Page 84 of To Win Her Affections

Mr. Gardiner laughed and threw a knowing look at her father. “I knew Lizzy would poke holes in whatever we created.”

“That is why we must refine it,” agreed Mr. Bennet. “Not only that, but we must extract a promise from Lydia that she will maintain the fiction. Colonel Forster brought us a letter that Lydia wrote to Mrs. Forster—that must be destroyed the moment we arrive home.”

“I shall write to Jane,” said Elizabeth. “She can destroy the letter.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. “With the regiment in Brighton and their winter encampment somewhere else, there should be little danger of the truth being exposed.”

“That is not all, Papa,” said Elizabeth, her tone a little chiding. “Lydia returning home is the best possible outcome, but if we do nothing, she will continue as she has.”

The look he returned was amused and a little pained. “Do you suppose your sister has learned nothing?”

“Until my sister proves she has learned her lesson,” replied Elizabeth, and she could confess her tone was a little prim, “I shall assume nothing.”

Mr. Bennet sighed and set his glass on the desk. “Yes, Lizzy, you are correct. Perhaps we can use this event as a reason for Lydia to change, but I am aware it will not be enough. For the good of us all, she must learn how to behave.”

Though Elizabeth thought to wonder about her father’s resolve, she contented herself with a nod. “Then please, tell me what happened, for I am afire with curiosity.”

BY THE TIME THE GENTLEMAN arrived, Elizabeth had chivvied Lydia out of bed, helped her into a new gown—Mr. Thompson had appeared early that afternoon with her effects—and marched her downstairs for dinner. Lydia was not in good humor, and Elizabeth could understand her lack of enthusiasm for company. Yet Elizabeth was also unmoved by her grumbling—Lydia had created her problems, and now she needed to face the consequences. Coddling her would do nothing.

The gentlemen arrived and followed Mr. Gardiner into the room, exchanging greetings. Lydia, for her part, sat quietly saying nothing, for perhaps the first time in Elizabeth’s memory, eager to avoid drawing attention to herself. Then Mr. Darcy surprised her—to own the truth, Elizabeth was surprised herself, even with her improved understanding of the gentleman.

“Miss Lydia,” said he, speaking softly as if she were a wild animal he did not want to alarm. “I hope you have recovered in your sister’s care?”

Lydia gaped up at him, shocked that he had spoken to her. Then her cheeks were suffused with a rosy blush, and she looked down, stammering an unintelligible reply. Mr. Darcy nodded and smiled, though she could not see it, and the gentlemen congregated near the fireplace, speaking together in low tones.

“Lizzy,” whispered she, her gaze finding him again, “why is Mr. Darcy here?”

Amused, Elizabeth patted her sister’s hand—she had wondered when Lydia would start questioning his presence. “When Jane’s letter found me, I was in Derbyshire. If you recall, Mr. Darcy’s estate is in Derbyshire.”

With her frown, a little of the old Lydia returned. “Yes, but why is he here?”

“Mr. Darcy knows Mr. Wickham—you recall that they were boys together, do you not?”

When Lydia nodded, Elizabeth spoke to forestall her sister’s next words. “When he learned what happened, Mr. Darcy insisted that he could find you. He traveled south with us.”

For several moments, Lydia considered this, alternately watching Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in turn. “That does not explain why he involved himself.”

“Because,” said Elizabeth, not yet ready to confess her understanding with the gentleman, “Mr. Darcy felt some responsibility for Mr. Wickham. He did not inform the community of Mr. Wickham’s bad conduct when he came to Meryton.”

Lydia’s frown turned vexed. “What bad conduct? Did not Mr. Darcy refuse to honor his father’s wishes about the living?”

“Lydia,” said Elizabeth, clinging to patience but firm enough that her sister did not misunderstand her displeasure, “can you truly say that Mr. Wickham has not behaved badly? What honorable man takes a young girl with him when he flees his troubles?”

“Mr. Wickham said he would marry me,” mumbled Lydia, as if hoping that she would make it true by saying it.

“He lied,” said Elizabeth, knowing bluntness would reach her more readily than tact. “In fact, Mr. Wickham left Brighton when his creditors began to call for him to settle his accounts.”

“Creditors?” squeaked Lydia, aghast.

“Yes, Lydia—Mr. Wickham is a debtor. Not only did he accumulate debts in Brighton and Meryton, but he also owes substantial debts to Mr. Darcy. Did he not confess to Mr. Darcy that he took you because it made his escape easier for him?”

Shamed, Lydia looked down at her hands again. Elizabeth watched her, then decided a little pointed reminder would not go amiss.

“Lydia, I suggest you forget everything you believed about both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, for we have misjudged both. Not only you and me, but everyone in our family.”

“What care do you have for Mr. Darcy?” demanded Lydia, some heat returning to her voice.

Before Elizabeth could respond, the housekeeper entered, announcing dinner. Elizabeth shot a meaningful look at her sister, then rose to invite the company into the dining-room, looking to Colonel Fitzwilliam as the highest-ranking man in the room. He only laughed and gestured to Darcy.