Lydia Bennet's Story (9 page)

Monday, June 14th
I am at a loss as to describe my feelings for the Captain. Whilst it has to be said that I am flattered by his attentions and declarations for the most part, I cannot say the same for his caresses. It is all so disappointing. Far from being transported like a romantic heroine to the very brink of ecstasy, every encounter with my ardent beau leaves me feeling sick! His kisses have less charm than if I was slobbered over by a codfish! His very touch makes me shiver like Hill’s jellies on the pantry shelf! It does not make any sense—he is a well looking fellow; why do I hate it when he comes anywhere near me?

I had the most awful trouble concealing the Captain’s love token from prying eyes and removed it from my neck as soon as I could. Hiding it was my first thought and a most delicate operation, but it is now secreted amongst my linens. I do not want Harriet to see it and have all the attention that such a discovery might make. There will be talk of engagements and wedding plans, and I cannot endure such teasing.

I do not know how to proceed and am unable to imagine what ails me! I would be a simpleton if I did not encourage him. If I can only ignore my feelings and think about the prize, a chance to be married to a rich man, I am sure it will work out for the best. He admires me very much, I am certain. He has told me he loves me and no one has ever said that, except perhaps mama. Papa shows me little affection and he has never been demonstrative; at least the Captain can’t wait to kiss me! That he is within a hair’s breadth of proposing I have no doubt and, with a little more encouragement, I am convinced of my efforts to secure him! Oh, I am sure I can fancy myself in love if I can just believe it. More effort is required—I recall papa’s constant entreaties—but I never thought I should take such notice!

Saturday, June 19th
A day which held so much promise and started out so well has turned out to be so horrid I hardly know where to begin.

The whole of Brighton turned out for the races; there was such a spectacle, so many red and bluecoats, and the Royal party in their boxes. Before the races began, there were all sorts of hilarious diversions, pony racing, donkey racing, and even running races. Many handsome ladies were applied to for joining in the fun and I was one of them! I chose to ride like a man, while the prissy misses struggled along, sitting side saddle, which had them constantly falling down. I have never ridden so fast in my life, and I swear the entire race ground cheered my name, urging me on. My pretty little donkey brought me home victorious, and at the finish, the Captain was there to rein in my four-legged friend. He and his handsome friends carried me about on their shoulders up to the Royal Box; I was so admired and everyone applauded. The Prince, who clutched my hand for such a time I declare he forgot he was holding it, told me how much the sight of my vigorous riding had cheered him. He is such a kind gentleman, and Mrs Fitzherbert is elegance itself.

The horses then made their appearance on the horseshoe track, bets were placed, fortunes won and lost, wine and porter flowed, and the entire company was all very merry. As the last races were running, the Captain bade me join him to cheer on the Prince’s horses he had trained. He placed several bets on my behalf, and we watched his geldings win each race with great excitement. At once a crowd surrounded us, he was taken, lifted high above everyone’s heads, and carried off. Just as I was enjoying the moment, aware that everyone’s eyes were employed in the direction of the Captain’s curricle and hence on myself, my attention was caught by the vision of one who was not attending me, one whom I know well, who was engaged in what appeared to be outrageous flirtation. Anyone could see that the recipient of his attentions was observing him with what I can only describe as a look of pure adoration. Mr Wickham was gazing into the eyes of Miss Westlake; he had her hand in his and was raising it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips then leaned forward to whisper something into her hair.

The day was very hot, and suddenly, I felt quite overwhelmed by the heat, though I cannot account for why I felt so unexpectedly out of sorts. A tiresome headache plagued me, throbbing in my temples, to put me quite out of humour. The Captain was entirely taken up with his friends, Harriet and her Colonel had disappeared, there was no one for me to even sit or have a conversation with; everyone was occupied with their own amusements.

The evening was no better; the Captain declared that I owed him more than a little civility for being so generous with his money, and when he turned his attentions to another young lady, I can only say I was relieved to see him go! I cannot ever remember such a tedious day and I am sorely vexed!

Sunday, June 27th
I am still unable to rally—nothing and nobody can amuse me. Everyone and everything is intolerably dull and stupid. Captain Trayton-Camfield bored me senseless at Promenade Grove this evening; his behaviour, though attentive, is lacklustre and dreary. Mr Wickham seemed diverted enough in the company of

Miss Westlake, who gazes at him with complete admiration and unerring devotion. Thankfully, they disappeared before the evening was over; I could not bear to watch them staring into one another’s eyes a moment longer. Mr Wickham seems completely unaware of anything or anyone else; he has no manners and hers are even worse. I should hate to have him fawning over me like a lovesick puppy. Lord! If I should ever carry on in such a way, I would be ashamed of myself. Ugh! I am reminded of a certain pawing Captain who I wish would go to the other ends of the earth and take his curricle with him!

It is my birthday tomorrow, and we shall be attending the assembly ball at the Castle Tavern. I have a mind to dance with Denny all night. Mr Wickham will have to beg if he wishes to step out with me!

Tuesday, June 29th
I gloried in my popularity last night, as all my favoured beaux and many more besides declared a wish to dance with the birthday girl. I received good wishes and tokens from all my friends but one. Mr Wickham was not in attendance at the ball. He sent no excuses or pardons, no birthday greetings or felicitations.

There is to be a dreary card party tomorrow evening, but I do not know if I shall go—I grow weary of my devoted beau who appears to find the society of others as interesting as my own company. I declare I have quite given up on young men. Gallants of old, such as one reads of in Miss Burney’s books, are knights of the past. Indeed, my sister Kitty and I are of the same opinion: True gentlemen are becoming such a rarity that, if Catherine and I were ever to be solicited for our hands in marriage, I daresay we would refuse outright unless the intended could prove his undying love and proffer a book full of gentlemanly accomplishments.

BY THE END OF the week Lydia’s humour had improved enough to enjoy some shopping in St James’s Street with Harriet. She was determined to spend her winnings on some well-chosen purchases, and so she set off with a light heart.

Their first port of call was the pastry cook’s on the corner, where they stopped for a cup of chocolate and a delicious pastry. They sat in the window, which afforded a wonderful spot for observation of the passing world in the shape of the citizens of Brighton, young and old, rich and poor. They laughed at the poor wretches who struggled up the street against the wind, which whipped in off the sea, exposing pretty ankles and gouty legs alike.

Clutching their bonnets tightly, they made a tour of the shops. At the linendraper’s they found some lovely silk, just fit for a ball gown, and a coloured muslin with a small red spot at three shillings and sixpence, which was considered a great bargain. Lydia bought stockings, three pairs for twelve shillings, but Harriet bought silk stockings at twelve shillings for a single pair—extravagance indeed! Lydia was expressing a desire to look at some gloves when a familiar voice declared he would like to be of assistance in her choice of a new pair.

I ask what brings you to town?”
“It would seem we are in pursuit of the same objects of
desire. A pair of new gloves is my requirement.”
Lydia refused to meet his eyes, though she felt them
observing her closely. The memory of him encountering her
with the Captain in the dim grove came rushing forth and all
she wanted to do was run away.
“Come, Miss Bennet,” Mr Wickham said, “let us see if we
may find our heart’s fancy.”
Taking her arm, he marched her into the shop before she had
a chance to protest and stood at her side, calling to the shopkeeper
who laid out several pairs for their perusal. The sight of such
achingly beautiful gloves was wholly engrossing, and though Lydia
would have liked to remain feeling cross with Mr Wickham, she
soon forgot quite how vexed she was with her attentive
companion. Despite herself, she was very pleased to see him again. “I will leave you a moment, Lydia. I am badly in need of
evening gloves and I think I see just what I want,” said Harriet,
before she moved to the counter opposite.
“They are all so fine,” Lydia sighed, hardly attending to her
friend who had already left them, “but I cannot help admiring
the York tan which are heavenly. What do you think, Mr
Wickham?” She picked them up and sighed over the soft leather,
which was the perfect hue and so fashionable.
George Wickham glanced over his shoulder, and seeing that
her friend was occupied on the other side of the shop with kid
gloves for the ballroom, he turned to whisper in her ear. “Let it
be my treat, Miss Bennet. I had a good run on the cards last night,
and besides, I would wish you and I to be friends once more,” he
said, taking her tiny hand and unbuttoning her old, worn glove
before he carefully and deliberately removed each leather finger,
as she looked on aghast. He held her fingers between his own
large palms, turning them one way and then the other, as if to
gauge their size, before picking up the most expensive pair and
instructing her to try them on. His hands were cold, and the
touch of his long tapered fingers interlaced with hers, quickened
her breath and rendered her quite insensible.
“Oh, Mr Wickham, it is too generous; I cannot accept your
money. It would be quite wrong,” she stammered as she fumbled
to try them on, relieved to be out of his grasp, which had such a
disturbing effect on her senses. The exquisite gloves were so irresistible, perhaps she would just see how they fitted; after all, she
could purchase them herself if need be. She did not have to
accept his money.
“They fit perfectly,” he said, taking both of her hands in his
own. He held them and stroked the leather across her palms with
his strong thumbs, making Lydia jump before she snatched her
fingers away from his firm hold. She was bewildered by his behaviour and found herself to be uncharacteristically speechless. Before
she had a chance to remove them, Wickham had reached for his
purse and paid for the gloves. Lydia knew she should have stopped
him, but they were so lovely; she wanted them to be hers so much,
and she felt a certain thrill that he had wanted to pay for them. “Mr Wickham, I cannot thank you enough,” she exclaimed.
“They are beautiful!”
“Yes,” he said, staring at her with an earnest expression. She could not look into his eyes, which seemed to see into her
very soul, and so stared down at her hands, which were trembling. He lifted her chin with his finger, so that she was forced to
meet his gaze once more, and looking at her intently whispered, “Beautiful!”
Lydia blushed, her cheeks burning as red as the lobsters they
had seen in the fish shop that afternoon. “I do not know what to
say, ‘thank you’ seems such an inadequate expression,” she faltered. “It is enough to see your face and the pleasure they so clearly
give you.” He lowered his voice. “You need not say anything to
Harriet; this will be our little secret.”
The gloves were boxed and beribboned, he presented them
with a bow and was on the point of addressing her again when
Harriet returned, having selected her evening gloves. Thus satisfied with their purchases, they left the shop. They stood outside
for a moment. Lydia asked if he would like to accompany them
some more but was instantly disappointed. Mr Wickham immediately took his leave, saying he was to meet a friend down by
the seashore. Harriet suggested a walk in the other direction
much to Lydia’s frustration, as she was longing to know exactly
whom he might be meeting. She wondered if it could be Miss
Westlake and imagined what they might do to amuse themselves. No doubt Miss Westlake would contrive some opportunity for them to be thrown together—in a donkey carriage
perhaps? As Lydia mused on the possibilities and half attended
to her companion’s conversation, she reflected on what had just passed at the glove-makers. She was thrilled with her purchase, but she was most disturbed by Mr Wickham’s manners. Thinking on it, she had been rather pleased to see him leave them; she could not explain it, but whenever she saw that gentleman lately, she did not quite know how to act or behave and it was a most unsettling feeling.

Wednesday, July 7th
Much to my relief, the Captain has not called. I happened to hear Mr Denny say that he had seen him driving out of Brighton very fast in his curricle this afternoon and had overheard his friends say he has gone to London on important business. I cannot say I feel at all anxious for his return!