Chapter 12

Twelve

After a most trying day arbitrating a lengthy and tedious dispute amongst his tenants—one which might have been prevented had he not spent so much time galivanting about after the concerns of his wayward daughters—Bennet was exhausted and ready for solitude. He could not stomach anything to eat, much less the company he would be forced to endure with his meal, and so retired immediately to his chambers upon finally returning to Longbourn. He managed to pen Mrs Bennet a note reassuring her that he was not yet inclined to shuffle of this mortal coil and thus she need not kick up a fuss on his behalf before donning his nightshirt and going directly to bed.

The following morning, he woke earlier than his usual wont, no doubt due to the extra hours spent in repose the evening before. There was still an ache in his hip and a slight pounding in his head, but he was rested enough to face the day.

He dressed quickly and ventured downstairs to his book-room. Upon crossing the threshold, he stopped short. "Mary, Kitty, what do you do here?"

Both girls turned at his entrance and he noted signs of strain upon their features. It was Mary who spoke first. "We needed to speak to you on a matter which cannot be delayed. Since you were unwell last evening, we decided to wait for you to wake this morning."

Bennet waved his hand towards the pair of chairs placed before his desk and took his customary seat behind it. "What is the matter?"

It was Kitty who answered him. "It is about Lydia and Mr Wickham. They are up to no good."

Sighing, Bennet sank more deeply into his chair. He ought to have suspected as much. "What have they done this time?"

"It is not about what they have done," continued Kitty, "more about what they are intending to do. I suppose they have done a bit of something already, but Lizzy managed to pour tea upon Mr Wickham, and then Mr Darcy was there to look after her for the rest of the evening, and Lydia?—"

Bennet held his hands aloft in a pacifying gesture. "Kitty, my dear, I do not understand you. What has Wickham done? Or not done, rather, that has got you so upset."

Mary took over for her younger sister and, in her concise style, managed to convey the problem with more clarity. She recited the facts of the case, including Lydia's declaration of intent to Kitty and Wickham's untoward behaviour to Elizabeth the day before; by the end of her speech, Bennet was thoroughly ready to throttle the couple. I never should have allowed them to visit Longbourn, no matter how much my wife begged. They have brought nothing but trouble with them.

"Girls, I thank you for making me aware of these events. I assure you that I will address the problem."

Mary and Kitty exchanged glances and, simultaneously, exhaled with visible relief. He sent them on their way and soon had the dubious pleasure of hearing Kitty's amateur attempts at the pianoforte drifting into his sanctum from down the hall.

Bennet listened to his daughters' collaborative efforts distractedly as he pondered his next steps. The Wickhams had to go, that much was certain, but it would cause a mighty furore in the household. Lydia, of course, would object, but so would Mrs Bennet. He did not know or care for Wickham's opinion on being ousted, but he had Mr Hill, the stableboy, and a footman to deal with him if necessary. As little as he looked forward to yet another day of strife, it was the only way. The Wickhams would be sent on their way to Newcastle as soon as a carriage could be hired to take them.

The most bothersome aspect would be dealing with Darcy. Bennet had no doubt that his future son-in-law was champing at the bit to dislodge the Wickhams from their lives, and chafing at his own lack of authority to do so. He could not simply dismiss guests from someone else's estate, after all, though he would surely try if he thought he might get away with it. The man was all officiousness and apparently inclined to arrange the affairs of others when it suited him.

Removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes, Bennet banished the lingering bitterness he felt over Darcy's prowess. It was not the younger man's fault that Bennet's daughters required the occasional rescue from their own mistakes—it was his own. The person he was most angry with, if he were to be completely honest, was himself. He had patronised and ignored Elizabeth when she had offered him her dire predictions of Lydia's inevitable infamy. He had failed to set proper boundaries for his children. He had allowed his silly wife to fill their heads with nonsense about catching a husband at any cost. Look at where it had got him.

Bennet rested his head against the back of his chair and blinked away the spots dancing before his vision. At least with Elizabeth, he had managed to rectify some of his errors. It was far too late for Lydia, but then it was probably already far too late once he allowed Mrs Bennet to bring her out at such a tender age. It had not seemed a great matter at the time, what with four other daughters out already, but he should have seen that Lydia lacked the maturity for society. She was nought but a spoilt child, remained one still, and he had overlooked it for his own convenience. Now she was married to a man as selfish and unprincipled as she and Bennet did not know what would become of them.

Regardless, he would no longer risk the welfare of the rest of his family in order to indulge Lydia's hedonistic whims. He would do what he must, what he threatened to do in London, and cast her out. She was now Wickham's responsibility and, for Lydia's sake, Bennet hoped they could manage some semblance of respectability. He loved his youngest child and it pained him to do it, but send her off he must in order to protect the rest.