It was early afternoon when Wickham was able to open his eyes and see the daylight. His head hurt and his body refused to respond. He groaned.

"Lydia?" he managed to croak out. There was no response. Not even from his son. Wickham tried to get up, but his body wouldn't move. He swore silently. Where was she when he needed her? Off at some warehouse buying bonnets. He swore again. Wickham tried to remember what had happened, whiskey...pain....somebody else...who was it...Someone by the name of....Elizabeth?...Lizzy...Elizabeth's face floated up in his memory. He shut his eyes tight and willed the memory to vanish. It did not. A groan escaped his throat.

The sun was rising higher, but the room was still dark, the widows of this inn were so filthy. Wickham made another attempt at getting up. Succeeding, he managed to crawl to the table and grab hold of the edge to steady him self. But instead of his hand landing on solid wood, it fell upon a letter. Wickham looked at it curiously. It was only a blur, but he could tell it was written by a skillful hand. He sat himself in a chair and picked up the letter.

"Dear Lydia" it said, and that was all he could make out. It was probably another letter from some relative telling Lydia they cannot support her. Wickham tossed it aside. The letter, caught in a breeze from the window, gently floated to the floor while Wickham followed its white blur with his eyes. He heard the door open and turned to face it. An outline of a woman stood there. She stood there, staring back at him, and then suddenly she moved with such speed and grace towards him that he was almost knocked out by her embrace.

"Oh, love! You live! God has spared me the miserly of being a lonely widow!" sobbed Lydia's voice in his ear. Disgusted, Wickham attempted to push her away, but his strength failed him and he was forced to endure her tears and sobs on his shoulder. Eventually she let go of him. Stepping back something crushed under her shoe. Slightly frightened, Lydia jumped, but turning around she saw that it was only a remaining piece of glass that she missed while cleaning up. Next to the crushed glass she saw the letter that Wickham dropped. She picked it up gently and brought it to her face. It was from Elizabeth. An excitement rushed through her veins. Maybe Elizabeth finally agreed to give her some money! But reading the entire letter she found to her disappointment and then delight that it was in invitation to a ball. It went as follows:

Dear Lydia,

I shall first state that this letter contains no amount of any money, therefore do not hope for it, dear sister. But, forgetting the money matter for now, I shall be greatly disappointed if you will not be able to attend a ball that my dear Darcy and I are hosting. Poor Kitty will be very disappointed as well. Please come.

Yours, etc.

Lydia's heart filled with delight. A ball! How grand it shall be! She was so happy she completely forgot about Wickham sitting at her side, expectantly looking up at her. She was almost startled to find him there.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Did you read this letter?" she asked after a quick recovery. Wickham shook his head no. Her hands trembling with excitement, Lydia told him about the invitation, only to be disappointed with the look he gave her.

"What! Do you not like it?" she inquired. But before he could answer, a look of fear crossed her face. "I- know why...You...Elizabeth.... Lizzy, my sister!" Her hands clapped over her mouth. "How could you!" The invitation slipped from her slack grasp and silently fell to the floor. Her hands were limp at her sides.

"What are you talking about?" Wickham asked, urgency and fear sipping into his tone.

"You love her!" she said in a quiet but rising voice. "You said so yourself. You love my sister!" Tears filled Lydia's eyes. She couldn't believe it. All this time she has been married to a man who did not care for her but loved her sister. She couldn't stand it. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the room and into the streets of busy London. Wickham was left alone with his thoughts, fear, and rising anger. How dare she accuse him so boldly and openly! And with no evidence, no proof! He stood up so suddenly, his head spun. Wickham collapsed back into the chair. It was pointless to argue, he knew that, he knew Lydia's words were true, and the truth stung.