Chapter 2
Elizabeth was about to enter the shop when she saw him, strolling down the street hands in his pockets and smile on his face, turning the heads of the nearby ladies. Wickham has not changed a bit in looks nor in character, only in age. She turned to enter the shop to escape his notice but was too late.
"Ah, my dear sister!" he called. Looks of envy crossed the many ladies' faces. "Things are well with your family? Your mother? Father?"
"My father has long passed away as you well know, and my mother is sick in bed." Elizabeth replied unemotionally.
"Ah." Was all he said in reply. "I pray you are well?"
"I beg your pardon, my dear brother, but unlike some, I have things that I need to do. Therefore, if you will excuse me, I shall finish what I set out to do. Oh and here comes my dear Mr. Darcy!" she waved to her husband. "If you wish to talk, you may talk to him."
Wickham turned around and looked at Darcy, a shadow crossed Darcy's face when their eyes met.
"But I'm afraid," Elizabeth added, "that he may not want to talk to you."
"I am forced to admit you are right, dear sister. Perhaps I better go. I hear there is a job opening." With that, he turned on his heel and left. Darcy came up a few moments later. Elizabeth, in greeting, gave him a kiss which he wholeheartedly returned with a thought in his mind that if things had not turned out the way they had, he may never have had the pleasure of having this woman.
"What did he want, Elizabeth?" Darcy asked nodding in Wickham's direction.
"I suppose to try and persuade me against you again like he did in the past." She replied, smiling. "But nothing in the world will change my love for you." To that, Darcy smiled.
"And don't you repeat what I said ten years ago." Elizabeth added, laughing. Together they walked into the shop. It was warm and cozy inside and there weren't many people. There wasn't much to buy either. The whole reason Elizabeth dragged Darcy here all the way from Pemberly was to see London again. To see London and her family, or at least what was left of it. Her good father passed away more than a year ago of a fever which he contracted while on a trip up North. Her mother has been sick in bed with wrecked nerves. Mary was off somewhere studying, still not married, and Jane was happily living with her dear Bingley. Elizabeth picked up a bonnet off a shelf and examined it. It wasn't ugly, but it wasn't pretty, either. She laid it gently back down.
"You don't like it?" Darcy asked. He curiously looked at the bonnet. It was not like they were used to be. Style was changing, like everything else.
"It would not fit me." She simply replied. Darcy smiled.
"I'll take that as a no."
Elizabeth went to the other end of the store and looked at some dresses. They were all beautiful, and all were costly. She imagined herself in one of them, dancing the night away, and she thought what Darcy would have thought of her if he saw her in this dress the first night they met. How things would have turned out. How cruelly she had rejected him the first time he proposed, and how unjustly! Elizabeth could not imagine how Wickham dared to show his face in public any more.
"Shall we have a ball tonight?" Darcy whispered in her ear. "We can invite ...all of your sisters and friends. I should dearly like to see the Gardiners again, wouldn't you?" Elizabeth turned to face him. There was a light smile on his face and a shadow of wrinkles began to web the corners of his eyes. She smiled back and putting her arms around him replied, "Oh, I shall like that very much!" Taking Elizabeth by her arm, he then led her out of the shop and toward the nearest station to take them back to Pemberly.
It was past midnight when Wickham opened the door to their room in the inn. The candles were put out and Lydia was in bed, hopefully asleep. He crept across the floor towards the widow and looked out. The streets were full even at night. He remembered the first night he and Lydia spent together in an inn room. It was exiting at first, but then things got out of hand when Darcy showed up and screwed things up for him. How he hated the man. It was never Wickham's intention to marry Lydia, never was. In fact, he didn't even like the girl. What made him elope with her he didn't know. Perhaps...no, what would she have to do with it? Elizabeth's face materialized in his mind, clear and vivid, her eyes as beautiful as before. He could see how Darcy was so captivated by them, they were so brilliant. Perhaps Elizabeth was the reason for his elopement with Lydia. Proposing to Elizabeth then would have been unimaginable; her views of Darcy and him were so altered. An elopement with Lydia seemed the next best thing to her, and Lydia was available. The others were either too ugly or taken. He sighed. Oh, beautiful Elizabeth he thought. The bed creaked behind him and he heard the bed sheets rustle.
"Wickham, is that you?" Lydia's voice came from the bed, barely audible and thick from sleep. He turned to face her and tried to smile, but one wouldn't come.
"Yes." He replied. Lydia sat up on one elbow and looked intently at her husband.
"Is anything wrong?" she asked. He turned to face the window again and remained silent. Lydia repeated the question, but to no avail. Wickham remained as silent as stone. "Come into bed," she said at last in a resigned tone, "It is late." Wickham stood looking at the window for a while more. When he finally went to bed, Lydia was asleep. Was it really for love, he thought, or was it for revenge? She is so beautiful...
Wickham woke the next morning to find the bed empty. Not a big surprise. Lydia was probably out buying food. He quietly got up and walked to the next room and peered in. His miniature was asleep on the floor. His lust and the need for love produced this child that he didn't want. And now he had done it again. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He should have never proposed, should never have met her, and never should have talked to her. Now it was all too late, their lives were set and nothing will change. But, God! He loved Elizabeth. He poured himself a glass of whiskey his remaining friend brought to him, downed it in one gulp, and poured another. After his third shot, Wickham tossed the glass and drank out of the bottle. Upon hitting the floor, the glass shattered into thousands of pieces flying in every which way. Wickham ignored it. Setting the bottle aside, he took out a piece of paper and prepared to write a letter. To who? Elizabeth? Tell her how much he loved her? Was he out of his mind? Darcy will surely kill him. He must be. Wickham stood up and picked up the bottle again. Elizabeth's words echoed in his mind, I beg your pardon, my dear brother, but unlike some, I have things that I need to do. Perhaps if he could change her mind against Darcy, maybe he will still be able to win her. But what about Lydia? He cannot remarry until she is dead...and to kill Elizabeth's sister would be to hurt their relationship further, or just plain kill it. Subconsciously his hand curled into a fist and hit the table.
"Daddy, why are you angry?" a small voice asked from behind. Wickham whirled around to face his son.
"What?" he exclaimed. A hurt and frightened look crossed the child's face. "Off to bed with you." He added.
"But, father, its early morning." His son stated somewhat timidly.
"Well, then, get back into bed and don't get up until late morning." Obediently, the boy went back into the room, closing the door behind him. Wickham went back to drinking, his thoughts loyally remaining on the subject of Elizabeth and her beautiful eyes. The bottle was almost empty when the room began to blur at the edges. Not a drop was left when the room began to melt. Dizziness swept over Wickham and his whole body shacked and trembled. The room began to darken at corners and all he heard was Elizabeth's voice, calling him to her...telling him...blackness...I love you, Wickham...Don't die...come back....Oh God!.........Wickham!!George!.........God help!.....Someone.........! Sobs, is Elizabeth crying? He sees a face through the darkness, a face so close you could kiss it.
"Elizabeth, my love." he managed to whisper, "God help me but I love you!" His hand shakily reached out to the face, to stroke it, to lower it for a kiss, to feel the grace of love and life. It jerked away from his reach, filling his ears with violent sobs. He frantically grabbed for it, but it was too far, it was gone. Pain filled his heart and overwhelmed his senses. Night claimed his mind and he passed out.