New Beginnings

by Leenie Brown

  He smiled down at the inquisitive blue eyes that looked up at him. “He did.”

  She squeezed his middle a little more tightly. “Mama is a bit better, too. Aunt Kitty said so.”

  He patted her on the back and looked at Kitty. “Is that so?”

  Kitty nodded. “She is in your study.”

  “My study?”

  “Go see her.” Louisa gave him a push.

  “She is reading,” Kitty answered the unspoken question. “She found a journal.”

  “Luck favours the wicked,” muttered Denny as he shook his head.

  “It must indeed if that is the journal I hope.”

  Kitty smiled. “I believe it is.” She took Louisa’s hand and led her toward the sitting room.

  Wickham paused a moment until the hall was clear before tapping lightly on the study door and pushing it open. “Lydia, my love, may I enter?” He stood at the doorway.

  “Oh, George.” She stood and moved toward him. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but she dared not. Instead she stopped in front of him, her hands clasped and her head bowed. “I am so sorry. I should not have spoken to you as I did.”

  “I disagree.”

  Her head popped up. Her brows were drawn together.

  “You heard information from gossips that should have been told to you by me. I am sorry.” He took her hand and led her to the chairs in front of his desk. “I married you because Darcy gave me sufficient incentive to do so. I cared for little else than money and pleasure at that time. I was a fool of the highest order.” He gave her a wry smile. “I am heartily ashamed of what I once was. You were not the first young lady I ruined.”

  “Were…are there children?” she whispered.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “You do not know?”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh.” She stared straight ahead. She was unsure if she wished he knew or was relieved that he did not.

  “Lydia, I cannot go back and undo what I have done.” He blew out a breath. “I would like to say I wish I could, but I cannot.” He smiled at her puzzled expression. He loved how her lips parted and she tipped her head to the side when she was trying to figure something out. “I am not excusing my deeds.” He shook his head. “They were wrong. However, if I had walked the straight and narrow and done what was expected of me, I would likely be preparing sermons in Kympton. I would not have been forced to take a position in the militia, nor would I have ever travelled to Meryton. And I may never have met you.” He grasped her hands. “There are many things I would like to change about my past, but meeting and marrying you is not one of them. Lydia, I may not have loved you when I married you, but I do now. You and our children are my life. Tell me what I must do to convince you.”

  “Oh, George.” She saw the pleading in his eyes. “You must tell me ─ not just your journal.” She stood and picked up the journal. “The things you wrote in here were beautiful, and I would love for you to continue to write them. But, you must share them with me.” She put the book back down on the desk. “I have been trying to prove myself worthy of your love.” She placed a finger on his lips when he tried to speak. There were things he needed to know and that she needed to voice.

  “I am not clever like Lizzy. I am not serene like Jane. I could never be as serious as Mary or as compliant as Kitty. I could flirt and draw attention and earn my mother’s praise for doing so. I could dance more dances at an assembly than all my sisters, save Jane. What I could never do was earn the praise I desired. Instead, I was declared one of the silliest girls in all England.” She walked around the desk, running her finger over the smooth surface as she went.

  “When I met you, I was taken by your handsome features and your friendly manner. ” She stood behind the desk now. “But what truly won me was the fact that you never once treated me as if I was stupid. In fact, you paid attention to me in great detail. I was unfamiliar with such treatment and soon fancied you were as much in love with me as I was with you. But, I was young. What did I truly know of love? I had not seen it modeled for me at home. I had only stories and fanciful notions to instruct me.” She gave him an impertinent smile. “I suppose I could have learned something about it in church had I listened.”

  He chuckled.

  “My mind wanders.” She shrugged. “No matter how hard I try, it will not focus on a lecture for long. I do not always think things through as I ought, and I sometimes act and speak without thought, doomed to disappoint all I love.”

  He watched her shoulders sag and her eyes look away as she spoke, and his heart ached. He was familiar with the pain of disappointment.

  She looked at him and gave him a sad smile. “Do you know what Mr. Hamilton said the day I went to work to pay my bill?”

  Wickham shook his head and swallowed. From the tears he saw gathering in her eyes, he guessed it had not been good. It surprised him that the pleasant fellow with whom he had dealt, who seemed understanding and kind, had said something to affect his wife so.

  “He told his daughter, Molly ─ the girl I worked with ─ that she was to keep my tasks to the back. I was not to be seen by the other patrons because you were too honourable a man to suffer such mortification.” The tears began to spill down her cheeks, and she drew a shaky breath. “I was a mortification to the one person in all the world I never wanted to disappoint.”

  He stood and pulled her into his embrace.

  “And I have been working ever since to win back your good opinion and love.” Her hands clutched at his waistcoat. “And then I thought I had never had it.” Her body shook with her sobs.

  He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “Shhh, I love you.”

  “I…I…know. I…I…read..it in…in..your…journal,” she said through her tears.

  “Shhh, all will be well. All will be well,” he reassured her. “Oh, Lydia, I have missed you.” He tilted her face so he could see her eyes. “I have wanted to hold you and kiss you from the moment I saw you at Pemberley, but I cannot do more than that. Do you understand?”

  She smiled and nodded. Her crying had come under control.

  He lowered his head and kissed her gently. Breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against her, he groaned. “How shall I ever survive two more months?”

  Kitty clicked the door closed as softly as she was able.

  “All is well?” Denny asked in a whisper.

  Her eyes sparkled. “Very well.”

  “Did he tell her?” Louisa peeked around her uncle and whispered loudly.

  Kitty crouched down to her level. “I believe he did because he was kissing her.”

  Louisa’s eyes grew wide, a smile lit her face, and she clapped her hands.

  “Now,” said her aunt, “since you know your mama and papa are fine, perhaps you and Thomas could come to visit Robert until they join us for dinner.”

  “Oh, yes!” Louisa turned on her heels and scampered off to tell her brother the good news, pausing just long enough in the hall to inform Matthew that she would be going out.

  Denny snaked his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close. She sighed. “You’ve done well, Mrs. Denny.”

  “As have you, Colonel,” she replied. “I shall enjoy seeing them happily seated around my table.”

  “As will I, my dear. As will I.”

  Chapter 10

  “The time, Mr. Wickham.” Mrs. Edmonds stood before his desk in the back of the store. “The books can wait, your wife cannot.”

  He peered up at her from his ledgers.

  She placed her hands on her hips and held his gaze. “Oh, now do not give me that look, sir. You know it is as true as the sky is blue.”

  He laughed and returned his pen to its place. “You know the sky is not always blue, Mrs. Edmonds. Sometimes it is thick with fog or ladened with storms.” He pulled on his jacket.

  She paused in the doorway. “Yes, sir, but your skies seem rather clear of tempests, and if you wish to keep it that way, I su
ggest you mind your time.”

  He shook his head and chuckled as she closed the door. She was right, of course. He had no desire to be the cause of a storm in his life. He had weathered enough of those in the past six months. He had never found it easy to speak of what he truly thought. He had only ever really done so with his father, then Denny and now his wife. True, he had never been one who was lost for words in a conversation. Speaking came easily enough, but to go beyond the pleasantries and speak of matters of importance–that was something he had often left to others.

  “Mr. Wickham,” Mrs. Edmonds called as he passed through the store. “I have a parcel for your wife.” She turned to the two young ladies standing at the counter. “I will be but a moment.” She pulled out her drawer and took out two packages. She handed them to Wickham. “These are the buttons she had ordered and the thread, and the smaller parcel is for Miss Louisa. I found some green ribbon that will match her bonnet just so. She was disappointed when we could not find it when she was last here. I told her it had not been lost or sold, and so it wasn’t.” She moved her hand from the parcel.

  “Have you placed the bill in my office?”

  “No, sir. It is in my cash box along with Mrs. Wickham’s payment.” She smiled at his surprised look. “It is a lovely project she has taken on. I believe these buttons are the final touches.”

  “Indeed?” He turned the packages over in his hand. “And Louisa’s bill?”

  “The young miss has settled it. A right fine job you and the missus are doing with her.” She turned back to her customers as he headed toward the door once again. “Such a family. I should not say, but you do not see many couples as much in love as those two, and after nearly ten years of marriage.”

  Wickham smiled as he heard the two young ladies grudgingly agree. It had not slipped his notice how she often managed to insert a compliment of his wife or a comment on their marriage when speaking with Miss Howe and Miss Cooper. Storytelling was not an activity in which Mrs. Edmonds engaged, but she had also heard their disparagements those many months ago and had made it a point to set them straight on each and every meeting.

  He nodded to a few people in the street as he hurried toward home. He smiled as he saw his daughter hurrying toward him.

  “You are late, Papa,” she chided as she reached him.

  “I was working on my books and forgot to keep an eye on the time, sweetling. I do hope you and your mother,” he looked over her head to his wife, “were not excessively worried.” He reached into his pocket. “I have a package from Mrs. Edmonds for you, both of you.” He handed the package to Louisa, who carefully opened one corner to peek inside.

  “Oh, it is perfect. Look, Thomas.” She held it out to show her brother, who was not nearly so impressed as she.

  “Mrs. Edmonds said it would be,” said Lydia. “She has an eye for these things.” She wound her arm through her husband’s, snuggling in as close as she dare in public.

  It was not close enough for Wickham, and he tugged her closer. “Were you worried I had forgotten?”

  She glanced at him. “I was.” She lifted the basket she carried. “When you did not arrive precisely on time, Louisa suggested we make a picnic.” She laughed, a sound that had always delighted him. “And once Thomas heard the idea, there was no stopping them. They prepared the whole basket themselves with guidance from Cook. I have not even been allowed to peek to see what treats have been included.”

  They strolled leisurely behind their children. “And where are they taking us for this picnic?”

  “The forest, as always. It is Louisa’s favourite spot, you know.”

  He nodded. The day after their horrible meeting in the woods five months ago, Louisa had insisted that they return. She had spent a few moments reassuring several birds and a couple of squirrels that her Mama and Papa were well before declaring it to once again be a happy place. He loved her creativity. It was just another thing about her that reminded him of his wife. Louisa stood now where he at that time saw his life crumbling about him as Lydia ran from him.

  “Papa?” She waited impatiently for her parents to reach her. It was a tradition she had insisted upon since their first return to the woods — a tradition he was very happy to oblige.

  He took the basket from Lydia and handed it to his daughter. Then, wrapping his arms around his wife, he pulled her close and kissed her soundly before whispering, “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” she responded before kissing him for a second time as the children scampered into the woods to play.

  “How are preparations for our trip coming along?” he asked as he opened the basket and unfurled the small blanket that was on top.

  “Nearly complete.” She caught the edge and helped him lay the cloth on the ground. “If that package in your pocket is the buttons I need, I shall be completely prepared before dinner.”

  “Mrs. Edmonds said you were working on a project.”

  “I am.”

  “And it is?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Not something I wish to share with you just yet.” She crossed her arms and gave him a challenging look. He smiled. They had come to a better understanding of each other, and each was learning new ways to respond to the other. However, the challenging and determined nature of his wife was not something he ever wished to change — to direct in a way that did not bring him under her wrath — but never change.

  “And when will I be allowed to know what it is?”

  “I shall show it to you as soon as it is done and before I wrap it.” She knelt beside the basket and lifted out some apples, a bit of cheese and a few biscuits.

  “A gift for someone?” He lounged across from her, his hat and coat discarded, leaning back on his arms, his legs outstretched with ankles crossed.

  She gave a small exasperated huff and narrowed her eyes. “George,” she scolded.

  “Very well, I shall wait to see the gift this evening.” Grinning as she rolled her eyes at him, he snatched an apple from the pile and called for the children to come join them.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  The carriage rocked back and forth as it rolled along the road. Lydia’s head rested against Wickham’s chest. He sighed contentedly.

  Love is not an easy option, son. He once again recalled his father’s words. It is an all consuming thing that takes strength and fortitude. It can be the most wonderful comforting feeling in the world and the most painful at the same time. He pulled his wife just a bit more snuggly against him. His father was right. Love was a most comforting feeling, but he had also felt the pain of loving.

  Did you love her? He had asked his father once when speaking of his mother.

  I did , his father had replied.

  It had been shortly after Wickham had first heard and understood the whispers about him. He had gone to his father to ask about what he had heard. His father told him how he had been kept away on some business for Pemberley. While he was gone, his mother had been asked to deliver a parcel to an ailing tenant and while out had been caught in a storm. She took refuge in a hunting cabin. The master had also been caught in the same storm and had ducked into the cabin. They had not been able to leave until the next morning when the storm had passed. It was shortly after that she had discovered she was with child. It was then that the rumors about who the child’s father was had started. The rumours only increased when Mr. Darcy seemed to favour him.

  Did she love you?

  I believe she did.

  He remembered the uncertainty in his father’s voice and the pain in his eyes. It was an image he had never been able to erase from his memory.

  You do not know?

  We never spoke our love to each other after the rumors began. Until you were born, I was uncertain what to believe. I longed for the rumors to be unfounded, but it was not until I looked in your eyes and saw my own looking back at me that I knew what she had begged me to believe was true. You were my son. She had never been unfaithful to me. I finally held
her and told her of my love for her, but it was too late.

  Lydia stirred next to him and tilted her head to look up at him. “What has you looking so desolate, my dear?”

  “I was thinking of my father and mother.”

  She squeezed him tightly. He had told her the story of his parents. “I love you, Mr. Wickham.”

  He smiled down at her. “And I love you, Mrs. Wickham. There is nothing you can do that will ever change that.” He would not fail her as his father had failed his mother. He would endure the pain of love when it came and would fight to reclaim the wonderful, comforting feeling it afforded him as he sat here with her wrapped in his embrace, her lips pressed against his.

  She smiled up at him as he broke the kiss and looked out the carriage window. “Are we at the inn?”

  “We are.” He allowed her to straighten her dress as he smoothed his jacket. When the carriage door opened, he descended the steps first before extending his hand to help her. “I promise no scrubbing pots or plucking chickens,” he said as he placed her hand on his arm and led her into the inn.

  “Ah, Mr. Wickham, Mrs. Wickham,” Mr. Hamilton wiped his hands on his apron as he crossed the room to greet them. “I have your room prepared.”

  “Mr. Hamilton,” said Lydia, “I wish to tell you how very grateful I am to both you and Molly for dealing with me in such a kind way as you did the last time I was here. I know you would have been well within your rights to deal with me harshly.”

  “Ah, my dear, ” he smiled at her as a father might smile at his child, “I have found that a person learns far better from reasonable treatment.” He winked at her and turned to lead them to their room. “Besides, I’d not have liked to answer to your husband had I treated you poorly. A man in love should never be crossed.” He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door at the far end of the hall, well away from the noise of the stairs. “It was punishment enough for him to have to make you work.” He pushed the door open, revealing what must have been the nicest room in the establishment. “Molly put flowers on the table for you, Ma’am. She remembered how you spoke of loving flowers.”