. A tiny prickle of excitement crept cautiously up her spine. “I can help with that. I have a letter already written.”
“You do?” There was no mistaking the surprise in her father’s tone.
Lydia’s head bobbed up and down. The prickle of excitement had reached the place right between her shoulder blades and waited expectantly to be allowed to wrap around her and touch her heart. “I wrote it after I returned today with the hope that I was not writing it in vain.” She tried desperately to keep a smile from forming on her lips. She was to stay — here in Derbyshire — with people who liked her.
“I should like to read it.”
“Of course.” She had intended to show it to him. She began to rise and then sat back down. “May I go retrieve it from my room?”
“In a moment.” He looked at the other two men at the table. “I have asked Mr. Abbot to stand in my stead while you are here, and he has agreed to take on the responsibility. Your sister Lizzy will also be remaining in Derbyshire and Mr. Darcy, I am certain, will assist Mr. Abbot where needed.”
“Lizzy is marrying here? She is not returning to Longbourn? Mama will be sorely disappointed.” It was true that Mama and Lizzy did not get on well, but to deny their mother her pleasure in arranging for a wedding breakfast and making all the happy calls associated with such an event seemed selfish to Lydia, and it made her heart ache. “Mama wishes for all her daughters to be married from Longbourn.”
“Indeed, she does, but this is what Lizzy wishes. I am certain your mother will be just a pleased to share the news of it as to have organized the affair herself.”
Lydia was certain her father was wrong, but it would not do to say so. Papa always saw to Elizabeth’s happiness.
“I will send your things when I send hers.” There was sadness in his eyes. “I know that Lizzy shall be happy, but will you? Will you be happy?”
Lydia blinked in confusion. Could he truly be sad on her account? “I believe I will be.”
He pulled his lips into a smile and rose from his chair. “Then, I shall attempt to bear the separation as best I can.” He extended his arms. “Give your old papa a hug before you go get your letter.”
Lydia blinked again but slowly rose to do as he asked. She did not remember the last time he had hugged her.
“I am sorry,” he whispered as he squeezed her tight. Then he released her slightly and looked into her eyes.
She had never seen his eyes look quite like they did at that moment. Perhaps what Mrs. Abbott had said about being loved was true.
“I am sorry to have to leave you here, but I am glad you are not marrying Mr. Wickham.”
Lydia’s brows furrowed. “I thought you wished me to marry him?”
He pulled her close again. “Only because I saw no other way to solve the muddle you had created.” He gave her one last squeeze and then released her. �
�Now, I should like to read that letter.”
Chapter 10
“This,” said Marcus as his carriage came to the end of the drive at Willow Hall and turned toward the right, “is the correct direction to Kympton.” He smiled at Lydia as she rolled her eyes. He was quite happy to be providing her with transportation to her new home, but he had seen her blinking rapidly and biting her lip as she stood outside Willow Hall. He suspected that no matter how much she claimed her family did not like her, they truly did, and it was a sentiment Lydia returned. She had, after all, taken it upon herself to travel a great distance to be with her sisters. Going on a journey, knowing you would be returning to your home with tales to tell was one thing. However this — leaving your family without a plan to return — was something entirely different and bound to stir emotions in the most reticent of hearts. Lydia’s heart and emotions were not reticent. They were well-shrouded perhaps, but what she felt, she felt deeply.
“We shall not need to worry about your finding the inn and purchasing passage to some unknown destination, will we?” He kept his tone light, but it was not entirely a jest.
“Oh, not until at least October,” she replied with an impertinent smile. Her eyes swept the view in front of her from left to right. “Which direction is the inn?”
“October?” he asked.
Her head bobbed up and down. “I hear there is to be a grand soiree at Michaelmas at an estate somewhere about here.” Her hand waved around in a circle. “I stumbled upon it once.”
Marcus chuckled. “I will personally see that you find it again.”