Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up! The past week or so went totally crazy, but I'm getting back on track with this story. And I'm so glad so many of you liked the first chapter! This is a short one, but it's setting things up. Then we move to some more insanity!

Chapter 2

The dining room in Mr. Denny's modest but tidy home was awash in the warm glow of flickering candles. Their lemon-wax scent mingled with the savory aroma of roasted meat and warm bread. Kitty's mouth watered as the second course was served - glazed duck with orange sauce, buttery peas, and crusty rolls still steaming from the oven.

Mrs. Gardiner had found a housemaid to spend the evening with Lydia's daughters, allowing the young lady to take a much-needed respite from her home duties. As Lydia had dressed for dinner earlier that evening, she had shyly confided to Kitty how Mr. Denny had earned a promotion to Lieutenant and increased his income through some wise investments. "He has such a good head for figures," Lydia had murmured, a pretty blush gracing her cheeks.

Now, Mr. Denny's friendly baritone carried over the clink of silverware as he regaled his guests with a silly tale of soldierly antics. "So Jenkins was going on and on about how his sweetheart's embroidery was far finer than anything we soldiers could do. Smith took offense to this, of course."

Mr. Denny's friendly brown eyes crinkled with amusement as he continued his tale, the candlelight glinting off his receding dark hair. The stocky Lieutenant leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"He dared Jenkins to try his own hand at needlework, as a matter of honor, since Jenkins had insulted Miss Clara's skill so," Mr. Denny said, his earnest face breaking into a grin.

Lydia giggled at this, leaning forward eagerly. The candlelight brought out reddish glints in Lydia's curls where they peeked out from her cap.

Mr. Denny smiled, clearly intending his silly military gossip to lift her spirits. "Jenkins turned white as his uniform coat. He swore he'd rather face Napoleon's entire army alone than prick his finger with a needle.

"But a dare's a dare," Mr. Denny continued. "After mess last week, Jenkins sat down with linen and floss, determined to embroider something presentable for Miss Clara."

This brought chuckles from both Lydia and Kitty, and even Mrs. Gardiner cracked a smile. Mr. Wickham, however, was deep in his cups. Slurring his words, he interrupted with a crude jest about men handling their needles.

"Oh George," Lydia murmured, blushing. She steered the conversation back to Mr. Denny's story. Kitty cringed inwardly at her brother-in-law's boorish remarks, which increased as more red wine disappeared down his gullet.

The duck had been carved and servings doled out, the crispy skin glistening with juices. As Kitty sank her knife into the tender meat, savoring the burst of savory flavor, Mr. Wickham gave a loud belch.

"George!" Lydia exclaimed, cheeks flaming.

"Do pardon me," Mr. Wickham drawled insincerely. "But one must make room for such a feast." He waved a hand at the spread sloppily, nearly upending his wine glass.

Mr. Denny jumped to catch it. "Careful there! What a waste of good claret that would be." He smiled reassuringly at Lydia as he refilled her glass with the rich red wine.

"No great loss," Mr. Wickham snorted. "Can't abide the stuff myself. Now brandy, there's a drink for men of taste." He tossed back the remainder in his glass crudely.

Kitty shared an embarrassed look with her aunt. Mr. Wickham was well on his way to a state of crude drunkenness and showed no signs of stopping. She only hoped he could keep civil through dessert.

The final course arrived - syllabubs, the sweetened cream quivering temptingly beneath peaks of lemon zest.

Before Kitty could spoon up a bite, Mr. Wickham leered at Lydia. "My dear, this sweet syllabub puts me in mind of your own honeyed charms." He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "I would enjoy dessert more betwixt your tender thighs than on a spoon, I daresay."

Kitty froze, disbelief and rage crashing over her like icy water.

Lydia gasped aloud, face flaming in mortification. She jumped up from the table and fled the room in tears, the door banging shut behind her.

"Mr. Wickham!" Mr. Denny admonished in dismay. "Can you not see how you are upsetting your wife?"

Mr. Wickham only laughed coarsely in response. "A wife's duty is to serve her husband's needs, that's all I'm saying." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Less trouble with whores than wives, eh Denny?"

Kitty burned with humiliation, her hands clenching into fists under the table. That foul blackguard! She started to rise, ready to pour Wickham's syllabub over his drunken head.

But Mrs. Gardiner's firm grip on her arm stopped her. In clipped tones meant only for Kitty's ears, her aunt instructed, "Go check on poor Lydia. I will handle this."

Jaw tight, Kitty wrested herself from fury's grip. As she hurried from the room, she heard Mrs. Gardiner frostily suggest the gentlemen conclude their uncouth conversation once the ladies had departed. Mr. Denny's flustered apologies faded behind her as Kitty rushed to find her sister.

Kitty found Lydia collapsed in a heap in the front hall, her choked sobs echoing off the wood-paneled walls. Lydia's shoulders heaved as she buried her face in her hands.

At Kitty's gentle touch on her shoulder, Lydia lifted her head. Her eyes and cheeks were scarlet, streaked with tears. But behind the grief and mortification, Kitty glimpsed a spark of her sister's old defiance.

That glimmer of Lydia's fiery spirit sent a surge of protectiveness through Kitty. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her sister in her arms and shelter her from further hurt.

In a fierce whisper, Lydia grasped Kitty's hands till her nails dug in. "I wish he would just die."

The tart scent of spilled syllabub clung to Lydia's gown where she'd bumped the table in her haste. Kitty knelt and embraced her sister tightly. So long as Mr. Wickham lived, Lydia and her daughters would never be safe.

Fury burned within Kitty's breast as she realized with chilling clarity what needed to be done. Her whisper was steel. "Then we shall make it so."

The only question was how.

Thank You For Reading! I'm working on the next chapter and plan to have it up soon. Wickham really is dastardly in this one, but he will get what's coming to him! Eventually :)