by Leenie Brown
“We discussed this,” Marcus replied gently. He had listened at length to why Lydia could not marry a man like Wickham. Much of her reasoning was sound. Wickham was a cad. He drank and gambled too much, and he would surely be the sort that would not remain faithful to his wife. Wickham was also merely a lieutenant, so even if he could keep his money, it was not enough for Lydia. She desired a man with a steady character and a good income.
There were also some ridiculous reasons. Wickham had blonde hair, and Lydia had brown, so they would not look good together. Apparently, it was important that a couple look good together or a marriage would never be happy. It was a concept Marcus had not heard before. But it seemed fitting for one such as Lydia to deduce such a thing. She was, as he was coming to learn, an interesting mix of the astute and the absurd.
He reached up and lifted her from his horse. “You must return. There must be a way to undo whatever scandal you might have created.”
She shook her head. “Scandals for ladies cannot be undone. They can only be undone for men.”
He waited for her to straighten her skirts. At least, during their discussion, she had finally come to realize that what she had done was, in fact, scandalous, especially if the story should be shared by a man such as Wickham, who knew how to spin a boring tale into something fantastic.
Skirts straightened she stood there, unmoving, looking every bit like a skittish foal about to run.
“You mean to tell me, Miss Lydia, that you cannot find a solution to this debacle? Other than running away from it, that is.” The comment drew her eyes from their focused gaze on Willow Hall as it was meant to do. Why he felt a need to goad her into action and out of despondence, he was unsure. But then, he seemed to have been at odds with himself since discovering her in the cottage.
She shook her head. “I cannot, and I am quite good at getting out of scrapes.”
He chuckled and extended his arm to her and began leading her toward the house. “I can well imagine you are.”
They had taken only a few steps when suddenly she stopped. “Oh!”
Marcus turned toward her, thinking she might once again be distraught or fearful, but instead, her eyes gleamed, and her lips formed a perfect o that slid into a delightful smile.
“Wickham likes money,” she said. “We shall give him some.” Her eyes grew wide. “And that grumpy constable, Mr. Williams, can scare him into taking it and remaining silent. Wickham is afraid of him, you know.”
“That is an idea,” said Marcus. A fairly good one, if he thought about it. Wickham had always been able to be bought off with a bit of coin. “But it could be expensive.”
She shrugged. “I cannot marry him,” she repeated as they once again began walking toward Willow Hall. Her mind whirled as they walked. She had very little money of her own, and she was uncertain that either her father or her uncle would be willing to lend her any. There was, however, her dowry. The thought made her sigh heavily, but surely some man might marry her without it. It was not large to begin with, according to Mama. And did not Mama always claim that Jane was so beautiful that no man would care if she had not a farthing? She glanced at Marcus wishing to ask him about it but was uncertain if she should.
“Ask what you wish to know,” Marcus said as Lydia peeked up at him for the third time.
“Do you think a man of good fortune — enough for a cook, a housekeeper, a butler, a few maids, a couple of footmen.” She sighed. What else might be required for a comfortable life? “And a carriage with a driver — would such a man consider a lady without much dowry if she were very pretty?”
He had not been in her company for not more than a couple of hours, and yet, he found he had become accustomed to her unusual thoughts and questions. He was almost surprised that it was a question that made perfect sense to him. She must, of course, be considering funding the payment to Wickham out of her dowry. And, although he did not think her father would allow her to part with it, he answered honestly instead of trying to turn her mind from such a suggestion. She was pretty — very pretty — and if a gentleman could get past the randomness of her logic and not mind an occasional fit of temper, he might be sorely tempted to offer for her regardless of the monetary disadvantage. “I imagine if the gentlemen did not need the money to prop up his estate, he might.”
“I could replace part of it, I am sure, if I could but go without a new dress or ribbons for my bonnet.”
There was a particular tone of wistfulness to her voice that let Marcus know that to do so would be no small sacrifice.
She sighed. “I will not need my dowry for a few more years.”
“You do not plan on marrying young?”
She shrugged. “I had thought it a fabulous joke if I should marry before Jane or Lizzy, but I have not met a man worthy of me just yet. I expect it will take some time to find him. Oh, my bag!” She cried as a groom led Marcus’s horse away.
“Have the bag brought to the house,” Marcus called after the groom.
“But we are here. Can I not have it now?”
Marcus shook his head and tried not to smile at the pout forming on Lydia’s pretty lips. Yes, some gentleman might be sorely tempted to offer for her just to kiss those pretty lips. He shook his head. Clearly, the fatigue of bodily exercise along with the exertion of his mind that had been required to follow Lydia’s way of thinking had addled his own logic. “You claimed you would not stay. I do not wish to have to chase after you before I have had a chance to rest my legs.” And chase after her he would since his fickle mind seemed determined to see her safe.
Her eyes narrowed. “I was beginning to think you likable.”
“I assure you I am likable, Miss Lydia. I am just not a fool.”
Lydia pursed her lips.
“Nor am I whatever name it is you are about to call me.” He raised the knocker and let it drop.
Lydia lifted her chin and set her jaw. It was rather ungentlemanly of him to be guessing her thoughts unbidden, but she was not willing to admit to him that he had guessed correctly, so she said, right primly, “I am sure I do not know of what you speak.”
“I believe you do,” he replied with a smile. Then, feeling her grip on his arm tighten as the door began to open, his mind once again flipped from wishing to tease and taunt her to needing to see her well. “Are you ready?” he whispered as the door opened the rest of the way. Her eyes, for a brief moment, said no before she smiled and nodded and the fear was hidden.
Chapter 3
The sitting room was full at Willow Hall. The searchers, who had left early that morning as soon as it was discovered that Lydia was missing, had returned some time ago. Plans to continue searching were being formed. Mr. Bennet wavered between relief that Lydia had not gone to Scotland and distress because she had gone somewhere — somewhere unknown to them at present. Tea was being shared by one and all. Those who were not involved immediately in discussions of strategy, which was everyone save Colonel Fitzwilliam, Captain Harris, and Mr. Gardiner, were conducting their own conversations on more mundane items. It was into this lot of people that Marcus attempted to direct Lydia. However, upon being announced and stepping nearly into the room, he found his arm empty of his companion.
He shook his head and sighed. “One moment, if you please. Miss Lydia will be with you directly.” He nodded to the occupants of the room and then, turning on his heel, ran after her.
Within the room, there was a great deal of exclamation over Marcus having found Lydia and speculation as to where she had been. A few crowded to the window to watch the chase. Elizabeth moved to follow Marcus, but the restraining hand of Darcy kept her from it. He assured her that Marcus was not a man to be thwarted in his objective, and if Marcus said Lydia would be joining them, then Lydia would be joining them.
It was true. Marcus Dobney was not the sort of man who backed away from a challenge nor was he the sort of man who gave his word and reneged. Over the course of his life, these traits had been both an asset in helping
him solve problems and a liability when a hasty promise was made, and the fulfilling of that promise came at great personal cost — it was one of the many dangers of having an impulsive tongue.
Marcus was thankful that his legs were longer than Lydia’s and that he was not hampered by petticoats and skirts, for though her feet hurt, she ran quickly. Having had a lead of a few moments, she was nearly at the gate before he grabbed her arm and stopped her.
“Let go of me!” She twisted to get her arm free of his grasp. “You are hurting my arm,” she snapped as he tightened his grip.
“If you would stop struggling, I would not have to hold your arm so tightly.” He attempted to keep his voice even despite his wishing to yell. Yelling had never worked in a positive way with Mary Ellen or Philip. They had always just dug in their heels and held more firmly to their position whenever he had attempted to sway them with the volume of his voice.
“My father.” Lydia shook her head and blinked against the gathering tears. “I cannot go in there.”
She had stopped struggling, so Marcus relaxed his grip on her arm but did not release it. Patiently, he waited for her to continue.
“He never listens to me. He only listens to Jane and Lizzy and sometimes Mary. Mama must always plead my case, and then he only surrenders to be rid of the distraction.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “He says I am the silliest girl in all of England.” She lifted her chin and glared in the direction of Willow Hall.
“At the moment, I might be inclined to agree.” He smiled as she turned her glare on him. “But, that might be my tired legs speaking.” Why did seeing her small smile at that delight him? She really was a very vexing girl, and he suspected would be a rather difficult one to convince that returning to Willow Hall was what she needed to do. He was not wrong. They argued over the issue for the next five minutes with him repeating that a solution could be found, and her insisting that it was impossible.
“I am returning you to your family,” he said at last as he realized that there would be no swaying of her opinion.
She shook her head. “I will not go.”
He clamped his teeth firmly shut and shook his head at her stubbornness. “You will. Either on your own two feet, walking in as the lady you insist you are, or flung over my shoulder like a child. Which will it be? I will not allow you to go gallivanting about the countryside throwing yourself into harm’s way at every turn. Most of which, I assume, would be in the wrong direction.”
Lydia could tell by his eyes that he was angry, and for a brief moment, she felt something very like remorse before the fear of facing her father chased it away. She shook her head. “I cannot go in there.”
Lydia gasped as Marcus hoisted her so that her head was hanging over his back and his arms were wrapped around her legs. She beat on his back and begged him to release her.
Marcus did his best to ignore both her pleas and the fact that she was rather pleasingly formed. Perhaps carrying her in such a fashion was not one of his better ideas, but it was effective. They covered the ground to the front of the house quickly. Once inside the front door, he placed her on her feet. After a moment of catching his breath, he turned her face so that she was forced to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed, of course. He had expected that. However, he had not counted on her tears. In a moment, his frustration faded and compassion for the fear she must be feeling rose within him. “I will speak for you.” He brushed a tear away with his thumb. “I will speak honestly, but perhaps your father might listen to me. We cannot have you marrying Wickham,” he gave her a small teasing smile, “no matter how foolish you have been.”
He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “Dry your eyes.” He waited for her to comply and then, taking her hand so that she could not slip away this time, led her into the sitting room. Crossing the room to where there were two seats nearly together, he nodded to one and whispered. “Sit.”
Lydia felt her insides quiver as introductions were made. There were an awful lot of eyes looking at her — an awful lot of curious, critical eyes. She fought the urge to drop her gaze to her lap. She must not look fearful. If she did, they would surely have her wrapped up and delivered to Wickham in an instant, just to be rid of her distraction. She did not even turn toward Marcus as he pulled a chair near her, nor did she turn to him when he began to speak. It was not easy to ignore a handsome man when he spoke of you, even if he was not speaking in a terribly flattering way. It would have been far more enjoyable to watch his mouth and eyes, but she must not. Instead, she must listen to him tell them how she had gotten lost and ended up in his cottage.
“Miss Lydia and I have had a good deal of time to discuss her plight today, and I agree with her that to marry Wickham would be a poor idea. However, she is aware that she has placed herself in a scandalous position.” He nudged her foot with his.
She looked at him. What was he doing? He was supposed to speak for her. He had said he would. Why was he tipping his head toward her father?
“Your idea,” he whispered.
She glanced at her father and then shook her head slightly.
Marcus folded his arms across his chest and with jaw set, raised a brow while giving her a hard stare.
He was not going to share it? He knew that her father did not listen to her. She had told him. Her eyes narrowed as the silence stretched. Then, with a very displeased puckering of her mouth, she turned her eyes from him and back to her father.
“Mr. Wickham likes money,” she said softly. “If I could pay him, he might keep silent, and the matter would be known by few.” She held her breath as she waited for a response.
“And what of the child?” asked her father.
Lydia’s heart felt as it was going to race out of her chest. There was no way he knew of that lie.
“What of Colonel Forester and all the people in Brighton who were looking for you?” Mr. Bennet leaned forward. “It is more than just us in this room who know you were travelling with Mr. Wickham.”
“Brighton?” Lydia gasped. “I left a message for Mrs. Forester. It told her that my maid and I were going to visit my sisters in Derbyshire. Why would they look for me if I had told them where I was? I even left a gift ─ a cloth for the little table in the drawing room — as a token of my gratitude for having been their guest.”
Mr. Bennet blinked and shook his head. “I cannot say why they were searching if that is the case, although it is still not within your purview to decide when you will travel and where. You were Colonel Forester’s responsibility in my stead. You should have spoken to him directly.”
Lydia bit her lip, holding back the fact that she knew Colonel Forester would have not allowed her to travel and spoiled all her fun in surprising her sisters.
“And then there is the matter of the innkeeper,” Mr. Bennet continued. “Mr. Darcy’s men were told that a lady with child had spent the night at the inn with Mr. Wickham on their way to be married in Scotland. Do you wish to explain that?”
Lydia’s cheeks burned. “Mr. Wickham would have left. He wanted to go play cards and drink with his friends, and anyone who knows anything about Mr. Wickham knows that he would not have returned to help me find my way to Derbyshire. His word means very little.”
Marcus watched the frightened young lady that he had led into the room return to the courageous and defiant one he had met in his cottage.
“I did not use my real name, and the story about being with child and traveling to Scotland was a ruse. Mr. Wickham could not leave his soon to be wife alone and be thought of as a decent fellow, now could he?”
“I am surprised he did not,” muttered Marcus. It seemed it would be easy enough for Wickham to leave her for a short while and no one would have thought it odd.
Lydia glared at him. “Well, he already understood what might happen if he did not cooperate.”
Marcus nodded. “The forged letter?”
She rolled her eyes. Forged sounded so ugly.
“What letter is this?” a
sked Mr. Bennet.
“Apparently, Miss Lydia possesses a talent for copying penmanship. She knew of some cheating which had taken place and created a confession of sorts, signed by Wickham, and then sent it along with a letter hinting at the possibility of Wickham doing her harm to her sister.” Marcus looked at Lydia. “Kitty, was it?”
Lydia nodded.
“Both of which she successfully used to blackmail Wickham into escorting her to Derbyshire.”
She rolled her eyes again. Blackmail was also such an ugly word. Could he have not used the word persuaded?
Mr. Bennet lowered his voice. “So, I am to believe that my daughter, who is capable of forgery and blackmail and who spent several nights on the road with a gentleman, is not pregnant nor has she been ruined?”
Lydia’s eyes grew wide. “That is precisely what you are to believe because it is true!”
“And all of this is supposed to go away with a few pounds being paid to a scoundrel?”
Her father’s eyes were doing that laughing thing again. He thought her foolish. She knew he would. The thought of it pained her heart now just as it always did. “Yes,” she said firmly. “And not a few pounds. My portion. I wish to give him my portion.”
Chapter 4
“Lydia, do be serious,” Elizabeth chided before anyone else could say a word.
“I can replace it.” Ignoring her sister, Lydia continued with her explanation. Of course, Elizabeth would not understand. Elizabeth never did anything foolish enough to be punished by their father. In fact, he had never once called Elizabeth dull or silly. No, to their father, Elizabeth was quick and clever. “I will go without most of my pin money, and I am not without skills. I could take in some sewing.”
Lydia saw the look of disbelief on Elizabeth’s face and could not ignore the stinging of her sister’s words any longer. “Mr. Wickham is not what you think, Lizzy. If you knew what he was like, you would not wish him upon me. I was not taken in by him as you were.” She smiled inwardly at the stricken look on Elizabeth’s face. “I may look like I am not paying attention at times, but I assure you, I am listening. I have heard plenty of tales about Mr. Wickham.”
