A Most Respectable Elopement, Part Thirty One

Happily married at last, and with danger behind them– for now– Lydia Bennet and George Wickham pay their respects to her family, and tend to one last bit of unfinished business. But will the party concerned lend a willing ear?

Catherine Curzon and Nicole Clarkston

Catch up on previous adventures here! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve,Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty One, Twenty Two,Twenty Three, Twenty Four, Twenty Five, Twenty Six, Twenty Seven, Twenty Eight, Twenty Nine, Thirty

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The Bennet household was all a guest could hope for, and George Wickham’s standards were never anything less than high. His host’s casual welcome, as if new sons in law of somewhat dubious reputation appeared almost every day, his hostess’ effusive courtesies, and the modest politeness of his new sisters, served to set the new husband at ease in the home of his dear Lydia’s family. A redcoat, spouse and secret national hero could get very used to all this fuss.

On the second morning after their arrival, the autumn day dawned crisp and fresh, with the promise of warmer sunshine to come. An ideal day, naturally, for a stroll among the rose hedges, or perhaps even farther afield, if his sisters desired it. And naturally, the perfect day for one particular service he greatly hoped to perform for a friend.

That service would be done when the fates decided it though, for he was not a man who was given to wandering the grounds in search of ladies. Or not anymore, at least, for he had the finest lady now, an incomparable wife who just happened to have also kept the security of her homeland clasped to her considerably impressive bosom. Just as she had so generously done a short while earlier with himself.

What a perfect couple of adventurers George and Lydia Wickham had become, and what a future they would share.

“Here’s a welcome sight,” he called as he spied the two sisters he sought strolling ahead. Lydia was as lively as ever in the face of her serene sibling, her hands gesturing this way and that, her face lit with a mischievous smile. What tale was she telling? “Mrs Wickham, what schemes are you cooking up?”

She turned her brightest grin upon him, the one which had shared secrets and told off dazzling surprises in a short few weeks. “I was just telling Lizzy about the balls in Brighton, and how that is the surest way I know of to catch a redcoat. Did I not do precisely that, my love?”

“Alas, you caught the finest of his kind.” He gave a polite bow. “And the most modest. All that remain must look to me and say, ah, there is our goal, our patron; how might we emulate George Wickham!”

“It is not only they, my love, for I distinctly recall the jealous glances of all the ladies. Did I not do well, Lizzy?” she demanded of her sister. “I have caught the finest of them all, for you heard him say as much yourself, and I shall vouch for it. But perhaps he is right, for I think you should not go to Brighton in search of another, for you will not find his equal.”

“I have no doubts of that,” Elizabeth Bennet replied to her sister, in a strained, unnatural voice. Clearly, she was checking that rather fetching wit, as well as what was likely to be a fiery temper when provoked, in order to keep the peace. Well, perhaps he could do something for that dear lady’s conflicted sentiments.

“My love,” Lydia turned back, as if she had just recalled something, “I was to look over some of my gowns with Kitty. I think now is most opportune, as I see she has just come back from Maria Lucas’ house. I did hope not to take quite so many with us on our travels to the north, for I have no doubts that I shall need gowns of a different sort when we arrive. Do you mind terribly if I leave you both?”

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Elizabeth smiled tightly at her sister, but refused to look him in the eye.

“I hope your sister can be trusted, for I am a man of no experience,” Wickham teased. “I place myself entirely in the hands of the erstwhile Miss Bennet.”

Lyda bestowed a rather shocking kiss on his cheek, glancing back to be certain that she had inspired a look of astonishment from her sister. “I am certain your friend will thank you,” she whispered, very lowly, in his ear. Then she waved an airy farewell to Elizabeth, all jubilant frivolity once more. One could never guess that this was the woman whose valiant heroics in catching a spy had saved an entire regiment of English soldiers!

Wickham watched his wife go, suppressing the urge to follow and take her in his arms again. There would time aplenty for that in the days and years to come, and Elizabeth was quite shocked enough already.

“Isn’t it nice to all be together again?” He looked to his companion with a smile. “Friendships renewed, families reunited once more.”

“It is indeed.” She turned slightly, facing back down the path she had been walking with her sister, and did not seem as if she intended to wait for him. Her strides, however, were not hurried as if she meant to storm off. She was not quite so uncivil. She did suffer some discomfort when he drew up to her, for she was not quite so happy as in former days to meet his eye, but she offered no words of rebuke. Instead, she turned her gaze to the last of the season’s floral banquet and affected the greatest enjoyment in their fading beauty.

“Your sister is the world to me,” Wickham said softly, his bravado set aside for now. “And I cannot expect you to look kindly on that, but I intend to show you by my deeds that I shall not give her a moment to doubt me. I would lay down my life for her and ask nothing but her kiss for doing so.”

Her look of astonishment was sharp and immediate. Mere words might not have affected her so, but the tone in which he had spoken had unsettled her. She had not expected anything of the like, and she stopped walking to gaze at him, head tilted and brow furrowed. “I am glad to hear it, Mr Wickham,” she answered slowly. “My sister is dear to me, as you must imagine, and any assurances of her future felicity must be received with gratitude by her family.”

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“I am aware that my previous conduct has not been particularly glorious,” he told her with care. “I make no excuse other than misguided selfishness. I will not be so selfish again.”

“Can anyone ever make such a vow, sir? I wonder, are not we all by nature at least a little selfish? I know that I am capable of intending to do one thing, and then achieving quite the opposite by means of temper or convenience. Do not both of those amount to selfishness? I would caution you against making promises you are unable to keep. I will be satisfied with the assurance that my sister will never have cause to be unhappy, but do not vow more unless you are quite certain of your own mind.”

“I have made my vow and I am sure of it.” And he was. Temper or convenience were one thing, the selfishness that had once been his creed quite another. “Perhaps you and I will never be friends, Miss Bennet, but nor will we be enemies, I hope.”

“You mistake me, sir. Your behaviour has shocked me, perhaps I might even say has offended me, but if you truly prove the loyal, doting husband I would wish for my sister, then I would be pleased to again call you a friend. I hope that my reservations will be overcome, but I fancy that only time can do so much. However, your assurances today give me more hope than I had thought I could claim, unasked as they were, and for that I thank you.”

“I have offended a good many, it seems.” He couldn’t help the note of humour that crept into his voice. “And have long since lost the man I had once called brother. That is a bridge we have gone some way to mending these past weeks. I wonder, Miss Bennet, have you seen the gentleman?”

She withdrew slightly, her eyes misting and her breath seeming to catch. She blinked, looked away, and offered, “I know of one who claims a grievance against you.”

“Not any longer, for that wintery landscape is thawing once more.” He knitted his hands behind his back and drew in a long breath of the blooms. “What a thing it would be if the happy story of Mr and Mrs Wickham might be complemented by another.”

Her head tilted the other way. “I confess, sir, that I cannot know what you mean by either of these statements.”

“I confess, Miss Bennet, that you can and do.” He blinked, all innocence. “I confess also – and you must not tell the gentleman concerned that I have betrayed his trust – that a fellow of our acquaintance almost saddled his steed and rode to pledge himself to you in the dead of night. Splendidly Gothic but unwise, one feels, given the rogues on the highways.”

She coloured and looked highly doubtful. “Mr Wickham, most ladies appreciate a gentle tease, and I myself have sported with you on many occasions, but this is not at all within the spectre of what I might call amusement. You do an injustice to the gentleman, and seek to wound my sensibilities with your jest.”

“My tone is light but my words are true, you might believe it as a brother. I seek not to wound but to–” He paused and blinked, realising only now exactly what he sought to do. “To matchmake, like a meddling mother with a lace handkerchief clutched in her determined fist. I seek to bring together two who cannot be happy apart!”

She shook her head firmly and resumed her walk. “You are wrong, sir, and I must protest. There can be no such happy union as you imagine, for there is nothing which exists between myself and the gentleman in question. I must insist– nay, I beg you, please do not persist in tormenting my own feelings, nor casting what is untrue upon the character of another.”

“Miss Bennet, I am shocked, nay offended!” Wickham quickened his pace and strode ahead. He turned to walk backwards, slowing her pace with his own. “Have I not just promised to be a man of honour from this day forward and yet here I am, accused of falsehood with the next breath?”

“You are deceived, then, if you are not swearing falsely! Mr D–” she stopped, and a pained expression crossed her face. “Please, I cannot think on it, sir,” her voice faltered. “It is more than I could dare hope, and I will thank you not to ignite fancies to which I ought not aspire.”

“I am neither deceived nor false, sister!” He gave an expansive gesture, as animated as Lydia had been. “Rather I am a Cupid, an Eros, if you will. Better dressed and perhaps a touch more worldly, but I will not rest until this is resolved. And resolved it shall and must be!”

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“I cannot know how. Sir, what purpose can you have in telling me these things? What could I possibly do to bring about this fanciful notion you have conceived? No, it is all dependant upon another, and I place no expectations upon him.”

“My fancy shall prove true, wait and see if it does not,” Wickham decided, for he was sure of it. “Might I ask two things of you, and two alone?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she hesitantly agreed.

“Firstly, believe in his sincerity and character until you are given reason to do otherwise, we cannot all be garolous, after all. Secondly, when the gentleman seeks an audience with you – as he surely must – go to it with an open heart.” He blinked. “And there is a third, but I was always more to look at than I was to arithmetic. Third, turn a blind eye to those who might seek to dissemble, for no good can come of heeding their words.”

She bowed her head, and by a slight tilt of her steps, began to wander around him and down the path, but her manner seemed to invite him to follow. “These I can do, if presented the opportunity. I persist in my scepticism, for I am certain… or at least I was certain… he cannot still wish to address me. Sir,” she stopped and turned to him again, “are you in earnest? Please give me the honour of a simple answer. Can you be certain of these things, and how so? If I am not mistaken, there is little accord between you and the gentleman, and I have no reason to think that circumstance has altered.”

“Your reason is my earlier assurance that it has,” Wickham reminded her. “Believe me, I am certain of his affection for you and I know without a doubt that he will make the approach. He need only enter your company and you shall see it done.”

She bit her lip and looked thoughtfully at the ground. “If only… but perhaps I shall see some symptom of what you profess. He has not always behaved as a gentleman ought– there is one wrong in particular that I have expressed to him, and as with yourself, it concerned the happiness of one of my dear sisters.” She raised her eyes back to his face. “Dare I take it as a sign of his intent if we should ever again hear word of Mr Bingley returning to Netherfield? Is there any cause to hope he might do so?”

“I believe it is a matter of time, you might depend on it.”

A strange smile passed over her face, and her gaze drifted to the distant trees. “I shall take your words to heart, sir, and think on them with greater confidence than I had heretofore imagined. He is good, this gentleman… perhaps the best of my acquaintance,” she tipped a slightly mirthful look in his direction, then looked innocently away. “Can you deny it, sir?”

“Alas I must, for you have the good fortune to know George Wickham.” He quirked a mischievous eyebrow. “Let us say that best bachelor of your acquaintance?”

She smiled in truth, for the first time in their conversation, and even laughed gently. “A tease you shall always remain, sir, but to hear you speak in complimentary terms of the gentleman does far more for your credibility than you can imagine. I shall wait upon what you claim I should expect, and thank you, even, for offering such a consolation to my hopes. I cannot help but wonder, however, what can be your motive in betraying the intents of another? Will the gentleman thank you for your interference in his affairs?”

“Does a child always remember to thank Saint Nicholas? Alas, such is the burden of we good Samaritans, sometimes our efforts might go without reward.” Wickham smiled, the expression more devilish than angelic. “But we shall receive our reward in heaven.”

She raised a brow, her smile now turning bemused. “And I suppose he did not make such a request of you. He did not, perhaps, do you some great service only recently, and demand a kind word in his favour as his recompense?”

“Miss Bennet, that would be horribly predictable.” Wickham dropped his face into a theatrical pout. “And I have never been predictable.”

Both of her chocolate brows now arched, and she beheld him in some curiosity. “Mr Wickham, I believe I am not most vitally interested in the truth of the matter, but I suspect you will not tell me. I shall then hope the more fervently that another will one day shed light on the matter.”

“Then you must be planning a jaunt to Carlton House,” he replied innocently. “Or perhaps the august halls of Westminster, for only there might the truth be told. But of course, I have said too much, and shall say no more.”

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“Then allow me to tell something of my own thoughts, if you will. Words cannot express my initial dismay, then scandalised horror at what I had thought the rather inauspicious acquisition of a brother. But sir, you have allayed my fears. Pray, treat my sister well, and I expect our paths will cross again sooner rather than later.”

“I shall give you no cause to rebuke me,” he promised. “And will be the finest brother a young lady might boast, from this day to my last.”

Stop by next week for the final episode in our most respectable journey!