Chapter 20: Of Charming Officers and Sisterly Correspondence
Lydia Bennet was not the best correspondent one could have. She did not enjoy writing long letters, but she did like to read the long missives she received. Her sister Mary was sending letters for both Kitty and her to read together. She had been keeping them up to date on what was happening up north. Mrs. Bennet thought it was better to tell her daughters in person.
Mary was done with her younger sisters being coddled. She was always made fun of for being too serious and not fun at all. However, her sisters embarrassed the whole family, and little was done to deter them. Miss Darcy had confided in her about Mr. Wickham early on, and she had used what was left of her pin money to send an express to Mr. and Mrs. Philips and her sisters. Knowing her father would have likely minimized the issue, thinking her sisters were, no doubt, too unimportant to draw any man's notice.
On the third day of her stay at Pemberley, Mary ran into Esther sunbathing her beautiful baby girl. She had no certainty that the baby was Wickham's, but Mary started adding up certain things when they were talking. Just because she was not superficial, that did not mean Mary was blind. She had seen Mr. Wickham up close, and that baby had his striking eyes. When she learned what an awful man he was, any good looks had melted. She had decided to let her sisters know that the man could not be trusted. He had several out-of-wedlock children with different fallen women.
Usually, she would not tell her sisters about such issues. However, she believed it was warranted. Mary's efforts were a bit thwarted by Lydia's blind belief that no one so handsome could be evil. Kitty had become instantly weary, and if they saw the officers, she would make sure to keep Lydia right next to her. She knew it was in her best interest to keep her sister from ever being too improper. After all, if Lydia were ruined, she would be ruined, too. So would her sisters, who were very proper young ladies and did not deserve to be tied to any scandal.
Kitty could not be everywhere, unfortunately. In one of their walks to town with their aunt's companion, Kitty was talking to her friend Harriet, and when she turned, Lydia was walking arm in arm with Mr. Wickham. They were far too close for friends. Kitty could have sworn she saw inappropriate touches, but she was a tad far to tell for sure. Once Mr. Wickham left, she all but dragged Lydia to a tree off the road.
"What was that?!" Kitty said brusquely in her best 'angry Mary' tone.
"I think it was true," Lydia was blushing.
"What?"
"What Mary said."
"Why do you think that?"
"He said such shocking things to me."
Kitty blinked. Not a lot shocked Lydia, "Like what?"
"Just… things."
"Lydia!"
Lydia whispered the contents of her conversation to the man close to Kitty's ear. Kitty's eyes went impossibly wide. It was all extremely improper.
"And you did not stop him?! Lydia!"
"I needed to know if it was true… Kitty, you know how droll and stiff Mary is… I thought she was exaggerating."
"Mary would not lie about something like that. She is trying to keep us safe, which is more than our father did."
Lydia sighed dramatically.
"Harriet told me about Miss King. He is trying to get her to marry him," Kitty said.
"Mr. Wickham?!"
"Yes."
"He just asked me to meet him in secret tonight..."
"WHAT?!"
"He says he finds me lovely and wants to elope with me. He wants us to go away to Gretna Green."
"When did he say this?! Just now?!" Kitty was aghast.
"Yes. He asked me about Jane and Lizzie. I told him they are at Pemberley, and Mr. Darcy is courting Lizzie."
"Why did you do that?! Mary said not to mention where they were! Do you not remember? Mr. Wickham wants to hurt Mr. Darcy. Remember the secret baby he fathered with one of Mr. Darcy's maids? He is not an honorable man. He will not marry you, Lydia. If he ruins you, Mr. Darcy will no longer be able to marry Lizzie because she will be ruined as well! So will Jane, so will Mary, so will I! None of us will marry!"
"Oh… That makes sense," Lydia blinked. It did not, in fact, make much sense to her at all.
"Lydia, think about what Mary said! Mr. Darcy is taking care of our family. He paid for their trip. Remember the carriage he sent?"
"Yes, it was so dreamy!"
"He has been paying a doctor. He has paid for express mail to reach Mr. Hill and the tenants. He has taken care of Aunt Maddie and Papa. Mary says he has allowed her to take classes with his sister's tutors. He has been nice to Mama and all our sisters."
"He did not invite us…"
Kitty sighed, "Lydia… I think that is our fault."
"What? Why? We are great company! Better than Mary, for sure!"
"Remember what Jane and Lizzie always tell us when we are at balls and assemblies?" Kitty placed her hands on her hips like her mother did when cross.
"We need to be more decorous and less loud," Lydia rolled her eyes.
"Mr. Darcy, and I assume men like him, do not like loud and fun."
"Why do we care whether men like Mr. Darcy like us?"
"Lydia! Do you want an advantageous marriage, or would you be happy having to struggle your whole life? Men like Mr. Darcy would be able to give you a good life."
"I would like to marry for love," Lydia whispered.
Kitty sighed. "And that would be wonderful, Lydia, but say you fall in love with a blacksmith or a soldier," Kitty narrowed her eyes here. Lydia looked down. Kitty continued, "Would you want to stop being part of the gentry? With a husband's low income, any new dresses or pretty shoes go out of the window."
Lydia paled, "That is true! I did not think of that."
"I imagine a soldier's wife would have to travel with him and live in those hideous camps. If he gets injured, you would have to nurse him back to health… There would be no maids nor cooks on his income, not pretty bonnets, not any paints…"
"But then, why would he talk about marriage?"
"Money! Lydia… He wants to marry Miss King for her dowry. If I understood Mary correctly, Miss King's dowry is nothing compared to Miss Darcy's."
"So?"
"I think he is trying to see which of you he can get the fastest."
"What?!" Lydia's eyes widened.
"Lydia, think. Denny said that Mr. Wickham no longer wants to be a soldier. But to have a better position, he would have to pay for a better commission. He cannot afford that on his own. Aunt Marianne said that he owes a lot to the shops here. The townspeople are no longer friendly with him because of this. If he had Miss King's dowry, he could get a better position… But if he had access to Mr. Darcy's deep pockets… He could leave the army altogether."
"But that would be good, right? He could start a business or something like that."
"Lydia Francine Bennet! Focus! No, it would not be good! He could only get to Mr. Darcy's pocket through kidnapping or extortion! If Mr. Darcy is as in love with Lizzie as Mary says, he will not be parted from her even if one of us is ruined. But then, he would have to pay a lot of money to Wickham's satisfaction and-"
"But that-"
"Lydia! Those are crimes! Mr. Darcy could accuse him and make him pay back all that money and then some, or maybe even duel with him. He could end up either in the Marshalsea or dead! And what do you think would happen to his wife?"
"I do not know."
"Dishonor! Shame! Destitution!" Kitty exclaimed. She shocked herself when she realized she had sounded exactly like her mother.
"La! Kitty! Do not be so dramatic! You sound like Mary!"
"Lydia! What did you tell him?!"
"I said I needed to see how much pin money I could get together to get to Scotland."
"LYDIA! How could you be so foolish!? Did you give him anything that could be identified as yours?" Kitty was glad she enjoyed talking about game strategy with her father. She could have never guessed that she could apply it to this scenario.
"I… No… Just a hair brooch, but it is one of the cheap ones. Most girls here have it. The fake gold one, with the flower pattern of fake stones."
"I have one of those."
"So does Mary, so does Harriet, so do most girls in town... No one could say it is unequivocally mine."
"Good. Do not under any circumstances write anything to him. He could use that to ruin all of us."
"He gave me a letter."
"Just now?!"
"Yes."
"We are telling Aunt Marianne!"
"No! They will punish me! I did nothing wrong. I just wanted to know if Mary's gossip had any merit."
"Then, what do you suggest we do?"
"I will figure it out... You may only tell someone about this if something were to happen to me… which it will not."
Kitty frowned. That did not sound like a good idea.
When they were returning, Lydia insisted they stopped by Longbourne. Mr. Hill had been surprised to see them, but he was in no position to refuse them. Lydia left with a load of firewood wrapped in a blanket. She took the wood from their father's study. Kitty was very confused because the Philips had enough firewood. Regardless, she helped Lydia carry the load. It was not heavy, just awkward to carry. Lydia did not want to believe that Mr. Wickham was being mercenary with her.
She could see it with Miss King. She was ugly and droll. All she had to offer was money, but Lydia knew she was beautiful, and she got the attention of many gentlemen wherever she went. She supposed that the cuts of her dresses helped with that. Jane and Lizzie would never show so much skin as she did. Yet, they got stares of admiration. They were not stared at in the… vulgar manner men stared at her. Lydia wanted to prove her sisters wrong. She knew she could marry Mr. Wickham and be happy. He was so handsome and charming.
While Kitty was embroidering, Lydia went to the bathing room and opened his letter… if it could be called that. The missive was very short and to the point. It would squash any romantic notions in her head.
"Adelaide,
I will be outside waiting for you at two in the morning, my lovely. Be ready.
All my love,
GW"
Lydia gasped. Adelaide was Miss King. He called her lovely as well… It seemed he was not the most creative when it came to compliments. All my love? You cad! Lydia felt rage flowing through her veins. Kitty was right. He was just trying to see which of the two girls he could get first. But if she had Miss King's letter… That had to mean that Miss King had her letter. If Mr. Wickham had used Adelaide's name… That meant the missive he mistakenly handed Miss King mentioned Lydia by name as well.
Lydia felt cold. She could be ruined if that fell into the wrong hands. Mr. Wickham had to pay. If she talked to Mr. King and offered to exchange letters, perhaps the Kings would be ready to welcome Wickham into their home at the end of a shotgun's barrel. He deserved it. She left a pen, ink, and a piece of parchment ready. Lydia escaped a little past midnight. Lydia shook her head as she dressed. She would not let Miss King throw her life away for a liar and a cheat. It mattered not that they were not friends. She rushed to the King's residence with her hooded cloak. She took a small oil lamp with her and took the shortcut through the fields. It was almost two miles. She jogged more than walked toward their estate. She did not care if her shoes got ruined. Shoes could be tossed. If Miss King left without knowing this, he would have access to her dowry. Lord knows what kind of life she would have with him. Lydia was sure that if Miss King's note said two in the morning, the one meant for her would say three. He did not care about being duplicitous. He did not care about either of them. If Miss King had met him, he would not have cared about leaving Lydia waiting for hours or about her broken heart once she had learned they had married. It was a cold night. When she approached, she was surprised to find all torches lit and armed men guarding the entrance. She advanced with her hands up in the air.
"Who is there?" one of the men yelled.
"Identify yourself, or we will shoot!" the other man yelled.
"I am your neighbor, Lydia Bennet! I mean no harm! I need to speak to Mr. King immediately!" She said as she approached the entrance.
"Mr. King is busy!"
"I have a compromising letter from an unmarried man to his daughter."
"That is preposterous."
"No. It is not. It mentions her by name!"
One of the men gasped. She noticed he looked familiar, "What are you thinking walking all the way here alone and in the dark, Miss Lydia?"
"It is urgent! I am staying with My Aunt and Uncle Philips. It is much closer than Longbourne."
She was shown into Mr. King's study. Miss King looked like she had been crying for hours, and so did her mother.
"Miss Lydia," he nodded. "It is not calling hours. What is a young lady like yourself doing walking around without an escort?"
"Mr. King," she curtseyed. "I apologize for the time, but this cannot wait."
"I am told you have some damning evidence implicating my daughter in a compromise," he said in a questioning brow with a haughty raised brow.
"I do."
"Curious… I have damning evidence implicating you in a compromise. Life is very strange, is it not."
"It is," Lydia swallowed thickly.
"What do you want for the letter, Miss Lydia?"
"The other letter, sir," she replied as if it was the most obvious answer.
"Hmm. Seems reasonable."
"I will open the letter and show it to you at a distance so you know I am not lying. Can you do the same for me?"
"Indeed."
They each showed the other the letter they had. Lydia's name was in the letter Mr. King had.
"Daddy, please… Burn the two letters," Miss King exclaimed in between sobs.
"It is no use, Adelaide!"
"Why?!"
"Because he has several letters from you! Letters that you were stupid enough to sign with your name and seal with the family crest!"
Lydia grimaced. She was grateful that growing up with Kitty made her very wary of helping people who could try to trick her.
Mr. King looked at Lydia with narrowed eyes, "Let me guess, child… You are as stupid as my daughter?"
Lydia frowned, "No, sir. I did not write to him. I gave him a brooch that most girls in the town have. Nothing that could be traced back to me."
"Finally! Some sense!" Mr. King threw both letters into the fire and poked it. "He is supposed to come here for you at two in the morning, Adelaide."
"Daddy, I-"
"Save it. You could have ruined the whole family."
Lydia stared at the letters as they turned to ash.
"Miss Lydia, I need you to return to the Philips' home. When Wickham shows his face, he will not leave alive, and you need not see that."
"You cannot kill him, Daddy!" Adelaide cried.
"Yes, sir," Lydia nodded and ignored Miss King.
"Do you need me to wake someone to go with you?" Mr. King offered.
"I made it fine here on my own."
Mr. King frowned, exasperated, "Adelaide, bring your brother here."
Lydia blinked. Adelaide ran out so swiftly that one could have sworn she disappeared. Lydia did not know the King family had a son.
"Father? I thought I was supposed to be manning the back of the house. I-" he stopped talking when he noticed a girl he had not seen before.
"You were. However, I need you to walk Miss Lydia Bennet to Mr. and Mrs. Philips' home."
"Miss Lydia," the man nodded. "But should I not remain here?"
"It is past midnight. She walked here alone. What does your common sense tell you?"
The young man blinked and nodded, "Of course, father."
"Take Spotty with you. Take her there, and make sure she goes in and locks the doors. Then, come back. I believe you would still be back on time."
"Yes, sir," he took the oil lamp his father handed him and motioned for Miss Lydia to follow.
"Miss Lydia, nothing that happened here can become public knowledge."
"I know, sir. For both of our families' sakes."
"I am glad you are at least smarter than Adelaide."
"Well, perhaps if you did not call her stupid or made her feel so unimportant, she would not look for admiration and compliments from men outside your family, sir," Lydia turned away to leave the house before Mr. King could respond. His son blushed at that set down and went after the young woman.
While they walked through the shortcut, they were mostly quiet. The King's son explained that he had graduated from Oxford and took a tour of the continent. He had just returned. Miss Lydia was glad that Spotty was with them. When they approached a darkened part of the path, the dog growled, and they stopped. Mr. King pushed her behind him protectively.
"Spotty! Fass!" [German command to attack and apprehend]
The dog charged ahead. They heard grunts and growls, but suddenly, they heard a gunshot, and the dog howled out in pain. They heard someone stomping on the dog.
"Why would you do something so stupid?! I hate hurting dogs!"
"Mr. Wickham!" Lydia whispered to Mr. King.
"Lydia, love. Will you not introduce me?" George grunted as he held onto his hurt arm. He was bleeding. He was holding a pistol.
"Spotty! Lauf!" [German command to run]
The dog moved back home as fast as he could, dragging one of his hind legs.
"Mr. Wickham, this is Mr. King."
"There is no way someone so young has a grown daughter."
"Mr. King is Miss King's brother."
"I see. Have I interrupted something? A rendezvous?" he lifted the pistol.
"You interrupted a gentleman making sure a young lady got home safely, Mr. Wickham."
"A lady, you say? I see no such lady," Wickham scoffed. "Why are you not waiting for me at home? Like we agreed? Were you so needy that you had to have some other man's attention? You could not wait a few more hours to be with me?"
"Mr. Wickham! Cease that line of questioning immediately! It is most improper!"
"Let go of my woman!" Wickham exclaimed.
"I am not your woman!" Lydia stomped her foot.
"Stop pointing that pistol at us!" Mr. King said between gritted teeth.
"Or what?! Do you have money on you?"
"Yes. I can give you the money if you let us leave unharmed."
"Make no mistake, you will give me the money. You are to be a witness to our wedding. It is the least you can do since she just cost me your sister's dowry."
"What?!"
"You did not know?! This blackguard wrote a letter for me and another for your sister so we would run away to Gretna Green with him!" Lydia exclaimed.
"I did no such thing!"
"You gave me Adelaide's letter! She got the one with my name, you dolt!" Lydia snapped.
"Not one more word out of you, Lydia. We will get your things and money from your aunt and uncle's house. I have already rented our transport. We will get to Scotland as soon as possible."
"Scotland? Are you out of your mind?! You cannot cross the border with an undocumented minor."
Mr. Wickham pointed the gun right between Mr. King's legs. "Do you want to survive this adventure? Have children one day?"
Mr. King nodded.
"Then, comply. Keep your thoughts to yourself. I am a soldier. I have no problem shooting you dead where you stand."
Soon enough, Lydia was coming in through the bedroom window. It did not matter that she was sharing with Kitty. Unfortunately, Kitty slept like the dead; nothing short of very loud, shrill sounds would wake her up. If she yelled, Wickham would hear, and he would shoot Mr. King. Hurriedly, she took both her money and her sister's. She hid Kitty's pin money in her boot. It would be awkward to walk like that, but she had no better choice. She took the smallest suitcase she had and placed some clothes in it. She added a sewing kit, took her sanitary suspenders and rags, and buried the pistol under yarn. She made sure to wrap the pistol she had taken from her father in her sanitary suspenders and rags at the bottom of the did not know that much about the world. However, she knew that men were very squeamish when it came to women's monthlies. Blood from battles was all fine. Blood coming naturally from inside a woman was taboo. The irony and hypocrisy were too noticeable. Once the suitcase was packed, Lydia wrote a very hasty note.
Kitty,
Taken by armed Wickham. Mr. King is with us. If something happens to us, Wickham did it. He said he is taking me to Gretna Green.
Lydia
Lydia rushed back out and found Mr. King bleeding from a cut on his eyebrow. The area seemed swollen. She did not say a word. Their hands and feet were tied. They were pushed into a small and uncomfortable but thankfully covered carriage. Mr. Wickham was outside, guiding the horses. The door was locked from the outside.
"I am so sorry you were dragged into this," Lydia said as she tried to get comfortable unsuccessfully without being able to use her arms properly. She chose to push herself to a better position with her feet.
"What were you thinking?"
"The only reason I was out at that hour was to protect your sister's reputation!"
"No, you were out to get back a letter that implicated your own reputation. Pray, how old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Dear Lord, what were you thinking?!"
"Do not think you can tell me off. You are wholly unrelated to me!" Lydia exclaimed angrily.
"Since it is your fault that I am in this predicament, I will tell you off as much as I please. How do you think this will end, huh?"
"What?!"
"You are unescorted with two single gentlemen you are not related to. Once people find out you did not sleep at the Philips', what do you think is going to happen?"
"We can escape him…"
Mr. King scoffed, "Child, do be serious. He is armed and a criminal. Clearly, the odds are stacked against us. Plus, even if you escape, there is no escaping the consequences of this little trip for you. I am a man. My reputation will survive this. Yours will not, and you will drag all your sisters down with you. You have cost every one of them any chance at respectable matches."
"No, Mr. Darcy will find us. I am sure of it!"
"Mr. Darcy?!"
"He is my sister's Elizabeth's suitor."
"Is he rich? Is he well connected?"
"Yes!" Lydia nodded eagerly.
"That is marvelous… Does he have a crystal ball to find us?"
"No."
"Then how can he?!"
"I…" Lydia lowered her decibels. "I wrote a note for my sister... She knows who is with me and where we are going."
Mr. King threw his head against the wall behind him with a severe expression. He looked like her father when he asked them a very scholarly question with the expectation that they would answer incorrectly, and he had been proven right, "You must be daft, Miss Lydia. Why would he take you to Gretna Green and marry you when he can kidnap you and extort money from your sister's beau?"
Lydia gasped. She had not thought about that. "He would not. He knows my family. He-"
"He forced you into a carriage at gunpoint and tied your limbs together. He has no care for your comfort or modesty, seeing as your leg is visible from anywhere in this carriage."
Lydia looked down and realized he was right, "When were you planning on telling me, sir?"
"Why? So you have a nervous breakdown? I have sisters! A lady's leg does not impress me! I would have discretely arranged your skirt if I could. I still can, but I must bite the fabric to pull it down. I would not want you to think me a brute."
"I will not. Please pull it down."
Mr. King struggled to change his position and bent over his thighs to reach the offending skirt. Lydia was glad he did not have a large belly and seemed flexible. He carefully bit the material and slowly pulled it away from her body and seat. It took three pulls for it to fall to cover everything but her shoe.
After five minutes of awkward silence, Lydia sobbed. The reality of her situation was finally weighing down on her. Mr. King could not help but feel sorry for her. She was younger than Adelaide, and now she was ruined. Yes, she had been very foolish to allow herself to get involved with such a man, but he could not help but think she was just an immature child.
"Miss Lydia… Do you understand what you have done now? We are at his mercy. Me? He may shoot me and drop me at the side of the road at night. Frankly, I would think death is better… But you?" Mr. King trailed off.
"What do you think he will do to me?"
He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Miss Lydia, I would rather not tell you this because you are a young lady, but as someone older and who has met men like this before, I need to warn you. Wickham will most likely take your virtue and maybe even leave you with child. After that, if you are very lucky, he will leave you in an inn somewhere no one knows you with a very expensive tab you cannot pay. If you are unlucky or this famous Mr. Darcy does not find us, Wickam may sell you to a whorehouse, and take the money he makes to drink it, gamble it, or waste it away on yet more women he will seduce and not marry."
"But why would he not marry me in these circumstances?! I am beautiful and a gentleman's daughter!"
Mr. King sighed, "You are pretty. That much I grant you. You are not marriage material, Miss Lydia. This lapse of judgment proves that. The naïveté you are displaying now further solidifies that belief… Miss Lydia, I will put this in as simple and delicate a way as possible. No man who wants to marry a woman would do this to her. None."
"Happily for you, I would not marry someone so mean and judgmental as you," Lydia pouted.
Mr. King grimaced and scoffed, "You will not have a choice, and I am sure I will have no choice either..."
"What?!"
"Please, Miss Lydia! Focus! It is as if you are not even listening! They will make me marry you! By being alone with you locked in a closed carriage for hours, I have already irrefutably compromised you in the eyes of society! That fiend out there thought this through very well! He can refuse to marry you and say I who was in here with you. He would be right. He can argue he was driving us to Gretna Green because I paid him. This will fall on my head!"
"La! You are so pessimistic! No one will make you marry me! We can explain-"
"And who will believe us, pray tell?! Lord knows how many days we will be here and on the road! Your father will force me. I am sure of it. If I were to refuse, he can call me out. He has four other daughters to consider."
Lydia decided not to say anything about her father's current state. She had no reply to that. Mr. King sounded like her father, but there was something kind about the way he spoke to her. She sighed as tears continued to fall down her cheeks.
Mrs. Bennet fainted when she received the letter from her sister. The colonel, who had been close enough, caught her and placed her on a couch. Lizzie took the letter and read it hastily.
"Dear God!"
"What has happened?!"
"Lydia has been taken!"
"What?!"
She pulled out a smaller, ripped-up parchment and gasped. She handed it to Jane. Jane read it out loud.
The colonel threw his head back and cursed rather colorfully, in a way he would usually never speak in front of women, but knowing Wickham was responsible for yet another disaster was too much.
Richard took Jane's hand and kissed its back. He squeezed Miss Elizabeth's ice-cold hand supportively and rushed out of the room. "DARCY! Where the devil are you?! White! This is an emergency! Pack a suitcase for Darcy and another one for me. Ensure my rifle, shotgun, and sword are in mine and that his shotgun is in his. Send an express to Darcy House in London and let them know we may be arriving. Mrs. Reynolds!"
The colonel ran upstairs and almost crashed against a disheveled Walker who looked like he had just taken a long nap.
"Where are you off to so quickly?"
"Walker! Thank the Lord you are still here! You must come with us!"
"With who? Where?" he scratched the back of his head.
"Remember Wickham?"
"No! Not that bastard again! Please tell me his destiny is the Marshalsea, at least!"
"It will be a bloody unmarked grave by the time I am done with him!"
Something hit the roof of the carriage.
"If you two do not shut up, I will gag you both."
"Sorry," Lydia exclaimed. She motioned for Mr. King to come closer with her jaw. He frowned but leaned forward. She whispered. "I have a shotgun and ammunition. It is my father's."
Mr. King's eyes widened, "Where?"
"My suitcase."
"He will go through it."
"Not through that part, sir."
"Why?" he frowned.
"I hid it inside my sewing kit under all my sanitary suspenders."
"Oh!" he blushed a bit. "Pardon me if this is indelicate, but… Used rags?"
It was her turn to blush, "No! I am not a savage!" she whisper shouted.
"You should be. I do not think we are surviving this otherwise."
"Are you a decent shot, sir?"
"Obviously."
"Are you?" he raised a brow at her.
"Better than most men."
Mr. King looked at her as if she was a strange creature, "I will agree to disagree."
She would have crossed her arms over her chest if she could, "What do you want to lose?" she said in a Kitty-esque fashion.
Both because he thought betting against a woman was ungentlemanly and because he wanted to lighten the mood, he decided to try humor, "Seeing as I will probably lose my bachelor status to you… If we end up married, we will have Michaelmas with my parents and New Year's with yours."
The corners of her mouth tilted up, "How awfully presumptuous," she muffled her giggles against her shoulder. But she was glad he said something like that. He could demand she allow him liberties as their marriage to him, in his perception, was a done deal. He did not. She smiled a bit, "It is a good thing we are neighbors, then."
He looked at her clever response in slight disbelief and chuckled. "A very good thing indeed."
Lydia felt herself blush. Until now, she had not focused on his appearance, but Mr. King was a handsome man with a slim yet muscular build. His hair was so black it reflected a blueish hue when the light hit it. His hair was pin straight and short, with longer pieces that framed his forehead and eyes. He had caramel eyes with long curly lashes and was clean-shaven. He had a slightly tanned skin from his travels. He was dressed like a gentleman. She looked at his hands."You have the hands of an artist."
"Beg your pardon?"
"Your hands… They are beautiful," she whispered with a blush. "Do you do any art?"
He blinked and looked flustered, "I... I suppose I do."
"What is your poison?" Lydia asked.
"Poison, Miss Lydia?"
"My father says that art is like poison. You spend a lot on materials, music sheets, or tools. You make no money. You give people poisoningsymptomswhen you go on and on about your art, and you become aburdento your family as if you were poisoned and on your deathbed."
Mr. King was perplexed. What a cynic Mr. Bennet was. "I have never heard any art described as such… Art is... Art is like a gushing spring that brings life to all its surroundings. It brings light, beauty, color, texture, inspiration, passion, sadness, despair, but the enjoyment of its process is unparalleled by any other human pursuit."
Lydia sighed. "That is what I think as well… You did not answer my question."
"What? Oh, right. My poison is art."
"Which one?" Lydia raised a brow.
"As many as I can try. I have yet to find an art form I do not enjoy. That is why I traveled. I wanted to see the sculptors in Italy, the painters in France, the musicians in Vienna… It was a most enriching trip."
"Men are so lucky... Most of us women will never leave even our town or country…" She trailed off.
Mr. King felt genuinely sorry for her, "What is your poison, Miss Lydia?"
"Painting," she tried to smile.
"What do you prefer to paint?"
"Landscapes and portraits," Lydia replied, looking down.
"I would like to see your work."
"I am not that good. I just... I really enjoy painting."
"I am sure you are better than you say…"
"Probably not. Especially if you are a painter yourself."
"I am… among other things. You know, Miss Lydia, if we have to marry after this debacle, I will take you to France for our honeymoon," He smiled sheepishly.
Lydia's eyes widened, and her eyebrows shot up, "You would do that for me?"
"I would do that for my wife," he chuckled.
"Right… For your wife. Are you trying to convince me we could be a good match?"
He chuckled, "No, Miss Lydia, because I think we would not be a good match at all. That does not mean I would not do my best to make you happy if we have to marry."
Lydia felt very inadequate and unattractive suddenly, "You dislike me so much? We have only known each other for a few hours."
"Tis not that, Miss Lydia," he sighed. "You… You are a child. You are two years younger than my sister. I cannot see you as a marriageable age woman because… Well, because you are not. I am twenty-six years old. I would not want to marry anyone over three years younger or older than me."
Lydia blinked and looked up. "You look much younger than that."
Mr. King smiled. "Thank you, I think."
"Why three years? Men I have heard talking say that the younger the better…" Lydia blushed.
Mr. King frowned severely, "You really should not be hanging around places where men talk like that about women."
"Why?" she blinked with her bright deer-like eyes.
"I reckon Mr. Wickham is closer to thirty than me."
"I suppose."
"Why would he want to marry someone who was born when he was already fifteen? Think about it."
She did… She came up empty, "I do not know. I just thought we were prettier younger…"
Mr. King sighed and shook his head, "Younger girls than you are merely sweet, at your age, maybe pretty, beautiful… beautiful is a word that applies only past the age of majority for me."
"Oh… But you said you would marry me if need be."
"I will."
"Why? Because I am a damsel in distress?"
"No. Because I am an honorable man. I also know your family. I would not allow for five innocent young women to be ruined because you were. It is unjust and cruel. Especially if your oldest sisters will soon be engaged to good men who will take care of them."
"I have four sisters, sir. Not five."
"You are the fifth. I would not want to see you ruined, either. You are far too young not to have a second chance. The fact is that this blackguard could have ruined my sister with proof of elopement in the letter you brought to my father. You were brave to bring it to us. Wickham could still demand money for her letters if I cannot recover them."
"Thank you," she breathed out. "I am really sorry that marrying me will likely detour your life."
He smiled a bit. He could not blame an immature, unprotected child for acting her age and making the mistakes that were to be expected. It was just a reinforcement to his idea that significant age gaps were a terrible notion and, in practice, were hardly ever successful, especially for the younger lady involved, "Do not concern yourself. The scenic route is often a good bet when it comes to detours."
The carriage slowed to a hit the ceiling, "We arrived at the inn where we are spending the night."
Wickham wrapped Lydia's shawl around her tied hands to hide them and loosened the ties on her feet just enough for her to walk naturally. "You are not to say a word to anyone. Give me your pin money."
"It's in my pocket."
He roughly fished it out.
"Walk before me with this hood down," he draped her with her cloak and arranged the hood to sit low on her face. "You will stay in the room while I come to get this one." He turned to Mr. King. "Do not get any ideas. A friend of mine is watching the carriage and will run you through if you manage to get out."
Lydia did as she was told and was quiet until they reached the room, and Wickham tossed her luggage on the bed. He opened it. "What the devil is this?" He pointed at the sewing kit.
"My sewing kit and my sanitary suspenders and rags."
He withdrew his hand with a disgusted expression. "Are you due the following days?"
"Maybe. My monthlies are not predictable. I thought I needed to be prepared, just in case."
He frowned and pulled her to a small writing desk. He tied her legs to the chair. "There is parchment, pens, and ink here. You need to write a note stating you are perfectly healthy. State that I have not harmed you and that we need financial aid."
Lydia's eye twitched. "Financial aid? Is that how they are calling extortion these days?" she snapped. She expected him to yell at her and insult her. She did not expect him to backhand her so harshly that she fell with the chair and felt a metallic taste in her mouth. Her ears were ringing, and her whole face was pounding.
"Do not think for a second that I have any regard for you. Any more remarks like that from you, and I will find a way to stuff your mouth with something else," Wickham exclaimed through gritted teeth.
Lydia did not understand what he meant by that, but his eyes darkened, and he looked like a predator ready to attack. His words sent a cold chill down her spine that she felt, even with the blinding pain in her face and jaw.
"Write a convincing note. One that appeals to Darcy's generosity, or I will simply sell you to the highest bidder. A virgin like you will get me a significant sum if I sell you to a good Madame in London."
Wickham roughly lifted her chair back to a sitting position. Lydia's eyes filled with tears. Everyone had been right about him. She had never felt so dumb. She just hoped that Mr. King would be allowed to stay with her.