by Leenie Brown
“Then why did you choose him to accompany you?” demanded Elizabeth.
Lydia sighed. “Because he knows where Derbyshire is, and he is weak enough to be led. I should think you would be able to piece that together.” She knew there was a cutting edge to her voice, but she did not care. Lizzy was Papa’s favourite. “I am not so stupid as you think.” A hand took hers.
“I do not think Lydia’s plan is completely without merit,” said Marcus, squeezing Lydia’s hand tightly. “Wickham has been bought off before. I am sure he could be once again.” He returned the small smile Lydia gave him.
“I do not have access at a moment’s notice to produce your portion,” said Mr. Bennet. “And to replace it will take a great deal of time.”
Lydia nodded. “I know. I shall wait to marry.”
“A great deal of time,” repeated Mr. Bennet.
Lydia swallowed and nodded once again. The thought of remaining at home for longer than any of her sisters presented itself. Well, perhaps she would not remain at home as long as Mary, but — oh, to be just she and Mary and Mama with a father who thought her of little use beyond a good joke was not a pleasant thought! However, the prospect could not be avoided. She would not be marrying Wickham. And there was a small hope. Her looks might save her from such a dire fate as remaining home too long. She was pretty, so it might be possible to capture a man’s attention without having any money. Mama had said it of Jane, and Mr. Dobney had said it was possible.
“Lydia,” Jane’s soft and soothing voice interrupted her thoughts, “are you certain that this is what you wish?”
“What I wish is to not marry Mr. Wickham,” Lydia replied. “So, if this is the only solution, then, yes, it is what I wish.”
“It is a lot of money,” said Jane.
“I know.” Lydia gave Jane a sad smile. “I only hope it is enough. His debts are significant.”
“You know of his debts?” Marcus asked in surprise.
“I have a list,” said Lydia. “I told you; I listened. It is how I knew that he needed to cheat Denny out of some money. Captain Hopwood was growing impatient to be paid. And since Colonel Forester does not look favourably on his men having such large debts, cheating Denny and risking a fist fight was more appealing than whatever punishment Colonel Forester would have dealt him.”
“A flogging, no doubt,” mutter Captain Harris.
“No doubt,” agreed Lydia. “There are several others who will soon be as impatient as Captain Hopwood. Depending on rank and pay, it seems a month or two is the longest any officer will wait to be repaid by another.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. “You have been paying attention then, have you not?” He crossed one leg over the other. He rested easily in his chair and wore a rather amused look. It was decidedly different from the serious expressions worn by everyone else. “Colonel Forester might be interested in your list.”
Lydia blinked. Of course, why had she not thought of that? A list such as hers might be useful in negotiations. “Do you think we could use it to make Mr. Wickham go away?” She asked the colonel eagerly.
“More blackmail?” asked Marcus, a slight note of trepidation in his voice.
Lydia shook her head and looked at him. “No, blackmail is too ugly a word. I like to think of it as a bit of persuasion or a small guarantee of cooperation. ”
“Blackmail,” Marcus repeated.
Lydia shook her head again. “Persuasion.” She looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I could copy my list and give it to you.”
“Copy it?” Marcus closed his eyes and grimaced as her lovely hazel-coloured eyes looked at him as if he should already know why the document should be copied. He was certain there was some scheming reason for it, not that he could readily think of one. He really did need to think more before he spoke. He also needed to release her hand, which he still held. Both seemed things he was incapable of doing at present.
“Of course,” Lydia said in surprise, “one does not give away such information without retaining a small guarantee for herself that the information will not be lost and never used.” How was it that no one thought of these things but her? Surely, it was not such a difficult thing to think.
“It is what I would do,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Lydia was beginning to like the colonel, even if he was rather short and not so very handsome. He seemed willing to consider her as something other than just a silly girl, and that alone made him quite likable and worthy of at least a moment’s consideration. She studied him more carefully. His build was muscular and pleasing, and his hair was a respectable honey colour. However, there were little lines near his eyes. He must be at least thirty, which was really too old. But he seemed pleasant. “Then you would like a copy?”
“Indeed,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. There was a glint of excited satisfaction in his eye. She knew that the colonel had not appeared welcoming to Wickham when in Brighton. Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam would prove to be a valuable ally, regardless of his relationship to the always proper Mr. Darcy. Lydia cast a glance in Darcy’s direction. He was listening intently, but he did not seem as dour as she might have expected. Perhaps that could be credited to his dislike of Wickham.
“And this will save your reputation?” Mr. Bennet spoke in disbelief. “Do you have such articles of persuasion for all of Brighton and whomever else might have heard your story?”
Lydia’s shoulders drooped, and her brows furrowed. She had been so focused on Wickham that she had forgotten that problem. “I left a note. If Mrs. Forrester were to find it…”
“A convenient coincidence after the fact?” Mr. Bennet’s voice was softening. “You know how the gossips work. True or not, it will only fan the flames of a juicy tale.”
Lydia looked from the serious face of her father to equally serious faces of her uncle and Mr. Abbot before looking at her sisters. So this is how it was? Could no one present a plausible solution? Were they all just hoping to be done with her? She shook her head and stood. “I shall not marry him.” She pulled her hand from Marcus’s and closed her eyes against the pain that she felt in her heart. “You will have to send me away.” The words were barely a whisper. “A new name, in a new place….” She swallowed and blinked her eyes rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “Perhaps I could find a position…” She paused again trying to control her emotions, but it was no use, they would not be controlled. She shook her head as the tears began to fall. “I cannot marry him,” she whispered before fleeing the room.
Mr. Bennet began to rise to follow after her.
“No, Papa. I will go,” said Jane.
“I do not wish to see her tied to that man, but what can be done?”
Jane patted his hand. “We might think of something.”
Mr. Bennet nodded, but the look on his face spoke of his disbelief.
“Another suitor?” suggested Bingley. “Perhaps if there were another gentleman willing to marry her? Would that not lessen the gossip? It was only thought that she had run off with Wickham.”
“She has been with few others,” said Captain Harris. He smiled ruefully. “It would be easy for anyone at Brighton to believe her gone off with Wickham. She batted her lashes at him often enough.”
Mr. Bennet sighed.
Marcus glared at his cousin. How could he speak so meanly of Lydia? She was obviously more than a flirt. She was undeniably pretty, and he had no doubt she was quite capable of flirting. In fact, she had attempted it once or twice while they were on their walk today. It was a tactic, he realized, she was using in an effort to sway his opinion. Even in her flirting, she was clever. Could no one see that? “There must be a way,” he muttered. “She cannot marry him. If you knew his character…”
“I do,” said Mr. Bennet, casting a glance toward Darcy. “I am very well aware of his character, but I see no way to save her reputation.”
“There must be a way,” Marcus muttered again as he stood. “Give us some time to think,” he suggested. “Surely,
one of us might come up with a solution.” He waited long enough to get Mr. Bennet’s assurance that they would not make any decisions just yet, then he left the room. He needed a good ride. He thought better when he rode. However, before he left Willow Hall, he asked Mrs. Smith if he might have a paper and pen so that he could leave a message for Miss Lydia.
Miss Lydia,
I will not allow you to marry him. Please do not run away. I hope to call on you tomorrow. Perhaps I will arrive at a solution by then. If you do choose to run, have the grooms direct you to Woodhead Cottage, so that I might find you. I am enclosing the key.
He signed the message and wrapped it around the key for the cottage that he had used this morning to lock it up. Then, with an assurance from Mrs. Smith that both the message and the key would be given to Miss Lydia, he bid the housekeeper farewell and left Willow Hall.
He walked toward the stables but stopped when he had only reached the halfway point. Imagining he had heard his name called, he turned and looked toward the house. Again, he thought he heard his name. Ah, in the window.
Lydia stood at the window and called twice to Marcus as he left. In her hand, she clutched his letter tightly. The key was safely tucked in her pocket. Seeing him turn, she called again. Finally, as he lifted his eyes to her window, she waved. She also smiled at him, although she was sure he could not see it. A friend. She had found a friend — not one who wished to use her for introductions to gentlemen or advice on what to wear or how to trim a hat — no, she had found a real friend — one who wished to see her safe and well. It was both a strange and a delightful feeling.
Marcus waved in return and gave her a shallow bow before turning and continuing on his way. She would be safe. He nodded in agreement with himself. He would see that she was safe, for despite her fits of displeasure and her wandering trail of thought, he enjoyed her company. He paused and looked back at her window once more.
“Your horse, Mr. Dobney.”
A groom interrupted his contemplation of his pretty, yet vexing, new friend. “Thank you, James.” He paused before mounting. “Do you know the way to Woodhead Cottage?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And you will be here all night?”
The groom nodded.
“If Miss Lydia decides to leave Willow Hall, lead her to Woodhead Cottage and then find me. Do not tell anyone here that she has gone before you tell me.”
The groom nodded.
“There will be something in it for you, of course.” Marcus swung up onto his horse. “And before you leave her at the cottage, remind her to lock the door. Oh, and see to it that the fire is lit. There will be wood beside the door.”
“Of course, Mr. Dobney.”
“And you will come see me first before you tell anyone here that she is gone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good.” He gave a nod to the groom and set off to prepare his cottage for its potential visitor.
Chapter 5
Marcus straightened his clean cravat and inspected his jacket, ensuring he looked presentable for dinner. Ready, but not yet willing to descend to his father’s drawing room, Marcus walked to his bedroom window, which faced the east drive, so that he could see who had or was arriving. There was to be a large group tonight.
A small carriage was just drawing up to the front of the house. Lucy and his brother, Philip, were here, and, Marcus hoped, they had brought Aunt Tess with them as requested. He could go down. He pulled his watch from his pocket as his stomach rumbled. Half an hour until they ate. It was just enough time to enjoy a glass of wine and some conversation.
He was certain there would be plenty news from the neighbourhood to be shared. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror as he passed it one last time before exiting his room. It was not that Aldwood Abbey’s guests would gossip, but they would discuss the various goings on of their neighbours and friends. He was still not entirely certain he saw the difference as clearly as his sister, Mary Ellen, did.
“Ah, you are here,” said Mary Ellen as Marcus entered the drawing room. “You have been no more than a shadow to us today. Scurrying here and there on business.” She raised a questioning brow.
“There were things to be done,” Marcus replied as he placed a kiss on her upturned cheek before taking a seat next to his father. “How are you today, sir?”
“No worse than yesterday. Mary Ellen has done her best to entertain me with books.” He sighed. “I wish she would learn to play chess.”
“I know how to play,” protested his daughter.
“Not very well,” her father muttered with a chuckle and a wink.
“Yes, well, if you did not have Marcus to play against, you might not know my skills are lacking.” She smiled at him as she said it. It was a frequent discussion.
Mr. Dobney found his greatest enjoyment in a challenging game of chess. His sons, Marcus to a greater degree and Philip to a lesser extent, provided him with a match he deemed worthy of his time and effort. Mary Ellen, on the other hand, would attempt to do her best, but no matter how hard she tried, some thought or another would capture her fancy and cause her to lose the game.
“So what kept you from our game?” Mr. Dobney asked Marcus.
“I was at Mother’s cottage.” Marcus attempted to make his reply sound as if it were somewhere very natural for him to be, when in reality, it had been some time since he had visited that particular cottage for more than a quick look around the grounds to see that the roof was not in need of repairs and no windows were broken. “The steward forgot to lock the door when he checked it yesterday, so I went to take care of it.” He accepted the glass of wine his sister offered him and swirled its contents slowly before inhaling its fragrance and taking a small sip that he swished between his teeth and allowed to sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He cast a glance at his cousin and knew that Harris was eagerly waiting to share information about who had been found at that cottage. However, Marcus would rather introduce the topic himself. Harris had already shown himself unable to speak kindly of Lydia, so it was best if Marcus broached the subject. At least then Lydia might be presented in a more flattering light. “The young lady I found there pointed out that the cottage was in need of attention, and so, I have attended to it.”
“You were cleaning?” Shock suffused Mary Ellen’s face.
Marcus shrugged. “It was needed.”
“Cleaning?” Mary Ellen asked once again.
“I am capable of it.” He glared at his sister. “And I had help.”
“So that is what Mrs. Yardley was muttering about today. ‘Maids gone off to clean for nobody.'” Mr. Dobney gave his son a pointed look.
“I imagine it was,” Marcus replied. “She assured me she could manage without them.”
“Oh, she was not grumbling,” said his father. “She seemed quite shocked at the idea, and now I understand why.” He patted Marcus’s arm. “It is yours whenever you choose to claim it,” he added softly.
Marcus nodded. The cottage had been a place where each summer for a week or two and for at least one weekend each winter, he and his mother, along with his father and siblings, would, as his mother called it, “escape the trappings and finery of the landed gentleman and remember their blessings.” He smiled at his father. “One day soon.”
“I would go with you,” whispered Mary Ellen. “I miss it, you know.”
He nodded and smiled at her.
“You said you found a young lady there?” His father had never been one to miss a detail, especially if that detail might produce some interesting bit of news. He had always been curious, but since his illness had confined him to his home except for an occasional trip to church, he had grown worse. Boredom, of course, was the culprit.
“A lost traveller,” said Marcus, taking a sip of his wine. He could have told his father her name and laid out the complete story in a few sentences, but where would be his father’s enjoyment in that? “She was attempting to find Kympton but too
k a wrong turn.”
“Does this lady have a name?”
Marcus nodded and smiled as his father grew impatient at his silence.
“Miss Lydia Bennet,” said Captain Harris. “Her name is Miss Lydia Bennet.”
Marcus shook his head and rolled his eyes. Harris had never been the most patient of fellows when they were young, and apparently, impatience was something that he had not entirely outgrown.
Mr. Dobney’s eyes grew wide. Marcus was sure that his father’s eyes were not the only ones filled with surprise.
“The one you mentioned had arrived at Willow Hall with that scoundrel?” Mr. Dobney looked at his daughter.
She shrugged. “Apparently.”
“You met her?” Marcus asked.
Mary Ellen turned to her brother. “I did, briefly. From what I could gather, she is very different from her sisters. Very different.”
Marcus could tell by the emphasis that she placed on those last two words that she did not hold Lydia in high esteem. “Did you talk to her?”
Mary Ellen shook her head. “I did not. I was walking in the garden with Miss Darcy while Lucy comforted Miss Elizabeth, who was certain that a connection to Wickham would separate her from Darcy forever.”
“There’ll be no connection to Wickham,” said Marcus quite firmly.
“I cannot see how there will not be,” said Captain Harris before sharing with the group the extent of his knowledge of Miss Lydia’s situation from her arrival at Willow Hall accompanied by Wickham to her running away and finally to her return.
“Her poor father,” said Aunt Tess. “To be chasing after her under the impression that she is about to marry a scoundrel and in such a state.” She referred, of course, to Lydia’s claim to be with child, but she was too polite to say such a thing in company.
“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.”