New Beginnings

by Leenie Brown

  She stopped but did not turn to face him.

  “I have been busy.”

  “I heard you,” she snapped. “I have been busy as well.” She spun to face him. She held out her hands. “My fingers did not become stained from lack of work, and my apron did not become soiled from sitting about the house. I have been busy, but I have not neglected our children. But then they are more a mother’s responsibility and not a father’s, are they not?” She saw the moment of pain in his eyes and immediately regretted her words. “I am sorry,” she said, dropping her head to look at the floor. “I am tired and my head aches.”

  “Lydia, things between you and me are just…” He searched for the correct word.

  She shook her head. “Go. Enjoy your tea with your children.”

  “I am eating with Denny tonight.”

  She nodded and forced a smile to her face. “Give my regards to my sister and remind her of her promise to visit next week.”

  “I will.” He watched her start up the stairs.

  “Mr.Wickham,” said Harriet. “Your bowl of flowers.”

  “Will Mrs. Wickham enjoy them more in the sitting room or the entry?”

  “There are already flowers in both of those places, sir.”

  “Then where would you suggest?”

  “She’s not had any in her room for nearly a week, sir.”

  Wickham’s brows rose in surprise. “A week?” It was no wonder she was a bit out of sorts with him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then, please, place them in her room. And Harriet?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you be so kind as to inform me when these flowers need to be replaced?” If his arms could not hold her and tell her of his love, then he hoped the flowers would surround her and speak for him.

  “Of course, sir.” Harriet smiled and gave a quick curtsy before hurrying to do as he had asked.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  “Whatever are you doing?” asked Kitty, who had come for a visit and been informed by Matthew that her sister was occupied in the kitchen.

  Lydia sat near the work bench with what looked like several plates lay in pieces near her feet. “I am cooking.” She swung her spoon in the direction of a steaming pot on the stove. “And baking.” She motioned to the biscuits that lay cooling on the work bench. She shrugged. “And I dropped some dishes.”

  Kitty narrowed her eyes at her sister. That shrug always indicated she was not being entirely truthful. “Dropped them?”

  Lydia gave her a tight smile. “Precisely.”

  “And do you intend to sweep them up?” Kitty crossed her arms.

  “Not just yet.”

  “And if Thomas comes in to find a biscuit, you will just let him wander among the shards?”

  Lydia flipped her head. “He will not be coming in here. He and Louisa are both out with Harriet.”

  Kitty took the broom from the corner and began sweeping up the fragments. “It is as always. Someone else must clean up the mess you made.”

  Lydia snatched the broom from her. “No one asked you to clean up my mess.”

  Kitty reached for the broom, but Lydia moved it away. “But it must be cleaned.”

  “And I shall clean it,” said Lydia. “But not now. I have not finished creating the mess just yet.” She took a dish from the table and flung it on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Kitty yelled as she jumped out of the way as another dish crashed on the floor.

  Lydia reached for the broom she had placed behind the workbench. “I was breaking dishes, but I am through now,” she said as she began sweeping up the mess she had created.

  “I can see that,” said a confused Kitty, “but why were you breaking all your dishes?”

  Lydia paused her sweeping. “I have not broken them all. I have enough for Louisa, Thomas and me to eat. It is only Wickham’s that have been broken.”

  Kitty pulled a stool close to the workbench. “Lydia, please. I still do not understand why you were breaking dishes.”

  Lydia turned away, but Kitty saw her run a sleeve across her eyes. “They are not needed.”

  Kitty sighed inwardly. She had feared Wickham’s frequent appearance at her table would lead to trouble. She had even said as much to Denny just last night.

  “Wickham does not eat with us anymore.” Lydia’s voice was soft. “He rarely comes home at all before the children and I are in bed.”

  “Have you asked him why?”

  Lydia shook her head. “It is obvious. He thinks of me as everyone else does and no longer wishes to spend time with me. He will not leave his children, though. They are important to him.”

  “You cannot know that without asking him.”

  “Yes, I can.” Lydia returned the broom to the corner and checked the soup.

  Kitty saw the stubborn set of her sister’s mouth and knew that it would be futile to press the issue at this moment. Instead, she asked, “Where is your cook?”

  “I asked her yesterday about her family — Oh! Did you know that Matthew had a sister whom I remind him of, but she died three years ago?”

  Kitty nodded, and Lydia scowled. “Well, I did not. He told me about her last week when I was working on my account books. She had trouble with ciphers just as I do.”

  Kitty took a tin from the shelf and began laying the biscuits inside it. “And your cook?”

  “Right!” Lydia poured tea for them both. “She has a daughter who is having a baby. Today.”

  “She told you about this yesterday?”

  “No,” said Lydia with no small amount of irritation. “She told me about her daughter yesterday, but then her son came in search of her today. The baby is early. I said I would finish the baking and watch the soup.”

  “So, you are practising some of what I told you. You are spending some time helping others.”

  Lydia sighed. “This is the first I have been helpful.”

  “It is a beginning,” said Kitty. “Though, I suspect if you insist on breaking dishes every time you offer to help, your cook will soon stop accepting your assistance.”

  “I try, Kitty. I really do.” She ran her finger around the rim of her cup. “I have done everything he has asked. I have not said very many harsh words to him, and still, he pushes me away.”

  “And feeling anger is easier than feeling hurt.”

  Lydia lifted her shoulders just slightly. “Perhaps.”

  “I noticed the beautiful flowers on the table in the entrance. Did Thomas or Louisa gather them on their walk? I have seen those very flowers growing in the meadow near the woods.”

  “No,” said Lydia softly. “They are from Wickham.”

  Kitty’s brows rose as if she was surprised, even though it was as she suspected. “I have never heard of a man giving flowers to his wife if he did not care for her.” She rose and gave Lydia a kiss on the top of her head and then held her face so that Lydia had to look at her. “Talk to him, Lydia. Tell him your fears. Most men have very little knowledge of the working of the female brain.”

  Lydia shook her head. “I cannot. I cannot bear to hear my fears confirmed by his lips.”

  Kitty kissed her once again. “Talk to him,” she whispered one more time before turning to leave.

  Chapter 6

  Wickham’s finger followed down the column. He added and subtracted the numbers quickly in his head as he went. He frowned slightly as he reached the bottom, scratched out the number and wrote the correct sum. He continued on in such a fashion until he had reconciled all the accounts. Laying his pen aside, he leaned back in his chair and looked at his wife. She had taken his directives to heart and had studiously completed each task he had given her in the last month. She sat now in front of him, fingers twisting in her lap, her lower lip snagged between her teeth and her eyes cast down. His heart once again pinched. He reminded himself as he did several times each day that instruction was necessary. Allowing her to continue as she always had would not be loving. Her actions ha
d placed her children, his business, and their marriage in danger. Her unhappiness now and the pain in his heart were small prices to pay in securing his family. In this, he would not fail.

  “You have done well, Lydia. I only found two errors, and they were small.” He smiled at her as she looked up at him. “Are you in need of any additional funds for any of the categories? Between your economizing and the shop doing well this month, I find I can spare a few pence.”

  She gave him a small smile. She had worked hard to keep those accounts in order and within their allotment. “There is nothing we need at present, but there is something I would like.” She noted the way the crease formed between his brown and hurried to add, “For the house.”

  “And what is that, my dear?”

  Oh, how she liked that he had begun to use small terms of endearment for her once again. “A bit of cloth to make a runner for the table. One that would bring a bit of the sunshine indoors. Perhaps I could stitch some daisies on it or primroses?”

  He shook his head. “Could you do a branch with a few buds and a few flowers?”

  “A branch?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I love how you get excited when the first blossoms form on the apple tree.” He lifted his shoulders slightly and let them fall. “It might always bring that sparkle to your eyes when you see it. I like it when your eyes sparkle. It was your sparkling eyes and lively spirit that I first found enchanting about you.” She blushed slightly and looked down at her hands. It was rare in the past to see this demure portrait of his wife. It was not a word most would use to describe his bold Lydia. He had not ever seen her respond with that particular expression to anyone save him. It was a thought that filled his heart and caused his arms to ache to hold her. He shook himself mentally. This was a path upon which he dare not even venture a step. There were yet two months before he dared to indulge in such pleasures as holding his wife. As irrational as it was,a thought, an embrace, a caress,small as they might, be could be his undoing. Of course, he had never quite been rational where his wife was concerned, even before he had come to love her as he now did.

  “Perhaps I might find a bit extra for your allowance this month. There are new ribbons the colour of your lovely blue eyes which have just arrived.” The blush on her cheeks deepened. He needed to bring this meeting to an end before his heart and desires overtook his determination, and so he stood. “I have an appointment with Denny. He has a new gun he wishes me to see.”

  “You will be late?” She knew he would be. For several weeks now, he had been staying out until late whether with a friend or at the store counting and sorting stock. She sighed. She missed him, but, she reminded herself, it was no more than she deserved for disappointing him so greatly.

  He saw the tears forming in her eyes and quickly looked away. “I expect to be.”

  She swallowed her sadness and attempted a smile when he placed a quick kiss on her cheek before taking his leave. “There will be biscuits in the kitchen should you require anything,” she said to the empty study. She moved behind his desk and sat in his chair as she picked up her record of accounts. She paused for a moment, leaning back into the chair and feeling the warmth he had left there. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined it was him and not the chair holding her.

  When she opened her eyes, they rested on his journal. She had not seen it since the day in the inn, but it looked well-used. She ran her fingers lightly over its cover. She bit her lip as she thought about reading it. However, she was not sure she wished to see his thoughts about her. Surely he would have given it to her to read if they had been good. Besides, he had not given it to her to read, and she did not want to betray whatever trust he might still have in her. So, instead, she lifted the cover just enough to see the words he had written that morning at Pemberley.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, desperately hoping his words were still true. She remained there in his chair with her hand resting on his journal for a moment longer. Then, wiping the tears from her eyes, she rose to return the ledger to her desk and spend some time with her children before eating another lonely dinner.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  “Another evening away from your wife?” Denny swirled the coffee in his cup. Normally, he would be having a bit of port after his evening meal, but knowing the state of his friend’s mind and his seeming inability to stop with one drink when he was feeling low, he had arranged for coffee this evening with just a touch of whiskey and sugar.

  Wickham nodded. He did not wish to discuss his wife at present, but he knew Denny. Not discussing her would not be an option. “It seems most prudent to avoid temptation.”

  Denny chuckled, which did not improve Wickham’s mood.

  “I might take up residence above the shop. There is one room that is not occupied by workers.” He took a gulp of his coffee and wished for something a bit stronger. “Just for a month or two.”

  “If you feel you must.” Denny placed his mug on the table and pushed his chair back, propping his feet on the chair next to him.

  Wickham looked at his friend through narrowed eyes. This was obviously a ploy. He could feel the disagreement radiating off Denny as he tapped his fingers on his leg. “You might as well say it,” said Wickham.

  “What? What am I to say?” The corner of Denny’s mouth twitched in an attempt to curve upward.

  “You are about to tell me how I should not be spending every evening away from my wife and children and how taking a room at the shop would be an ill-advised plan. And, I am sure you have several reasons for thinking so.” He swung his arm wide in invitation. “By all means, tell me why I must place myself where I will fail.”

  Denny’s brows rose at this statement. “At what will you fail?” His feet had come down from the chair, and he leaned forward, elbows propped on the edge of the table, looking intently at his friend.

  Wickham scowled at him but began to explain. “I have set boundaries and rules for myself and my wife, but I find myself wishing to cross those boundaries and break those rules ─ curse the consequences.” His shoulders sagged, and he shook his head. “I do not have a lot of experience with keeping rules when they run contrary to my desires.”

  “No truer words have been spoken, my friend.” Denny leaned back in his chair once again and chuckled softly before returning to a more serious tone of voice. “What makes these rules different from any others?”

  Wickham chewed the side of his cheek and folded his arms. Some things were not easy to admit even to a friend as close as Denny. “I will not have any of my children be thought of as by-blows.”

  “Ah,” said Denny, “as you were.”

  He nodded and then shook his head. “But it is not just that. Lydia has not been held to rules before. She has been able to charm or whine her way out of most of them.” He saw the smile beginning on his friend’s face. “Yes, we do have that in common. Now if you do not mind, I will continue?’

  Denny chuckled as he nodded.

  “If I fail to follow the rules that I have decreed, she will not learn the discipline she has been lacking.” He rose and walked to the far end of the table. “I do not know if I can explain it.”

  “You will have failed in what you set out to do.” He raised a brow and cocked his head to the side. “It would not be the first time. You have failed before ─ in fact, you made a habit out of failing purposefully for years.”

  Wickham shook his head. “I have not failed at something as important as this.”

  “So finally something is more valuable to you than yourself.”

  Wickham groaned at the look he saw on Denny’s face and braced himself for what was to follow. As expected, Denny rose to his feet and began pacing in front of the table, hands clasped behind his back.

  “I have been waiting for this day.” He cast a smile at Wickham. “I thought we had reached it eight years ago when your daughter was born, and you hoped to never have her treated as you had treate
d many young ladies. It was a beginning. Then five years ago when you held your son and realized how desperately you did not wish for him to be like you, I thought we had truly reached it. You settled down. You took your employment seriously. You even started to make reparations for the sins of your past by repaying the money Darcy gave you to wed your wife.” Wickham flinched at being reminded of his past shortcomings. “But today…today, I know we have come to it. Do you know how I know?” He did not wait for an answer. “Because though I do not doubt you were genuinely concerned for the welfare of your children, there was an element of how their downfall would affect you. But today you worry not only for how your failure will affect them but also for how it will affect your wife, and I’ve not once heard you mention how your failure will affect you. Quite the contrary, I suppose, since failure would most assuredly bring you pleasure.” He sat again with his arms crossed and a very pleased look on his face. “Do not take a room. Tell your wife what you have told me.”

  Wickham shook his head. “I will not take a room just yet, but I cannot speak to her of this.”

  Denny frowned. “She’ll not think less of you. We all have our weaknesses.”

  Wickham shook his head again.

  “Very well, but you know the woman was made to help the man.” He rose and motioned toward the door. “I fear my wife will be thinking I abandoned her if I do not show myself in the sitting room soon.” He placed a hand on Wickham’s shoulder as he passed. “Do not allow Lydia to feel abandoned,” he said before following him out of the room.

  Later that night as Wickham pulled off his boots in his study, he considered what Denny had said to him.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” Matthew asked after he had finished arranging the blankets on the cot and laying out Wickham’s night shirt.

  Wickham began to dismiss him but then thought better of it. “Matthew, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course, sir.” The trusted servant stood near the door and waited.

  “Have I abandoned her? Does my wife feel that I have abandoned her?”

  Matthew shifted a bit uneasily. “May I answer freely, sir?”