Of Love and Money

“I have already said, as soon as things improve, we will move to a better home. But right now I have to find a job and you know that.”

Lydia, understanding, nodded and quitted the room, leaving her husband alone. Ten years married and still not a pound in the family. She looked down on her expanding belly and gently caressed it. “How will I take care of you?” she asked quietly. “We are poor, you see. My dear Wickham, your father, has not been able to find a job. No one will take him.” She paused, considering. “No one, that is, except all those ladies at the balls.” She felt a small jolt within. “Yes, my precious, I fear your father loves me no longer.” Lydia walked over to the widow and looked out into the busy streets of London. “Lucky Lizzy and Jane. I bet they are happy and secure in their homes, Jane with her Mr. Bingley, and Lizzy with Darcy.” Her facial features hardened and stamping her foot on the floor like a stubborn child, proclaimed, “Oh, how I despise them!” She walked over to the desk and picked up all the letters from Lizzy and Jane. All that waste of paper and ink only to tell her how well they are and not send any money! Memories of her past flashed in her mind; balls, parties, dinners with the officers, her dear sister Kitty, and her nerve-wrecked mother.

“Oh, how I long to dance!” she proclaimed. “Can't we have one, love?”

“All in good time, dear, all in good time.” Wickham replied from the other room.

“But I want it now!” Lydia whined. “I want to dance!”

No answer. A sense of separation fills Lydia's heart.

“You don't love me any more, do you, George?” she said timidly. “You don't love your children either. I know it; I see how you treat them.” She sighed and looked out the window again. Her eyes were filled with tears and therefore she didn't recognize Kitty's face at first when she saw it. Lydia frantically threw open the widow and shouted down to her.

“Kitty! Kitty! Up here!” Her sister looked up and a wide smile spread across her face.

“Lydia! How well you look! Are you alone?”

“No, my dear Wickham is here as well. Pray tell your reason for coming.”

“Lydia! If you do not close that window right now, I will be forced to lock it tight!” Wickham yelled from his office room. Obediently, Lydia closed the window, but not before she invited her sister to come up. Moments later there was a knock on the door. As fast as her swollen belly would allow her, Lydia rushed to open it.

“Who is there, Lydia?” Wickham asked.

“Oh, tis my sister! How merry I shall be now!” She opened the door and let Kitty in. Greetings were exchanged and comments shared.

“But Lydia! How can you live in such a place?! My dear Roberts and I live in such fine house!” Kitty took Lydia by her hand, “Oh, you must come and visit me! We shall have a ball! 'Twill be grand!”

“Oh, I shall like that very much! Kitty! You are the most wonderful sister ever! How could I have ever gotten along without you!

"You couldn't have." Kitty replied proudly. "After all, I am your older sister and know much more about things than you do. Running away with a lover! Posh!"

"Oh, Kitty, do not you scold me in such a way! I shall not bear such talk! After all, I was married before you."

At that moment, Wickham came out of his office. He was dressed in his militia outfit and looked just as he had ten years ago.

"My dear sister," he addressed Kitty, "How wonderful to see you. I trust things are well with you?"

Kitty nodded. "They are all well, thank you. Although I must tell you that my little boy is not quite so well. He has contracted a terrible fever and coughs constantly!" Lydia laughed.

"Kitty, do you remember how you used to cough all the time and how our dear father, God bless his soul, used to reprimand you for it? What fun it was!"

Kitty looked slightly offended, but the cloud passed by quickly and she soon resumed to be merry. For the first time she noticed what Lydia was wearing.

"My dear Lydia!" she exclaimed, "What is that terrible old thing you are wearing!? I must bring you something more descent if you are to come to my ball!" Lydia looked down at her old wedding dress. It was stained, torn in places, and the hems were coming apart. Her shoes were in no better state and her hair were a mess. She laughed heartily.

"Oh, tis nothing! I shall fix it." She thought for a moment then added. "But perhaps instead of letting me borrow a dress, can you not give me some money that I may be able to buy my own dress-"

"Lydia! We are not beggars to ask for money!" Wickham interrupted. "I will get a job and we shall have money! But I will not hear you beg for money!" Lydia only laughed.

"Listen to him! Always concerned about me! Oh, he loves me yet, praise God!" She put her arms around him and gave him a kiss. He did not return either, but only a cold glance which Lydia chose to ignore. "We shall be merry indeed!" she proclaimed.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth was about to enter the shop when she saw him, strolling down the street hands in his pockets and smile on his face, turning the heads of the nearby ladies. Wickham has not changed a bit in looks nor in character, only in age. She turned to enter the shop to escape his notice but was too late.

“Ah, my dear sister!” he called. Looks of envy crossed the many ladies' faces. “Things are well with your family? Your mother? Father?”

“My father has long passed away as you well know, and my mother is sick in bed.” Elizabeth replied unemotionally.

“Ah.” Was all he said in reply. “I pray you are well?”

“I beg your pardon, my dear brother, but unlike some, I have things that I need to do. Therefore, if you will excuse me, I shall finish what I set out to do. Oh and here comes my dear Mr. Darcy!” she waved to her husband. “If you wish to talk, you may talk to him.”

Wickham turned around and looked at Darcy, a shadow crossed Darcy's face when their eyes met.

“But I'm afraid,” Elizabeth added, “that he may not want to talk to you.”

“I am forced to admit you are right, dear sister. Perhaps I better go. I hear there is a job opening.” With that, he turned on his heel and left. Darcy came up a few moments later. Elizabeth, in greeting, gave him a kiss which he wholeheartedly returned with a thought in his mind that if things had not turned out the way they had, he may never have had the pleasure of having this woman.

“What did he want, Elizabeth?” Darcy asked nodding in Wickham's direction.

“I suppose to try and persuade me against you again like he did in the past.” She replied, smiling. “But nothing in the world will change my love for you.” To that, Darcy smiled.

“And don't you repeat what I said ten years ago.” Elizabeth added, laughing. Together they walked into the shop. It was warm and cozy inside and there weren't many people. There wasn't much to buy either. The whole reason Elizabeth dragged Darcy here all the way from Pemberly was to see London again. To see London and her family, or at least what was left of it. Her good father passed away more than a year ago of a fever which he contracted while on a trip up North. Her mother has been sick in bed with wrecked nerves. Mary was off somewhere studying, still not married, and Jane was happily living with her dear Bingley. Elizabeth picked up a bonnet off a shelf and examined it. It wasn't ugly, but it wasn't pretty, either. She laid it gently back down.

“You don't like it?” Darcy asked. He curiously looked at the bonnet. It was not like they were used to be. Style was changing, like everything else.

“It would not fit me.” She simply replied. Darcy smiled.

“I'll take that as a no.”

Elizabeth went to the other end of the store and looked at some dresses. They were all beautiful, and all were costly. She imagined herself in one of them, dancing the night away, and she thought what Darcy would have thought of her if he saw her in this dress the first night they met. How things would have turned out. How cruelly she had rejected him the first time he proposed, and how unjustly! Elizabeth could not imagine how Wickham dared to show his face in public any more.

“Shall we have a ball tonight?” Darcy whispered in her ear. “We can invite ...all of your sisters and friends. I should dearly like to see the Gardiners again, wouldn't you?” Elizabeth turned to face him. There was a light smile on his face and a shadow of wrinkles began to web the corners of his eyes. She smiled back and putting her arms around him replied, “Oh, I shall like that very much!” Taking Elizabeth by her arm, he then led her out of the shop and toward the nearest station to take them back to Pemberly.

It was past midnight when Wickham opened the door to their room in the inn. The candles were put out and Lydia was in bed, hopefully asleep. He crept across the floor towards the widow and looked out. The streets were full even at night. He remembered the first night he and Lydia spent together in an inn room. It was exiting at first, but then things got out of hand when Darcy showed up and screwed things up for him. How he hated the man. It was never Wickham's intention to marry Lydia, never was. In fact, he didn't even like the girl. What made him elope with her he didn't know. Perhaps...no, what would she have to do with it? Elizabeth's face materialized in his mind, clear and vivid, her eyes as beautiful as before. He could see how Darcy was so captivated by them, they were so brilliant. Perhaps Elizabeth was the reason for his elopement with Lydia. Proposing to Elizabeth then would have been unimaginable; her views of Darcy and him were so altered. An elopement with Lydia seemed the next best thing to her, and Lydia was available. The others were either too ugly or taken. He sighed. Oh, beautiful Elizabeth he thought. The bed creaked behind him and he heard the bed sheets rustle.

“Wickham, is that you?” Lydia's voice came from the bed, barely audible and thick from sleep. He turned to face her and tried to smile, but one wouldn't come.

“Yes.” He replied. Lydia sat up on one elbow and looked intently at her husband.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked. He turned to face the window again and remained silent. Lydia repeated the question, but to no avail. Wickham remained as silent as stone. “Come into bed,” she said at last in a resigned tone, “It is late.” Wickham stood looking at the window for a while more. When he finally went to bed, Lydia was asleep. Was it really for love, he thought, or was it for revenge? She is so beautiful...

Wickham woke the next morning to find the bed empty. Not a big surprise. Lydia was probably out buying food. He quietly got up and walked to the next room and peered in. His miniature was asleep on the floor. His lust and the need for love produced this child that he didn't want. And now he had done it again. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He should have never proposed, should never have met her, and never should have talked to her. Now it was all too late, their lives were set and nothing will change. But, God! He loved Elizabeth. He poured himself a glass of whiskey his remaining friend brought to him, downed it in one gulp, and poured another. After his third shot, Wickham tossed the glass and drank out of the bottle. Upon hitting the floor, the glass shattered into thousands of pieces flying in every which way. Wickham ignored it. Setting the bottle aside, he took out a piece of paper and prepared to write a letter. To who? Elizabeth? Tell her how much he loved her? Was he out of his mind? Darcy will surely kill him. He must be. Wickham stood up and picked up the bottle again. Elizabeth's words echoed in his mind, I beg your pardon, my dear brother, but unlike some, I have things that I need to do. Perhaps if he could change her mind against Darcy, maybe he will still be able to win her. But what about Lydia? He cannot remarry until she is dead...and to kill Elizabeth's sister would be to hurt their relationship further, or just plain kill it. Subconsciously his hand curled into a fist and hit the table.

“Daddy, why are you angry?” a small voice asked from behind. Wickham whirled around to face his son.

“What?” he exclaimed. A hurt and frightened look crossed the child's face. “Off to bed with you.” He added.

“But, father, its early morning.” His son stated somewhat timidly.

“Well, then, get back into bed and don't get up until late morning.” Obediently, the boy went back into the room, closing the door behind him. Wickham went back to drinking, his thoughts loyally remaining on the subject of Elizabeth and her beautiful eyes. The bottle was almost empty when the room began to blur at the edges. Not a drop was left when the room began to melt. Dizziness swept over Wickham and his whole body shacked and trembled. The room began to darken at corners and all he heard was Elizabeth's voice, calling him to her...telling him...blackness...I love you, Wickham...Don't die...come back....Oh God!.........Wickham!!George!.........God help!.....Someone.........! Sobs, is Elizabeth crying? He sees a face through the darkness, a face so close you could kiss it.

“Elizabeth, my love.” he managed to whisper, “God help me but I love you!” His hand shakily reached out to the face, to stroke it, to lower it for a kiss, to feel the grace of love and life. It jerked away from his reach, filling his ears with violent sobs. He frantically grabbed for it, but it was too far, it was gone. Pain filled his heart and overwhelmed his senses. Night claimed his mind and he passed out.

It was late afternoon when Elizabeth and Darcy finally reached Pemberly. The grounds were just as beautiful as they were when she first saw them. There was another carriage by the door when they arrived.

“Who could that possibly be?” Elizabeth wondered out loud. Darcy shrugged.

“We shall find out as soon as we get in.” He got out of the carriage and offered his hand to Elizabeth as she stepped out after him. She graciously took it. A servant woman came running out.

“Sir! Ma'am! There are some people here to see. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner I believe.” She smiled and bowed before her master. Darcy's face lit. The Gardiner.

“Thank you, Hannah.” He said. Hannah bowed again and went back in. Elizabeth and Darcy followed.

The Gardiners were waiting for them in the guest room, happily situated on a small sofa next to each other. They have gotten considerably older and looked it. Mr. Gardiner's hair were streaked with lots of gray and wrinkles cris-crossed his face. Mrs. Gardiner, though with less gray hair, had as many wrinkles as her husband. The only thing that remained the same was their friendship and loyalty to the Darcys. They both smiled whey Elizabeth and Darcy walked in, the same worm smile that always greeted them.

“How wonderful to see you!” Mrs. Gardiner proclaimed

“I should and will say the same.” Darcy replied. “Things are well, I presume?”

“Could not be better.” Mr. Gardiner answered in his strong voice. “And I hope things are well here too? How is your son?” Elizabeth smiled.

“He should be in his room finishing his studies, but I daresay he is not there no longer, but off somewhere conquering the hears of many girls.” They all laughed.

“I should not be so surprised.” Mrs. Gardiner stated. “He has his father's good looks and his mother's amazing eyes. Oh, it shall get him in much trouble, it will.” Elizabeth only smiled. A servant came in with tea and biscuits.

“Is there anything else you need, sir?” she addressed her master. Darcy thanked her and said no. She left. The room was silent for a moment while the groups sipped tea. Elizabeth was first to break that silence.

“I trust everything is well in Derbyshire?” she asked, slightly leaning forward in her seat. The Gardiners nodded. A trifling conversation followed and went well into the evening. The Gardiners stayed at Pemberly for dinner which they claimed was the best they could ever get, which pleased Elizabeth. And after dinner, Elizabeth played the pianoforte for everyone. Darcy was thoroughly pleased with the entire evening and the visit, and before the Gardiners left, he invited them to the ball they were going to have in three days' time.

“They are such pleasant people.” Elizabeth remarked. “I should be very disappointed if they were not to come to the ball.”

Darcy nodded in agreement and led Elizabeth back inside after the Gardiners' carriage pulled away.

It was early afternoon when Wickham was able to open his eyes and see the daylight. His head hurt and his body refused to respond. He groaned.

“Lydia?” he managed to croak out. There was no response. Not even from his son. Wickham tried to get up, but his body wouldn't move. He swore silently. Where was she when he needed her? Off at some warehouse buying bonnets. He swore again. Wickham tried to remember what had happened, whiskey...pain....somebody else...who was it...Someone by the name of....Elizabeth?...Lizzy...Elizabeth's face floated up in his memory. He shut his eyes tight and willed the memory to vanish. It did not. A groan escaped his throat.

The sun was rising higher, but the room was still dark, the widows of this inn were so filthy. Wickham made another attempt at getting up. Succeeding, he managed to crawl to the table and grab hold of the edge to steady him self. But instead of his hand landing on solid wood, it fell upon a letter. Wickham looked at it curiously. It was only a blur, but he could tell it was written by a skillful hand. He sat himself in a chair and picked up the letter.

“Dear Lydia” it said, and that was all he could make out. It was probably another letter from some relative telling Lydia they cannot support her. Wickham tossed it aside. The letter, caught in a breeze from the window, gently floated to the floor while Wickham followed its white blur with his eyes. He heard the door open and turned to face it. An outline of a woman stood there. She stood there, staring back at him, and then suddenly she moved with such speed and grace towards him that he was almost knocked out by her embrace.

“Oh, love! You live! God has spared me the miserly of being a lonely widow!” sobbed Lydia's voice in his ear. Disgusted, Wickham attempted to push her away, but his strength failed him and he was forced to endure her tears and sobs on his shoulder. Eventually she let go of him. Stepping back something crushed under her shoe. Slightly frightened, Lydia jumped, but turning around she saw that it was only a remaining piece of glass that she missed while cleaning up. Next to the crushed glass she saw the letter that Wickham dropped. She picked it up gently and brought it to her face. It was from Elizabeth. An excitement rushed through her veins. Maybe Elizabeth finally agreed to give her some money! But reading the entire letter she found to her disappointment and then delight that it was in invitation to a ball. It went as follows:

Dear Lydia,

I shall first state that this letter contains no amount of any money, therefore do not hope for it, dear sister. But, forgetting the money matter for now, I shall be greatly disappointed if you will not be able to attend a ball that my dear Darcy and I are hosting. Poor Kitty will be very disappointed as well. Please come.

Yours, etc.

Lydia's heart filled with delight. A ball! How grand it shall be! She was so happy she completely forgot about Wickham sitting at her side, expectantly looking up at her. She was almost startled to find him there.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Did you read this letter?” she asked after a quick recovery. Wickham shook his head no. Her hands trembling with excitement, Lydia told him about the invitation, only to be disappointed with the look he gave her.

“What! Do you not like it?” she inquired. But before he could answer, a look of fear crossed her face. “I- know why...You...Elizabeth.... Lizzy, my sister!” Her hands clapped over her mouth. “How could you!” The invitation slipped from her slack grasp and silently fell to the floor. Her hands were limp at her sides.

“What are you talking about?” Wickham asked, urgency and fear sipping into his tone.

“You love her!” she said in a quiet but rising voice. “You said so yourself. You love my sister!” Tears filled Lydia's eyes. She couldn't believe it. All this time she has been married to a man who did not care for her but loved her sister. She couldn't stand it. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the room and into the streets of busy London. Wickham was left alone with his thoughts, fear, and rising anger. How dare she accuse him so boldly and openly! And with no evidence, no proof! He stood up so suddenly, his head spun. Wickham collapsed back into the chair. It was pointless to argue, he knew that, he knew Lydia's words were true, and the truth stung.

Elizabeth was suddenly awakened by a loud noise right outside her door.

“Who is there?” she asked, her sleep wiped away in a matter of moments. There was commotion outside the door before an answer came.

“Pardon me, ma'am. Tis only I, Hannah. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Hannah's face appeared in the door smiling apologetically. Elizabeth sighed.

“What are you up To, Hannah?”

“Oh, we are preparing for the party, miss. Its today, don't you know.” And her face disappeared. Elizabeth sat in her bed, waiting for the words to sink in. A party, there was to be a party today. Suddenly it hit her. There was a party today at her house and she wasn't even ready! Quickly scrambling out of bed she hurried to her closet and picked out a dress to wear. It was simple and plain. Good enough for work. She donned it and proceeded to the basin to wash her face and hands. The water was slightly chilly and Elizabeth was completely awake by the time she was finished. Now all she had to do was find Mr. Darcy. She went to the door and was about to open it when it opened for her. Mr. Darcy was standing in the door way, smiling broadly.

“Good morning, love. Sleep well?” He had a big grin on his face that suggested to Elizabeth that something is amiss. She peered closer into his face, but no matter how hard she tried, his expression revealed nothing.

“What?” she asked, finally giving up. He did not answer but only looked outside. Elizabeth followed his gaze and tried to figure out what he was looking at. The sun was up and the skies clear, there was his horse in the yard, waiting for him, there was...the sun.

“Did I really sleep that long?” she asked incredulously. With the big smile still on his face, he nodded. Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. That rarely happened to her, and when it did it was only after a day's hard work and a late bed time. As far as she could remember her day was not busy and she went to bed early.

“I'm going into town today to get some things for the party.” Darcy's words broke into her thoughts. Elizabeth nodded. “Do you need anything, dear?” She shook her head no. Darcy nodded, and, giving Elizabeth a hug, left.

The streets of London were crowded and Lydia had a hard time getting around people. Pushing them out of her way, sometimes unnecessarily hard, she made her way to the station. There, she ordered a carriage and asked if it will be able to take her to Longbourn. Pulling out whatever money she had left, she paid for the journey and got into the carriage.

The journey wasn't long, but it was painful. Lydia jumped in her seat every time the carriage went over a bump; which, to her annoyance, was often.

Her mind was numb and her head spun. To think her husband didn't love her the whole time they were married. Why did her marry her at all? That Darcy was nothing but trouble for them. He forced them to marry, and, in fact, Lydia would have disappointed if they didn't. She sighed. In the next minute she spotter her mother's house. It was old and looked very un-kept. The paint was pealing off of every wall, the windows were filthy, the garden overgrown, and the grounds looked like they have not been swept ever since she left the house with Wickham. A pain stabbed through her heart as the thought of Wickham crossed her mind. She looked around the grounds again. This will give her something to work on and take her mind off things, off Wickham.

Lydia came up to the house, remembering the last time she saw it. Her shoe family was there, waving her good-bye. Her hand reached for the rusting doorknob but stilled as it came over it. She looked at it. It was barely held by the screws to the door. A spider crawled across it. Lydia quickly jerked her hand away from it. She hated spiders and glared fearfully at the one on the doorknob. It stopped as if to glare back, but after a moment went on its way. Cautiously, Lydia leaned forward to check if there were more of them, but there were not. She reached again for the doorknob and opened the door. Old and musty smells enter her nostrils. Her face screwed in disgust. There were cobwebs in every corner, ankle-deep dust on the floor and much more on the furniture or anything where it could collect. Lydia picked up her skirts and tentatively proceeded to the familiar staircase up to her mother's bedroom.

“Mama?” she called. There was no response. She called again but to no avail. Lydia was about to climb up the steps when she noticed a pile of letters at the bottom of it. She curiously looked at them, afraid to touch the dust-covered things. They looked old and the paper yellowed. Some of the corners were already tethered and the ink was disappearing. Lydia peered up the staircase and called her mother again. But the house was as silent as a stone. Fearing the worst, Lydia gathered her skirts about her and placed her foot on the first stair. It creaked under her weight, an old and wailing kind of creak. She paused. What if the staircase won't hold her? Hesitantly, Lydia stepped fully onto the old stair. To her relief, it did support her weight and did not crash from under her feet. She smiled. I guess being small isn't so bad after all, she thought. She proceeded further up without any unfortunate events.

Lydia found her mother's bedroom door closed, as usual. Mayhap she was just asleep, Lydia hoped. She knocked on the door. No answer. Taking hold of the doorknob, she opened the door...and let out a small scream at what she saw. Her mother was seated in a char, or was rather slumped in it, ghostly pale and looking quite dead. Lydia stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the spectacle before her. No, it couldn't be! It was not possible! No! screamed Lydia's mind. Tears welled up in her throat and a couple rolled down her pale cheek. She made no movement to wipe it away.

“No!” she yelled out loud, and, turning around, rand down the old and creaking stairs, through the dusty living room and out the front door. She didn't stop until the Longbourn residence was well out of site. It was a dead house now, one for which no one care for anymore. She could never come back to it again. Tears streamed down her face as she ran. Twice she tripped and twice she had gotten up to continue in her plight from what she knew not. Her skirts were covered in mud and her one of her shoes was now missing. Her family was truly dead now, for no one cared for her anymore, save for Kitty, but even she now lived lavishly and didn't visit very often and when she did it was only to brag about her good and happy life and complain about small things.

Unable to run anymore, Lydia flung herself on the ground and buried her face in her sleeves. Its not fair! Her mind cried, Things weren't supposed to turn out this way! I was supposed to be the lucky one! And now she is the wretched one. Her body shook with violent sobs and she made no effort at hiding any emotion. It began to rain and Lydia sent a curse up at the skies, at God, and at anything that might be up there that was responsible for her misfortune.

“Oh, I am a miserable wretch indeed!” she wailed, and in her wailing did not hear the sound of carriage wheels on the sodden ground. She wasn't aware of the carriage until it was almost on top of her. The horses skidded to a halt inches away from her sprawled body. Lydia slowly raised her head and looked up into their snouts, their warm breath washing over her.

“What is it?” she heard a voice call from within the carriage. “What's going on?”

Lydia saw a pair of feet coming towards her, then felt two strong hands lift her off the ground. It must have been a man, she guessed. Suddenly dread seized her, what if it was Wickham? Her eyes shot up to the concerned face that was looking at her and immediately went down. It was a man, but it was not Wickham. Oh, but his face was so handsome, much more so than Wickham's! And his eyes were so blue and so piercing. She grabbed hold of his arm to steady herself, but her knees were weak and buckled under her. The man caught her in his arms.

“Come,” he said with a thick accent which Lydia could not place, “Get up. I shall help you. Come.” She lifted her face up to his and weakly smiled.

“You are a stranger,” she whispered in a barely audible voice, “yet you care for me more than my husband ever has.” And she fainted.

Darcy was at the point of entering the carriage when he saw Wickham surrounded, once again, by numerous ladies. Though there was one that he was holding particularly close. In fact, so close that the hand that seemed to be around her waist was really upon her behind. He frowned in disgust. It was plain to see that he did not care for his wife, not a wit.

“Sir? Your carriage, sir.”

Darcy turned at the sound of the voice and saw his coachman looking at him.

“Yes, of course. Please excuse me, I got distracted.” He glanced at Wickham who apparently did not see him yet. The coachman saw the disapproving glance.

Aye, sir, there are many people who have been giving that young man those disapproving looks. What a disagreeable man indeed.” Then, lowering his voice, he added “I hear he has a wife who he uses only as a possession and a not a human being.” He chuckled. But Darcy only looked at him.

“It is none of your business to poke your long nose into others' affairs.” He said, but not coldly and not as a warning. It was just a simple statement, for Darcy also knew of the current state of things between Lydia and Wickham, and they were not pleasant. He only wished that things would improve.

Darcy looked back at Wickham, but the man was gone. He stepped into the carriage and sat himself next to Samuel, his servant and his good friend. Elizabeth would be pleased with the new dress he got her, he was sure of it. His lips curved in an easy smile.

“Pardon for asking sir, but, what makes you smile?” Samuel asked in his always-curious voice.

“Oh, things.” replied Darcy. Samuel nodded to himself, satisfied.

The journey home wasn't long but it was painful. They really ought to fix the roads, Darcy thought. He always preferred going on horseback, but today he needed a carriage to carry all his newly bought possessions. He would go riding later, maybe Elizabeth will come along.

Three days later

Lydia woke up to the soft purring at her ear. Her hand reached out to see what it was and came in contact with lots of soft fur. For a moment she just lay there, petting the animal next to her head, and then suddenly, everything came flooding back. She sat up so suddenly that she knocked over the vase that was standing close to the bed and surprised the cat that was lying comfortable next to her head. It issued an unpleasant hiss. The door flew open and a lady rushed in.

Lydia stared at her for a long moment.

“Oh, thank the heavens you're alive!” she said in a pleasantly high voice. “We feared you had died.”

Lydia looked quizzically at the lady, “Died?”

The lady nodded.

“It must have been three days since we brought you here. And you have made no sign of being alive whatsoever since then.”

Lydia stared. Three days! It seemed an only hour since she had lost consciousness and now this lady was saying it has been three days!

“Wh...what happened?” she asked.

“Oh, never you worry. Now that you have wakened you shall have something to eat.” She looked down at the broken vase. “And don't worry about that” she added pointing to the broken pieces, “I shall get Emma to clean it up.” With that, the lady smiled at her and left the room.

Lydia sat silently in bed, trying to think. But the more she thought, the more her head hurt. She groaned and fell back on the bed. To have been out for so long! Lots must have happened during these days. Lots including the... including Lizzy's ball! She must have already had it, and she, Lydia, missed it! She couldn't believe it.

She got up, but found out too soon that her knees were too weak to support her weight. Lydia sat back down on the bed and buried her face in her hands, tears clogging up her throat. She didn't know what to do now that her mother was dead, all she could do was go back home, if home indeed it is. She tried to get up more slowly this time and succeeded. When she was ready to walk over to the door, it opened and the lady came in with a tray full of food. Lydia eyed it, her stomach telling her that it would not accept anything at the moment.

“Please, Mrs. -”

“Mrs. Dower.” The lady supplied.

“Please, Mrs. Dower, be so kind as to lend me a pen, some ink and some paper. I wish to write a letter to my sister.”

“Oh, oh...why, of course. If you have a relative I am sure they would want to know that you are alright. Are you married? Should I write to your husband?”

A look of panic crossed Lydia's face. “No!” she blurted out. “No, please, I would just like to write a letter to my sister. Thank you.”

Mrs. Dower nodded, put the tray on the small table beside the bed and left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

What was she to do now? Of course Lizzy and Jane would want to know of their mother's death. But she was not worried of them; it was Kitty that troubled her mind. Poor dear sister. Mrs. Dower came back with some paper, quill and inks and put them beside the bed.

“If you need anything else, please feel free to ask my son who will be here while my husband and I are gone. He is an agreeable man and would be glad to help. Rest well, and I do hope things will turn for the better.” And with that, Mrs. Dower was gone. Lydia sighed and took the paper and the quill.

My dearest Lizzy,

How hard it is for me to break the news. I wish I were dead. I am dreadfully sorry for missing your Ball, but my circumstances forced me to. Dear Lizzy, our mother had passed away. I do not know what else to say for I am in great shock and grief. My heart fills with sorrow and tears just thinking of it. Oh, Lizzy, if only you knew of my struggles.

Lydia paused as a tear escaped her eye and rolled gently down the slope of her cheek. Her hand quickly wiped it off. She truly did not know what else to say so she took the letter, folded it, and addressed it. It remained on the table where she put it for the rest of the day.

At around three in the afternoon, a gentleman walked into the room with a tray of biscuits and tea on it. Lydia looked at him curiously. He must be Mrs. Dower's son, she reasoned. She looked into his face and saw pure beauty in it. He was as handsome as a woman wish a man to be. His eyes were a rare shade of hazel, his hair a mix of ten different shades of brown and tan, his complexion perfect.

“'Morning, Miss.” he said lightly as his mouth curved in a perfect smile. “I trust you are well?” Lydia nodded, hypnotized by the man. He was even more handsome than Wickham ever was or will be. A small sigh of lust escaped her throat as the butterflies filled her stomach when he smiled at her again. He looked around the room.

“Rather dark in here, don't you agree?” he asked. Lydia nodded. “We'll have to open those curtains, and perhaps the windows as well to let some fresh air in.” he did as he said and all with such grace Lydia thought she was in the presence of an Angel in person.

“Thank you, sir.” she managed to say. “I much appreciate your help.”

He laughed, his laugh sounding like thousands of bells ringing out a hymn. “You can just call me William or Will. Makes no difference.” Lydia smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, William.” She could feel her cheeks come aflame, and could just imagine how foolish she must look to such a gentleman. Lydia scolded herself. She was a married woman and it will do her good not to be mooning over any other man than her husband. But at the thought of Wickham, her heart sank into the sea of pain within her chest and tears welled up in her eyes. One escaped and fell on her folded arms.

“Miss, is everything alright?” she heard Will ask. Lydia looked up at him, her vision blurred by restrained tears. Such an agreeable man! She tried to smile, but that only broke the barrier and now her tears poured freely out, like a river from a broken dam. She sobbed and tried to bring herself under control, but that only intensified the tears. She rather felt than seen him sit next to her, felt his arms wrap around her tightly, and heard his gentle voice in her ear telling her that everything will be alright, that he's here to help; he will help no matter what.

“For you are a beautiful young lady and should not have to bear such pains, whatever they might be.” he whispered in her ear. Lydia sobbed even harder. Without knowing, she curled herself in his arms, her body pressed against his firm chest.

William sat on the bed, the poor creature in his arms. She felt warm and...strangely good pressed against him. He leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of her head. Her hair was incredibly soft and he kissed it again. He didn't know her, and yet somehow, he was becoming more and more attracted to her. He then realized that she was now quiet. He pried her hands from his shirt and looked at her. She was asleep. Good, he thought, let her rest, she needs it. He gently laid her down on the bed, looked at her one last time, and then left.

Wickham had nothing better to do other than walk through town and pick up some ladies. He needed a relief, one which Lydia did not provide him with, but she was somehow pregnant with her second child.

As he walked, ladies were glued to him and he was happy to have them. Beautiful, stupid, women. The world could not have gotten better. He put his arm around the one walking next to him. She squealed in delight.

“Wickham, you beast!” she said teasingly as her own hand traveled up his back, making him shiver slightly.

“Would you care to come for a visit? Then I can really show you the beast within me.” he said, grinning wickedly. She giggled uncontrollably, attracting the attention of other ladies. Soon they were all in a buzz around him. Wickham grabbed the arm of one of them and escaped the crowd. He led her through the dirty streets to where he was living, walked her through the door and to his room. There he looked at her, grinning like a mad animal. He slowly advanced on her and when she was within reach, he stretched out his hand and stroked her belly. She giggled.

“Lara, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.” he whispered in a husky voice. She lowered her head in response, blushing. Wickham stepped closer, his hand moving up higher until it reached her breast. He gently caressed it and felt the pleasure within him as she inhaled sharply. It felt good to finally have a woman in his arms. He sighed and let his hands do their duty.

In mere moments, they were both in bed, dressed in only their souls and pleasures. Wickham could tell Lara was not new to this, she knew exactly where to caress, where to kiss, and when to do it. The fires in his groin were burning madly with desire and he felt himself harden against her. His mouth found hers and their tongues met in fiery explosions of pleasure. He kissed the top of her breast and then her nipple until it hardened and then put it full in his mouth. A yelp escaped her throat. He moved his kisses lower, gently scraping her belly with his teeth, until he was between her thighs, driving her to near insanity when his lips pressed against her. She was deliciously wet. He looked up at her and grinned.

Lydia woke to the sudden pains in her stomach. They were small at first, but became stronger as seconds passed by. Then, as suddenly as they came, the pains left her. She sat in her bed, panting. Her hand went to her swollen belly. There was no movement as there had been only weeks ago. Dread seized her and what if questions pelted her mind constantly. She yelled out as the pains returned, this time, fiercer. She knew what having a baby was like; she went through this a few years ago. But it was nothing like this. Footsteps filled the hallway and light appeared in her doorway. It was Mrs. Dower.

“Honey! Is everything alright!” But one look at Lydia told her it was not so. The doctor was called immediately and things necessary for birth brought to the room. It was long and painful, and the result devastating. It was dead before it even came out, has been dead for a long time. It was blue and shriveled and resembled nothing.

Her one hand was in his curls, the other stroking his back, her lips teasing his neck. Wickham thought he would die of pleasure. She was exquisite, beautiful, and had knowledge of men.

She flipped him over on his back and was on top of him in a matter of moments. It was her turn to grin.

Lydia lay in bed, panting and crying silently. Will was sitting in a chair next to her. She had lost her child, her precious gift of life. The only thing she hoped would love her. But no, it had to die. Lydia sobbed loudly.

“It's no use!” she cried out, not knowing what she meant. “I hate this world! I hate life, I hate Wickham!”

At the sound of Wickham's name Will sat up straight in his chair.

“Wickham?” he asked. Lydia looked at him with hate pouring out of every pore in her body.

“Insufferable man.” she hissed through her teeth.

“Do you know him?” he prodded.

“Oh, I know him alright, the son of a whore!” she paused, “I hope he suffers in hell!” she yelled out and turning away from Will, covered herself with a blanket up to her head. Will looked at her for a long time, thinking. How did she know Wickham? Could she be...? He stood up suddenly.

“You are Lydia!” he said slightly too loud. She did not answer, did not even move.

Wickham lay awake for what seemed like eternity. Lara was beside him, breathing softly, asleep. Why couldn't he get Elizabeth's face out of his mind? He practically stared a hole through Lara and still, Lizzy's face appeared on her body. Curse the woman, she must be a witch. He got out of bed and walked to the window, unaware that he was wearing nothing. The streets were crowded as usual with beggars and drunkards. Some were singing others were brooding, and still others were either dead or asleep, slumped against the walls of bars and shops. Wickham felt a slight breeze from a crack in the window against his body. He ignored it, his mind filled with thoughts of Elizabeth. Where was she now and what was she doing?

Tears slowly trickled down Lydia's face. What would William think of her now? Married to man that everyone despised! It seemed to her that her life was getting worse and worse every minute. She lay sobbing for a while until she decided that it was time for her to leave, to go home. Lydia unwillingly lifted herself out of bed, but her weakness forced her back into it. She lay there motionless and helpless.

He heard as slight rustle of bed sheets behind him. He turned and saw Lara looking back at him with those shining eyes. Wickham looked away in disappointment. Why wasn't it Elizabeth who was there? It was her face he saw there after all.

“Wickham, you have nothing on and you're standing next to an open window.” he heard her say. He looked down and for the first time was aware of his bare body and the breeze against it. A small sigh escaped him. He walked over to his desk, donned on a robe, lighted a candle and poured himself a glass of whiskey. It burned his throat as it went down and he savored it. With whiskey he could forget things, forget Lydia, forget Elizabeth, forget everything. He sat heavily into his chair and looked at Lara. She gazed back at him in wonder. The way he was sprawled in the chair, the way his eyes were unfocused, his ease, and his partially uncovered body. To her, they were all signs of a lover ready to be bedded.

But to him, it did not matter. Nothing mattered when whiskey burned down one's throat. Nothing but the sweet taste of the alcohol.

Will paced around his room like a restless animal. She was married, and to Wickham of all the people. When he had read that in the paper ten years ago he had felt sorry for the girl. But now that he actually knew her, he pitied the woman. Wickham had been one of his college friends, a friendship that did not last long. He was a man of no value, but his face and ability to please women more than made up for it sadly. He could guess right now what Wickham was doing with his wife absent. He knew that the man hated his wife and was married to her against his will, though he probably did not show it in the beginning. Wickham was a man of free will and did not like people screwing up his plans. Though why he had consented to marry or even run away with Lydia, it was a mystery to all.

He vowed to help the poor lady, and if he could, give her another chance at happiness.

...Darcy... The name sounded sour in his mind. How he hated the man. If it wasn't for his intervention, he would have by now been married to a rich woman, or perhaps just Lizzy, for her beauty made up for her status and lack of money. Wickham's lips curved in an easy smile at the thought of Elizabeth. She was a perfect woman; smart, witty, beautiful ... perhaps too smart. He cursed Darcy again for intervening. His hand trembled and a small amount of whiskey spilled on his fingers and the old wooden table. Maybe he will go to that cursed ball she was having, after all, it did get postponed. Perhaps then...

Elizabeth was reading a book when Darcy came in. The expression on his face was troubled. He paused in the doorway and looked away for a moment.

“What is it?” Elizabeth enquired. There was no answer and thinking Darcy might not have heard, she repeated the question. In response, Darcy strode across the room and gathered her in his arms.

“I'm sorry.” he whispered in her ear. Not understanding what is going on, Elizabeth gently pushed him away.

“What for?” she looked in his eyes. “Love, what's going on?”

Darcy turned away. “Your mother,” he said quietly, “she passed away, just a few mornings ago.” There was a silence. “And that's not all. Your sister, that we have painstakingly rescued ten years ago, she is missing again.”

“Now there is a big surprise.” Elizabeth said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“Lizzy, I fear for her. She visited her dead mother the day she went missing. What if she's in some ditch, dead herself?”

“Serves her right.”

Darcy just stared at her.

“What happened to you, Lizzy? You used to care for your sisters so much.” Darcy took a step back as if to take a better look at his wife. Elizabeth turned away.

There was a long silence between them, then she felt his arms slip around her waist.

“Did we invite her to our Party?” she asked quietly. Darcy nodded.

“Then she will turn up. I know she will.”

Three days in bed and two trying to walk again. Lydia groaned in dissatisfaction. Giving birth really did her in this time. An image of the dead child flashed in her mind but she quickly smothered it with William's face. He was the most handsome, the most agreeable, and the friendliest gentleman she has ever met. And now she believed she was in love with him. The only problem, of course, was money. If she could marry Will, she would agree to it with all her heart, but why would he want a poor woman like her? She had no money, no inheritance, not even a stable home. No one will consent to a union with her in such a state. A beggar himself will turn away in disgust. Curse her foolishness in running away from home. Curse her husband for fooling her. But now it was too late. She will only be able to remarry, if anyone will take her, after her husband's death. It was all useless. Memories of William helping her walk in the park the first day she got out of bed flashed in her mind. He was so strong and yet so gentle. She could still feel his arm around her waist and her hand, supporting her, helping her up when her knees went weak, and carrying her when they failed. And all that time they laughed. She hadn't been that happy since she left Longbourn.

Longbourn, it was now a dead residence inhabited only by spiders and rats, overgrown with ivy. For a moment, Lydia felt very alone. But that moment was gone when she heard William's voice. It was time for a walk.

The day outside was beautiful and the skies were clear. To Lydia it felt almost like heaven. William was holding her by her hand, supporting her, and a walking stick was in her other. She felt very much alive and full of energy. If only it would last. Soon she would have to go home and face once again her terrible living and her awful husband. It wasn't a cheery thought, but one that plagued her mind more often these days.

“William,” she finally said, “What will you do after I have gone?”

They walked in silence for a while before he answered.

“Chase after you, I suppose.” he said with slight amusement. “I haven't got anything else to do.” A wide grin spread across his handsome face.

“You jest!” cried Lydia and gently pushed him away, all the while laughing. “I don't believe you!”

Will only smiled mysteriously. “But I have come to love you, Lydia. I don't how I would live without you.” Lydia laughed, fearing to take the comment as serious.

“I can prove it.” he said as he stopped. Lydia looked up into his face. There was an certain earnestness in his face that frightened her though she knew not why. In the next moment, he leaned down toward her face and their lips met. It was the sweetest things Lydia has ever experienced, but remembering her position and situation, she suddenly pushed herself away from him. This surprised William and he was slightly annoyed.

“I'm sorry.” He said. Lydia shook her head in denial.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Lydia was in her bedroom when the realization of what had happened in the park hit her. William really did love her! But then…no, he must surely have only been joking around. She dared not raise her hopes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Thinking it was William, she turned away from the door, fearing embarrassment. But it was only a maid.

“Ma'am, there is a letter here for you.” She said as all maids do. Lydia looked at the maid, surprise written all over her face. A letter? For her? From who? Then she remembered the letter that she now realized had mysteriously disappeared. She had not thought of it since the day she put it on the bed side table.

The maid handed Lydia the letter, bowed slightly and quit the room. Lydia looked at the letter, mesmerized. Her hands were shaking slightly as she opened it. The handwriting was neat and it was written in straight lines. She skimmed to the bottom and saw, to her amazement, that is was from no other than Darcy himself. This was a great surprise to her. How could Darcy know where she was when she herself didn't have a clear idea of her location? At that point, William came in, saw her with a letter and was about to leave when Lydia stopped him. She held the letter up and asked him if he knew anything of it. He nodded.

“As soon as I found out who you were I decided to write and tell of your location and well being. And since you despised Wickham so much, I thought it would be wiser on my part to write to Fitzwilliam as he is a good and trusted friend.” He looked into Lydia's eyes, trying to read her feelings. “I hope there are no grudges against my good friend Fitzwilliam in your heart. I should feel awful if I let your enemy know of your whereabouts.”

Lydia laughed and assured him that she felt no prejudices against Darcy… Fitzwilliam, she had never heard him called by that name, but she liked the sound of it. Fitzwilliam, she silently named her dead son.

“Have you read the letter?”

“No, I got it not a few moments ago.”

“Then I shall leave you to it.”

Lydia nodded, then, remembering something else, asked him, “What of the letter that I wrote to Lizzy?”

“Of that I do not know.” With that, he bowed and left. Lydia looked down at the letter and began to read. It read as follows:

My dear Sister,

I am pleased that you are well and under care of a good friend. I am, though, sorry to hear about your mother. The loss has been grieved much in this part of family as well.

Included in this letter is some amount to get you to Pemberly where my dear Elizabeth wishes to see you. We only ask that you arrive before the 13th of June. There is no need to bring anything, nor anyone. Though, of course you may, if you wish, bring William, for I would rather like to see him since we have not talked for a long time.

We are expecting you soon,

F. Darcy

Lydia stared at the letter, unwilling to believe it. Expecting her, at Pemberly no less. Told her not to bring anything. Sending her money! This was an unexpected turn of events.

“Oh, William!” she cried. He appeared in her doorway, fearing the worst. But seeing the gleeful expression on her face relived him.

“We're going to Pemberly!” was all she could exclaim. William looked at her, unable to comprehend a word she said. A few seconds passed before he was able to answer.

“Pemberly?” he asked. Lydia nodded.

“Mr. Darcy wrote this letter to me, he invited us to come to his house! Oh, William, I could jump with joy!” and she did indeed jumped up from her bed, raced over to William, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “Will, you have brought nothing but happiness in my life.” and, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I would marry you if that indeed was possible. I love you with my whole heart!” Her face pressed against his chest and she felt her cheeks grow hot and could just imagine how red they must be. But instead of pushing her away from him as Lydia expected, William pulled her closer to him, whispering words of affection in her ear. She was startled and she considered breaking the embrace herself, but something inside her stopped her. In an instant, Darcy was forgotten, Pemberly was forgotten, all was forgotten in William's embrace. Then, just as suddenly as it happened, it ended. Clearing his throat, William gently pried Lydia's fingers from his shirt and took a step back. Lydia made to move for him, but he stopped her with a motion of his hand. She turned away, embarrassed. William felt a sharp pain in his chest. There, he thought, he had hurt her. It took all his will power to keep his hands from slipping around her waist. He should have never picked her up, he thought. This will cause him many sleepless nights.

It was more or less a restless night. The whiskey bottle was on the floor, dripping on the cheap carpeting, Lara was gone, and now, he was here alone, trying to discern one thought from the other. Damn alcohol he thought. It was bad enough that he was addicted to it, but now he had no money to get more. Not a shilling. His fist hit the desk, but his hand was too weak and made no impact on the table. His vision was blurred and the room swam. Where the devil was Lydia? He hadn't had a decent meal since she had gone. No doubt she was now somewhere entertaining herself. He snorted in disgust. All she ever was able to talk about was money and parties. Telling him to get some when she herself does nothing at home. His fist hit the table again, this time more effectively. Wickham sighed. Damn Lydia, damn money, damn Darcy, damn life. His stomach gave another lurch and before he knew it, he was on the floor in violent convulsions. What seemed like hours passed before he was able to breathe again. He lay on the floor, taking large gulps of air, his hand clutching his chest. The thought of dying this way crossed his mind. What a sad way to pass.

It was late the next night when Wickham awoke. There was a moment where he was not aware of his surroundings, and then he heard a knock on the door. He made a move to get up, but his body refused to respond.

“Who is it?” he managed to croak out. There was a pause. Then an oddly familiar male voice answered.

“Wickham, if you are not too drunk to get up, I would appreciate if you opened the door.”

Wickham lay motionless on the floor, contemplating. After a few moments he replied,

“It's unlocked.” he said. The door opened and a man in an expensive looking suit came in. The face was blurred to the point where Wickham could not discern the features, but the voice sounded too familiar. He just couldn't place it at the moment.

Darcy opened the door but almost immediately shut it closed again. The sight before him offended his very soul and the name of God himself. Wickham was on the floor; clothe less, obviously drunk, his torso covered in bodily fluids. The sight of it all made him sick to his stomach. But despite his disgust, Darcy walked over to him and, removing his jacket first, attempted to get Wickham up. It was a tough job, but he finally managed to get him into a chair. He then proceeded to find a glass, perhaps a bucket, of cold water. Darcy called for one and it promptly arrived. Taking it in his hands, he dumped the whole things onto Wickham's head. Wickham was sobered in a matter of seconds.

“What the devil do you think you are doing!” he shouted, jumping up from his chair. Darcy pushed him back in.

“I need to talk to you. And you need to understand what I say.” he replied. Wickham sat back down, looking mistrustfully at Darcy.

“What do you want?”

“First, I want to tell you that your wife has been found. I'm sure you don't care, but she is well and in the hands of a trusted friend.”

Wickham snorted.

“Trusted friend? You don't mean to tell me she in the hands of William the God himself?” he laughed crudely. Darcy ignored the comment.

“Second,” he instead continued, “You are an heir.” The words shut Wickham up in an instant.

“An heir?” he repeated carefully, thinking that he had misheard Darcy.

“Yes, as hard as it is to believe that, you are an heir. There was an advertisement in the local paper not a few days ago posted by a man who has been seeking any life relatives who share his last name. Wickham.”

Wickham stared at Darcy, daring to believe his ears. But then he realized who he was talking to.

“I can smell a lie a mile away.” he said. Darcy smiled sardonically.

“Then your sense of smell is in very bad shape. I don't lie, Wickham. That is one of the big differences between you and me.”

Wickham did not reply. It was all so sudden, so unexpected, and so… so… so deliciously sweet! “How much?” he asked. Darcy shook his head.

“That is up to your relative to decide. But for now, I would…” Darcy paused, “I would wish you to come with me. Elizabeth would like your presence at our ball. Your wife will be there.”

“Lydia?” Wickham asked, absentminded.

“Yes, Lydia. If you had enough brains, you would remember that I told that she has been found and has been taken care of.”

Wickham nodded. “Ah, yes of course. I recall that.” He smiled at Darcy.

“Come, Wickham. I wish not to lose more time. It is late as it is.” Then, as if just remembered, he added with mild distaste, “I ordered another carriage for you.” and undertone: “Not even a pig would sit next to you.”

Wickham got up shakily, went into his room, donned on some clothing, and then followed Darcy out the door. “An heir!” he said to himself in amazement.

Lydia packed whatever of hers she had and was ready to go by noon. She and William had a speedy lunch and by fifteen pass noon, they were both in the carriage they were wishing their goodbye's to William's mother.

The ride was long, but to the pair in the carriage, time had no meaning. They were together. Lydia smiled and leaned on William, her head resting on his shoulder. Before she knew it, her eyelids became heavy and she dropped off into a light sleep. When they arrived, William gently shook her awake.

A servant greeted them at the front door and welcomed them inside. The house was warm and well furnished. Lydia looked around in absolute fascination.

“Mrs. Darcy will be right out.” She said.

“This is…” Lydia managed. The words had failed her. She had never seen such a grand and beautiful house before. Her fingers gripped William's coat tightly and she realized she had been holding her breath. Lydia let it out slowly and a small whistle escaped her delicate mouth. William wrapped his arm around her waist and smiled down on her.

“Have you been here before?” she asked him. William nodded in response.

“Amazing, isn't it?”

Elizabeth appeared in the room dressed in a simple dress that suited her very well. Lydia looked at her sister for a while, remembering every detail. She had not seen her sister for a long time and some things she had forgotten. Lizzy looked older, wiser, but still pretty. Wrinkles creased the skin at the corners of her eyes and her mouth and the smoothness of her skin was somewhat lost. The glow in the eyes remained, though. Still as beautiful, still as captivating.

“Lizzy,” Lydia whispered, “Oh, Lizzy, I am so happy to see you.” And without further ado, she rushed over to her sister and wrapped her arms around her in a sisterly hug.

“Lydia! How different you are!” Elizabeth replied. She took her sister by the shoulders and viewed her. “You have definitely become much prettier. Indeed. Don't you agree, William?” William nodded as the corners of his mouth turned up. “Well, Fitzwilliam will be here either late tonight or early tomorrow. Come, I have prepared you your rooms.” And she led them up the stairs to their quarters.

Later that evening, Darcy came home with a none too welcome guest. The moment they came into the dining room, Lydia cried out and looked utterly betrayed.

“The hateful man!” she cried, then turning to Elizabeth she asked, “What is he doing here?!”

“He is our guest, and will be treated like one.” Elizabeth replied softly. Lydia looked on the point of emotional breakdown. If it wasn't for William and his ability to calm her, she would have burst. Wickham totally ignored his wife, but switched between glaring at William and sending adoring looks to Elizabeth.

“Sarah, please show Mr. Wickham his room.” Elizabeth told the servant who was standing outside the door, as chills ran down her spine at Wickham's gaze. The hunger in them frightened her.

That night, Elizabeth couldn't fall asleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, haunted by Wickham's gaze. Darcy had to go out for business, though Elizabeth could not understand what business could be done at this hour. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tracing the shadows from the moon with her eyes. The skies were quite clear outside and an occasional hoot of an owl could be heard. She got up and walked over to the window. The moon sparkled in the lake as the clear water reflected its pale face. The fields rippled in the breeze, creating their own seas of dark, green, and brooding grass. It was beautiful.

Elizabeth opened the window to let the night air in, and as she opened the window, someone opened the door.

Elizabeth turned at the sound of the door creaking behind her.

“Who's there?” she called. There was no answer. She waited for a second then slowly walked to the door. Upon opening it, she found that there was no one there. It must have been the wind, she thought to herself.

She walked back to her bed and climbed under the blankets. In a few minutes, she was asleep.

A pleasant sensation crawled its way down her back. Something soft and gentle stroked her forehead and ran through her hair. She smiled pleasantly.

A small smile spread across Elizabeth's face. Wickham gently traced them with his thumb. He was finally alone and he finally had Elizabeth beside him. And she was willing. Didn't matter if she was asleep, he would be able to conquer her better that way. He was sure that by the end of tonight, Elizabeth Darcy…no, not Darcy…Elizabeth, will be his. He smiled, and pressed his lips against hers. She didn't resist and willingly returned the kiss. The fires in his loins ignited and he lost all morality and restraint. His hand slid down to her breast, and as he gently stroked it, a small gasp escaped her mouth. He kissed her harder, deeper. She responded amazingly quickly. He could feel her heart beating against her chest. Wickham bent his head lower and gently kissed her neck.

Elizabeth felt the pleasures creep down her spine and into her lower belly. It was like nothing she has ever experienced before. She felt a hand sliding up her thigh and her breath caught in her throat as it pressed against her mons. She could feel ragged breath on her naked shoulder and a slight moan as someone pressed close to her.

Her eyes fluttered open and gazed into Wickham's own. But before she could react, his mouth pressed against hers and silenced her. She made a move to push him off of her, but her attempts were futile. Her resistance was gone and she found herself a willing candidate for whatever Wickham was planning to do to her. His hands and mouth were all over her, and she could feel the strong pulse between her thighs. Suddenly, he pulled away. Elizabeth reached out for him with a pleading look on her face, not wanting him to stop. Wickham grinned. Yes, he thought, he had conquered her. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head revealing a body Elizabeth did not expect to see. His torso was lean, yet muscular enough, and except for a few battle scars, was perfect. She stared at him in awe. Her eyes then followed his hands as they reached for his pants in frightened anticipation. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as he removed them. Here he was, the man she had become to hate, standing before her, naked. And all she could do was stare.

“Your turn.” He said in a husky voice.

It was late at night when Darcy finally got home. He hoped Elizabeth would be there to greet him, but he knew she must already be in bed, most likely reading. He handed the servant his coat and proceeded up the steps to their bedroom. He walked by Lydia's room where he heard her talking with William. He paused at the door. It's a shame she is already married, he thought. William is a great man and a good friend. Darcy then proceeded to Wickham's room. He listened for any sign of presence, but the room was dead quiet. And upon opening the door, he found the room deserted. It appeared that Wickham was never in the room. Perhaps I got the wrong one, Darcy thought. But, no, here are his belongings. The situation seemed highly suspicious. Wickham could not possibly be with Lydia at the moment, and not in the kitchen… he couldn't hear anyone on the first floor… which means that Elizabeth's room was the only other possible place.

“The Devil!” he said to himself and rushed off to their bedroom. When he got there, he found the door slightly ajar and from within heard moans and groans. His first thought was that Wickham was killing Elizabeth, perhaps from jealousy, but when he threw open the door in rage, he found an appallingly different scene. Darcy stopped dead in his track, the horror of it all sinking his heart. Wickham was full well on top of Elizabeth, both stripped of their attires. His heart wept at Lizzy's betrayal and his mind raged at Wickham and his dirty plots. His eyes refused to see what they saw. Finally, rage overtook his system and he stormed toward the bed.

Elizabeth saw him coming in, saw his expression, his disbelief, and it pained her, but there was nothing she could do now. It was all too late. Tears welled in her eyes and her heart shrank. A wide grin spread on Wickham's face directed at her, and then he leaned over and gave her a deep kiss. But all Elizabeth could feel now was the deep loathing. She pushed him, but he was off of her before she applied any force. Instead of Wickham, there stood Darcy, his face contorted with mixed emotions. In a moment, Wickham was forgotten on the floor.

Darcy bored into Elizabeth's eyes, trying to find any trace of betrayal, but all he found was fear, embarrassment, and apology. Then, she abruptly turned away and began to weep. Darcy covered her with blankets and turned on Wickham. Wickham only grinned wider.

“Want to duel for her?” he said. Darcy didn't reply. He figured if he killed Wickham now… but no, he wasn't the killing type. Damn the man! Damn him ten thousand times!!

“Get out.” Darcy hissed.

“Coward.” Wickham replied.

“Get out!”

“Once a man, twice a coward.”

The door opened and William stepped in. In his hand there was a revolver, ready to be used if necessary. Wickham stared down the barrel, his grin erased from his face.

“William, don't.” Darcy warned. The revolver lowered and fell to the floor with a clatter. Wickham stared at it, considering perhaps for going for it. But one look from Darcy set him in place and he did not move.

Quiet sobs filled the room. Darcy looked for the source of them and found Elizabeth buried in her blankets, tears staining the covers. His heart suddenly filled with sadness and love for her. Grabbing Wickham by his arm, he dragged the man out of the room and into the hallway where he called one of the servants.

“Dress him and make sure he is out of this house before the next hour.” he ordered. The servant obeyed. He watched Wickham being led away until his eyes fell on the frightened face of Lydia. She was pale and her eyes were fixed on Wickham, swimming in her own tears. What madness is this!? thought Darcy. He went back into the bedroom to see how Elizabeth was faring. William was beside her already, comforting her. He pulled a robe out of the closet and put it around her shoulders. She was trembling.

“I'm so sorry.” She whispered. “I didn't mean for this to happen. He just-” her voice broke off as tears flooded her eyes and her throat. Darcy only put his arms tightly around her.

“I still love you, you know. What happened was not your fault. Wickham is a dirty man, always has been, always will be.” he gently kissed her on her head and motioned for William to leave them alone. William nodded and quit the room.

Elizabeth shuddered. Just the memory of what had just occurred between herself and Wickham made her heart shrivel. She clung to Darcy's shirt, afraid to let go.

“Please…forgive me…I'm sorry.”

“I love you, Elizabeth, and that will never change.” He held her close until he felt her drift into sleep. But even then he did not let go. He lowered her gently unto the bed and lay beside her until he himself fell victim to slumber.

Wickham strolled the streets of London until he felt totally satisfied. Elizabeth's touch was still fresh in his mind. He savored the memory, wallowed in the lingering feeling. Around one in the morning, he stumbled into a pub. The smell of smoke and alcohol washed over him as he entered the dingy place. He sat at a table and ordered a glass of whiskey. He had done it, he had finally done it. His wish was not complete, both parts of it. He had bedded Elizabeth and he had made his revenge on Darcy. Now what was he saying about the rich uncle? He was rich, he was the last of the Wickhams, he would collect his money and go somewhere north. Yes, that's it, that's what I'll do! He gulped down the whiskey and raised his hand to the barmaid to order another drink. When she bent over to put the drink on the table, Wickham caught a glance at her cleavage. He whistles, she blushed and giggling strutted away. When the time came to pay, he realized he had no money on him.

“I'll pay you as soon as I get my hands on a little cash.” He said as casually as his drunken voice would allow him. The owner refused to hear any of it.

“You pay now or you…you… pay with your life!” he finished lamely.

“With my life, you say?” Wickham laughed a shaky drunken laugh. He reached to his side for his revolver, but it wasn't there. “Damn you man.” He cursed. He had forgotten that it was taken away from him at the Darcy residence. Wickham spat on the floor. “Alright, I'll pay you. But first, you must give me something to pay with.” He grinned.

“Now look here, young man -” the owner never finished his sentence. Before he knew it, he was on the floor with his own revolver pointed at his face. “Damn quick for one so drunk.” He muttered.

“I'm not drunk till my tenth bottle of whiskey.” Wickham stated. “A hard man, you might say. To devil with it all, wasting my time. Gimme some cash and I'll be gone.” He said as he waived the revolver at the owner's face.

“It ain't loaded, fool.”

“Why don't we test it? Say… on you.” He pressed the trigger.

The owner did not even flinch. Wickham pressed it again and again, but nothing happened.

“Curse you!” and he threw it across the room, hitting a man who was seated a few tables away, having a quiet drink. He looked quite large just sitting there. Wickham gulped. He was about to apologize when he found the giant's hands on his throat.

“What ye think ye doin' throwin guns at people? Lost yer mind?”

“S-sorry” Wickham gagged. “D-did-didn't see-you.”

“For God's sake, put him down, Roger. You'll kill the man.”

Roger did as he was told. That is, he threw Wickham across the room where he landed with an unpleasant thud where he did not move again.

“Now look what ye've done, Roger.” Then turning to another man he asked “Check his pulse, see if he's still alive.” The man did and shook his head no. There was no pulse. The owner checked it himself and found none as well. It didn't surprise him. The man was drunk and Roger was one hell of a man when in bad mood. Well, the least they could do is throw the body out into the street for trash pick up. And so they did.

The crowd was vast, enormous. There seemed to be no breathing space in the house. Darcy scanned the crowd, searching for his wife. His eyes finally rested on her beautiful face, smiling once again. A month has passed since the death of Wickham and she has slowly been recovering from her shock and rape. But she was smiling once again.

Elizabeth caught Darcy's eye and smiled even wider. Gathering up her skirts she rushed into his welcoming arms.

“I am so relieved to see you smile, my love.” He whispered into her ear.

“It is all in the past now. We shouldn't dwell on it too much or it will consume us. Come, let us dance and be merry.” She took his arm and laughing led him onto the dancing floor. He more than willingly followed her.

“When is Lydia coming?” he asked her.

“Lydia? I should think she will be here any moment now. I am sure she is eager to celebrate her wedding to William. Such an agreeable man! We shall have to congratulate them both!”

Soon, Lydia entered the ballroom with William by her side, both beaming. The crowd turned to look at them both and as they proceeded inside, a great applause erupted in the room. Lydia's eyes shone for the first time in so many years. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Don't tell me love that you now regret our marriage?” William said laughing. Lydia tried to wipe the tears away, but they kept on coming.

“No, William, these are tears of joy. I have never been so happy in my life.”

“Not so true, dear sister. I will never forget the gleam in your eye and the grin on your face the day the regiment came to our town.” Elizabeth said. Lydia laughed.

“What? What regiment? I should hope there is no one else for you!” William said in mock-shocked voice. Then sweeping Lydia off her feet, he carried her away, both in hysterical laughter.

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