Page 61 of An Accidental Meeting
“Your uncle and aunt have also been informed and are on their way, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy informed her. “I shall speak with Mr. Wickham.”
Lydia pouted to have her surprise spoiled and threw herself back carelessly in her chair.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, a wave of shame crashing over her and nearly taking her breath away. That her sister should elope and come toPemberley, of all places—and that she should arrive with Mr. Wickham. Of all men!
She could not even apologise, lest Lydia interject something inappropriate. He would not look at her in any case.
Elizabeth watched him go and then sat heavily in a chair and sighed.
“Are you not even going to congratulate me?” Lydia said.
“Lydia,” she said, turning to assess her sister. Lydia’s gown was dirty, and despite her boldness, her eyes betrayed weariness. Elizabeth felt suddenly ill. “I would like nothing better, but I cannot. Not when you have chosen a man who is not even brave enough to speak to your father. How do you know he intends to marry you if he will not ask permission?”
“You are jealous,” her sister said happily. “Wickham said you would be. For was he not a favourite of yours once?”
“He was, when first I knew him, Lyddie,” Elizabeth admitted sadly. “But it has been many months since . . . did you never wonder why I ceased to favour him?”
Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “Because he threw you over for Mary King and her money.”
“And when he did, I found I did not mind. In the end, her uncle deemed Mr. Wickham a fortune hunter and took her away.”
“Wickham never cared for her," Lydia said, waving one hand in the air. "And I have no money, so I know he cares for me.”
“You had money enough to travel to London. I presume your funds purchased the tickets. And for the mail coach here?”
Lydia’s frown told Elizabeth that she had surmised correctly, and another suspicion occurred to her. Tickets were expensive, and Lydia’s money must now be gone. “How did he expect to getyou both to Gretna Green? It is another three days' journey from here.”
“When Wickham learned you were all here, he said we should leave London. Mr. Darcy owes Wickham money, so he said he would collect it on our way.” Lydia would not look at her, instead running her hands down her skirt and attempting to flatten out the wrinkles.
“How did Mr. Wickham know that we were at Pemberley?”
“Old Kerrit told me and I told him.”
Uncle Gardiner had written his butler to advise him where to send any urgent communications. No letters had arrived, but Lydia had.
“He tried to insist I come inside and stay, but of course I did not.”
Elizabeth shook her head. Poor Mr. Kerrit, to have such a sensible suggestion ignored and then being forced to watch Lydia embrace her own disgrace. She wondered if Papa had already been in London then, venturing into the worst areas of a city he so disliked, searching for his wayward daughter.
What would Mr. Darcy have done had Miss Darcy shown up at Pemberley with her seducer? She knew without a doubt that he would have been firm, but also kind. She took a deep, steadying breath—she would attempt to do the same.
“I learned some disturbing things about Mr. Wickham before I returned from Kent, but as he would soon be gone, I did not tell you. I wish now that I had.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “I would not have believed you in any case. You are only sorry that I have caught myself a husband before you have.”
Elizabeth just stared sadly at her sister. Shemighthave had a husband—a suitor, at least. A finer man than Lydia could even conceive of. Perhaps it was foolish to mourn the loss of something that had not been offered—not again—but Lydia’sbrazen appearance in the company of a man Mr. Darcy justly loathed would put an end to any of her hopes in that quarter. She recalled Mr. Darcy’s hand on hers, his head bending down to the rose . . . It was as much as she would ever have of him.
After a minute of silence, Lydia twitched uneasily. “Are you not going to scold me?”
Elizabeth shook her head. She had no spirit left to give her sister the set down she deserved. “Lydia, you have ruined your life, and soon you will be aware of it. You need no scolding from me.” Truly, if she once began, she might never stop.
Lydia cocked her head to one side like an inquisitive bird. “I thought you would be angry.”
“Oh, I am,” Elizabeth replied, quick and firm. “I amveryangry. But displaying it would do no good. For you must marry him, though he is such a man.”
Lydia eyed her warily. “Must marry him? La, Lizzy, I want to marry Wickham.”
“I know, and I pity you for it.” Elizabeth could imagine Lydia’s future: always poor, with increasingly more children and a spendthrift husband interested only in his own convenience and pleasure.
