by Jean Burnett
The Count must have sensed that I was weighing the possibilities. He watched the expressions of doubt and longing which I knew were passing over my face. As if in a trance I heard myself accepting his proposal. As he led me back to Lord Finchbrook who was to escort me in to supper, the Count whispered, ‘Let us dine together soon and discuss the matter thoroughly. I leave London in three weeks.’
Of course I told the entire story to his lordship and asked for his advice immediately but my escort was not in quick thinking mode.
‘Pon my soul, madam, you are a fast worker and no mistake,’ was his only reaction as he trifled with a trifle.
‘Yes, but should I go?’ I pressed him as I tried to steer him away from the desserts.
‘I am not qualified to advise you, dear lady. Perhaps some enquiries should be made about this gentleman. I might be able to discover something from the Countess Lieven but it will take a little time – and courage. She is a formidable woman.’ And with that I had to be content.
As we drove home his lordship declared that there had been a monstrous deal of stupid quizzing and commonplace conversation at the ball, as usual, but the trifle had been excellent.
In the cold light of the morning after, I realised that I had also forgotten about my brother-in-law. How could I present this new opportunity in a blameless light? Before breakfast I sat down to write to my sister Kitty telling her about the Count and the probability that I would join him in Paris. I would have to hesitate a little more for decency’s sake but I knew I could not resist such an adventure.
Kitty had always been my confidante in the family and I knew she would be enthralled by my adventures. Not so my friends who left me in no doubt as to their opinions.
‘Lydia, are you telling me that you agreed to leave for Paris with a man you scarcely know? You have met him only three or four times, if my memory serves.’ Selena’s expression was one of mingled awe and outrage when we sat at breakfast next morning.
‘And a foreigner to boot,’ Miles complained.
‘He is a diplomat,’ I explained, ‘titled and charming – and he dances like a dream. I have promised to discuss the matter. I have not given a definite answer.’ This was not strictly true but it was at least half true. There would be more discussion but in my heart I knew I had made a decision. I was not likely to receive a better offer in the near future.
‘It is obvious that this man does not intend to make you a respectable offer,’ Selena sniffed, reading my mind once again. ‘You will achieve nothing with him except the ruin of your reputation.’ Of course my friend was probably right but in the sober light of day I was beginning to realise that my expectations among the aristocracy would not include marriage. I would have to accept what was on offer.
For the rest of the day my friends warned and reproached me for my actions, emphasising that they could not escort me to Paris or rescue me if the situation deteriorated. ‘Unless we are lucky at the tables,’ Miles added.
I scarcely paid any attention to their remarks. I was already plotting in my mind how I might present the situation to Darcy without exciting his suspicions. I could not afford to outrage him in any way. My parents might disapprove of my behaviour but they were not my main source of support. No matter how my fortunes turned in the future I needed to know that my finances would always be in place.
When the Count took me to dinner on the following evening everything was resolved. We dined in gilded privacy in one of the rooms at the embassy. I wore deep rose-coloured lace and he complimented me on my looks and my vivacity saying that I would be an ornament to Parisian society. He assured me in his delightful accent that French women in general were affected and boring in their conversation.
Ferenc promised me that I would receive a formal invitation to Paris from his mother. This would satisfy my family. He would arrange suitable lodgings for me.
‘Will your mother not wonder where I am if I do not arrive at her house?’ I asked. The Count smiled. ‘My mother is elderly and forgets very quickly.’
The evening was agreeably romantic. As I prepared to leave, the Count drew me close. I felt his soft kisses on my eyelids and the tips of my ears, his fingers smoothing my hair and caressing my neck. He made no other attempt to seduce me before he handed me into a carriage. I told Selena that his behaviour toward me continued to be honourable.
‘To a degree only,’ my friend gave a move of disapproval. ‘Why did he invite you to dine alone with him if he has honourable intentions? The news will be all over Portman Square tomorrow.’ I refused to be cast down in any way. My future had not looked as promising for a long time.
All that remained was for me to visit Pemberley, beg or borrow more gowns from Lizzie, bid farewell to my parents en route and perhaps persuade my brother-in-law to give me some extra money for the trip. I had quite forgotten Lord Finchbrook in all this and when he called on us I was able to thank him once again for his kindness.
‘I owe it all to you,’ I cried. ‘I knew that if I could appear at Almack’s my life would change forever.’
He patted my hand and smiled saying, ‘I have heard nothing untoward about your Count. The Countess Lieven speaks highly of him. He is quite a high ranking diplomat, I believe.’
‘Do you not think it madness?’ Selena demanded of the room. ‘You should not have encouraged her in this, my lord.’ Finchbrook looked stricken at the thought of displeasing his goddess, but rallied when she added, ‘I do not blame you entirely. Lydia is so headstrong and she seems determined to be someone’s mistress rather than a wife.’
I was infuriated at this cruel jibe, dear reader, considering that my friend had urged me into the bed of the Prince Regent and practically forced me into a Fleet marriage with a felon. Sometimes one’s friends are not all one would wish for. As for me I could scarcely believe that my dream was about to come true. It was unfortunate that Lord Byron had moved on to Italy but our paths might yet cross. I had a great deal to confide to my journal that evening.
A few days later a page arrived from the embassy with an ornate invitation card embossed with the Count’s coat of arms. Adelaide pronounced it a very fair piece of work. I think she was referring to the card rather than the Count, although he is a very handsome man. I have offered to take Adelaide with me to Paris. I shall certainly need a maid. She is thinking the matter over. I know she has become involved with a footman but she cannot resist a challenge, although she speaks unflatteringly of Frenchies.
I endured the long, tiresome journey to Derbyshire sustained by the thought of my forthcoming stay in the city of elegance. At last I had the opportunity to enter more rarefied social circles and who could say where that might lead? At least my daydreams of marrying into the aristocracy whiled away the tedium and discomfort of the long journey.
Chapter Eighteen
Pemberley, Summer 1816
Lizzie greeted me affectionately and I duly remarked on little Charles Fitzwilliam’s progress. The child bears an unfortunate resemblance to his father. Many people find my brother-in-law handsome but I cannot see it myself. Mr Darcy appeared a little more mellow than usual probably because there are rumours of a forthcoming engagement between one of the neighbouring squires and Miss Georgiana Darcy. No doubt he will be pleased to have her off his hands. I feel a strange bond with the woman, part pity, part loathing – after all, we were both Wickham’s cast offs, in a manner of speaking.
My invitation was acknowledged with a mixture of bewilderment and pleasure by my relatives. Miss Georgiana actually had the temerity to suggest that I might be invited to fulfil the role of companion to the dowager countess. She made this remark when we were gathered in the music room one evening, where she had carefully arranged herself alongside a marble statue of St Cecilia, the patron saint of music, in order to display herself to the best advantage in an elaborate new gown of silver tissue and lace. The effect was to make her resemble an outsize Christmas package. Only a wreath of holly berries and mistletoe was lacking, but s
he was vastly pleased with the ensemble.
‘You will be greatly favoured, Mrs Wickham.’ She gave me a patronising smile, while her brother nodded in agreement. If only they knew.
When I was able to speak privately to my brother-in-law I was assured that my allowance would reach me in France. Lizzie gave me many warnings about the dangers of being a woman alone in a foreign city, although I do not know how she can presume any knowledge. She has never left these shores. Her honeymoon was spent touring Scotland.
During the following week mysterious packages arrived at the house addressed to me. They contained small gifts and knick-knacks guaranteed to please a lady. Fine gloves, an ivory fan, a beaded and jewelled reticule and an antique, miniature pack of playing cards were among the trinkets. These last were perhaps a joke at my expense. The Count sent messages with them assuring me of his devotion to my needs and of his admiration and respect for me. I carefully disguised them from the prying eyes of the family saying that they were necessities for the journey.
With the assistance of Lizzie’s French maid I was able to refurbish my wardrobe somewhat. I prevailed upon the woman to teach Adelaide a few words of her language – she has decided to accompany me after all. The time passed less ill than I had anticipated. I doubted that I should be at Pemberley again for some time.
Perhaps I should have anticipated the disaster that was about to befall me but I am of a sunny and optimistic disposition. I always believe in a good outcome – a tendency often disappointed by reality. I was sitting alone in the library with a book open on my knees day-dreaming of my Parisian future when Mr Darcy stormed into the room waving a letter. His face turned purple and pale in turn and he appeared to be speechless with fury. He threw the letter into my lap and to my horror I saw that it was the one I had sent to Kitty. How could she have betrayed me? Is nothing – not even the bonds of sisterly devotion – sacred?
My brother-in-law found his voice as I clutched the arms of the chair in panic.
‘What is the meaning of this, madam?’ he thundered. ‘What mindless folly and treachery are you planning? Thank goodness your sister has acquired a modicum of sense and decorum even if you have not!’
He went on in this vein for some time, reminding me of the circumstances of my marriage to Wickham and the disgrace narrowly avoided on that occasion. I was threatened with virtual imprisonment at Pemberley until I saw the error of my ways. There would be no communication with my friends in London unless I wished to forgo his protection and financial support. He stormed out of the room ordering me to attend a family conference later that day where my wickedness would be discussed by everyone.
I anticipated a biblical stoning at the very least. The servants would probably be allowed to throw rotten vegetables at me as I stood chained to a post wearing sackcloth. My imagination has always tended to the Gothic.
In the privacy of my room I wept bitter tears over Kitty’s betrayal, the loss of my golden Parisian future, of the Count, of Jerry – even of Mr Getheridge. Would nothing ever be right in my life, and what should I do now? I had no doubt that Darcy had something unpleasant planned for me. I hoped that Lizzie would stand by me but I was learning a harsh lesson in family values.
I was summoned to the drawing room an hour before dinner. To my disgust, Georgiana Darcy was also present and sending speaking looks in my direction. Lizzie appeared to have been crying. Everyone stared at me as if I had been turned to stone.
After a few silent moments which seemed to contain aeons of recrimination, Mr Darcy remarked with startling originality, ‘What do you have to say for yourself, madam?’
‘I have nothing to say, sir,’ I replied, more defiantly than I felt. ‘I am sure you will have enough to say for both of us.’
‘Oh, Lydia!’ wailed Lizzie, ‘How could you, after all my husband has done for you?’
‘Indeed,’ chimed in Georgiana in an unnaturally deep voice, ‘and at such a time, when my engagement is about to be announced.’ She added a pathetic vocal wobble at the end of this sentence for maximum effect. So it was true – the little sister was finally to be sold off, pardon me, betrothed to a suitable spouse. No doubt Darcy paid a handsome dowry whereas I – I am distracted. My brother-in-law is speaking again.
‘If you cannot be trusted to live a normal respectable life as befits a gentlewoman there are only two options open to your relatives.’
‘Yes?’ I enquired with some interest.
‘Either we contrive to have you detained as befits an insane person or we find you a suitable husband.’
For a moment I was torn between these exotic opportunities, but I merely lowered my head and dabbed my eyes with a kerchief endeavouring to squeeze out a tear for the benefit of my tormentors.
‘I am sure that Lydia has seen the error of her ways, dearest,’ pleaded Lizzie.
‘I devoutly hope so,’ he replied between gritted teeth. I was dismissed to my room where I was forced to remain for three days until summoned to greet Georgiana’s intended, the Hon. Theodore Whitworth, whose family estate lay several miles north of Pemberley. On the second day I was obliged to pay to receive a letter written jointly by Kitty and Mary which went on at great length about the loss of virtue in women that led to irretrievable ruin. My parents refused to communicate with me. I was not greatly diverted.
Chapter Nineteen
While I was imprisoned in my room the faithful Adelaide had been busy on my behalf. By judicious listening at doors (and who knows what means besides) she had discovered that Kitty’s unexpected fit of decorum was caused by her recent engagement to a clergyman. The man was a mere curate, hardly a catch, but Kitty had no dowry and little in the way of looks. No doubt she was grateful but it did not excuse her betrayal of me. Needless to say my parents had not intervened on my behalf.
I wore the deep rose lace gown to the dinner at which I was to meet the Hon. Theodore who was the younger brother of Lord MountStephen. Was it not strange that Georgiana, with all her advantages of wealth and breeding, could snare only the younger brother – even with the inducement of a large dowry?
The rose gown was another act of defiance. I have no doubt the guests expected me to appear in deep mourning as befitted the wicked widow. I did not dare to wear the Prince’s necklace, however. That would have been a provocation too far. I would not have been able to explain how I had come by it without tying myself and my tongue into knots.
When I entered the room a definite froideur descended on the occupants except for the Hon. Theodore who greeted me with surprising warmth. I made him a modest curtsey without raising my eyes.
Darcy introduced me as ‘my sister-in-law who will be leaving us soon’. At least he did not grind his teeth when he spoke. I had decided not to engage in any unnecessary conversation and I addressed myself to the soup. No member of the family spoke a word to me but I found the Hon. Theodore sitting opposite me and slightly to the left. He cast a few warm glances at me whenever Georgiana looked elsewhere. She kept a remarkably tight grasp on her intended spouse scarcely letting him move a foot in any direction.
The man did not interest me in the slightest although I noted that his looks were tolerable and his legs were well-shaped. I have always admired that in a man. I had no doubt that he would find Georgiana as dull as everyone else did, but he would have her fortune to console him. The evening wore its way to a bland conclusion and I retired to bed early.
At breakfast on the following morning my brother-in-law informed me that he would soon secure a place for me as a lady’s companion in the Bath area. Letters had already been dispatched. Bath of all places; I could not bear the thought of returning to that city with its uncomfortable memories.
It appeared that a suitable spouse could not be found for me at short notice so I must, therefore, be dispatched as soon as possible. At least he had not chosen the asylum option, although I had no doubt that there was such an institution in Bath.
At least my friends might visit me. I had not heard from M
iles and Selena since I arrived at Pemberley, but Darcy had said there would be no communication with them. It was possible that the wretched man had confiscated my correspondence. The thought made me so furious that bile rose in my throat.
I remembered that Selena loved Bath and she would surely come when she heard of my predicament. I needed to contrive a way of contacting her. My maid would, as always, think of something. A few more days dragged by in which I scarcely spoke with anyone except Adelaide.
On the fifth day I donned my warm cape and stout boots and went to walk in the grounds as far away from the house as possible. I enjoyed the feel of the lush, late summer grass under my feet. Already there was an autumnal chill in the air despite the abysmal summer we had endured. Flowering shrubs were past their best and even the wild flowers in the hedgerows were hanging their heads in a dispirited manner as if in sympathy with my own despondent thoughts.
I walked and walked until I came to the far edge of the estate where a narrow lane ran alongside the boundary. A light rain began to fall and I sheltered under a large chestnut tree that spread its huge branches over me in a paternal fashion. As I waited I heard the clip clop of horses’ hooves and I spied a gentleman riding towards me on a fine black horse.
‘Good morning, Mrs Wickham, can I be of assistance to you?’ said the Hon. Theo. He was on his way to Pemberley to pay a call on Georgiana. I assured him that I was not bothered by a light shower and I was enjoying a little exercise.
‘But you will have another long walk back to the house,’ he objected. ‘And you will be exhausted if not drenched. I insist on taking you back with me.’