Chapter Eight
Leftalone,Lydiapulledthe handkerchief from her sleeve and twisted it between her fingers. Noticing the embroidered initials in the corner, she smoothed it out and looked at it. The stitching was beautifully done, far better than anything Lydia could have managed. She was just wondering what his full name was when the parlour door opened and Fitzwilliam entered.
The sight of him, so tall and handsome in his red coat, so noble, choked her throat so she could not speak, just gazed up at him through teary eyes.
“Oh, Lydia.” To her utmost surprise, he crossed to her and fell to his knees beside the couch where she sat, taking her cold, shaking hands between his strong warm ones. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”
“You?” she cried. “What have you to be sorry for? You have been nothing but kind and honourable, and I, I have been the most stupid, gullible girl in England!” Dissolving into noisy tears, she sobbed and trembled, hardly aware of Fitzwilliam sitting down beside her and putting his arm around her, letting her cry herself out against his shoulder.
When her sobs had at last subsided to noisy, shuddering breaths, Fitzwilliam spoke again, his voice low and soothing.
“You are not the first young lady Wickham has targeted for his schemes. Though I know you met him in Hertfordshire, I understand he paid you no especial attention until you met again here in Brighton, and for that I must blame myself. Somehow, he discovered my attentions to you - likely enough he saw us on one of our regular walks together - and his hatred for me would have been all the encouragement he needed to entangle you in this dreadful scheme.”
Remembering that she had once thought she spied Wickham while she was out walking with Fitzwilliam, Lydia swiped at her eyes with her handkerchief. “He may hate you, but it was I who was foolish enough to believe him when he said he loved me,” she mumbled.
“He is the most convincing liar I have ever met, and as I say, you are not the first young lady he has gulled.”
“Do you know someone else, then?” Lydia looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears and red-rimmed, young and still innocent despite Wickham’s machinations.
“Can you keep a secret, Lydia? A true secret. Even a whisper of this could destroy the reputation of the lady in question.”
“Of course. With my own reputation in tatters, I would never risk anyone else’s.”
“Last summer, he attempted to elope with my fifteen-year-old cousin Georgiana Darcy, from where she was holidaying in Ramsgate with a companion. Her brother, against whom Wickham has long since held a grudge, arrived just in time to stop the elopement. Wickham’s object was Georgiana’s dowry of thirty thousand pounds, of course, despite his receiving a very generous inheritance from Darcy’s father in his will.”
Lydia stared, wide-eyed. “But Wickham claimed Darcy cheated him out of the living that should have been his!”
Fitzwilliam laughed mirthlessly. “Of course he did. Wickham himself told Darcy that he did not find himself suited to the life of a churchman and was paid several thousand pounds in recompense - that in addition to the thousand pounds he received from my uncle’s will, by the way.”
“Good Lord!” Lydia could hardly believe it. “Why did Mr Darcy not expose his lies... oh. Oh, I see.”
“Indeed.” Fitzwilliam nodded soberly. “All it would take would be a few words from Wickham to his fellows in the militiaand whispers would suddenly multiply about Darcy’s sister. The damage would be done.”
“Is there not still a danger of that?” Lydia asked, concerned.
“Not while he is being held in complete isolation, guarded by some trusted men from my own regiment until I can have him transferred to London. I have incurred considerable time and expense purchasing his debts all over the country, Lydia; Iownhim. I fully intend to see him either rot in the Fleet or sent to the colonies. And no matter what lies he spews, nobody is going to take the word of a convicted prisoner.”
Lydia thought about that for a moment, and discovered that the only feelings she had regarding Wickham in prison or aboard a ship to Australia were satisfaction and relief. “Good,” she said with a decisive nod. “I am glad your cousin will be safe from his spite.”
“You will too, but there still remains the matter of Adams and his cronies seeing you out with me last night,” Fitzwilliam said gently.
Taking a deep breath, Lydia nodded again. “Yes. And... and I wanted to tell you that you need not feel any obligation towards me. I have... have received today a very respectable offer of marriage, you see.”
Startled, Fitzwilliam blinked at her. “From whom?”
“From General Lewes.”
“Lewes? He’s old enough to be your grandfather!”
Lydia smiled weakly. “Indeed, he claims I remind him of his granddaughter. He has assured me that it will be a marriage in name only; he has a house in Richmond where I may live, while he remains with the army. And he is quite old, too,” she added artlessly when Fitzwilliam continued to look shocked. “I daresay I should be a widow before I am thirty, and I could marry again.”
Fitzwilliam watched Lydia as she sat and twisted her handkerchief - his handkerchief, actually, he noted - around her fingers. Even with red-rimmed eyes and tear-tracks down her cheeks, her hair in a plain style, she was a beautiful young woman, vibrant and alive. He remembered how she had looked up at him through those tears — so young, so unguarded — and felt his heart wrench all over again. Lewes’ kindly meant offer would give her a comfortable life, to be sure, but likely a very lonely one. Lydia deserved more, deserved a husband and children, a family and friends, a social life where she could dance and laugh and enjoy herself, a husband who would indulge her with pretty gowns and baubles to grace her lovely throat.
Did he love her?No, he thought. He did not. But he didlikeher; he liked her enthusiasm and her joy, her sense of fun. She was still young and her education was clearly a little lacking, but time and help could fix that. Fitzwilliam rather thought he could probably fall in love with the woman Lydia Bennet might one day become, and at the very least, he thought he could makeher happier than a marriage of convenience to a man nearing seventy would.
Besides, he was pretty sure Wickham would never have come up with the entire scheme if he did not know Fitzwilliam was taking an interest in Lydia. Wickham had spat in his face when Fitzwilliam demanded to know what he had planned with her, which was answer enough. Her reputation was at risk and it was at least partly his fault, which meant it was incumbent upon him to fix the matter.
“I think,” Fitzwilliam said finally, “that you would be a lot happier, in the end, if you were to marry me instead.”
