17. Chapter Seventeen

George Wickham stood seething, his eyes narrowed as he watched the Bingley carriage rumble away from Meryton. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of Elizabeth Bennet, her delicate features marred by a frown as she regarded him. He raised a hand in farewell, a disingenuous smile plastered across his handsome face, but Elizabeth had already turned away.

The carriage rounded the bend and disappeared from sight. Wickham's false smile instantly vanished, replaced by a scowl. That insufferable, meddlesome girl! He paced back and forth, his boots squelching in the muddy road.

"Thinks herself so very clever," he muttered under his breath. "Always poking her pert little nose where it doesn't belong."

His schemes had come to naught, his careful plans turned to ash and cinder. And there was no one to blame but Elizabeth Bennet. Her and her blasted family had upended everything!

Wickham kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the drive. Anne de Bourgh, that sickly, simple-minded creature - she would have been an easy enough conquest, if not for Elizabeth's interference, and Wickham would have been rich beyond even his wildest dreams, the master of Rosings Park.

"Fool," Wickham spat. "Bloody, buggering fool."

He thrust his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing against a few meagre coins - all that remained of the money he had bilked from his latest mark. It would not last long, not with his expensive tastes and mounting debts.

He needed a new plan, and quickly. But who? Wickham's mind turned to another prospect - Caroline Bingley. With her dowry of twenty thousand pounds, she would make a fine catch indeed, and with her brother away on his wedding trip, she was protected at Netherfield only by that drunken sot Hurst.

But even as he considered it, Wickham dismissed the idea with a frown. Miss Bingley was no fool. She had made her disdain for him quite clear during their brief acquaintance, her sharp eyes seeming to pierce right through his charming fa?ade. She had very nearly given him the cut direct the one time he had asked her for a dance, at Lucas Lodge.

No, he would have to look elsewhere. Perhaps among the shop girls in Meryton...

Wickham shook his head, disgusted with himself. What was he thinking? Dallying with servant girls when he had a chance at something so much better?

A giggle made him turn his head, and a slow smile dawned on his face. Yes. Yes, that one would be perfect. Young, na?ve, and utterly infatuated with him. It would be child's play to seduce her, to convince her to throw herself into his arms and beg him to elope. With her eldest sister married to Bingley, there was money to be had. Even if she technically had little dowry herself, Bingley would pay well to save his wife's sister from disgrace.

And if the chit proved too tiresome, well...there were ways to be rid of an unwanted wife.

A cold smile curved Wickham's lips as he contemplated his scheme. Yes, Lydia Bennet would do very nicely indeed. And if it just so happened to crush Elizabeth's tender heart in the process, so much the better.

She had rejected him, scorned his advances and thwarted his plans. Now she would pay the price for her folly. One way or another, George Wickham always got what he wanted.

With renewed determination, Wickham set about orchestrating supposedly chance encounters with Lydia in Meryton. At her aunt"s, the milliner's, even on her daily walks - he always seemed to materialize at her side, ready with a charming quip or a roguish wink that never failed to set the girl giggling.

"Why, Mr. Wickham!" Lydia exclaimed in delight as he appeared beside her on the path one morning. "What a pleasant surprise! I had no idea you frequented this path."

"Indeed, I do not usually," he replied smoothly, taking her gloved hand and brushing a gallant kiss across her knuckles. "But I confess, the temptation to see your lovely face again drew me here as if by magnetic force. I simply could not stay away."

Lydia blushed and tittered, clearly thrilled by his bold flattery. "Oh, Mr. Wickham, you do say the most charming things! I declare, you shall quite turn my head with your silver tongue."

"Ah, but it is you who have turned mine," Wickham murmured, gazing deep into her eyes with feigned adoration. "From the moment I first beheld you, I knew my heart would never be free again. You have bewitched me, body and soul, sweet Lydia."

Her eyes widened, her breath quickening at his passionate words. "I... I hardly know what to say! No one has ever spoken to me thus. Do you truly mean it?"

"With every fibre of my being," he vowed, lying through his teeth with expert ease. "I know I have no right, that I am far beneath you in every way. But I cannot help how I feel. You are the only woman I could ever love, my dearest, loveliest Lydia."

Overwhelmed, she swayed towards him, and he caught her in his arms, pulling her close. She melted against him, putty in his hands, just as he'd known she would be.

Wickham hid his triumphant smirk in her hair, already envisioning the delights that awaited him - both sensual and financial. Lydia Bennet was his, and through her, he would have his vengeance on Elizabeth at last.

As the days passed, Wickham drew Lydia further into his web, meeting her in secret as often as he dared. With honeyed words and ardent looks, he worked to make himself the centre of her world, the sole recipient of her confidences and affections.

"Oh Wickham, you are the only one who truly understands me," Lydia sighed one afternoon as they strolled arm-in-arm along a secluded path, well away from prying eyes. "My sisters think me silly and frivolous. They do not see me as you do."

"Fret not, my darling," he soothed, patting her hand. "They are blind to your charms, your vivacity, your singular loveliness. In truth, I pity them their ignorance. But their loss is my gain, for it means I have you all to myself." He bestowed upon her a heated look.

Lydia flushed prettily, leaning into his side. "You say the most wonderful things. I hardly know how I shall bear to be parted from you, even for a day!"

"It is a wrench to my very soul each time we must say adieu," Wickham declared feelingly, though inwardly he chafed at the clinging neediness that was already beginning to grate. Still, he knew he must string her along until his plans came to fruition. "If only there was a way we could be together always, with no one to censure or interfere..."

He gazed at her with fabricated longing, and she quivered like an arrow questing for its target, ready to be loosed into flight. "Oh Wickham..."

"Shhh, do not fret, sweetling. I will find a way for us, I swear it. No matter the obstacles, our love will conquer all in the end. Trust in me..."

A rustle in the bushes startled them from their intimate exchange. Wickham's head snapped toward the sound, eyes narrowing. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Sheepishly, Kitty emerged, twigs snagging in her hair. "Lydia? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Kitty!" Lydia shrieked. "Have you been spying on us? How dare you!"

Wickham placed a soothing hand on Lydia's arm. "Peace, my dear. I'm sure your sister meant no harm." He fixed Kitty with a warning look. "But I trust she will keep our private conversations just that—private."

Kitty nodded vigorously. "Of course! I swear, I shan't breathe a word!"

Lydia huffed. "You had better not, or I shall never confide in you again!" She turned imploring eyes on Wickham. "Fear not, my love. Kitty may be a frightful snoop, but she knows better than to cross me."

"I'm sure that's true," Wickham agreed, though suspicion still lurked in his gaze as he watched Kitty's retreat. Once she had gone, he drew Lydia close again, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, I was just about to suggest something delightfully scandalous..."

Lydia shivered in anticipation. "Yes? Tell me!"

A wicked smile curved his lips. "What if we didn't wait for anyone's approval? What if we simply... eloped?"

Lydia gasped. "Elope? Truly? But... wouldn't that be terribly wicked?"

"More like terribly romantic," he countered smoothly. "Think of it, Lydia! Stealing away into the night, just the two of us... A secret ceremony at Gretna Green and a cosy honeymoon cottage, with no one to criticize or chaperone. Only our love to keep us warm."

Lydia's eyes glazed over dreamily. "Oh my... it does sound frightfully tempting..." She bit her lip, then launched herself at him. "Yes, Wickham, yes! Let's do it, let's elope! I cannot bear another moment apart from you!"

Wickham caught her, chuckling at her enthusiasm. "That's my girl," he praised, mind racing ahead. He would have to plan this carefully, but his trap had been set now. Lydia would soon be his, and through her, the Bennet family"s respectability and whatever fortune he could gouge from Bingley. All that remained was to play his part convincingly.

He sealed his triumph with a kiss, as Lydia giggled giddily against his mouth, already lost in visions of their future, unaware that he plotted her downfall even as he held her in his arms.

Charlotte Bennet sat at her writing-desk, reading over again her latest letters, and smiling. Mary had returned to London with the Gardiners after the wedding, and had found, much to her surprise, that a young doctor in the circle of their acquaintance had missed her a good deal while she was away. Charlotte suspected a visit from the young man to Mr. Bennet, to ask his permission to court Mary, might be imminent, and she could not be happier. What a good thing Mary had decided to decline Mr. Collins!

The second letter, lying beside Mary's, was from Elizabeth. Although Elizabeth was enjoying Bath in Jane and Mr. Bingley's company - and reading between the lines, had found herself very popular among the eligible bachelors - there were hints in the letter that Elizabeth was feeling restless, finding something missing in her life. Thinking of the way that Mr. Darcy had stared at Elizabeth during the wedding, and indeed the way Elizabeth had constantly sneaked glances back at him, Charlotte suspected she knew what the problem was.

With a sigh, Charlotte set the letters aside. It was too late to begin her replies tonight; she would write back to both stepdaughters tomorrow. Closing her writing-desk, she popped her head into Mr. Bennet's study to bid her husband a good night before proceeding above stairs to her bedroom.

As she prepared for bed, Charlotte could not shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Lydia had been acting strangely of late, giggling and whispering with Kitty in corners, falling silent whenever Charlotte entered the room. At first she had dismissed it as mere high spirits, but now a sense of unease pricked at her. The sooner those two went back to school, the better, Charlotte thought to herself. She had done her best with them, but Lydia was difficult and stubborn, and frankly quite stupid. No matter what Charlotte tried to teach her, Lydia seemed determined to do whatever she pleased, heedless to the consequences to herself or others.

A knock sounded at the door, startling Charlotte. "Come in," she called, hastily composing her features.

Kitty poked her head in, eyes wide and worried. "Stepmama, I must speak with you urgently," she said in a rush. "It's about Lydia."

Charlotte's heart sank as Kitty spilled out the whole sordid tale - the secret meetings, the love letters, the whispered endearments. How Wickham had charmed Lydia with flattery and kisses, filling her head with romantic notions.

"I tried to stop her, truly I did!" Kitty wrung her hands. "But she wouldn't listen. And now..." She swallowed hard. "Now I fear she means to do something foolish. I overheard her telling Maria that she planned to elope!"

"Elope?" Charlotte echoed, aghast. "Is the girl mad? He'll ruin her!"

"Oh Charlotte, what do we do?" Kitty looked on the verge of tears. "I couldn't bear it if any harm came to her!"

Charlotte rose from her vanity, a determined set to her jaw. "Kitty, I need you to tell me everything you know about their plans. Where are they meeting? What time?"

Kitty scrunched her face, trying to recall the details. "I believe she said something about the old oak tree near Netherfield. And she is already gone… she slipped out through the French doors in the parlour just minutes ago. I came straight to find you."

"She would have to walk the whole way. We have time." Charlotte glanced at the clock on her mantel, thinking furiously. That old oak was exactly where Wickham had waited for Anne de Bourgh… the man was nothing if not predictable.

"But what will you do?" Kitty asked anxiously.

"We will stop this foolishness before it goes any further." Charlotte's tone brooked no argument. "Now run downstairs and go find John Coachman. Tell him to get the carriage ready, as quick as he can."

Kitty nodded before running from the room, obviously eager to have been of use. Charlotte could have wished Kitty had come to her sooner, before the situation got this far, but she would not reproach Kitty now. At least, not if they were in time to stop Lydia and Wickham.

Charlotte allowed herself one brief moment to close her eyes and gather her courage. Then she straightened her spine and went to fetch her husband. She would need his help, loathe though she was to involve him.

In no time at all, the carriage had been readied and Charlotte clutched her pelisse tightly around her as they rattled along the moonlit lanes towards Netherfield. Kitty sat beside her, trembling in every limb. Charlotte had told her to go to bed, but Kitty begged to come, and in the end Charlotte relented.

Mr. Bennet sat opposite them, grim-faced and silent. He had said but little as Charlotte hastily explained the situation, only nodding in agreement to her plan.

Charlotte's mind raced as she stared unseeingly out the window. How could Lydia be so foolish, so headstrong? Did she not realize the ruin she courted in running off with the likes of Wickham? The damage to her reputation would be irreparable.

"I cannot believe Lydia would be so reckless," she murmured, wringing her gloved hands in agitation. "What can she be thinking?"

Mr. Bennet sighed heavily. "She is not thinking at all, my dear."

"We must stop her," Charlotte said firmly. "She is too young, too na?ve to comprehend the gravity of her actions."

"And if we cannot? If she refuses to listen to reason and has already thrown her lot in with that blackguard Wickham?"

Charlotte heard the unspoken fear in her husband's voice. The spectre of a forced marriage loomed, of Lydia shackled for life to a dissolute wastrel. The scandal and gossip that would ensue did not bear thinking on.

She reached over to clasp his hand. "We will make her listen," she vowed. "Whatever it takes. I will not see Lydia ruined. Not while there is breath in my body."

Mr. Bennet lifted her hand to his lips and Charlotte felt the warmth of his love and gratitude flow through her. She knew he blamed himself for not keeping a closer watch on Lydia, for not curtailing her wild behaviour before it had come to this. She longed to reassure him, to ease the burden of guilt weighing so heavily upon his shoulders, but the words stuck in her throat.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears and recriminations. Charlotte forced herself to take a deep breath, to focus on the task at hand. They must find Lydia, must stop her from making a mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her days.