Page 76 of Bitterness of Spirit

Darcy glared at him; he easily guessed the direction Wickham wished to take. However, he had no time to speak as a more proper intervention took place. Mr. Bennet turned and poured himself a glass of brandy, then stepped closer, and sat on the couch.

From there, he looked at the couple and asked with a calmness that astonished his companions, “So, you both are determined to marry for no other reason than affection?”

The question took the couple by surprise.

“Yes,” Lydia uttered quickly, followed by a slightly hesitant response from the man.

“Well, I am tempted to believe you. Lydia must know that Mr. Wickham has a limited income, and he must realise that she has no dowry except for one thousand pounds when I die. This I might be tempted to provide now, but it is rather little. You may expect nothing else from me—you both understand that?”

“Yes,” Lydia cried again.

“Very well. Now, Lydia, you should be aware that, as an officer’s wife, you would not often be able to afford to purchase new gowns, if any. And you will have to work hard to create a household, perhaps in a small cottage. You will have to cook, wash, and clean for your husband, as you will obviously not be able to hire any help. And you, Wickham, must understand that you will have to be very careful with your means, not waste a single penny, always be home at night, and take proper care of your young wife, who is not very knowledgeable. If your affection is strong enough, such considerations might carry little weight.”

“But, Papa, how shall I attend balls without new gowns?”

“What balls, Lydia? Keep in mind that you will have few opportunities to travel, so you must pray that you live in a town with a few assemblies a year. Otherwise, you will need to refrain from such entertainment.”

“Papa!”

“I am rather relieved, I confess. I shall have fewer reasons for concern once you are married too.” Mr. Bennet’s voice had become lighter while the couple became less voluble.

“But, Papa, what do you mean we cannot travel? Jane will surely invite us to visit her from time to time! And, Mr. Wilson, surely we may stay here when we visit London!”

“Well, you will probably have many invitations; the means of accepting them will belong entirely to you both. Oh my, this brandy is quite good,” Mr. Bennet said, filling his glass again. “And do not count on Bingley or Wilson, Lydia. I am sure your husband is too proud to accept any charity or undeserved help. None of us would ever dare offend him by offering him money he had not earned.”

Darcy watched Mr. Bennet with increasing admiration and equal amusement that replaced his anger. Mr. Bennet did not need to either kill Wickham or pay him off to leave. He was slowly defeating Wickham with irony and mockery, making him understand that any presumable advantage he hoped to gain was lost from the beginning.

Mr. Bennet was teaching them all a lesson in how to deal with an impertinent scoundrel in a gentlemanlike manner.

“Now, since you are so determined, we might ask Mr. Darcy to assist us in purchasing a special licence so you can marry as soon as possible. Since you were so eager to elope, you must be eager to marry soon. Now, does Colonel Forster know of your intentions? We should write him immediately. And where will you live after the wedding? There are few houses in Meryton that you can afford.”

“But, Papa, the regiment will camp in Brighton for the summer,” Lydia said.

“Really? Well, even better. That will give you both the chance to start your new life alone, to support yourselves, to learn what marriage truly implies. It is excellent timing. If you marry right away, you will go ahead of Jane and Mr. Bingley, and nobody can say that Wickham had any interest in gaining a wealthy brother-in-law, which I am certain he does not. So, Mr. Darcy, could you help us purchase the special licence I mentioned? I am sure Wickham has no money for it, but it will be my wedding gift.”

“I certainly can, sir,” Darcy answered.

“Thank you for your kind suggestion, Mr. Bennet. I…well…I think…Darcy might be right—we should all rest and make the final decision tomorrow,” Wickham reluctantly answered, pushing Lydia away slightly.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” Lydia cried.

“I must; it is better this way,” Wickham replied. “You should listen to your father.”

“Well, it is a little late for that, but better late than never,” Mr. Bennet replied mockingly. “I shall retire now; I have had enough excitement for one night. Lizzy, take care of your young, silly sister. I am counting on you. Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I apologize for unwillingly involving you in this disturbing situation. Forgive me; I need to rest now. I do not feel well.”

He stepped to the door hesitantly, and Elizabeth hurried to him.

“Papa, are you unwell? Let me help you.”

“There is no need. My brother Gardiner will take me to my room. Too much brandy and too little sleep—that is all. Please take care of Lydia. I shall see you all tomorrow.”

The two gentlemen left; disconcerted, Elizabeth stood still, glancing at Darcy while casting fierce looks at Wickham.

“Come, let us go upstairs,” Mrs. Gardiner insisted, taking the arms of both her nieces. “Good night, gentlemen. I hope to see you all soon under more honourable circumstances.”

Elizabeth exited the library with a last glance at Darcy. His countenance was severe and unmoved, and her own embarrassment was so great that she was unable to read anything on his face. To all the other faults of her family, she now had to bear the notion that he—of all men—had found her sister in the middle of a shameful elopement with his worst enemy—Wickham.

She immediately thought that, if Lydia were to end up marrying Wickham, any hope of a renewed proposal from Darcy was gone forever. A selfish anger against Lydia’s reckless behaviour enveloped her, and she failed to push it away. As she led her sister to the stairs, she felt she was truly leaving Darcy step by step, increasingly further away. And only then did the pain in her chest confirm her regret that the man she harshly rejected might never be more than a friend to her.