“Stuff and nonsense,” muttered Lydia. “How was I to know what he was about?”
“By observing the situation and making a judgment,” said her father, fixing her with a pointed glare. “There were enough clues to suggest he was up to no good.Then, you attempted to accept his offer to travel back to Longbourn in his carriage, only desisting when Kitty insisted you abandon your purpose.”
Lydia threw an accusatory glare at her elder sister, but the way Kitty reacted informed Elizabeth that she had not been the source of Mr. Bennet’s information. Mary, however, appeared smug; as Lydia was focusing on Kitty, she saw nothing of this, which was likely for the best.
“Do not blame Kitty, Lydia,” admonished Mr. Bennet. “She, at least, acted with sense. Do you not see what might have happened had you accepted his offer? Wickham might have held you against the return of Miss de Bourgh. Had he presented such a bargain to me, I would have had no choice but to agree to his demand and betray Miss de Bourgh.”
That Lydia had not considered that end was obvious, for she paled. It was not enough to regulate her behavior, however, for she soon shook it off and glared mulishly at him.
“Then you do not wish to give other officers a chance to importune our Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennet, attempting to clarify his reason.
“In a word, yes, Mrs. Bennet. While Lydia may claim there are no other officers in the regiment like Wickham—and she may be correct—Wickham hid his true self from us the entire time he was here. There may be others of a similar bent. In Brighton, where many companies gather, there are almost certain to be more. I will not risk another such man behaving inappropriately toward her.
“Consider this, Mrs. Bennet,” said he, “if such a man should impose himself upon her, he might ruin our daughter with no fault attached to her. If that should happen, the association will stain her sisters. Would you risk them all becoming unmarriageable?”
The way Mrs. Bennet stared at her husband, her mind filled with incalculable dread, informed them all she understood. It was an inspired warning on Mr. Bennet’s part, for Mrs. Bennet’s purpose in life was to ensure her daughters married, and she was not precisely choosy about who would do. Informing her of the potential impossibility of her designs coming to fruition was a path guaranteed to ensure her understanding and support, as she proved at once.
“I see you have given this matter all due consideration, Mr. Bennet,” said she, nodding vigorously. “Given your explanation, I cannot but concur—it is best that Lydia does not go to Brighton.”
“Mama!” cried Lydia aghast.
“No, Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennet firmly. “There are too many dangers to risk sending you so far from home where we cannotpredict what might happen. You had best stay home.”
“Consider this, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, drawing his sullen daughter’s attention back to him. “If what I saw of Jane and Mr. Bingley was any indication, your sister will leave this house before long, which will give her greater access to society. Should you behave yourself, she might host you.”
“Mr. Bingley has not proposed, Papa,” said Jane.
It was interesting to Elizabeth that Jane did not blush or offer false modesty. Instead, she appeared serene, leading Elizabeth to wonder if Mr. Bingley had made his intentions clear, even if he had not already offered for her.
“No, I suppose he did not,” replied her father, “even if he gives the appearance of impatience. But you cannot say he will not act now that he has made his way back to your side. I am not so blind as this, Jane.”
At last, Jane showed a bit of her self-effacing character in her blush, but she did not hesitate to nod and offer her father a tiny smile.
“Who knows when Mr. Bingley will propose?” demanded Lydia. “It may be some time yet. And the season in London is now over.”
“It is worse than that, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, clearly amused. “For you are but fifteen and young ladies in London do not come out until they are eighteen. As you are sixteen this summer, the next two seasons in London will not be available for your enjoyment.”
Aghast at what she was hearing, Lydia sucked in a long breath. Mr. Bennet cut it off neatly.
“The other factor,” said he conversationally, “is the maturity of the girl on the cusp of introduction. If I am not convinced you are ready, we may delay for a year or even more. Childish outbursts will not help your cause.”
Sulkiness would not help Lydia’s cause either, but a broodingLydia was far preferable to a shrieking Lydia. With those words, Mr. Bennet’s decision was final, and while Elizabeth expected the girl to continue to press her case, it was now a fait accompli that she would not go. To reinforce the decision, Mr. Bennet composed a letter at once to be delivered to Colonel Forster, thanking him for his wife’s kind invitation, but firmly declining it.
“Thank you, Papa,” said Elizabeth later when she was certain Lydia would not overhear.
“It is because of your advice, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet. “I must thankyoufor thinking clearly. While I dreaded Lydia’s response, yesterday’s events helped make it easier, for your mother is now opposed to Lydia’s going.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled with genuine mirth. “Lydia is angry now, but I dare say she will get over the disappointment soon enough.”
Unbeknownst to all but Elizabeth, a reply came soon thereafter from the colonel, thanking Mr. Bennet for his restraint. While the colonel had been prepared to indulge his wife, he had not anticipated living in a house for several months accompanied by Mrs. Forster and Lydia’s giggling every moment he was within it.
Darcy wished to avoid Wickham, for he knew exactly what would ensue. It was, however, a necessity to put the man and his intrigues in the past once and for all. There was no question what must happen, for Wickham had pushed so far past decent behavior that there was a claim against him by the law, quite beyond the debts he had accumulated and the women he had defiled. Even if Darcy espoused any notion to offer Wickham mercy, his uncle would insist on Wickham’s blood.
“Buck up, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam when he noted Darcy’s long face. “After we see Wickham from England’s shores, you willnever need to so much as lay eyes on him again.”
“I do not regret what we must do,” said Darcy. “My only regrets are for the waste of a life, one for whom my father had high hopes.”
“I understand,” replied Fitzwilliam, fixing him with a serious expression, not in keeping with his usual jovial demeanor. “Your father would be quite disappointed. That is not in question.”
