Though uncertain, Jane moved away to the front window, noting her sister’s progress up the street, drawing Elizabeth with her. Rather than meander as she suggested, Lydia went straight to the haberdashery and disappeared within.
“Why would she go there again?” asked Jane.
“I do not know, but I mean to find out.”
Elizabeth hurried out the door and onto the street, crossing the short distance to the haberdasher and letting herself in. There was no sign of anyone inside, as even the proprietor did not appear to be present.
“Where could she have gone?” fretted Jane.
With the thought they might have been mistaken, Elizabeth returned to the door and looked out, but nothing was amiss. Frowning, she looked back at the shop and noted the long corridor at the back right, leading deeper into the building.
“She must have gone out the back,” said Elizabeth, leading Jane to the hall, passing through it quickly, to emerge out the other side.
Just as they stepped out, Elizabeth noted the swirl of Lydia’s skirts disappearing down an alley some distance up the street.
“Lydia,” said Jane, having seen it too. “Do you suppose we should follow?”
Ignoring her sister’s uncertainty, Elizabeth stepped forward, unwilling to leave anything to chance. “Let us go, Jane,” said Elizabeth. “I do not mean to sit idle while our sister ruins us.”
Jane nodded, and they hurried up the back street, intent upon the alley. When they reached it, there was no one present, for Lydia had traversed it and departed in some other direction. For a moment, Elizabeth was at a loss, not knowing what to do. Then she heard voices from another alley. One of them was their sister.
Chapter XIII
Lydia was confused. Mr. Wickham, the handsome man she meant to have as a husband, who had made her such pretty promises, was even now making his way to Meryton, intending to spirit her off to her wedded bliss. For weeks now, Lydia had been bursting with the need to laugh, for she would be the first of her sisters to marry, showing them all exactly how one should go about catching a husband. Jane, the prettiest, and Elizabeth, the cleverest had not even managed such a coup. Perhaps even dowdy Mary would learn enough to find her husband, though Lydia did not doubt the man would be as dull as she! Had she not injured herself getting into the carriage, Lydia might have been married already.
That blasted step had foiled her carefully laid plans, conspiring with her infernal boot to keep her from her destiny, forcing her to languish in Hertfordshire while Harriet Forster enjoyed the officers’ attention in Brighton. The attention she should have had! How Lydia had endured the indignity she could not say, only the hope of Wickham’s steadfast love kept her from lashing out at all within range.
Now, however, all was topsy-turvy, for Lydia could make little sense of what she heard. Wickham a bounder, a faithless debtor, and an abuser of women? Impossible. Wickham had tried to inveigle his way into mousy Georgiana Darcy’s affections? Unfathomable! Lydia would not believe it, unless it was for Miss Darcy’s dowry, which she had heard was substantial.
Yet, Lydia could not quite dismiss the charges the Darcys had laid at Wickham’s door. Would a girl of Miss Darcy’s prominence and importance in society invent such a history when the threat of exposure might ruin her reputation? Lydia did not know what to think; she only knew that those who droned on about respectability and restraint—people such as Mr. Darcy and his sister—would not play so cavalierly with their status.
Elizabeth’s comments concerning Wickham’s attention to Mary King also brought her pause. Had Lydia herself not deplored Wickham’s faithlessness when he had abandoned the town to follow her rival to Liverpool to rescue his connection to her? Notwithstanding her frequent disparagement of Mary King, Lydia had heard little harm of the girl, much of her dislike based on how she had stolen Wickham away. Thinking little of Mary King’s charms as she did, what other interpretation was there for Wickham’s interest in her, other than the wish to secure her dowry?
The answers to all these questions led Lydia back to the account Mr. Darcy had given of his former friend. It was a fact that Lydiawishedto discount the gentleman’s charges, but anyone of any sense must know his information must cast serious doubt on Wickham’s claims. Lydia had never considered herself bereft of sense, regardless of her father’s teasing or Elizabeth’s sometimes frustrated exclamations. Though she had been ready to throw all caution to the wind and depart with Wickham for the promised elopement, now Lydia meant to provoke answers from Wickham before she allowed him any power over her.
Her sisters appeared watchful, but when she announced her intention of going out herself, Elizabeth stepped in and allowed it without hesitation. Not one to question her good fortune, Lydia took the opportunity and departed, eager to have the answers Wickham owed her. From there, it was a simple matter to enter the haberdashers and make her way through the shop out the back door, and from thence to the alley Wickham had designated for their meeting.
“Ah, Lydia, my sweet,” cooed Wickham as he espied Lydia entering the corridor. “How I have longed to see you again.”
The sheer sensual pleasure of being in his company, of knowing his eyes lingered on her in appreciation, nearly caused Lydia to swoon. What woman wouldnotbe affected by his handsome countenance, knowing that such a man valued her above all other women? Lydia almost threw herself into his arms at that moment, all her ruminations cast aside for the immediate gratification of his caresses.
Before she could more than consider it, however, the curve of Wickham’s lips, a leer rather than the smile of true delight she had always supposed it to be, drew Lydia’s attention. Then the memory of all she had heard of him flooded back and she remembered her determination to receive answers from him. This prompted Lydia to exert control over her steps, to stop and regard him, wondering if she had ever known the man behind his mask of good humor.
Wickham appeared disappointed that she had not run into his arms on first seeing her. “You are a sight I have longed for these past months, my dear, for I love you so much it brings an ache to my heart. We must depart at once, for we must put as much distance between us and any pursuit.”
“Oh, there will be no pursuit, at least not soon,” said Lydia, the flippancy of her response at odds with her rapidly darkening mood. “Word of my disappearance must make its way back to Longbourn before Papa can do anything.”
“Gretna is five days from here,” replied Wickham smoothly. “In such time, much might happen. We may need every moment of that time to reach it before your father catches us.”
He had made no move toward her, which served Lydia’s purpose. For a moment, she thought about telling him of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence, laying bare the accusations against him and demanding he account for the truth. A certain insight, however, informed Lydia that he would do nothing more than deny them, and the news of the gentlemen’s presence might prompt him to act differently. Though it might jeopardize her happiness, Lydia’s suspicion was now so high that she could not think of leaving without knowing how he would respond.
“We shall go directly,” said Lydia, still refusing to move toward him. “But first you must answer my questions, for there are a few matters of which I must know.”
“There will be time for this later,” said Wickham, stepping forward and reaching out a hand.
Without thought, Lydia retreated, unwilling to allow him to lay hands on her. A flash of anger passed over his features, gone so quickly that had she not been looking at him, Lydia was certain she would have missed it. The man sighed with resignation, and looked at her, his kindly smile once again engraved on his countenance.
“I shall answer whatever you wish, of course. But we must make haste, for you would not wish to risk our escape on such inconsequential matters.”
