by D. L. Carter
Elizabeth sighed.
“Children can be such a worry,” said Wickham in stentorian tones. “A young girl of my acquaintance used to run along after me, demanding my time, my affection. I, of course, thinking so well of her whole family gave myself over to her entertainment but eventually one must direct ones attention to adult matters. She was, I fear to say, quite jealous. Sad to say she began to malign my character to all and sundry. I am certain you can sympathize.” Wickham smiled at Elizabeth taking that sympathy for granted and then looked longingly across to where Jane walked slowly on Bingley's arm. “Eventually a man must pay attention to one special woman. One very special lady. I hope you will help your youngest sister to understand. I would not for the world be the cause of sisterly conflict!”
Before Elizabeth could comment, Wickham bowed over her hand, and called across to Jane.
“Miss Bennet. Where is this fabled view of Netherfield? I believe your father told me of that same interesting vista. Might I impose upon you for the tour?”
Before Jane could formulate a reply Mr. Bingley expressed an interest witnessing this fabled vista himself.
“I would be delighted,” said Jane, “if only I knew to which vista you referred.”
“I must say, the most dazzling view of your home is just before me,” said Wickham looking Jane in the eye.
Elizabeth turned away to cough.
Jane blushed and Bingley turned the same shade of red as his hair.
“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth, to break the moment, “we should simply stroll and see what can be seen in this season.”
The group broke into two. With Jane went Wickham and Bingley. Darcy and Elizabeth followed along behind.
***
From the doorway Mrs. Bennet observed the young people in the garden and shook her head. Those foolish girls. No matter how hard their mother labored in their service they simply did not know how to flirt.
Lydia knew. Lydia studied the art of enticement at her mother's knee and would eventually catch herself a good husband. But Jane, oh, silly girl. Didn’t she realize that she should smile more, lean closer, breathe deeper to draw attention to her décolletage? Sighing Mrs. Bennet studied the other one. Lizzy had already lost Wickham’s attention and that Darcy was hanging about again looking dour and imposing. What was she to do about that?
Well, first she needed to speak to her husband.
“Mr. Bennet.” She knocked and entered prepared to pretend she had heard a summons but her husband didn’t protest. He was standing, facing the window, and watching his children.
Mrs. Bennet came to stand beside him.
“Do they not make handsome couples?” said Mrs. Bennet, not expecting a denial. “Dear Jane looks so well with Mr. Bingley and Lizzy and Lt. Wickham might be considered handsome as well.”
“Wickham?” Mr. Bennet repeated. “That looks uncommonly like Mr. Darcy at Lizzy’s side.”
“Oh, Lt. Wickham was called away to attend Jane for a moment. He shall return to Lizzy's side soon. Ah, but if only he had a thousand a year. How happy I should be to see Lizzy safely married, but I fear no one will take her now.”
Mr. Bennet watched but said nothing.
“Have you noticed, of late, that Hawkins is getting a trifle old?” continued Mrs. Bennet.
“Hawkins,” repeated Mr. Bennet, startled. “What is this of Hawkins?”
“Nothing particular. Just an observation.”
“Not you, my dear wife. You do not mention the man’s name above once a year and that when you quarrel with me about how much the man is to receive at Boxing Day. Now you are speaking of his age? What are you about?”
“Well, if you must know, I was thinking of Lizzy.”
There was a long silence. “Lizzy?”
“And Lt. Wickham.”
Now her husband turned away from the window. “Lizzy and Lt. Wickham? Of what can you be thinking?”
“Now, my dear, don’t get in a taking. If you had spoken to Lt. Wickham as often as I you would realize what a charming young man he is. So unjust that he should be denied a living and, it seems, so well acquainted in land management. Lizzy is so fond of him, but you know, she likely did not accept Mr. Collins because, to be honest, your cousin is not the most handsome man. Not compared to Lt. Wickham who looks so fine in his red coat. Now, if you were to offer Wickham employment…”
“No.” said Mr. Bennet.
“No?” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief. “Good heavens, my dear Mr. Bennet, Why?”
“I do not want Lizzy married off. Any marriage you might be thinking to arrange will not take place for a year, perhaps more. Should we marry her off, to someone so beneath her notice, in haste all manner of rumors will circulate. You might be thinking to end the gossip, wife, but this sudden interest of yours would make it worse. Much worse.”
“Oh. You do delight in vexing me,” declared Mrs. Bennet. “I tell you, husband, it would solve all manner of problems to have Lizzy well settled. If you do not like the idea of her married to a steward then extend yourself to speak to Mr. Darcy about that living.”
“Mrs. Bennet, you are not attending. Let me say it again, you shall not marry off Lizzy! Not to a steward, a vicar nor an Indian Chief! Cease your plotting, I beg you. I shall not hear it!”
“You do not have any pity on my nerves,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And as for plotting. It is a mother's responsibility to see her daughters as well married as can be arranged. Lt. Wickham is the best Lizzy can aspire to now and if you loved her as you claim you would want her husband to have good employment. I tell you, sir, speak to Mr. Darcy about the living if you want Lizzy to live well!”
Mr. Bennet turned and directed toward his wife such a heavy, heated look that she fled the room without another word.
***
“What can he be about?” mused Darcy, directing his comment mostly to himself, but also to Elizabeth. “I cannot believe he would make such a cake of himself over a woman, particularly one who has an admirer standing beside her. Wickham is never so clumsy nor does he risk his person. He cannot know if Bingley is the type to reinforce his flirtations with his fists or a bullet.”
“I cannot understand it myself,” said Elizabeth. “If anything, he has been more of Lydia’s set until now. More interested in foolish flirtation than serious courtship. There can be nothing for him here. Surely a man in his position must marry money!”
“There must be something more to this. You are correct.” Darcy frowned and turned, scanning the gardens. Mr. Denny stood in the shelter of the house conversing intently with Kitty who was, for a change, wearing her bonnet properly.
“They should not be alone,” said Elizabeth inclining her head toward Kitty and Denny. “Sometimes Mr. Denny’s conversation is too warm.”
“I shall so advise him.”
So saying Darcy strode off toward the other couple. Elizabeth remained close to Jane, providing what aid she could in fending off the unwelcome attentions of her suitors.
As Darcy approached, Kitty cast a worried look in his direction and vanished back into the house. Darcy paid little attention to her. His objective was Wickham’s current hanger-on, Lt. Denny. It was not unusual for Wickham to have younger men in his thrall. For some incomprehensible reason there were those who found Wickham’s disrespect of common courtesy, abuse of the rules of conduct and general air of near dissipation to be admirable and sought to emulate him. Denny, clearly, was one such.
Seeing the intent expression on Darcy’s face worried Denny for a moment but the man found courage in the fact that he’d done nothing wrong recently that the gentleman from Pemberley might know of. Besides, Wickham had declared privately that Darcy was a coward.
“Mr. Darcy. May I help you, sir?”
“Possibly. Miss Elizabeth was requesting you and Miss Catherine should rejoin the group.”
“Certainly.” Immediately Mr. Denny turned away.
“Are you not going to wait for Miss Catherine?” inquired
Darcy.
“I am certain she will follow along when she is ready. She has an errand to run.”
Darcy glanced back. At this moment Miss Kitty was skirting around the party and walking further away from the house. Shaking his head Darcy returned to Elizabeth’s side dismissing the young girl from his mind.
Much later, after a most unsatisfactory tour of the garden the young people returned. Mrs. Bennet was less than pleased with the pairings but smiled and tried to entice the militiamen to stay to supper. Her offer was refused as they did not have permission from their commanding office to stay out that late, but both men implied that a future, less impulsive offer would be welcomed.
Chapter Thirteen
“No progress today,” observed Denny as they rode back to town.
“Not as much as I expected,” grumbled Wickham. “But no lost ground either. Miss Jane is as unattached as ever. I am certain that she has realized Bingley will not offer under these circumstances and her mother, hah, that mother, her mother likes me. Today’s visit, I am certain, was Mr. Bingley’s leave-taking. He has the air of a sentimental flirt. Like as not he will beg a lock of her hair to keep next to his heart as a memento and assure her he will keep her in his heart until they meet again and forget her as soon as he turns his back. As soon as he is safely back in London I shall make my move here.”
“And Mr. Bennet? How did he respond to your experience in land management?”
“Since he has so little involvement himself, he lacks the understanding to respect me.” Wickham considered. “But the conversation went well enough under the circumstances. Jane is a quiet well-mannered lass. Easily pleased, easily distracted.”
He laughed then pulled his horse sharply to a halt as a small figure leapt into his path. The figure was wearing Kitty Bennet’s bonnet and shawl but clearly was not she.
“Dear God,” cursed Wickham under his breath before rising in his stirrups. “Lydia Bennet, I could have killed you. Do you have no sense at all?”
Lydia caught hold of his stirrup and raised her face to his.
“Oh, Wickham, do not scold. I was afraid I would not catch you up.”
“Good luck, Wickham,” said Denny with a smirk, and with a touch of a fingertip to his hat to Lydia, rode on.
“Miss Lydia,” said Wickham, with weary patience as he swung himself down. “What do you here?”
“Mr. Wickham.” She gave him a coy smile and curtsy. “How I have missed our conversations.”
“Conversations?”
She fluttered and simpered up at him. “Flirtations?” she said boldly.
“Miss Lydia, I am informed I am no longer to speak to you. Your father has declared you as yet too young for society. He was quite emphatic and I must honor his decision.”
Indeed, during their interview Mr. Bennet had spent more time criticizing Wickham’s encouragement of Lydia and Kitty’s nonsense and unguarded behavior than speaking of drainage ditches. Wickham had not received so detailed a lecture on the responsibilities of a gentleman toward the fairer sex since the last time his father discovered him with a dairy maid. Fortunately for Wickham his father was ambitions for his only son and had no wish to damage Wickham’s possible promotion to the clergy by shackling him for life to a lusty, indiscriminate, uneducated trollop. Now, after living hand to mouth for a decade Wickham had his own ambitions - a solid determination not to have to risk his last penny on the turn of a card. Never to have to rise before dawn in answer to someone else’s summons. Never to labor in another’s field. Therefore a nice, comfortable estate with regular income would suit him very well.
With the entail broken the lovely, gentle, mild and easily managed Miss Jane was an heiress. The Longbourn estate was not so large that it could endure being divided between all the girls. Like as not, Mr. Bennet would bestow it all on his eldest and require the girl’s husband to care for the mother and sisters.
Wickham was determined not to queer his pitch with Miss Jane and, more importantly, Mr. Bennet, therefore Miss Lydia must be discouraged.
“Oh, no one cares a snap for that. I don’t.” Lydia snapped her fingers sharply and narrowed her gaze. “I shall not be relegated to the schoolroom when all the world is laughing at me and going to dances. I will not be left at home with Mary. Mary? What does she know of anything? No, that shall not be. I will not stand for it.”
She stomped her foot and Wickham had a very clear picture of Miss Lydia in her later years - the very image of her mother.
The image did not please.
All that supposing that the chit was permitted to age by her father who might yet be moved to strangle her.
Then she smiled and pursed her lips at him.
“You would miss me, would you not?”
He considered for a moment all those things he would like to teach the chit about how to please a man. But no.
No. He had ambitions. Ambitions that would not be aided by playing court to one woman while dishonoring her sister.
After the wedding, that was another matter. After the passing of Mr. Bennet it would be he, Wickham, who ruled the house. He, Wickham who could entertain himself however he chose with any of the Bennet sisters, and who could complain? Who could the girls complain too? There were no other male relatives: no husbands, no brothers, no uncles to compel him to do the honorable thing or threaten duels. Wickham laughed, confusing Lydia, but that mattered not at all. This was the best of situations. Who could imagine such riches of choice and money to fall into his hands? An unmortgaged property! Who would imagine such a thing existed?
And if the little harlot, Lydia, caused him a jot of trouble then there were any number of men in London who would welcome such a luscious gift on their doorsteps.
For a fee. A generous fee.
For now it was as well to keep the girl turned up sweet. If she took it into her head to lay claim to him and cause trouble at Longbourn, her serene, well-mannered elder sister might decline his attentions rather than hurt her sister’s feelings.
With that complication in mind Wickham tried to push the clinging vine away.
“Unfortunately, dear heart, your father is the one who decides these matters and I have no wish to offend him.” When Lydia turned her back and pouted over her shoulder at him her blonde foolishness had a smile curving his lips. “I have hopes, you see, of one day calling him father.”
The truth, and yet, a complete lie.
“Oh, Wickham, that is of all things wonderful,” cried Lydia and threw her arms about him again. “Only think how jealous my sisters will be when I am married before them. They shall have to give precedence to me!”
“Dear Lydia,” said Wickham, pulling the silly widget closer and enjoying the press of her bosom against his uniform. The little idiot peppered his chin with kisses. “Now, we mustn’t tell anyone. Remember, your father is less than pleased with you. Not a word. Not even a hint or he shall throw me from the house and then where shall we be?”
“Oh, Wickham, when shall you speak to him?”
“This must be done carefully. First we must have you returned to society. That means you must be on your very best behavior at home and give him no reason to be cross with either of us.” Given her father’s anger at the moment, that day was far in the future. “Trust me, Lydia.”
“Oh, but I long to tell everyone of my happiness and have them call me Mrs. Wickham.”
“It all depends on how good and quiet you are.” Little girl kisses had never been enough for him. He caught Lydia by the chin and held her flower-like face still. “But give me now something to hope for.”
The kiss was not gentle and made no allowances for inexperience and reluctance. He forced her lips open with his tongue and thrust into her sweet untried mouth again and again until she clung to him breathless and trembling. When he freed her he looked down to see her eyes bright and smile joyous.
“You liked that?”
“Oh, yes.”
Wickham chuckled but said nothing. Instead
he set the little harlot-in-training back on her feet and patted her rounded behind.
“Back you go. Home and wait.”
“When shall I see you again? I miss you so.”
“You must wait patiently, my dear and show your father you can be trusted so that when your sisters return to society you will come as well. Now remember, not a word.
He gave her another push and watched as she strutted down the country road, her hips swinging in a most improper manner. After a moment she glanced back and seeing him watching her, blew him a kiss.
He waved cheerfully but fell into solemn introspection when she was out of sight.
Lydia was but one complication standing between him and his ambition. Mr. Bingley was a more significant one. When he visited last Mrs. Bennet was happy enough to have him courting the elder daughter but with the return of rich Bingley, Wickham was delegated to the second in line. Not that he didn’t have dreams in which Miss Eliza held the primary part - he grinned - but with the entire estate to gain, Miss Eliza must wait her turn.
***
Their return to the parlor, and Mrs. Bennet’s supervision, meant the return to civilized behavior and formal conversation. Darcy reclaimed the seat beside Elizabeth and Bingley beside his beloved Jane. Kitty disappeared upstairs and Mary, at her mother’s insistence, transferred her attention from the pianoforte to a book.
They had barely settled when Mrs. Hill came to the door.
“A messenger has arrived from Netherfield,” she announced.
“Netherfield,” repeated Bingley turning about. “Whatever can be the matter?”
“Perhaps it is a reply to my note,” said Mrs. Bennet, unfolding the sheet. “I wrote to Miss Bingley telling them you were staying to family dinner and inviting your sisters as well. I did tell you I was extending the invitation.”
