She giggled again and was gone in a swirl of skirts and bouncing curls, leaving Wickham to wander around the ballroom for a few minutes before discreetly following.
He’d only been in the deserted library a scant minute when Lydia rushed in and practically flung herself into his arms.
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Wickham kissed her. Despite her flirtatious ways, he knew at once that Lydia had never been kissed before; her inexperience was obvious. He set about teaching her a few things, though with one eye on the door and his ears open for the sound of anyone approaching. Being caught with her like this would end up with him being forced to marry Lydia, and that was no part of his plans.
At last he set her down, smirking inwardly at the starry-eyed look she gave him. “Darling Lydia. How it will grieve me to leave you!” he sighed dramatically.
“Leave me!” She practically screeched it, and he winced, shushing her hastily. “Why would you leave me?” Lydia continued, at a marginally more moderate volume.
“I’m leaving the militia. There is an opportunity for me in London I cannot pass up, my darling.”
Lydia fell for it hook, line and sinker. “Take me with you! Oh, Wicky, I should like to live in London above all things, do take me with you.”
“We’d have to be married first.” He played reluctant. “It would take more than a month, to have the banns called, and...”
“Not if we went to Gretna Green!” Lydia’s eyes sparkled at the thought of such an adventure. “We could go there first, and thence to London!”
He pretended to consider, tugging at his lower lip. “I am due in London in a fortnight... we should have to leave immediately, to get to Scotland and back. Tonight.”
Lydia never even hesitated. “Then tonight it shall be.”
The chit really was infatuated with him, Wickham reflected as he told her to meet him at two o’clock, at an inn just along the street from the Forsters’ house. The ball was due to end by midnight, so two hours should be ample time for her to get home, see the Forsters asleep and pack her valuables. He impressed on her that she could only bring what she could carry, but to make sure she brought any money or jewellery she happened to have with her.
After all, she would have no need of it where she was going. He had certain connexions in London, people who paid well for introductions of this particular kind, and Lydia was precisely the sort of girl they valued: pretty, well-spoken, country-bred, and entirely without resources once she found herself abandoned and alone in an unfamiliar city. It was a reliable enough arrangement. He had made use of it before. And though it might be tempting to indulge in what she was so freely offering, if he could just restrain himself and pass her over untouched, he might two hundred pounds or even more for her. Enough for him to disappear and begin afresh somewhere else. His fellow militia officers were becoming a little strident in pressing for him to settle his debts; it was time he made himself scarce. Lydia presented the perfect opportunity to enrich himself and thoroughly annoy several people he disliked all in one diverting episode.
The thought of Fitzwilliam’s face when news of Lydia’s disappearance reached him was almost more satisfying than the money. Almost. Wickham entertained himself briefly with the notion of writing to him once it was all settled, and to old Mr Bennet, and perhaps to Elizabeth, who had thought herself too good for him. Let them all know what had become of their precious Lydia.
Yes, this was definitely his best scheme yet.
Excited beyond bearing, Lydia barely restrained herself from blurting out their plan on the carriage ride home. Only the certain knowledge that Colonel Forster would forbid her to go kept her lips sealed, and she would certainly have told Harriet everything had the Forsters not repaired directly to their room on their arrival at the house.
Well, Lydia would just have to write Harriet a note. Wickham had told her not to tell anyone, but even at her most heedless, Lydia didn’t want Harriet to worry about her. Besides, she had to fill the time until she could leave the house somehow, and it took a scant ten minutes for her to change her gown, pack two more in her carpet-bag and tuck what was left of the pin-money her father had given her into her reticule. She was already wearing her only jewellery, a silver cross set with moonstones and a matching pair of moonstone and silver earbobs she had received for her sixteenth birthday.
Sitting down at the little writing-desk in her room, a single candle illuminating the page, she was almost too excited to write. Three pages were fed to the flame before she was satisfied her opening lines were legible. Finally, though, she had a clean copy written out with Harriet’s name printed on the folded page, and there was nothing left to do but sit and wait as the candle burned through the quarter-hour marks she had made with her fingernail.
Unaccountably, her thoughts drifted to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Somehow, she did not like to think about how disappointed he would be when he came to collect her for their next promenade, only for Harriet to tell him that Lydia was gone to Scotland with Wickham. He would be far too late to do anything about it, of course, but for a brief moment Lydia entertained a littledaydream of Fitzwilliam riding hell for leather to catch up with them and stop the marriage. How gallant he would look! And how gentlemanly he would surely be; after he had struck Wickham down with a single blow for daring to aspire to Lydia’s hand, he would take her in his arms and kiss her gently, tenderly, not roughly like Wickham had done...
A dog barking outside the window startled Lydia from her reverie. Whatever was she doing, daydreaming about Colonel Fitzwilliam! She should be thinking about Wickham, about how pleasant it would be to be Mrs. Wickham, feted and adored, the toast of London!
The candle had burned past the mark which should indicate a quarter to two. Blowing it out, Lydia picked up her carpet-bag and reticule and crept quietly from her room, tiptoeing down the stairs. She did not go to the front door, which she knew from experience was both heavy and noisy, grating loudly on the doorstep. There was a small door off the pantry onto a side alley, and she could slide the bolt and slip out silently with none the wiser as to her departure.
Closing the door behind her, Lydia took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She was off on the biggest adventure of her life, and then a brand new life as a married woman.
There was absolutely no need to feel a sense of impending doom at all.
