Lydia Bennet's Story (12 page)

Thursday, July 22nd
I do not want Harriet to know of my new amour just yet, as I know she will not approve. As far as she is concerned, I am practically a married lady—what would she think if she only guessed half the truth?!!!

I think I might just burst with the excitement of it all and I cannot think what I am to do. I have written to Kitty, whom I know I can trust implicitly. I have described for her in the most minute detail every feeling in my body, every sentiment of my soul, not omitting that she must either set to with the scissors as soon as she has read the letter or burn the evidence, whichever she feels most prudent! I have a feeling that she is not going to be wholly surprised by my news and will also be congratulating herself on the fact that she declared in a letter to me more than a fortnight ago that Wickham and I were in love. In love!—Oh, yes indeed!

Friday, July 23rd
I declare that George Wickham has bewitched me and all I can think of is him, his face, his mouth, his kisses, and how I want him to hold me once more. I cannot imagine how we will ever be alone again, and I might just die if a moment does not soon present itself!

Tonight I danced four times with my Georgie, three with Denny, two with Pratt, and various odd ones with others of my acquaintance. I near fainted away with Georgie in my arms as we danced and looked longingly into each other’s eyes whenever we dared. During the third, he whispered to meet him outside just after tea, and I could hardly contain my excitement. I managed to slip away and ran into the night air, turning into the darkened alley by the side of the inn. A hand grabbed me from the shadows, and I was engulfed in Mr Wickham’s arms. He embraced me so tightly that he took my breath away. I declare George’s slow and sweet kisses put me in such a state of frenzy, from the curls on the crown of my head to the lace edge of my fichu, that I nearly succumbed to a fainting fit. Indeed, he was so worried about my pallid countenance and shallow breathing as I lay motionless in his arms that he was obliged to lay his head on my heart to determine if I still breathed. Thankfully, I was soon revived by his thoughtful actions and could gasp once more, although George insisted on counting my heartbeats for a full five minutes, soothing each quickened pulse with the balm of a tender kiss, before he was completely satisfied. Those kisses still burned at the close of the evening, and I felt that anyone looking at me could see the impression of his lips, like red scars scorched into my flesh as though he had branded me as his own. George Wickham has left his imperceptible mark on me, and I am enslaved! Oh, happy state!

Once in the ballroom again, I was grieved to see that George took great pains to avoid me, preferring to dance with anyone who smiled in his direction and claiming three dances with Miss Westlake (how I have come to detest her), and I thought I should die until I received a sign to let me know I was still his chosen one. It was not until we were going home and were standing at the cloakroom that George surprised me by taking it upon himself to collect my cloak, which he carefully placed about my shoulders and then tied under my chin, brushing his fingers against my throat and behind my ears. I looked wildly about me, for although I was enjoying every sensation far more than I could ever describe, I did not want us to be discovered. Thankfully, his actions seemed to pass unnoticed. I long to caress him again. I cannot wait for tomorrow!

THE NEXT DAY, THE usual party was to be found promenading along the cliff top; Harriet and Henry were leading the way in front, Mr Denny, Mr Pratt, and Mr Chamberlayne followed, leaving Lydia and Mr Wickham to bring up the rear. They had been in Donaldson’s all morning, and as the sun came out from behind a cloud, Lydia remembered that she had left her parasol behind.

“Miss Bennet, will you do anything to get me away from your friends?” he whispered.
“Indeed, Mr Wickham, it is no falsehood,” she answered. “I do not know what has happened to my mind lately; I have turned into more of a scatterbrain than ever I was in my life before. Indeed, my thoughts seem to be preoccupied on other matters and not on those which are necessarily of the moment.”
“Are these other matters or other people, Miss Bennet? In particular, do your thoughts tend to favour many individuals or just one person?”
“Oh,” she cried unable to resist striking him on the arm, “you delight in vexing me, Mr Wickham. I do not understand you.”
“I will escort you to Donaldson’s, Miss Bennet, to retrieve your parasol; you cannot go alone,” he announced loudly in the next breath, for all the company to hear.
“Why, thank you, Mr Wickham. That is most kind,” she answered with as demure an expression as she could.
“Don’t be long,” called Harriet. “We will wait for you at Dr Awsiter’s Baths.”
They rushed away, Lydia heady in Mr Wickham’s company, yet being careful not to gaze into his eyes too often for fear of giving all her feelings away. The parasol was soon found, and they were on the point of leaving when George espied a pair of the most exquisitely carved cameo earrings in a glass topped cabinet, insisted that they should be hers, and bought and paid for them before she had a chance to object to his wild generosity.
“Oh, George, I long to be on our own,” she whispered. “Yet, I feel the chances for us to be alone are so few and far between that I will go distracted before much longer. Thank you for my beautiful earrings, but how will I be able to wear them? I cannot be seen in them whilst I am in Brighton; however would I explain where they came from? Harriet would be sure to notice them for she has been exclaiming after a pair for several weeks without any success from her dear Colonel.”
“I have a plan,” said Mr Wickham when she would allow him to speak. “Will you promise to meet me tomorrow morning, down on the beach at dawn?”
“I cannot think of anything I would like better than to be washed up on the shore with you,” she cried, wanting to catch hold of his hand.
“Will you promise to wear your earrings for me? A mermaid must wear shells in her ears.”
“I do not believe in mermaids, Mr Wickham,” she replied with a smile, “but you should be careful. There may be such a creature by the sea in the morn, one who wishes to entrap you with her charms!”
When he replied, she thought she would faint dead away. “I am yours to entrap, Miss Bennet. Please say that you will meet me tomorrow.”
She nodded in affirmation, too tortured with emotion to speak, and could only find her tongue as they caught up with their friends, who very fortunately regarded them with no more curiosity than was the norm. For this she felt sincerely grateful, yet she felt every look in his direction and every conversation that passed between them must betray her feelings.
Such was her excitement at the prospect of meeting Mr Wickham that Lydia did not sleep at all well and, therefore, it presented no great difficulty for her to rise at dawn, dress, and leave the inn at the appointed hour, after first admiring her reflection in the glass. Her new earrings, screwed onto her ears with care, looked stunningly beautiful, and she thought how pleased George would be to see them.
As she descended the steps, it suddenly occurred to her that, although they had agreed to meet on the beach, they had not suggested any particular place, and as she looked anxiously about her, she realised there was not anyone in sight except for one of the dippers who was opening the door of a bathing machine. Lydia looked out over the sea, as calm as a millpond in the pearly light, and pulled her cloak closer against the chill of the early morning air.
“Have you come for a dip, my love?” the old crone asked. “The water’s lovely today, my dear, just like a bath.” Lydia smiled indulgently at the old lady and looked around for any sign of Mr Wickham but there was not a soul to be seen. “Come, come, my dear, I insist,” the dipper entreated, “just step this way. I must have known you were coming, my dear. Why I’ve just opened the machine.”
Lydia shook her head, but as she did so the old woman stepped forward and, taking her hand, started to pull her up the steps. She felt most frightened and tried to snatch her hand away but then, as the old woman’s voice broke into a laugh, Lydia recognised she could hardly stop from laughing herself. The old crone was none other than her handsome Georgie, dressed in a ragged gown and stout shoes with a shawl wrapped round his head. Before another moment passed, she resisted no longer and allowed herself to be taken up the steps, falling with laughter as she went, tripping herself up and bruising her shins.
As soon as the door was shut, Wickham revealed himself, shedding his old woman’s clothes and they fell into each other’s arms. He showered her with kisses and she would not let him stop despite his poor head being bumped up against the low pitch of the roof.
“Come here,” said Wickham, sitting down on the low bench that ran along one side. “There is not much room. We will have to share the seat, Miss Bennet, and perhaps you could sit on my knee.”
“Thank you, Mr Wickham, you are most kind,” she giggled, removing her cloak before he pulled her gently onto his lap. Then, as he watched, quite clearly bemused by her behaviour, she untied the ribbons of her bonnet with trembling fingers and let it fall to the floor. It felt terribly wicked but completely delicious to be sitting with him in such a manner, feeling the muscles in his legs twitching beneath her, in an effort to keep her from toppling, and she flung her arms round his neck to steady herself.
“There, now you may admire my earrings,” she said and moved her head slowly from side to side, giving him a chance to inspect his gift, knowing that his eyes were captivated by more than the shells in her ears.
“They are the most bewitching picture,” he said and kissed her until she gasped with pleasure. “Miss Bennet, I believe you might just steal my heart.” He stroked her curls and took the pins from her hair, letting her raven tresses tumble through his fingers. “Now you look more like the mermaid of my dreams, quite the most delicious little fish I ever caught.”
She could hardly breathe and was unable to move; he covered her mouth and face with the sweetest kisses, exclaiming after her beauty, as he pecked his way down her soft throat. Lydia felt transfixed with delight, but all was happening so quickly, she thought she might faint dead away. She giggled with sheer pleasure, especially when she thought how diverted Kitty would be when she wrote to tell her all about her escapade. Mr Wickham paused to fix her with a look that took her breath away before he caught the top edge of her muslin sleeve, pulling it down to reveal the creamy white flesh of her shoulder. His lips brushed the bare skin, and she knew she did not want him to stop.
Lydia had not appreciated how much of a natural propensity for shameful conduct and wanton fancy she possessed until she fell in love with George Wickham. She owned she had become a capricious creature, reckless in her habits, and driven quite mad with passion. She was as addicted as a poor soul who craved a draught of laudanum or a bottle of gin. She knew he would lead her to the very devil before he was done with her, but she could only embrace this reflection with an open heart and mind. Her only desire was to inflame him all the more. Lydia laughed out loud at the expression on his face when she declared a wish to go swimming. Abandoning her gown and kicking off her slippers, she jumped into the azure water, like a Venus from the waves, begging him to follow her as he stared in astonishment. She swam as hard as she could and was amused to see him pull off his white shirt and dive in, clad only in his buckskin breeches. The little mermaid was soon caught in his arms, wriggling against him like a little fish, protesting vehemently to be let go but begging him to take hold whenever he threatened to release her. He swam back with her in his arms, mounting the steps two at a time, before he let her go and sprawled across the seat to sit back and observe. Although he scolded her for her depravity, affecting to behave like the perfect gentleman with a stern and disapproving countenance, she quickly observed that he did not turn his back or avert his eyes as she twisted her long mane into a cloth before slowly mopping and drying every last trace of the sea from every iridescent scale and translucent fin. Indeed, when she proffered her damp linen, he was all attention to the task of patting her softly dry, whilst soothing her saltstung, oyster-soft lips with his own.
A sudden pounding on the door made them both jump and then Lydia heard a voice she recognised, a voice clearly in distress.
“Lydia, is that you? Are you in there? Oh, please say that you are!”
As George quickly threw a shawl over his head, Lydia opened the door a tiny crack and discovered Harriet, looking for all the world as though she had lost a fortune. Her face broke into smiles of relief when she saw Lydia, as she explained that she had become worried when she went to call on her at the breakfast hour and had not been able to discover her whereabouts or anyone who knew where she had gone.
“I have just been for an early morning bathe,” Lydia assured her as well as she could, though she was sure she looked flustered and breathless. “I couldn’t sleep; I do not know why I feel so anxious, I declare!”
Harriet expressed her surprise at seeing the old dipper, but Lydia explained that the woman had been assisting her in the lacing of her stays and prayed that Harriet had only just come upon them. It seemed that she had and, after persuading Harriet not to go for a bathe nor to engage the help of the old crone, who made a hasty retreat as soon as “she” could, Lydia insisted that they take a walk along the seashore before returning to the Ship for breakfast.
Inevitably, the lovers’ secret trysts were halted for the present. Lydia was not able to speak to George again that day, nor see him, but she became increasingly concerned when he did not call at all. When she had not seen anything of him for three days together, she was distraught.