Bad Miss Bennet
Authors: Jean Burnett
A
Pride and Prejudice
Novel
JEAN BURNETT
PEGASUS BOOKS
NEW YORK LONDON
Table of Contents
Over a long and interesting career, Jean Burnett has worked in advertising, won prizes for her writing and has travelled the world. She is an expert on all things Jane Austen â especially on what Lydia Bennet did next â¦
To Jane for giving me the spark.
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to the Bristol Women's Writing Group for their continuous support and criticism. Caroline Hogg, editor, read the manuscript and ran with it. Jane Buchanan, local studies librarian in Bath gave invaluable help with research into Regency Bath. Thanks also to my family and friends for their encouragement.
Chapter One
Pemberley, September 1815
Black does not become me: I am convinced it deprives my complexion of all life. I am one of those pale-skinned, chestnut-haired females given to freckling if I venture out in the sun. I suggested to Lizzie that I might wear something in pale grey, perhaps a frilled muslin threaded with a purple velvet ribbon, at dinner this evening. The look of horror on her face rapidly put an end to that idea. Marriage to Mr Darcy has transformed my once outspoken sister into a model of propriety and mysteriously removed her sense of humour.
âHow can you think of going into half-mourning so soon?' she gasped. âThink of the scandal it would cause.' I lowered my eyes so that she could not see the gleam in them at the prospect of a little scandal, anything that would lighten the atmosphere here at Pemberley. Spirits were higher on the battlefield at Waterloo.
âI only thought ⦠my black dress is so drab. I would not want to embarrass you.' I am, naturally, regarded as an embarrassment to the entire family. Miss Georgiana Darcy looks down her long, aristocratic nose at me. I am not fooled by her reputation for sweetness.
âAre you
quite
comfortable in your rooms, Mrs Wickham? We all feel
deeply
for your loss, Mrs Wickham.' She sneers elegantly at my poor apparel, as if I did not know of her previous entanglement with my late, unlamented spouse. If only Wickham had successfully enticed her away and married her. I would not then have attached myself to him. I might have set my cap at a wealthier and less indifferent officer.
I loved him once. He was my handsome hero for a while, until I realised that money was the only thing he cared about. I can hear his voice still.
âI bought you, my dear. Ten thousand pounds if I would make an honest woman of you.' Except that I am no longer honest. Wickham saw to that. These thoughts tumbled through my brain as Lizzie patted my arm awkwardly.
âYou need not worry about anything, Lydia dear, while you are under this roof â least of all your wardrobe.' I smiled gratefully as she left the room. Peering out of the window, I saw my brother-in-law riding up to the house. I must contrive to meet him alone so that I may persuade him to make me a small allowance. Then I might retire to the continent and begin to live. Paris! Paris is calling to me like a siren song. If I could live in the city of amour and splendour among all the nations gathered there, what opportunities might I find? The number of officers gathered in that wonderful place is unimaginable.
Naturally, I shall suggest Calais to Darcy. I hope that the prospect of being rid of me will be an inducement. I need only a little time to work my feminine wiles upon him, although he is not an easy subject. His eyes bulge slightly when he looks at me, but this may be due to exasperation rather than to any other sentiment.
Now I must go to the salon to admire my infant nephew, Charles Fitzwilliam, the heir and pride of Pemberley. Yesterday, when I held the child for a moment the little wretch spewed all over my black dyed tussore, the only respectable mourning gown I possess. I shall prevail upon Lizzie to lend me her black silk with the lace trim and the treble flounce. It is the least she can do in the circumstances. I swear the housekeeper is better dressed than my poor self.
I have been sorely tried since I arrived here a mere seven days ago. I had barely settled before I was being quizzed by Darcy as to the whereabouts of my husband's corpse, his final resting place.
âWhere have you buried him?' he demanded. His eyes bulged on that occasion too. Perhaps it is a family trait.
âI will be happy to give you a full account of my grievous trials and the whereabouts of my poor husband's body,' I replied. With hindsight, the dazzling smile I bestowed on him was not wise in the circumstances, but at least I had the forethought to bury Wickham in Brussels, saving the family additional expense and inconvenience.
Thus I find myself in this predicament: homeless, lacking in personal possessions, and with nothing but an army pension scarcely sufficient to keep a mouse in cheese. Of course, I told everyone that my husband died a hero's death. My brother-in-law looked unconvinced, as far as one can detect any expression on his face.
In fact, my husband was ingloriously trampled upon by his own horse, its reins having become entangled around his scabbard. These details were given to me by an eyewitness. I am only surprised that he had not gambled the beast away before the battle.
Ah, Waterloo â or rather, the eve of Waterloo. The glory, the dancing, the excitement! Of course, I know the loss of life was dreadful, and we were all in the most appalling state of fear and shock afterwards, but it was all so â¦
thrilling
.
The Duchess of Richmond's Grand Ball was the most marvellous and magical event of my life thus far. I cannot imagine anything greater happening to me unless I can contrive to be presented at court. I know the Prince Regent always has an eye for a pretty woman and now that he has grown tired of Mrs Fitzherbert, that other widow, I might have a chance. But I digress.
The first thrill was in actually obtaining a ticket for the ball. In the normal way we would never have been invited, but during that week Wickham was experiencing one of his rare runs of luck at the card tables. The invitation was accepted from another officer in the 5th Inniskillen Dragoon Guards who could not pay his gambling debt to my husband.
It was extraordinary, I recollect, because I had also been modestly successful at cards so that I was able to purchase the lilac silk gauze gown with deep lace border, and dark blue velvet cape, that were so much admired at the ball. Wellington himself was heard to remark, âWho is that pretty little thing?' before returning to the arms of silly Lady Frances Wedderburn-Webster. Men say she is alluring but I cannot see it myself.
I am aware that we should have spent the money on clearing some of our debts but such an opportunity occurs only once in a lifetime.
It is true that the gowns of the ladies were completely overshadowed by the red coats and magnificence of the men in uniform, but I was very satisfied with my appearance, despite the excessive heat in the ballroom.
How wonderful, how glittering were the surroundings and the company on that night. When I think of the occasions when we danced cotillions at the assemblies in Meryton, I am filled with shame that I ever thought them elegant, or the company anything other than dreary clodhoppers of the most parochial kind.
My dance card was filled all evening and I barely saw Wickham who was occupied with gaming in one of the ante rooms, to our mutual satisfaction. The Prince of Orange actually asked me to dance. I cannot describe my feelings at that moment. I was quite transported with joy. He had mistaken me for the wife of a General. Nevertheless, he was most gracious.
Entertainment was provided by Scottish dancers from the Highland regiments dancing merry reels to the sound of the pipes. The atmosphere of gaiety was, I suppose, tinged with desperation. So many of those gallant officers would be lost in a few hours or days. However, I had only Wickham to lose and that would be a blessing to both of us. I think my husband was ill at ease with himself and bitter with lost hopes and thwarted desires. For myself, I had spent three years learning the truth of the old adage, âMarry in haste, repent at leisure.'
Despite the splendour of the evening it ended all too soon as groups of officers departed to take up their battle positions and the duke himself left the ballroom.
When we emerged into the splendid Grand Place in Brussels just before dawn the anticipation was almost tangible. The shouts of the soldiers and the beat of the drums mingled with the sound of trumpets and the wailing of the Scottish pipes. Women cried out from nearby houses as the men prepared to leave, news having come of Napoleon's advance. I bade farewell to Wickham who was in a strange mood, defiant and resigned simultaneously. He was even prevailed upon to give me what remained of his winnings.
âIt's all up with us, my dear,' he told me. âThe little emperor is nearby with a huge force.' He kissed my cheek and rode away to Quatre Bras. I, however, had every faith in Wellington. He would see us through.
And so, after the bloodshed and dust of battle, the burying of the dead and the final farewells, I returned to Pemberley trailing widow's weeds and anticipating Paris. You must not think me hard and unfeeling, dear reader. I mourned the loss of life at Waterloo as we all did. I would not have wished Wickham dead. But I could not help being glad that we would not meet again.
Naturally, my family disagreed with my plans.
