Page 57 of Lord Lonbourn's Daughter
“What behaviour exactly is that? Should one follow the demands of a villain of the worst sort or follow one’s mind and heart in marriage?”
“I thought you liked Mr Bingley,” Crawford said accusingly.
“I do. I would not mind having Mr Bingley as a brother, but my opinion matters little. The completion of the marriage must be left to others,” Elizabeth confirmed.
“May I suggest,” Lady Matlock interrupted, “that we attend events as if nothing untoward has happened? We should be out and about, not hiding ourselves as though we have something to be ashamed of. I suggest that we all go to Lady Hamilton’s ball on Tuesday.”
“Lady Hamilton’s style stretches the confines of decorum a little too much,” Mr Darcy objected.
“It is a masquerade, not a ribald bawdy house. Honestly, Darcy, sometimes I wonder which of us is the old aunt. I thought you would be pleased to hide your discoloured face behind a mask.”
“There will be the German waltz,” he reminded the countess.
“If you do not like to waltz, you may engage your bride for the allemande, or better yet, the minuet.”
“Mr Darcy should probably rest his knee,” Elizabeth cautioned.
“I am well enough,” her husband protested at the hint of infirmity. “I am simply questioning the propriety of the waltz, which has raised some questions in polite society.”
“Yet, they overlook the fact that Lord Nelson fathered Lady Hamilton’s daughter… You should be parading your own bride around in superior society, Darcy. Your wedding was a swift affair, and it is best to give the appearance of a happy coupleto prevent the gossips from conjecturing it must have come to fruition by ruination. I declare we shall all go!” Lady Matlock announced, and the matter was settled.
#
Elizabeth had been at the ball for less than an hour when she spotted a familiar figure. She approached with her heart pounding in her throat.
“Lydia, is that you?” she whispered.
“La, Lizzy, how did you guess? I was hoping to pass myself off as the Duchess of somewhere or other. How inconvenient to meet someone of my acquaintance who may reveal who I really am.”
“Why would you not like to be recognised as your true self? You are the daughter of an earl in your own right. Why so lofty an aspiration as a duchess?”
“I am hiding from Mr Wickham’s beneficiary. We were not supposed to leave our lodgings, but I have been cooped up in one room for weeks. If I did not have some entertainment, I would have lost my mind. Would you mind if we found somewhere private?”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth proclaimed, searching frantically about the room for her husband and his relations. Finding none she hauled her sister out onto the terrace and down the steps to the garden. She was terrified of being discovered by the wrong people before she could take Lydia to safety, so she held her peace until they were far enough away from attentive ears.
“Where have you been? Can you not see that we were worried sick about you, not to forget the extortionist’s demands and—”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. It was all a lark. See!” Lydia waved a jewelled hand in front of Elizabeth’s nose.“I am a married lady now, Lizzy. I am Lydia Wickham and shall take precedence over my sisters even though I am the youngest.”
“Oh no, are you telling me we are too late?” Elizabeth cried.
“Yes, by weeks. My Mr Wickham and I went straight from Ramsgate to the Coldstream Tollbooth[7] and were married by a sham vicar.”
“I am so sorry, Lydia!” Elizabeth exclaimed with feeling.
“Why would you feel sorry for me? My Mr Wickham is ever so handsome. You will not believe it until you see him. He does not even need to wear his red coat to attract the eyes of the ladies,” Lydia preened.
“He is an officer?” Elizabeth enquired.
“He was, but he no longer needs an occupation now that we are married. He pronounced he could not have me following the drum, being the daughter of an earl. I have an estate and enough wealth for us both to live on.”
“How convenient. Have you informed him where your estate is situated?” Elizabeth drawled.
“Yes, but neither of us are sure where Ronaldsay is…” Lydia admitted ruefully.
“I can make excuses on your behalf, Lydia. You should have paid more attention to Papa’s geography lessons, but I offer no such leniency to Mr Wickham, who has been educated in the best schools England can offer. Ronaldsay, my dear Lydia, is situated on the most remote of the Orkney Islands. It is Shetland next after that.”
“Must I travel over the sea?” Lydia whined. She became terribly seasick.
