Page 99 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“We must leave immediately,” I said.
“Of course,” Mr. Darcy said. “My sister sends her best wishes for you and your sister.”
“Thank her for me.”
He nodded. The room was silent.
My aunt cleared her throat. “Lizzy, you received an express letter from Longbourn. I did not wish to press you to read it, but if your business with Mr. Darcy involves Jane’s care, perhaps you should look before he departs?”
I had not seen the letter on the table, addressed in Mary’s angular hand to the inn we had planned to visit in Taddington, then forwarded. That had added days.
I picked it up, frightened it was terrible news. But it could not be the worst news of Jane. Papa would write then.
I broke the seal and read, first with puzzlement, then shock. “What…”
My aunt was beside me. “What has happened?”
“Lydia has… escaped from Brighton. Haselopedwith Mr. Wickham! Oh, she cannot be such a fool.” I read on. “She left a note saying they are running to Scotland to marry.” A girl of sixteen could not marry in England without her parents’ consent, but Scottish law was notoriously free about such things.
I checked the date. If they had traveled north from Brighton, they would be past London by now. Perhaps even in Derbyshire. Lydia could be within a few miles of me, though I would never know.
My aunt seemed more confused than horrified. “Was not Mr. Wickham the officer you admired?”
I forgot I had mentioned him in my letters. “No! Well, yes. But then I did not. Wickham is despicable. Aunt, you do not understand. An elopement would be terrible enough, but I doubt even that. I do not believe he will marry her.”
“Lydia would not be so foolish as that,” my aunt said.
“Not by design. But she is quite foolish enough in practice.”
“But she would be ruined.”
“Not just her,” I said. Our entire family—all Lydia’s sisters—would be shunned by society. Stained by one sister’s transgression.
“Lizzy.” My aunt hugged me. Comfortingme.
“It is notme!It is Jane. I had hoped—” I stopped, not wanting to admit my pathetic fantasy that Mr. Bingley would sweep back and marry Jane so all would be well. But if Lydia was ruined, no gentleman would marry a Bennet sister. Particularly not a wealthy man of social standing like Mr. Bingley.
“You are assuming the worst—” began my aunt bracingly.
Mr. Darcy interrupted. “Wickham will not marry your sister.” He was standing, taut with fury.
Mr. Darcy’s terrible history with Wickham rushed into my mind. The attempted elopement with Miss Darcy. The confrontation with Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy took an angry step, his boot thumping the floor. “Wickham will marry only to bind draca. He has ruined women before. If they are travelingtogether, in secret, it is impossible that she will be… it is impossible she would bind on their wedding night.”
Lydia had no marriage gold. That alone crushed any hope of binding. And if their nights were already intimate, even a proper marriage would fail to bind.
My aunt was looking between Mr. Darcy and myself, a new concern dawning as she saw Mr. Darcy’s furious reaction.
“I am sure you desire my absence,” Mr. Darcy said bitterly. “Or that I was gone before you opened your letter. And I have my own business to attend. I will not torment you with vain hopes in this grave affair. But I offer my sincerest wishes to your sister Jane.” He was already reaching for his hat.
“Wait,” I said. “I wish to speak with you.”
My words came out unthinking, a remnant of the resolve I had built at Pemberley before the interruption by thieves.
Mr. Darcy stopped, his hat, a topper of black silk, clenched in his hand. He did not look at me.
“Come,” my aunt said softly to her husband and pulled his arm. They left, my uncle looking back in confusion before his wyfe closed the door.
