Lady of Quality

By Blair

Prologue

Posted on Friday, 5 August 2005

It had been four years since her marriage and those long four years had wrought a great change in her life and disposition. No longer a silly girl of sixteen, Lydia Wickham had become a mature and sensible woman of twenty. However, her newly gained maturity had come at a heavy price for her- indeed, a price, which she had never foreseen paying in the first place. Should any of her family members have been informed of the great change in her character, they would have surely been astonished. Yet, their astonishment was prevented for the sole reason that they had not been in contact with Lydia for over the span of two years.

When Lydia had first married George Wickham, she had been a naďve girl of only sixteen. Brash, loud, insensitive, lacking in elegance or refinement, she had indeed been greatly influenced by her mother. Despite all of beliefs in her experience and maturity, she had succumbed to the charms of one Mr. Wickham. Gratified by his attentions to her at Brighton, she had fallen prey to his words of love and promises of eternal devotion. Thus, Wickham had found the task of convincing her to elope quite easy. Indeed, it had never occurred to Lydia that he had any dishonorable intentions; she had always firmly believed in his desire of marriage to her.

Those beliefs of his love for her had dissolved merely six months after their marriage. Lydia was quickly made aware of the true character of her husband. And, even the then seventeen year old Lydia found the character to be truly repulsive. She realized that he had never even loved her. No, she had been only a conquest for him. After a year into their marriage, when Wickham began failing to come to their home at nights, Lydia unflinchingly realized that his absence meant that he had taken a mistress. Despite her many flaws, she had never been one to use euphemisms in an attempt to disguise the truth. In all honesty, Lydia found his absence rather welcoming. At least, she was no longer forced to bear his drunken behavior. And, Wickham frequently indulged in his drinking habits. Lydia was forced to ironically acknowledge that, while they often lacked the funds to provide for adequate meals, Wickham never failed to acquire funding for his amusements. It must be said that the Wickhams did often lack money. Between his gambling and drinking, Lydia felt that there was never sufficient money for her to run the household. In the first year and a half of her marriage, Lydia had frequently written to her elder sisters, imploring them for money, which they always did send. Once in desperation, she had even asked Elizabeth if Mr. Darcy could find a position for Wickham, for Wickham was once again unemployed. Though she knew of Mr. Darcy's dislike of her husband, she was desperate for aid. However, after the first year and a half of her marriage, the letters asking for money stopped. Reading between the lines of her elder sisters' letters, she became aware of their annoyance. Then, her pride prevented her from asking again, though desperation often filled her and she wished that she could. Actually, Lydia ceased all contact with her family members, even her Mama and Kitty. Without her sisters' assistance, the Wickhams fell into an abject poverty. It often seemed to Lydia that they were forever on the run from debtors. She couldn't even recall the number of times that she was forced to move from house to house, searching for an escape. She had become quite the expert on how to pack up her things in the matter of mere minutes.

In the third year of her marriage, something wholly unexpected occurred. Lydia found herself with child. Despite his mistress, Wickham did not forget his wife, whose attractiveness became more apparent to him while he viewed her through a drunken haze. The months of her pregnancy were unbearable. For one, Wickham was enraged that she had allowed herself to become pregnant, completely overlooking his own role in the affair. Truth be told, Lydia herself was unhappy with her pregnancy. She could barely manage to feed herself and George. How could she provide for another being? But, once her child was placed into her arms, Lydia forgot all of her fears. Rather, a deep and unconditional love filled her entire being, as she stared into the dark brown eyes of her daughter.

Suffice to say, Wickham did not welcome his daughter into the world. Instead, after her birth, Wickham took to beating Lydia, blaming her for creating a "burden" for the family. Lydia was altogether astounded by his abuse of her. While she had been well aware of his cruelty, she had never deemed him capable of this much harshness. Yet, as the beatings continued and troubles plagued the family, Lydia grew increasingly weary of her life.

In the midst of all this turmoil, it would be difficult to say when Lydia's character began to change. But, Lydia's character did change- she had to change. Once a carefree girl, the years had made her bitter. While she had become sensible and considerably less silly (all of which were welcome changes), she had also become cynical and melancholy. The only light in her dim life was the light brought in by little Clarissa Wickham, who always brought a smile to her mother's tired face. And, this was the manner in which Lydia Wickham lived. Faced with abuse from her husband, a constant lack of money, dirt and filth from their current living quarters, Lydia only despaired of the future. As she turned desperate eyes to her daughter, she despaired of what the future held for her precious daughter.

Chapter One:

As the sun rose on the day of her fourth marriage anniversary, Lydia awakened to find Wickham gone. It came as no surprise to her really. She mused that he had to have spent the night with his other woman. She surveyed the still form of her daughter, who was slipping blissfully next to her. It bothered her that her daughter had to sleep on a thin sheet on the floor. She didn't particularly mind that she herself slept on the floor. Lydia only begrudged the lack of a bed for the sake of her daughter. In the same way, Lydia despised herself for not being able to provide Clarissa with enough food to fill her growing body. Gently caressing a dark curl on her daughter's head, she tried to stop tears from pricking her eyes, when noticed once again how frightfully thin Clarissa was. Life was patently unfair.

A loud banging on the door suddenly startled Lydia from her thoughts, and she rushed to the door before the loud noise could rouse Clarissa from her slumber. Annoyed by the disturbance, she flung open the door, only to see one of the women from her neighborhood, Mrs. Jeremiah. Although Mrs. Jeremiah was the closest person to a friend she now had, she felt irritated by the loud noise and impatiently asked, "Yes?" To her surprise, Mrs. Jeremiah began sobbing loudly and lowered her glance to the ground. Now slightly worried, she gently questioned, "Michelle, what happened? Did something happen to Mr. Jeremiah?"

"No," she bit her lip anxiously and then wailed, "Oh, Lydia! Mr. Wickham is dead!"

For the past hour, Lydia had sat in a chair, completely bewildered. She couldn't comprehend the events that Michelle had related to her. Good God, George, her husband, was dead! Michelle had told her the entire gruesome story; her husband had been at the pub and had been a firsthand witness to the bloody event. Wickham had been drinking... There had been a brawl between him and some other men... Another man had pulled a knife on him... Wickham was dead.

Lydia was not entirely sure of how she ought to feel. To her complete horror, some tears sprang into her eyes, and she dashed them away angrily. Why should she weep for him? He had long ceased to hold any affection for her. He had beaten her, screamed at her, gambled away any money they had managed to come to, destroyed all of her hopes, in essence destroyed her. Yet, she was still crying. Succumbing to the tears, she laid her fatigued head on her arms and wept like a child. At one time, she had loved him. He had been her "dear Wickham." After exhausting her tears, she raised her head and drew ragged breaths. She could not even remember the last time she had cried. A few years ago, she had made a vow to herself never to cry over Wickham. Instead, she replaced her former giddiness and silliness with a calm and cool composure that never faltered- a composure that would have astonished anyone who had known the old Lydia Bennet.

But, now, George was dead, and Lydia had no idea what to do. Turning her thoughts to the future, Lydia felt even more bewildered. What could she do? Where could she go? Briefly, she thought of leaving London and going to one of her sister's homes. But, she dismissed that thought quickly. She could not go slinking back to her sisters. She had become too proud for that. Going to her secret hiding place, Lydia pulled out the small bag that she used to store any money that she had. Counting the pile of coins, Lydia was dismayed at the small amount of money she had. Once again, overwhelmed with the despair of the situation she had found herself in, she was overtaken by the cursed tears. She was so taken in by her powerlessness that she failed to realize that her daughter had not woken from her sleep, although it was now five in the evening.

Chapter Two:

If Clarissa had not become ill on the same day that her father had died, it is difficult to say what Lydia would have done. Through sheer stubbornness, she might have remained in London and survived. Yet, Clarissa did become ill- she became seriously ill. Lydia, forgetting all about the hopelessness of her situation, became frantic as she realized the high fever that Clarissa had contracted.

"Clarissa," Lydia begged. "Oh, darling!" She, who had vowed to never cry again, was now crying every other minute. Placing a cold cloth on Clarissa's head, she cursed her self for not noticing her daughter's illness earlier. Clarissa was shaking, tremors running through her frail body. What worried Lydia the most though was that her daughter remained in an unconscious state. Hopelessness again pervaded her body. Why was the doctor taking so long? Upon realizing the severity of her daughter's illness, she had gone to Mrs. Kastings, pleading for help. Mrs. Kastings, a matronly and kind woman, had quickly left to find a doctor.

A sudden rapping caused Lydia to sprint towards the door. Fling open the door, she sighed with relief at the sight of Mrs. Kastings with a man that she assumed to be the doctor. "Oh, thank God, you have come! Doctor, Clarissa has not woken for hours. She keeps on shaking. I don't know what to do!" The doctor motioned for her to move aside and immediately went to the side of the small child. Lydia's heart ached at the sight of her daughter lying so helpless on the floor, shaking from the effects of the fever. Clarissa was only a year old. Surely, God could not take her away now!

Lydia was stunned, when Mrs. Kastings impulsively embraced her. "There, there, dear. Mr. Brienn will treat her. You'll see." Lydia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Mrs. Wickham, I must leave, but if you should need anything..." Lydia only nodded again and glanced down at the floor.

As Mrs. Kastings left, Lydia fought to keep herself in control. The day had brought only wretchedness to her. First Wickham, then Clarissa. No! No! Lydia screamed to herself. Clarissa could not die! Nothing would happen to her! As long as Lydia was here, Clarissa would be safe. With determination in her eyes, she made her way to the doctor. "Dr. Brienn, is Clarissa..."

The doctor interrupted her before she could continue. "Mrs. Wickham," he began gravely, unsure how to convey the news, "I'm afraid that your daughter has pneumonia." Pneumonia? It could not be. She refused to believe it.

She shook her head. "She will be fine though, won't she? She will not die?" Although she voiced the last sentiment as a question, it rather sounded like a command.

"Mrs. Wickham, the disease is in its early stages. Should she receive the proper treatment, yes, she will live."

"Well, then, it's settled." Lydia blinked quickly, "Get her the treatment. Cure her."

The doctor took in the shabby surroundings and slowly said, "Mrs. Wickham, I'm afraid that you do not understand. The medicine is quite expensive, more than I'm sure you can spare."

"How dare you?" The doctor looked completely aghast at Lydia's tone. Lydia, too outraged to even think, hissed, "How dare you refuse treatment to this child? She is one! She had not begun living, yet you wish to kill her for the sake of money!"

Dr. Brienn surveyed Lydia with startled eyes, taking in her appearance. While Lydia was quite unaware of what an attractive picture she made at the moment, Dr. Brienn was realizing altogether what a beautiful woman she was. "Yes, yes, Mrs. Wickham. I apologize." He soothed, smiling consolingly at her. "I never meant not to treat your daughter. Of course she will be cured."

Lydia stared back, unsettled. Something about the doctor's tone and the look in his eyes unnerved her. "Good." She muttered.

"And, I'm sure that we will be able to arrive at some suitable course of payment," he replied slyly, leering at her figure. For a minute, Lydia did not comprehend what exactly he had meant. Then, as the true meaning of his statement sunk in, Lydia became even more outraged than before. How dare he?

Rising shakily from her seated position near Clarissa, Lydia glared at Dr. Brienn. "What exactly do you take me for, Doctor?" Lifting her head proudly, "I may be poor, but I am not a common street woman! How dare you, come into my home, and insinuate such things!"

"But, Mrs. Wickham," Dr. Brienn began, anxiously, he had not taken into account that Lydia would be against his proposal.

"Get out! Get out this instant!" She pointed her finger towards the door. "I will not tolerate you in this household any longer."

At the sight of Lydia's glare, Dr. Brienn deemed it wise to obey her. Gathering his hat, he rose and told her dangerously, "You will regret this decision, Mrs. Wickham."

"Leave!" She screamed. Leering at her once more, Dr. Brienn made his way to the door. But, turning towards her, he said coolly, "Mrs. Wickham, I regret to inform you that your choice has killed your daughter. She will die." Then, slamming the door behind him, he left.

Lydia collapsed to the floor. Her anger now transformed into despair. Turning a tremulous glance towards her daughter, she wondered if she had in fact delivered a death sentence to her precious child. She curled her fingers into a fist. How could this all have happened to her? Was she still being punished for her stupidity as a sixteen year old child? "No, she will not die!" Raising herself off the floor, she began pacing, surveying her options, which were astonishingly slim. What could she do? Suddenly, a thought sprang into her mind. "Pride be dashed!" She cursed. She would not allow pride to steal her child away from her. She may not have had enough money to pay for the expensive treatment, but she did have enough money for a stagecoach to Derbyshire. Yes, she would squash her pride and go begging to Elizabeth. Surely, Elizabeth would not begrudge her the money for the treatment of Clarissa.

Lydia turned towards her daughter and smiled at her tenderly. Once more, she lowered herself to the ground to sit besides Clarissa. Her baby's skin was frightfully warm, and shivers were still wracking her tiny frame. Stroking her daughter's forehead, she muttered, "Tomorrow, darling, we will go to Pemberley. Your Aunt Elizabeth will make sure that you will be treated." Clinging to her daughter, Lydia vowed that she would not let any harm come to her daughter.

Chapter Three

Posted on Thursday, 11 August 2005

As Lydia dismally stared out of the window of the stagecoach, the fatigue she felt was clearly drawn out on her face. She had not been able to sleep the entire night, for Clarissa's health had taken a turn for the worse. Whereas previously she had been unconscious, she had then begun to breathe heavily and moan. The worst, in Lydia's opinion, was when Clarissa had awoken, only to begin vomiting. Thankfully, once dawn broke, she had fallen asleep again, allowing Lydia to gather their few belongings and arrange for the stagecoach. Now, the two were safely settled in the stagecoach and would be arriving in Derbyshire by six in the evening. Softly caressing Clarissa's cheeks, she couldn't help but feel shock at how hot her child's skin was. Since the beginning of their journey, Clarissa had entered into that same state of unconsciousness that she had been in the previous day. Lydia became aware of how entirely useless she was. What type of mother was she? She could not even properly take care of her own child. Lydia shook her head, filled with anger at herself. For the first time in years, she wished that her mother was there with here. Perhaps her mother would have known how to treat Clarissa. However, her desire was soon abated by the recollection of what her mother's reaction had always been anytime the Bennet children had been seriously ill. At any instance of illness, save the one time that Jane fell "fortunately" ill at Netherfield, Mrs. Bennett had flown into a frenzy. Rather than sit by her daughters, she would experience some trouble with her nerves and take to her own bed. Not that Lydia's father was particularly bothered by illness, either. Unless the girl in question was Lizzy, Mr. Bennet would merely retire to his library. The treatment of the girls would then be assigned to some of the servants in the household. Well, Lydia may not have been wise to proper treatment, but she was at least attempting to help her child.

Lydia's emotions were in such a tumult regarding Wickham that she wasn't even sure what she felt. She couldn't deny that she despised him; yet, she hadn't exactly wished his death. She felt something, but she couldn't place a finger on the name of the emotion that she felt. She did, however, wish that Wickham's body had been found. It bothered her that his killers had vanished with his body. Lydia wasn't particularly religious, but she did wish that he could have been buried in holy ground.

Lydia's thoughts then turned to her decision to go to Pemberley. She couldn't deny her own anxiety over the choice. She was unsure of what her reception would be. She had never been particularly close to Lizzy, who was always disgusted with Lydia and Lydia's actions. Lydia, recognizing her sister's disapproval, always amplified her behavior when Elizabeth was around, as to shock her sister even more. Not for the first time, Lydia wished she could go to Jane, instead. Lydia assumed, rather than knew, that Jane was still at Netherfield with Mr. Bingley. Lydia couldn't bear to return to Hertfordshire; she couldn't face the reaction of her parents or the town, she couldn't bear the pitying and condescending glances from the town, nor could she be able to hold her head high against the malicious whispers and gossip. As for her other sisters, Lydia had no idea where Mary or Kitty were, if they were married or single. So, to Elizabeth, Lydia must go. A moan from Clarissa seemed to ratify her decision. And, as Clarissa's breathing began to become even more laborious, Lydia devoted all her time and concentration to the care of her daughter.

Chapter Four:

When the coach alighted in Derbyshire, Lydia was left to walk the three miles to Pemberley. Carrying Clarissa in her arms and being wary of the night's coming, Lydia could not entirely say that her walk was easy. Yet, when she had reached the expansive grounds of Pemberley and as apprehension seemed to form a gnawing pit in her stomach, she rather wished that the walk had taken her longer. She sighed. She would have liked nothing more than to simply run away and hid- escape from her life. But that was hardly possible. Breathing deeply, gathering her courage and wits around her, she squared her shoulders and made her way towards the stately mansion. When she had reached the door, Lydia affected a cool composure that belied her internal anxiety and calmly rapped on the door.

A butler opened the door, and though his facial expression was blank, his eyes clearly revealed his distaste. Lydia was aware of what a sight she must have appeared. Her dress was worse from the wear, two sizes too large for her far too slender frame, and dirty from the walk. Her hair had escaped from the bun and had instead fallen down to her shoulders. Clutching a baby, Lydia realized the man had probably taken her for a poor tenant.

"I must speak to the lord and lady," she informed him, coolly.

"I am afraid that my lord and lady are dining. They will not be receiving any more guests for the rest of the day." He began to close the door, and Lydia felt a spark of indignation and fear. If he should not allow her entrance, she would be lost...

"Excuse me, but Mrs. Darcy must see me." Her voice was panicked. "I am her sister! I am Mrs. Wickham."

"A likely story, miss." As he cast a scathing glance at the babe in her arms, Lydia blushed from the shame of his hidden accusation.

"I am Mrs. Wickham, Mrs. Darcy's youngest sister!" At the butler's unmoved glance, Lydia felt a growing despair. "Please! I must be allowed to see her! My daughter is ill... I beg of you, inform my sister that I am here. She will tell you that I am who I say I am."

"I can not disturb the master and mistress."

Tears sprung into her eyes. This was too much. How much tragedy could she possibly face? "My daughter will die, sir. She needs treatment. Please! My daughter will die, unless I meet Elizabeth!" Lydia was unaware of how loud her voice had become; panic was causing her to shriek somewhat hysterically. The past two days had taken a toll on her, and she really could not bear this additional torture..

"I say!" A smooth voice broke in, "What is the meaning of all this commotion?" A man, a stranger to Lydia, interrupted. He paused, at the sight of Lydia, and his eyes widened. The sight of her frail figure trembling and the tears in her eyes took him by surprise.

"Please, sir, I need to see Elizabeth." Taken aback by the familiarity with which she addressed Mrs. Darcy, the man only stared. "She is my sister," Lydia amended quickly. "I am Mrs. Wickham."

Before the man could reply to her admission, the voice of Mr. Darcy could be heard. "Richard, did you find out the cause of all the commotion?" As he and Mrs. Darcy began striding across towards the doorway, Lydia braced herself.

Mr. Darcy stopped stunned at the sight of Lydia. Lydia had never seen him so discomposed before. His skin had grown taunt, and his jaw had tightened. "Fitzwilliam, what is..." Elizabeth's voice trailed off, as she realized who the woman in front of her was. "Lydia!"

Lydia stared at her sister. It seemed as though time had only made her sister more beautiful. Elizabeth seemed to glow with happiness. Yes, time had been very kind to Elizabeth. Now, with an immaculate Elizabeth in front of her, Lydia felt the fresh sting of her own awful appearance. But, now was not the time for envy or discontent, Lydia told herself.

"Lydia! Where have you been?" For the first time, Elizabeth noticed the still form in her sister's arms. "Lydia, is that a child in your arms?" She began to move towards Lydia.

"No!" Elizabeth stopped, stunned, a hurt look crossing her face. Lydia tempered her tone, "No, Elizabeth. Do no come close to me." She breathed in sadly. "In your condition you must not." Lydia had seen the slight rounding of Elizabeth's stomach and discerned the truth. A puzzled look appeared on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, as well as the strange man's. "She is dying, Elizabeth. Dying!" Lydia began weeping once more, although she was not sure how she could weep to such a degree. "Elizabeth," she begged, her maternal devotion making her rise above the humiliation of begging, "Please, you must help her. She is only one! I can not lose her... I could not bear it!" Lowering her eyes and feeling the sobs wrack her body, the only thing she could hear was silence. "We have never been close, but for her sake, if not my own, please help me."

Elizabeth had not ever seen her youngest sister still and silent. Growing up, Lydia had always been a restless child, filled with chatter and noise. This Lydia, who was sitting so still, was a stranger to her. She didn't think that she would ever recover from the shock of seeing her sister in her doorway. When she had seen Lydia, she at first could not recognize her. Lydia had become so altered... Her frame was frighteningly thin, her skin was so pale. But, the worst of all was the look in Lydia's eyes. Once so filled with laughter, her eyes had become haunted. After Lydia had come, Elizabeth had hastily dispatched for a doctor. The doctor had come quickly and disappeared into a room with Lydia's daughter. Not allowing anyone to enter, Lydia and Elizabeth were left waiting outside the doorway of the room.

"Lizzy, you ought to rest. You should not be standing for so long." Elizabeth glanced at her sister in surprise. Was this Lydia? Lydia was expressing consideration for someone else? What's more, Lydia who was under such duress was looking past herself and thinking of other's well being.

"Lydia," Elizabeth said gently, "thank you for your concern... However, I will not leave you now. We will wait together." Lydia fell silent again, a blank look on her face and her eyes filled with a tumult of emotions. Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered where Mr. Wickham was. And, along with that question, she wondered what had caused that horrible, tortured look in her sister's eyes. She stifled her impatience and questions, though, and instead waited silently with her sister.

When the doctor finally opened the door, his face was decidedly weary and grim. "Doctor! My daughter?" Lydia could not bear this uncertainty any longer. The past hour had been awful, not knowing what was happening to her daughter was enough to drive her insane.

Staring at the young woman, the doctor felt a wave of pity for her. She had waited too long to bring her daughter into his care. "Mrs. Wickham," he felt the burden of the news he was about to impart to her, "I am so terribly sorry. But, there was nothing I could do." He shrugged helplessly. Truthfully, he was still relatively new to the profession and not used to losing his patients in the battle between life and death. The death of any of his patients, especially any children, brought him sorrow and pain. "Pneumonia is a severe enough disease. But, she was malnourished, which made the effects of the disease worse. Her body was too weak to fight against the disease."

Lydia heard a curious buzzing noise in her head. Vaguely, she heard Elizabeth uttering a gasp of horror. She heard the doctor speaking of malnourishment. But, she felt removed from the situation, as if she was watching the scene from afar. She could not believe the doctor. She suddenly barked a bitter laugh that startled the doctor. "You are lying." She said, her eyes blazing.

"Mrs. Wickham, I assure you..." The doctor began, cautiously.

"You are lying!" She backed away, slowly. "No. No."

"Lydia," Lydia could almost hear the tears in her sister's voice, but only shook her head.
"He is lying, Elizabeth. Isn't he, Elizabeth? He is lying, isn't he?" Her sister didn't answer. Lydia touched her cheek, suddenly realizing that she was crying. No! Why was she crying? Her darling daughter was not dead. She could not be dead! Lydia had vowed to save her, so how could she be dead?
A strangled scream erupted from Lydia's throat- a scream full of sorrow and anguish. How could this be? Her darling... Memories of Clarissa flooded into her mind. Clarissa's birth... her smile... the tiny gurgle that served as her laugh...her attempts at crawling. Clarissa had been Lydia's savior. Now, she was gone. Lydia began emitting gasping sobs. She could not breathe. The world was closing in on her, and all she could see was darkness. The last thing Lydia was aware of was the second scream that came from her mouth. Then, Lydia fell into that darkness, and welcomed that darkness.

Chapter Five:

Elizabeth Darcy paced outside, this time outside another doorway. This time, she bit her lip in worry for her sister. She could not forget her sister's scream. Lydia's scream of pain seemed to echo in Elizabeth's mind. Half unconsciously, she caressed her rounding stomach, as if her caress could protect the small being inside.

"Dearest," Mr. Darcy, began tentatively. "It is becoming late, you need your rest." Elizabeth smiled wanly at her husband, but shook her head in reply. Internally, Mr. Darcy cursed himself for now being with his wife, when the doctor had delivered the news of the death of... Mr. Darcy felt a pang of remorse, when he realized that he did not know the name of the infant who had been taken so suddenly. He had not realized the child had been that ill; he had chalked up Lydia's words as an exaggeration. It had not occurred to him that Lydia had changed during the years.

"I've always loved her," Elizabeth sighed, regretfully. "I can not say that I've approved over her choices or actions. Indeed, whenever I was around her, I could not help the feelings of disgust I felt at her complete lack of propriety. But, she is my sister, and I have always loved her. And, now, I have failed her."

Mr. Darcy looked up, surprised at her words. "Elizabeth, I hardly believe that you have failed Lydia in any manner possible. Whenever she asked you for anything, you granted her wish."

Elizabeth looked at her husband and wearily replied, "Yes, whatever she asked for, that was in my power, I gave to her. But, it was not enough, Fitzwilliam." Mr. Darcy lifted an eyebrow, questioning her. Elizabeth frowned and was about to speak, when she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Richard," Mr. Darcy called. The Colonel strode towards them,; his usually cheerful countenance was replaced with a serious gravity that was rarely displayed. He had retired to his chambers hours earlier, after hearing the news of the death of Mrs. Wickham's child and her subsequent collapse. He had thought that allowing the Darcys some privacy would be for the best. However, unable to bear the idea of two of his closest friends in distress, he ventured out of his chambers to see if he could aid them in any way.

"Darce, Elizabeth, how is Mrs. Wickham?" He queried. He did not know Mrs. Wickham. Never having met her, he had only heard varying stories about her. And, of course, he knew of her elopement with Mr. Wickham. The stories related to him about her had not given him the best impression of her. Yet, the woman he had met today seemed immensely different from the accounts of her that he had heard.

"I do not know," Elizabeth faltered. "The doctor has not left her room, yet. Oh, Fitzwilliam! It's been an hour!" Mr. Darcy squeezed her hand reassuringly. Colonel Fitzwilliam desperately desired to say something to comfort Elizabeth. Since his first meeting with Elizabeth, Richard Fitzwilliam had liked the intelligent and kind woman. After her marriage to Darcy, his closest cousin and friend, his friendship with her had strengthened. If he thought of Darcy as a brother, then Elizabeth was his sister. Indeed, in his eyes, Elizabeth was as much his sister as Georgiana. Despite his wish to comfort her, he knew not what to say. Besides trite and commonplace banalities, which he knew would not bring Elizabeth any comfort, there was nothing left to say. Rather, he fell silent and waited with the Darcys.

To Elizabeth, this wait was eerily similar to the wait she had experienced earlier in the day. Though, she prayed fervently that her sister would not suffer the same fate as Clarissa. The door opened, then, and Elizabeth rushed towards the doctor.

"How is she?" She demanded, fear making itself apparent in her voice.

"Mrs. Darcy, your sister is fine." Elizabeth sighed with relief and silently thanked the Lord. "However, Mrs. Darcy, your sister was not easy to rouse from unconsciousness." The doctor frowned sternly, "Like her daughter, Mrs. Wickham is malnourished. It appears that she has not eaten a proper meal in days. Also," the doctor then hesitated. He was not entirely sure of how to deliver the next piece of news.

"Yes," Elizabeth asked, impatiently.

"Mrs. Darcy, there is something that I am compelled to tell you." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "While I was trying to rouse Mrs. Wickham, my assistants deemed it necessary to, ah, dispose of some of her clothing." He blushed at the impropriety of his words, but continued, "They, then, called my attention to something they had noticed. Mrs. Wickham had a series of scars on her back and stomach. In addition, there were several fresh gashes on her back. I dressed the wounds, and they will be healed in a few days worth time. However, I felt it necessary to inform you."

Elizabeth gasped; she raised a hand to her mouth. "Scars?" She whispered, disbelievingly. How could that be? "And, from what, do you believe were these scars from?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Well," he cleared his throat and said uncomfortably, "most of them seemed to be from a belt or whip like instrument." Elizabeth gasped again, disbelieving. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam exchanged horrified glances.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's hands curled into fists. It was sufficiently clear to him what had happened: Wickham had beaten his wife. Anger clouded at his thoughts. The idea of a man beating his wife enraged him. It was a good thing that Wickham was far away from him, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought. If Wickham had been in close proximity to him, the Colonel could not be held responsible for his actions.

Both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were experiencing varying degrees of guilt. Mr. Darcy was contemplating his role in Lydia's marriage to Wickham. For the first time, he wondered if he had done the right thing in marrying Lydia off to Wickham. Although he knew there had been no other option, he could not help his feelings of remorse. Such a despicable man! A wave of pity for Lydia swept over him. And, for the first time, Mr. Darcy truly realized that Lydia had been only a child when the elopement had occurred. In fact, she had been the same age at the time of her elopement that Georgiana had been at Ramsgate. If Mr. Darcy had not arrived at the opportune time, Georgiana would have eloped with Wickham. Lydia had been fooled by Wickham, much in the same manner as Georgiana. If Mr. Darcy was experiencing some guilt, then Elizabeth was filled with a deep sense of horrible guilt. To think that she had been so ignorant of her own sister's plight! If only she had managed to stay in contact with Lydia!

While those three people were immersed in their respective musings, the doctor stood off to the side, recognizing their need for contemplation. However, after a few minutes, he cleared his throat. Three expectant faces turned towards him. "Mrs. Wickham must rest for the next week. Also, she must receive proper nutrition. However, other than that, there is nothing else anyone can do." Glancing at his clock, he bid his goodbyes and assured them of his aid if they should ever need it.

Chapter Six

Posted on Monday, 22 August 2005

For a few minutes, after she woke, Lydia felt panicked at her surroundings. This was not her home. Where was she? And, where was her daughter? She rose up, ready to leave, before she sank down onto the plush bed again. Her panicked feelings were replaced with a deep sense of desolation. The memories of yesterday came back to her. Tracing lines on the bed covers, she tried to ignore the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. Finally, surrendering to what she regarded as her weakness, she wept. And, when she had exhausted herself with the passion of her tears, she fell into a restless sleep.

The next time that she awoke, Lydia found that she could not possibly sleep any longer. She surveyed the room she was in; the luxury making her feel out of place. However, as her gaze turned to one corner of the room, she noticed her shabby bag, which contained her sparse belongings. She had left the bag lying carelessly on the floor near the main door of Pemberley, and she surmised that someone had brought the bag to her room. She smirked for a minute, wondering if perhaps that unsavory duty had been delegated to the butler, for it was clear that he held her in such esteem. Her smirk faded away. Clarissa... She sighed and shook her head, as to stop herself from crying again. Feeling restless, she left the bed, shook a ragged dress out of her bag, and began to dress herself, not particularly caring how she looked. Once finished, she quickly left the room.

As she walked, surrounded by the splendor of Pemberley, she fought to keep her head held high. It seemed as though all the people in the numerous portraits lining the walls were mocking her; they were chastising her for her numerous failures. Finally, breathing deeply, she forced herself to ignore all the portraits of the stern Darcy ancestors. Originally she had intended to find Lizzy, however when she saw the grand doors marking the entrance of the house. The thoughts of finding Lizzy flew out of her mind, rather she felt an intense desire the escape from the house and explore the grounds. She felt suffocated, if that was at all a reasonable emotion. Glancing about cautiously, she escaped the house and breathed out in relief.

She didn't belong among the splendor of the house, that much Lydia was certain. The grounds were more welcoming to her. The trees and flowers didn't scorn her shabby dress or her inelegance. Unlike the portraits of the Darcy ancestors, nature did not condemn her for her past. And, Lydia condemned herself on a daily basis- she did not particularly need any additional help from uppity ghosts.

As Lydia walked slowly among the grounds, her thoughts continually returned to Clarissa. However that did not surprise her. She was surprised, though, at the frequency with which her thoughts turned to her past years before she had eloped with George. After their romance had soured, Lydia had often wanted to turn back the clock and revoke her decision. There was a time that Lydia would have given anything for the power to alter the past. Now, however, she suddenly realized that her feelings had changed. She still regretted her choice; it was impossible not to. However, had she not eloped, she would have never had Clarissa either. Lydia would rather face the pain of her daughter's death than face a life in which her daughter would have never existed. She could not bear the idea of never having known Clarissa; she could not bear the idea of never having heard Clarissa's sweet little gurgle that served as her laugh. It was true that Clarissa's death had killed a bit of Lydia's soul; yet, it was also true that Clarissa's birth had saved Lydia's soul from the bitterness that had threatened to drown her. Clarissa had redeemed, purified Lydia. Allowing herself to sink to the grass, she laid her head in her hands and wept. She was utterly alone, even her darling daughter had left her alone in the cold and harsh world.

As Lydia flung herself into the throes of her grief, she failed to notice a witness to her passions. A man stood some feet away from her, gazing at her with considerable alarm. Like most other males, the sight of feminine weeping discomforted him greatly. Furthermore, so immersed was Lydia that she did not notice when the man loudly cleared his throat, in an attempt to gain her attention. In fact, it took him three times before Lydia raised her head, in confusion. Suddenly aware of the presence of a strange man, she could not help the gasp of fright that escaped from her mouth.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you, Mrs. Wickham." The man hurriedly said, attempted to console her. He had neither missed her gasp nor the look of fear in her eyes.

Lydia eyed him, suspiciously. She was not able to discern his identity, so how was he able to call her by name? She had quite forgotten about the cheery man whom she had met the previous day. Who could really blame her? "You seem to have an advantage, sir," Lydia answered, with as much composure as she could muster, "for you know my name, while I do not possess knowledge of yours."

The man bowed graciously. "Colonel Fitzwilliam at your service, madam." Seeing that her look of confusion had not faded, he added, "I am Mr. Darcy's cousin."

Lydia nodded slightly. Standing slowly, she tried to ignore the dizziness that accompanied her actions. Instead, aware of the propriety demanded, she perfectly, if slowly, executed a curtsey. Suddenly feeling the world begin to start spinning in awful circles, she muttered, "Excuse me, Colonel, but I really must sit."

Observing the pallor that had crept over her face, he anxiously blurted, "Mrs. Wickham, you are ill! You ought to be resting in your chambers."

Grimacing, Lydia shook her head. "Nonsense, I am perfectly fine," she insisted, stubbornly. The last thing she desired was any fuss caused over her. The thought crossed her mind that years ago all she had wanted was attention; before her elopement, she would have done anything for attention, especially attention from handsome men. Now, things were of an entirely different nature, and she shied away from fuss and attention.

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head skeptically. "Mrs. Wickham, I think we ought to return to Pemberley. You look pale. Please, allow me permission to escort you back."

Lydia could not help but feel annoyance at his interference, although she knew that her annoyance was misplaced. She dreaded returning to the confines of Pemberley, where she would see the pitying glances of Lizzy and the scornful glares of Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy! She had somewhat forgotten about him, odd as that sounded. He must have been appalled that she had dared come to his home. She knew he despised George. She also knew that he had never held her in any particular regard, either. Fear began to curl in her stomach. She did not know if she could face Mr. Darcy now. Irrationally, Lydia began formulating plans of escape. As abruptly as they had begun, she stopped her thoughts and instead gathered her wits about her. Unconsciously, she lifted her head proudly. She would not succumb to her fears. She would face Mr. Darcy. He could hardly be a monster, could he? Furthermore, it was hardly as if she would be remaining in his house for all her days. Her stay was entirely temporary; she would be leaving soon, as soon as she decided upon a suitable course of action. Although, Lydia realized that she had no idea of what her next step was. Panicking, Lydia's thoughts now turned to the future. She refused to remain at Pemberley for long, living off of Lizzy's charity. Nor, would she go to Jane. No, she would manage her own affairs and answer only to herself. If only, she had some clue of how to achieve her goals!

As all these thoughts were rapidly flying through Lydia's mind, Colonel Fitzwilliam was staring at Lydia in confusion. She had not answered him, rather it appeared that she had forgotten about his presence. She had entered into a world of her own. As Colonel Fitzwilliam waited for her to complete her thoughts, he could not help but noticing the varying emotions that crossed her face. Had Lydia not wholly forgotten his presence, then she would have disguised her emotions masterfully, all the while maintaining her composure. After patiently waiting for a few minutes, Colonel Fitzwilliam again resorted to clearing his throat loudly. This time only one attempt was necessary. Lydia glanced up blankly at the man in front of her.

"Mrs. Wickham," he began, but Lydia stopped him from continuing.

Blushing slightly at her absentmindedness, she softly said, "I apologize, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I was... distracted."

He nodded sympathetically. He felt a great deal of pity for the young wife of that cad, Wickham. "I quite understand," he reassured. She nodded and silently rose from her spot. Again feeling that dizziness, she was more than a little grateful when the Colonel offered his arm to her. Taking his arm, Lydia was spared what she viewed as the 'indignity' of admitting her ill health.

When the great house loomed before her sight, Lydia unconsciously grasped the Colonel's arm tighter. In surprise, he turned to her. He thought he detected a touch of fear in her eyes. What could she have to fear?

On her part, Lydia was remembering her entrance on the previous day. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the weight of Clarissa in her arms. She coiled at the thought of re-entering the house in which her daughter had lost her fight between life and death. She had to greatly steel her nerves, before taking the next step closer to the building.

Once inside, Lydia observed that she was being led by Colonel Fitzwilliam. Before she knew what was happening, she was taken inside to an airy room, where Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were breakfasting. Alarm flooded her being. She felt markedly vulnerable, standing in front of them. Elizabeth was the first to break the silence that had ascended into the room. "Lydia," she warmly greeted. "Well, sit down," she chided. "I had the cook specially make those apple turnovers that you like so much."

Lydia blanched at her sister's words. It struck her that her sister did not know her at all. "Lizzy," something about her manner disconcerted everyone else in the room, "apple turnovers are Mary's favorite treat; I've always despised them. I thought you knew that."

Elizabeth's smile froze. Her sister's quiet voice hurt her in a way that no yelling or harsh words could have. Elizabeth would have far preferred if Lydia had screamed at her. Yet, Lydia did not even reproach her; there was no blame in her voice, only acceptance. "Oh, Lydia, I am-

Lydia shook her head, tiredly. "Lizzy, it is a small matter of no consequence. Let us not discuss this any further." However, as she sat in the chair next to Lizzy, she couldn't help but wonder why her sister's mistake had hurt her so much. Really, apple turnovers! It was of no importance, she tried to convince herself. So, why did it sting her?

Although the delicious smell of the food served on her plate, tantalized her nose and stomach, Lydia found that she really lacked the appetite to eat. Pushing the food on her plate with her cutlery, she was oblivious to the worried glances that Elizabeth kept darting towards her.

"Lydia, are you not hungry?" Lydia glanced up, surprised. "Dear, you must eat," Elizabeth pleaded.

Lydia smiled at her sister, comfortingly. "Lizzy, there is hardly any reason to worry. I am fine. I never have much of an appetite in the morning." She attempted to laugh carelessly. Lydia avoided mentioning that her lack of hunger was directly attributed to the general unavailability of food in the mornings.

All the while, Lydia had studiously avoided looking at Mr. Darcy. Therefore, she was shocked, when his voice broke into the discussion. "Mrs. Wickham, for the sake of your sister's happiness, I ask you to partake of something." He said this with a smile, through which he meant to convey his own concern for Lydia's well being, though his words may not have mentioned it. However, Lydia was more surprised at the sight of a smile on his face, than really anything else. She had never seen him smile before. She frowned at these words, though; she did not wish to upset Lizzy, especially not in Lizzy's condition.

"Lizzy, I do not mean to worry you." She earnestly said. "Honestly, I just lack an appetite in the mornings." Internally, she winced, remembering the typical mornings at Longbourne, at which she had often eaten ravenously. Hopefully, Lizzy would not remember those mornings. However, seeing that the frown on Elizabeth's face had not abated, she sighed and relented. "Very well," she muttered. Sighing, she decided it would be better to simply relent. Lifting her fork, she mechanically began the process of emptying the contents of her plate. As she ate, she felt a prick of pain at the luxurious foods she was nourishing herself with. She had never been able to provide her daughter with any of these rich foods; indeed, most mornings, she was lucky if she was able to feed her daughter any breakfast at all. If she had been able to give her daughter adequate provisions, then perhaps... Lydia could feel a lump forming in her throat. She forced herself to swallow her tears; she would not allow herself to give into her grief in public.

While Lydia was occupied with her thoughts, Elizabeth found a thousand questions burning her mind. There was so many things that she desperately desired to ask Lydia, but she knew that the time was not right for such inquiries. Her questions would only torment her younger sister, and Elizabeth could not submit her sister to that for the sake of satisfying her curiosity. As she subtly observed Lydia, Elizabeth thought she detected a sheen of tears in Lydia's eyes. Unconsciously, one of her hands moved to her own womb, and she felt her heart ache for Lydia. She had never been close to Lydia; indeed, she had barely even tolerated her. But, Elizabeth felt a deep pang of sadness when she realized that the girl sitting besides her was a stranger to her. Whereas her sister had been hale and hearty, this girl was frightfully frail. Whereas Lydia had always been laughing and energized, this sober girl was characterized by a melancholy that touched her every action. This girl with shadows in her eyes and a solemn carriage was someone completely unfamiliar to her.

Breakfast continued as a silent affair. Both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy found themselves at a loss of what to say. Elizabeth was immersed in her study of Lydia. And, Lydia was simply anticipating the moment when she could escape and seek solace in her chambers.

Unfortunately, her anticipation proved to be fruitless. When the meal was finished and the men left for some unidentified task, Elizabeth steeled herself. The task she was about to perform was one that she hated the thought of broaching. "Lydia," Lydia glanced at her sister's face, "I need to discuss something with you." Her voice was tentative, and Lydia's heart thudded at the possibilities. But, she merely nodded and followed her sister out of the dining room and to a small sitting room.

Once both women were sitting opposite each other, an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Lydia glanced down towards her hands. The air between the sisters was strained; their relationship seemed absurdly formal. Lydia rather thought that there was a large gulf- one which she did not know how to bridge- between herself and Lizzy.

"Dear," Elizabeth began, but she stopped. How to introduce this subject to her sister?

"Yes, Lizzy," Lydia looked curiously at her sister. Elizabeth's behavior was decidedly out of character for her. Lizzy was reputed for her outspokenness. She rarely hesitated before speaking her mind, although she ensured that her actions and words were conducted with propriety.

When Elizabeth spoke next, she spoke slowly and carefully, "Lydia, I spoke to the vicar today... about Clarissa's burial." Elizabeth felt as though she was the most insensitive creature in the world. Here her sister was dealing with the loss of her daughter, and Elizabeth was worsening the situation through the mention of the funeral. But, Elizabeth had thought it necessary to ask if Lydia had any specific directions. Despite her knowledge that it was necessary, the knowledge did not comfort her when she heard a dreadful gasp come from Lydia.

Tears began rapidly formulating in Lydia's eyes. She fought to keep herself under control. Funeral... burial... The room was closing in on her, suffocating her. Giving up any pretense of dignity, Lydia began weeping for what seemed to her as the hundredth time in the span of the past four hours. Distress clouded Elizabeth's features. And, forgetting everything else, she rushed to her sister's side. Cradling her sister's form to her own, Elizabeth crooned unintelligible words of comfort to Lydia. The two sisters clung to each other, and both women cried.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Thursday, 1 September 2005

The next week opened on a somber tone for Lydia. On that Sunday, Lydia's darling child was forever laid to rest. The funeral had been simple. And, as Lydia had watched the coffin be lowered into the ground, she was comforted by the feeling of Elizabeth's arm around her waist. Elizabeth, mindful of the doctor's words, wisely ensured that Lydia rested frequently and nourished herself properly. Lydia had not had much contact with either Mr. Darcy or the Colonel. Neither man was quite sure of what to say to Mrs. Wickham. Lydia, for her part, was far too embarrassed to speak to Mr. Darcy. Of Colonel Fitzwilliam, she barely knew him, thus she avoided contact with him.

The afternoon of the next day saw Elizabeth and Lydia sitting side by side, in silence. This hour however beheld a different sort of silence; this was a companionable silence, filled with a better understanding between the two sisters. Elizabeth gently held Lydia's hand in her own, and Lydia rested her head on Elizabeth's shoulder. Matters were not entirely resolved between the two. There had been too much misunderstandings and strife between them for all their problems to be solved in the span of a day. Furthermore, Wickham hung as a shadow between them. Though several days had passed, Elizabeth lacked the courage of bringing his name into a conversation with Lydia, for she feared that the haunted look would once again spring into her sister's eyes. Nonetheless, somehow, something unsaid had passed between the sisters. Though it was unsaid, both sisters knew that the wide chasm between them had been crossed.

"Lizzy," Lydia said softly, "how is everyone?" She would not admit it, but she felt hurt that none of her sisters had inquired after her. Surely, by now, they must have received the news of her arrival at Pemberley and notice of all the recent events. Thus, the fact that she had not one letter from them stung her.

Elizabeth caught her meaning and smiled. "Well, I have much to tell you, sister." She leaned closer to Lydia, as if to impart some confidential information, and the tone of her voice made Lydia giggle. The sound of Lydia's giggle lightened the room, and Elizabeth too began to giggle, if not for anything more than the joy of hearing her sister's light hearted laughter. "First, let me begin with Mary. Do you remember the small bookshop in Hertfordshire?"

Lydia thought for a moment. "I vaguely remember passing the store, but I do not ever think I entered it. Books were not my favorite pastime, if you recall correctly," she said, wryly.

Elizabeth was about to tease her sister with a comment about redcoats but stopped herself in time. Intuitively, she knew the comment would hurt her sister. Instead, she smiled reassuringly and said, "You were younger then, Lydia, and that was a long time ago. Come, there is no need to dwell on those times. Anyway, Mary married the owner of the bookstore, a Mr. Druford."

"All the books she could possibly want," Lydia mused.

"Except, thankfully, Mr. Druford convinced her that Fordyce was not a man of utmost reason and sense." Lydia laughed at this statement. Elizabeth's tone became more thoughtful as she continued, "Mary has realized that an excess of studying is almost as bad as an excess of frivolity, especially since studying does not always extend to common sense." Lydia nodded; in her younger years, she had never appreciated Mary in the manner that Mary deserved to have been respected. Rather, Lydia had dismissed Mary and deemed her 'dull' since Mary's favorites did not coincide with hers. "Now, it is Kitty's turn."

Kitty had been Lydia's favorite sister. Since Kitty had barely been older than her, the two had been thick friends. Lydia winced, as she recollected the many times she had coaxed Kitty into behaving indecorously. Kitty had possessed the better judgment of the two, though she was easily made amenable to others' will due to her desire to please. Under Lydia's influence and sway, Kitty was induced to indulge in many activities that she would have shunned otherwise. Remembering her behavior towards Mary and Kitty made Lydia wince in shame and regret for her past behavior. She had been far from an ideal sister.

Elizabeth did not notice the change in Lydia's countenance, for which Lydia felt infinitely grateful. Rather, Lydia realized that Elizabeth was smiling fondly at the thought of some memory. "Lizzy," she prompted.

"Oh, yes, Kitty," Elizabeth continued. "Kitty came to visit Pemberley, the first winter after my marriage. She and Georgiana-

"Georgiana?" Lydia interrupted, her brow wrinkled in confusion. She did not think that she had ever heard of a Georgiana.

"Georgiana is Mr. Darcy's younger sister; she is younger to him by ten years. When Kitty came to visit me, the two girls became great friends." Lydia fought to keep jealousy from pricking her heart; she had no reason to begrudge Georgiana the friendship of Kitty, yet she could not help the jealously she felt at the thought of someone else being her sister's closest friend. "At the time, Georgiana was being courted persistently by a certain Lord Thomas Avery, much to Fitzwilliam's chagrin." Elizabeth giggled; her husband had resented the idea of Georgiana growing older and the thought of her marriage. "Kitty came with us to London, where she was introduced to one of Lord Avery's friends, a Mr. James Brown. To make a long story short, she married Mr. Brown, a month after Georgiana's marriage to Lord Avery. My, mama was positively thrilled when Kitty married Mr. Brown!"

"Yes," Lydia cut in, "all five of her daughters married! Her nerves!" The two sisters laughed. Their mother's nerves had been a constant in Longbourne. "What of Jane, Lizzy? Is she still at Netherfield? Or, did Mama finally exhaust even Mr. Bingley's good will?"

Lizzy laughed again and shook her head at her sister's words. A few weeks ago, she would have never believed that she would have come to discover so much pleasure in Lydia's company. Yet, now, she valued her time spent with her youngest sister. "Jane, dear Jane! Mr. Bingley actually has purchased an estate a mere twenty miles away from Pemberley. We visit each other quite frequently."

"Oh," Lydia mentioned in a small voice. Jane was so near to her, yet she had not come to visit her.

Elizabeth glanced at her sister sharply and guessed something of what Lydia was thinking. "It is nothing like that, dearest. I wrote Jane earlier to inform her. However, Jane entered into confinement a month ago, and it would be dangerous for her to come here. However, I am expecting a letter from her any day now, and I know she will be furious that she could not come to see you now." Lydia could not keep a wide smile from gracing her face. As she smiled, Elizabeth was struck with the realization of how beautiful her sister had become. Though the years had been difficult to her, Lydia had grown to become a beautiful woman, although Elizabeth wondered if some of her beauty could be also attributed to her great personal maturation. "As far as our other sisters," Elizabeth continued, "I have written to all of them. I am certain that letters from them will arrive shortly."

Again, Elizabeth was rewarded by the sight of another smile cross her sister's face. Whatever their differences, the five of them were sisters and their bond would always remain special. Elizabeth sighed; she thought it was the time to approach the daunting topic of Wickham now. She hated to think of her sister's smile fading, yet she did have to know where Wickham was. They could not avoid the topic for any longer. "Ah, Lydia, where is," here she faltered under her sister's gaze but forced herself to continue. "Where exactly is Mr. Wickham?"

Lydia gasped and closed her eyes. She had known that eventually the question would have to be broached; nonetheless, the question took her breath away. How could she begin? What could she tell her sister? "George is... George is... Oh, Lizzy," she wailed, helplessly, "George is dead!"

Of all the answers she expected, Elizabeth had not expected that particular one. "Dead?" She finally voiced in a confused voice.

Lydia nodded and told her sister of how she had received the news. "Lizzy," she said earnestly, turning to face Elizabeth, "our marriage was not a happy one."

"I know," Elizabeth said, unthinkingly. Upon realizing her words, she winced.

"What," whispered Lydia.

"After you fainted, the doctor examined you. He said that you had several scars," she trailed off.

Now it was Lydia's turn to wince. She gazed at her hands. Unreasonably, it hurt her pride for Elizabeth to know that Wickham had beaten her. "Yes," she finally muttered. "He did hit me." Detached, she heard herself giving vague and short details of some of George's other offenses.

"Oh, Lydia!" Elizabeth gasped, a tear slid from her cheek, which she dashed away. "I never knew... Why did you never tell any of us?"

Lydia turned her face away. Pity, even pity from her sister, humiliated her. Devoting a few minutes to recollecting herself, she then replied, "I was embarrassed, Lizzy. I was not proud in the beginning of my marriage; often, I implored either you or Jane for money. However, soon, begging began to hurt my pride. And, I could not admit to my elder sisters that I had made a grave mistake."

"But, why did you stop writing us? We were all so worried about you!" Elizabeth persisted. When Lydia's letters had stopped coming, she had worried about her youngest sister's state of life; she knew that her other sisters had experienced the same concerns for Lydia.

"I did not think you would be worried," the harsh tone in her voice took Elizabeth by surprise; indeed, her tone took Lydia by surprise too. "I did not think you would miss letters from the black sheep."

"Now, Lydia, you know that..."

"No, Elizabeth? Then, why did you not send anyone to look for me? Mr. Darcy found me once; he could have found me again. If you or anyone else had really desired to find me, then you could have. It would not have been a hard task."

"Lydia, that is not fair!" Although she protested, Elizabeth did have to recognize the merit of her sister's accusation. Had she asked, Mr. Darcy could have discovered Lydia's location with little trouble. But, she had never asked him to search for her. Guilt began creeping through her again.

"Lizzy, I am sorry." Elizabeth diverted her attention from her thoughts to her sister and was shocked to see tears falling freely from Lydia's face. "I did not mean to blame you. It is not your fault." She sniffed. "Why would you want to find me? My actions and behavior alienated me from you. I only blame myself. I was an awful girl, who always behaved badly and did all the things that she ought not to do. No, why would you want to keep in contact with such a girl?"

Guilt stricken, Elizabeth could only stare at her weeping sister. "Darling, I assure you that it was nothing like that. Yes, I always disapproved of your behavior." She lovingly stroked her sister's hair and embraced her. "But, I was never the best sister to you either. I never spent time with you, Mary, or Kitty. Neither Jane nor I ever devoted any real attention towards you three. We were older and should have tried to guide you better." She grasped Lydia's chin and forced Lydia to look into her eyes. "Lydia, you are no longer that same, silly girl. You are a sensible, mature woman. And, I love you." Clinging to Elizabeth, she once more sobbed at her sister's words. This time, however, Elizabeth too cried, though Elizabeth cried for her failure in being a good sister.

That night, Lydia found it a difficult task indeed to sleep. Memories of her youth were haunting her and stealing sleep from her eyes. Despite her conversation with her sister earlier that afternoon, her abhorrence for her past behavior had not abated, and she found it impossible to forgive herself. Happiness had graced the lives of all her sisters, yet eluded her. Not that she resented her sisters for their happiness; on the contrary, she was thrilled that her sisters had received the happiness that she knew they deserved. She told herself fiercely that she had deserved all of her current tribulations. She had no one to blame but herself for her marriage to Wickham and the subsequent problems that ensued. Sighing, she sat up on the bed and threw the bedcovers aside. Sleep would not occur tonight, she decided. However, soon boredom set in. As Lydia mused on ideas of relieving her boredom, she suddenly recalled that the Pemberley library was near her chambers. Granted she generally was not an avid reader, however she rather felt that even a book would be better company than her thoughts on this particular night. After a moment, though, Lydia sighed with disgust. Would she always be this shallow? She reprimanded herself for her lack of interest in improving her mind. Lizzy and Mary were both enthusiastic readers and thirsted for knowledge. Yet, Lydia did not measure up to their standards. Well, she resolved, she could at least attempt to educate herself. With a look of determination set in her eyes, she flung her dressing gown over her night dress and set off for the library. It did not occur to Lydia that she might possibly encounter another person.

She found the library with little trouble. As she stepped in hesitantly, she fought to keep her awe in check. On a purely aesthetic level, the library was beautiful. Of course, reflecting on the idea, Lydia didn't know why she was so taken in by the beauty of the library, after all everything in Pemberley was stunningly beautiful. And, so many books! While she was admittedly not a book lover, she was astounded by the sheer number of books lining the numerous shelves. Walking over slowly to one of the shelves, Lydia trailed her fingers over the spines of the books. Her hand stopped on one of Shakespeare's plays. Thankful that she had carried her lamp with her, she read the title as King Lear. Lydia had read one or two of Shakespeare's plays- she vaguely remembered reading a tragedy involving two lovers, whom she believed to be rather silly- so she was not wholly ignorant of Shakespeare. But, this particular play was foreign to her. Settling down on a plush chair, keeping her lamp close to her, Lydia opened the pages and was soon engrossed in the text.

Indeed, she was so engrossed in the text that she failed to hear Mr. Darcy approach. Her immersion into the story was to the extent that she remained unaware of his presence until he called her name.

"Mr. Darcy," she cried, startled. She blinked quickly, feeling disorientated slightly. The world of Lear and Cordelia had captured her attention, and now she swore she could feel a jarring thump as she re-entered reality. Hastily, she stood and clutched her dressing gown tightly around her frame. A crimson flush spread across her cheeks, as embarrassment flooded her being. What must Mr. Darcy think of her? And, she was in her dressing gown! He had never regarded her highly, and now he must think her a shameless hussy.

While Lydia was reprimanding herself for ever leaving her room, Mr. Darcy also felt the awkwardness of the situation. Though he owned that Lydia's behavior had markedly altered since he had last seen her, he was not quite what to make of her either. That night, Elizabeth had given him an account of her afternoon conversation with Lydia. She seemed to have changed and matured, yet Mr. Darcy continued to feel hesitant towards her. However, when he saw her blush, Mr. Darcy's hesitancy left and was replaced with his natural sense of honor. As he looked at her, he was again struck by how young she really was; she was around the same age as Georgiana, whom he still struggled to think of as a sensible woman and not a child. Thus, his honor compelled him to attempt to reassure her.

"Mrs. Wickham, I apologize for startling you." He smiled charmingly at her. He motioned for her to sit, and then he sat upon the chair facing her. "I assume that you could not sleep either?"

Lydia nodded, her eyes trained on the pattern of the carpets on the floor. She could not particularly explain why she felt so embarrassed and awkward in the presence of her sister's husband. He had certainly never given her any cause to feel this way. She supposed that her embarrassment was due to her behavior when Mr. Darcy had arranged her marriage with George. Thinking back to those weeks, as she thought of her behavior and actions, she felt the sting of shame overtake her. She was ashamed of many things in her past. However, in regards to Mr. Darcy, she recollected that she had always behaved with impropriety in his presence. Even before he had been forced to arrange her marriage, in Hertfordshire, she had flirted openly with officers and overall conducted herself with no concern for decorum. Then, while Mr. Darcy arranged the affairs of her marriage, she had behaved contemptuously towards him, never once addressing him with the respect that he deserved. Furthermore, she never once evinced any show of remorse for her elopement. These memories were currently on her mind, as she traced as small pattern on the floor with her bare foot. Her bare foot! She groaned inwardly, when she realized that in her haste she had forgotten her shoes.

Mr. Darcy broke the silence. "What are you reading," he queried, kindly.

Lydia swallowed. "King Lear," she replied.

When Mr. Darcy smiled again, Lydia almost fell off her seat in surprise. In their previous acquaintance, four years ago, Mr. Darcy had rarely smiled. Now, he was smiling easily. She mused that Lizzy had wrought a good influence upon him. "That is one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. I was not aware that you liked Shakespeare, Mrs. Wickham." Mr. Darcy deemed it wise not to mention that he had been unaware that she even knew how to read.

"I am not a great reader," Lydia responded, slowly, but honestly and blushing slightly. "When I was younger, I preferred... other pursuits. Improving my mind and expanding my knowledge were never foremost in my list of concerns." Subtly, she shook her head in disgust at her own shallowness.

Being an observant man, Mr. Darcy noticed her almost imperceptible motion. As he had felt that night when she had arrived on his doorstep, he felt pity stir his heart. "Mrs. Wickham," his tone was soft but firm, "the past is just that- the past." She glanced at him, inquiringly with more than a little shock in her eyes. "You can not change the past. You can, however, change the present and your future. Dwelling on the past, Mrs. Wickham, will accomplish nothing. On the contrary, merely dwelling on the past will only bring you pain. The mark of a truly sensible person is the ability to learn from the past, to correct past mistakes, and to also move on from the past." He saw that she was listening and continued. "You made your share of mistakes and share a great deal of blame for your misfortune." Lydia flinched at the truth of his words. "However, you were also very young- only sixteen. No one can blame you for being taken in by Mr. Wickham's charm."

Lydia was afraid that she was staring at Mr. Darcy very stupidly. "But, but," she sputtered. Closing her eyes, she paused to gather her emotions. "Youth is not an excuse, Mr. Darcy," her voice was weary.

"Mrs. Wickham, did Elizabeth ever tell you about my sister?"

She raised her eyebrow in confusion. What did his sister have to do with George? "She told me that Miss Darcy- pardon, I mean, Lady Avery- became very close friends with Kitty. She also mentioned that Lady Avery lives in an estate close to Pemberley. Why?"

Ignoring her question, Mr. Darcy rose from his seat and began pacing. Mrs. Wickham, to him, seemed ignorant of the affair between Georgiana and George Wickham. Yet, how could that be possible? "And, what of Mr. Wickham? Did he ever mention Georgiana?" He demanded.

Lydia gaped at him. "No, I did not even know you had a sister until Lizzy told me earlier this afternoon," she answered, bemusedly.

Mr. Darcy took his seat again and looked intensely into Lydia's face, and Lydia fought to keep her composure under his scrutinizing glance. "Mrs. Wickham, what I am about to tell you is little known. It is something that I find very difficult to speak of; similarly, I know that it pains my sister to hear of it, thus I avoid speaking of the matter around her. Very few people know anything at all. Elizabeth, Kitty, Lord Avery, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and a very select few family members are the only ones who know anything at all about this. I think it is necessary that you know about this. Yet, I must beg you to never reveal this incident to anyone."

Lydia found herself perversely wanting to hit Mr. Darcy over his head with a thick book. What on earth was Mr. Darcy going on about so obtusely? He was being infuriatingly vague and bewildering. She was entirely lost in this conversation. Suppressing her impatience, Lydia forced herself to wait silently for Mr. Darcy to continue.

Mr. Darcy averted his eyes from Mrs. Wickham's face and turned his gaze to his hands. Forcing his voice to remain steady, for the topic still stung him even now, he related the entire sordid affair between Georgiana and Mr. Wickham. "Georgiana was only fifteen at the time." He concluded, now lifting his eyes to meet Lydia's. "She trusted Mr. Wickham- trusted that he loved her and not her dowry. She mistook his character, much the way you did. After everything had passed, Georgiana was shattered. While always shy, she became even more cripplingly shy. It took Elizabeth's influence to truly restore Georgiana's spirits and confidence." He smiled fondly at the thought of his wife. "Mrs. Wickham, I never blamed my sister for her mistaken judgment. And, I have never liked to think of the idea that she would have eloped with Mr. Wickham, had I not interfered." He paused for a moment before adding slowly, "I believe that I was too hasty in not allowing you the same leniency that I afforded my sister. I was quick to forgive her, yet quick to also condemn you for the same mistake that she was set to make. Mrs. Wickham, you made several mistakes in your youth. I admit that there were several times that I found myself disgusted with your conduct. However, you are no longer the same child. You have matured and changed greatly. I now consider it a special privilege to call you my sister."

Simply put, Lydia felt as though someone had taken her senses away from her. Mr. Darcy's speech had stupefied her, and she struggled to grasp all the things he had just told her. It did not surprise her to realize her husband's scheme to gain Georgiana's dowry; she did not put such trickery and manipulation past him. She noticed with some gratitude that Mr. Darcy was merely sitting quietly now, allowing her the time to consider his words. As she thought upon his concluding sentiments, she wondered if he had meant them. She thought it difficult to believe that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy could be proud of a sister such as her. And, she could not forgive and excuse herself so easily.

"Sir," she finally said, "I thank you for your kind words." Lydia looked into Mr. Darcy's face and smiled, though her smile did not quite reach her eyes. She was grateful for his words; she was thankful that he wanted to console her. Yet, she could not believe his prettily phrased sentences either.

"Mrs. Wickham, I meant every word that I said," Mr. Darcy stated, firmly. And, he truly did mean everything that he had said. He had not even known that he held those thoughts, until he found himself talking to Mrs. Wickham. His emotions were as much a surprise to him as they were to her.

"You know that Mr. Wickham is dead," Lydia said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, Elizabeth told me," he answered, cautiously. Lydia nodded; she was not particularly surprised by this news. Mr. Darcy wanted to tell Lydia more, yet he knew not of what to say. Normally, he would have offered his condolences, yet this occasion did not warrant condolences. "Mrs. Wickham, I would have you know that I am here if you should need anything." He finally settled on that phrase and hoped that it was help in some way.

"Lydia."

"Pardon?" Mr. Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You called me your sister, earlier," Lydia explained, "so I hardly think that it is necessary to continue all these formalities. Please call me Lydia." She, then, softly added, "and thank you for your offer."

He smiled, and Lydia marveled at the transformation that a smile brought to his face. "Very well, then. However, then you must call me, Fitzwilliam, or Darcy, if you prefer that." The two smiled and a thread of mutual understanding passed between the two, much in the same manner as Lydia and Elizabeth had arrived at their understanding a week ago. From that night on, Lydia would always regard Mr. Darcy- she could not really think of him as Fitzwilliam quite yet- as her brother, whom she held in affection and esteem.

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