23 • Cricket

Their sister’s wedding day arrived, but some days before it, a letter from Mr. Gardiner. James, Kitty, and Mary were with their father in his study when Hill brought in the correspondence. Jane had assumed the task of assisting her mother in Meryton, although the primary purpose was to assure her that she was not alone in a house against her.

Mr. Bennet tore into the letter lethargically, read a single line, and then passed it off to his nearest offspring to read. “It seems Wickham has resolved in quitting the militia.”

James and Kitty frowned at one another while Mary read the page:

It was greatly my wish that he should do so, as soon as his marriage was fixed. And I think you will agree with me in considering a removal from that corps as highly advisable, both on his account and my niece’s. It is Mr. Wickham’s intention to go into the regulars; and among his former friends, there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in the army.

He has the promise of an ensigncy in an honourable General’s regiment, I assure you, which are now quartered in the north. It is an advantage to have him so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises fairly, and I hope among different people, where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent.

I have written to Colonel Forster to inform him of our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton with assurances of speedy payment. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list, according to his information. He has given in all his debts; I hope at least he has not deceived us on those.

All will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to Longbourn. I understand from Mrs. Gardiner that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all before she leaves the south. She is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered by you and her mother.

Yours, etc.

Mary peered up at her father. “Well it is surely a better option to have a steady income and security versus whatever spontaneous things the militia promises. And he may have occasion to rise in the ranks, therein improving his reputation and income.”

Kitty looked to James hopefully, but he was only able to gaze back indifferently. Mr. Bennet voiced some phrases of agreement as to the opportunity which Wickham faced, but none toward his thinking that Wickham was likely to prevail upon such circumstances.

Mrs. Bennet, as usual, had a deal more to say on the matter once she and Jane returned home for lunch. “North? North? My Lydia is to be taken close to those barbaric Scots—”

James curtailed, “Our aunt Gardiner’s mother was MacDougal, remember. Don’t make up rubbish out of unhappiness.”

His mother made an indignant expression before she rattled on some better arguments, “She is to be away from Hertfordshire and away from a regiment where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so many favourites! She is so fond of Mrs. Forster—”

“The one who couldn’t keep a lead on Lydia in the first place,” he mumbled under his breath. “Won’t miss her.” Jane clattered her dishes over his voice.

His mother progressed, “It will be quite a shock to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much—”

“Options open, King Henry, old chap,” he sassed. Kitty slurped loudly, coughing as a great deal of it went up her nose. James tranquilly handed her his napkin.

“—the officers may not be so pleasant in General Who’s-Its regiment,” Mrs. Bennet finished. “And she shall go north without friend or relative…”

Her children watched the creases around her eyes pull downward. James did not speak in the silence that followed, soon broken by their mother’s realizing she had fallen into a melancholic state. She perked up, doing her best to shake it off, or at the least, to overlay it with more cheer, but there was not much to salvage the sincere sadness that had taken hold of her heart.

Mr. Bennet was slouching in his chair by the fire of his study when James appeared. He did nothing to disturb his father, instead waiting until his presence was noticed and they gazed at one another over Mr. Bennet’s half-moon spectacles. His eyes returned to the pages while a weathered finger moved to mark his page. He was listening.

“I think Lydia should come home. Once. Before she leaves for her new home,” James said quietly.

His father was still, but his eyes did not move over the words. “Do you?”

“Don’t send her anything. Don’t send her money or clothes. But don’t shut our doors against her.”

Mr. Bennet ruminated on that in silence. James waited for as long as it took. Finally, his voice, especially gravelly, said, “If she comes, he will come.”

James had leaned his shoulder against the door-jamb. “Good.”

Mr. Bennet’s gaze flicked up, sharp and glowing with the fire. His son’s voice was light, even musical to the untrained ear, but as he lifted himself off the door frame to leave the room, his eyes were contrastingly cold.

* * * * * * *

On the wedding morning, the house was oddly serene. Only the vibration of anxiety and wonderment in each member disclosed their true feelings.

Mary’s goings on were much the same: breakfast and then she took her tea to her piano for her usual practice. The music provided a cloud of distraction in their heads while Kitty stuck close to Jane as they changed.

“Why do I feel like I’m the one being married?” the latter exclaimed when she could stand it no longer.

Jane rubbed her arm. “We feel for her probably more than she feels for herself right now.”

James interrupted from his place before their vanity, “Only because Lydia’s too stupid to feel things appropriately.”

Jane’s eyes frowned while Kitty otherwise huffed, “I’d rather get ready for a funeral! Why did we ever so eagerly want weddings? Mary! Play louder!”

She swept from the room, leaving Jane to stare at her brother’s shoulder blades. It was still loose, puffy, around his waist, allowing the light to illuminate a phantom silhouette in the white fabric. His humble, dijon waistcoat was draped over the chair, waiting to be worn.

“Lizzy?”

“Hm?” he acknowledged, not looking up. Not even when her reply was long in coming.

“Are you all right?”

He sniffed casually, having so long had his head bowed over his shirt buttons before he met her reflection in the mirror. “I’m fine.”

She could not read him as he looked back down, moving on to his cuffs. That frightened her. “Are you?” he returned.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Mm,” he agreed.

* * * * * * *

They came. The family was assembled in the breakfast room to receive them but their mother, Kitty, and Mary flew to the door, all but knocking Hill out of the way as the carriage drove to a stop. Jane looked at her father standing with his hand on his dining chair. He looked impenetrably grave, a total contrast to his wife’s and Lydia’s voices now drifting through the vestibule. Jane peered at her brother, but his eyes were glass.

The front door’s opening had sucked one of the in between doors closed, but it was now thrown open as Lydia ran into the room. “Jane! Jane!”

James’s chest collapsed as if he had been holding his breath for weeks. His lips pressed together as his cheeks flushed with the warmth Lydia brought with her. Mr. Bennet observed this but said nothing until Lydia parted from Jane to greet him.

“Papa,” she bobbed a curtsy.

“Hello, dear,” he almost whispered, granting her a kiss on her cheek. That seemed enough for her, as she then flew to collide with James. Though it was brief, they held each other tightly.

It was Kitty rushing in and moving out of the way that signaled Wickham’s arrival. He entered with Mrs. Bennet, who allotted him an affectionate smile before she spoke to Lydia. Meanwhile Wickham was left to greet Mr. Bennet, who was not so cordial. James watched Wickham expertly navigate his father’s emotions: bowing to him with a sincere “Good morning, sir,” but only glancing at his hand to know that was out of the question.

Mr. Bennet replied only a “Good morning,” before he seated himself at the table. From then on, his countenance rather gained in austerity, and he scarcely opened his lips though it was a while before the others settled for their meal. Where Mrs. Bennet was most pleased by the young couple, her husband was visibly provoked and therefore ignored.

“Lydia, I would have so much enjoyed seeing you being married,” her mother sighed dreamily.

“Oh mama,” Lydia chortled, “we must agree that this is easier. The two of us were able to travel to the church and to Longbourn all in a morning! The six of you toing and froing would have slowed us down, and of course you would have invited the whole heard of Lucases. The poor church would have been overwhelmed.”

She and her mother giggled to each other. “It is natural to want to show the town one’s married daughter—oh!”

Lydia splayed her hand in the air between them, and Jane’s breath caught in her throat. Not at the diamond on Lydia’s finger, but at the rage in James’s eyes.

In a flash, it was gone, and Jane was left blinking between him and Lydia, who was now turning from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations. Her siblings provided as much as was necessary before she moved on and they watched with incredulity as Lydia was as untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless as ever.

Wickham’s charisma proved as agile and keen as it ever had been. Far from distressed, his manners were pleasing and convincing; his smiles and his easy address, his careful touches on his wife’s hand or her arm tasteful and familiar. He liked Lydia well enough, that much was plain.

However as Jane came around to stand beside James’s chair, he silently took her outstretched fingers, while they watched the pair’s goings on. Wickham’s affection for Lydia was just what they had expected: not equal to Lydia’s for him.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” Wickham said as the rush of his hands grasping the beverage revealed his impatience for an exit to the conversation between Lydia and Mrs. Bennet. The bride and her mother could neither of them talk fast enough, and Wickham, now armed with a tall glass of water, used it at every opportunity to not be regarded for a reply. It was a circumstance for which not even James could blame him, but this was only his first day of marriage.

It was a mutual relief among all the Bennets when dishes started to adorn the table. Kitty landed in her seat while Jane squeezed James’s hand before circling around behind their father to sit the other side. Lydia was finishing her thoughts without noticing.

“It seems but a fortnight since I went away! Though, of course, it’s been much longer. Yet there have been things enough that have happened in the time. Good gracious! When I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again! Though I thought it would be very good fun if I was.”

James planted an elbow on the arm of his chair while his fingertips scratched at his forehead. Tactless as ever.

He was distracted by Wickham taking the seat next to him—Kitty’s eyes bulged at the back of Wickham’s head on his other side while the man otherwise cast silent, but kind eyes at James.

The press of Jane’s slipper on his foot turned his head back around. Her distressed eyes flicked to their father, whose livid gaze was going unnoticed by either Lydia or his wife as they slowly meandered to their seats.

“Oh, mama! Do the people hereabouts know I am married today? I was afraid they might not—we overtook William Goulding in his curricle! So I let down the side glass next to him and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame so that he might see the ring. Then I bowed and smiled like any old day—”

She stopped with a little hop upon meeting Jane. Her sister looked up at her, the pair of them equally confused until Lydia laughed, “Ah, Jane, I take your place now. You must go lower, because I am a married woman.”

“You will sit exactly where your place has always been,” Mr. Bennet growled.

The silence may has well have been a canon blast, so loud it was that no one dared breathe. It was a tone Lydia had never once heard, and it transfixed her to the floor, her expression utterly lost. Indeed, it was a tone his wife had never beheld either, if her twitching lips were any indication.

Wickham braved the void, coaxing gently. “Sit down, please.”

That roused Lydia, and Mrs. Bennet hastily waved her over to her customary seat: far from Mr. Bennet, and far from her husband. Kitty anxiously fidgeted, realizing that it probably ought to be her chair that Lydia took, to be next to him, but the briefest shake of Jane’s head kept her in place.

It was not to be assumed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first. On the contrary, she shared her mother’s tactic for overlaying her concerns with more and more speech. Her ease and good spirits soon returned and increased. She voiced her longing to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbors, especially to hear herself called Mrs. Wickham by each of them.

Somewhere in all of this, they managed to eat and finish the meal. They each gratefully moved on to the parlour, where seating was not nearly an issue and Mr. Bennet was free to disappear from the party entirely. Jane watched James, fully expecting him to vanish as well, but while the women settled in their seats, he remained standing to keep an eye on Wickham discussing something with Mr. Hill.

Lydia proceeded to say, “Well, mama, what do you think of my husband? Is he not a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton! That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, mama, that we did not all go.”

“Very true,” her mother agreed, “and if I had my will, we should. But my dear, I don’t at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?”

“Oh, lord, yes!” she surprised them. “There is nothing in that. I do so have an aptitude for travel, and I shall like it of all things. You and papa, and my sisters and Lizzy, must come and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I daresay there will be some balls, and I will take care to get good partners for them all.”

“I should like it beyond anything!” said her mother.

“And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters behind you. I shall get husbands for them before the winter is over.”

Mary intercepted, “I thank you for my share of the favour, but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands.”

Lydia stared at her, and it might’ve been venomous from anyone else, but Lydia merely tossed her head like Mary was the silly one and answered their mother’s question regarding how long they were to stay.

“Only ten days!” she cried.

“Aunt and uncle Philips are lending us their spare room,” Lydia nodded. “They were the means which George and I met, you know! What poetic symmetry to it all!”

James’s gaze was drawn to Wickham suddenly next to him, his eyes observing him in the same, silent way as before. James left him to sit upon the window seat, denying engagement with him. Jane watched and stood to occupy Wickham’s attention in the meantime.

Eventually it was Lydia who sat next to James. “You are exceedingly fond of him,” he murmured.

She grinned, “Why ever wouldn’t I be? He is my dear Wickham.”

“Oh every occasion, it seems,” James retorted.

She ignored him and said, “Lizzy, I have not given you an account of my wedding. You were not by when I told mama and the others all about it. Are you not curious to hear how it was managed?”

“Not even the slightest,” he declared as his eyes flicked to her wedding ring. “There cannot be too little said on the subject.”

“La!” she pouted. “You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clement’s. It was settled that we should all be there by—”

“The short version, if you must,” he retaliated.

She huffed. “I should think you would care more about my feelings. I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid that something would happen to put it off. And then there was our aunt all the time while I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon.”

“Which fell upon deaf ears,” James reckoned.

“I did not hear one word in ten,” she confirmed, “for I was thinking of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat.”

“It seems he was,” her brother commented dryly. Wickham glanced over at them as if sensing the direction of conversation.

“Grief, you’re almost as bad as our aunt and uncle. I thought it would never be over. They were horridly unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you’ll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight! Not one party, or scheme, or anything—”

“Am I to praise you for behaving the first time in your life?”

Her lips pressed together angrily even though it only made her cheeks fuller like a child’s. “Do not mistake my felicities now for a lack of terror beforehand!”

“I doubt you know what terror is,” he sassed.

Lydia continued as if he had not spoken, “I was so frightened I did not know what to do! For my uncle was to give me away, and if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married all day. But luckily, everything came about with ten minutes to spare—however I recollected afterwards, that even if he had been delayed, the wedding would not be put off, for Mr. Darcy was quite at the ready of it all—”

James’s chin jerked. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Oh, yes!” Lydia chimed as if it were any name in the world. “He has come here with Wickham, you know. But gracious me…”

Her tone dropped with every word until she was whispering to him. “I forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully. It was to be a secret—don’t tell Wickham I said anything!”

James leaned forward, intent on hearing properly, “Mr. Darcy. His lordship Darcy—”

“Yes! For heavens sake,” she shushed. “Ask no more, for I will certainly tell you all, and then George would be angry.”

Threads of contrasting emotions knotted together in James’s core, so tightly that he left the room. William was at his sister’s wedding. He had been nearby, though that surely was no longer the case.

James rushed out of the back door as if the house was devoid of air. Breathing heavily, he paced and scrubbed a hand over his face, his hair. The neatly combed tresses were pulled into disarray but he felt more like himself again.

He wanted to write to his aunt Gardiner. He needed her details of Lydia’s wedding; a reliable source, so much so that he stepped back into the house and out of it again as if the landing were white hot steel.

Writing from here would not do. His feet were taking him before he comprehended it, and then he was running to Meryton. Though the inhabitants found him odd, none were surprised by his arrival or rushed demand for pen and paper. A bent quill and a torn, incomplete paper donated later, the post was thoroughly impatient with him.

I must know if he, a stranger and saviour to our family, has been amongst you at such a time. Write instantly, and let me understand it—be damned with Lydia’s secrets.

His aunt would know his writing, messy though it was. The courier left that very moment, peering over his shoulder at him, quite at ease getting away from him.

James took the long way back to Longbourn, walking past the vacant Netherfield and the extra distance to his home. The estate was as trimmed and proper as ever, but as much of a vacant shell as it had ever been apart from the late summer and autumn of Bingley’s inhabitance.

James did not linger. His stomach twisted as though he had barely eaten and night was rapidly falling. The Wickhams’ carriage was thankfully gone when he arrived and the house was at rest. As Jane shot up from her chair in the kitchen, demanding to know where he had gone, James chose to not let his thoughts linger on how there were nine more days of their visit before they moved north.

* * * * * * *

He had the satisfaction of meeting Hill first thing in the morning when he descended the stairs for his first tea. In the man’s hands was a reply from his aunt.

“Are you expecting to send a letter back out?” Hill asked, “because the courier was as eager to deliver this as he was to leave.”

“Never mind,” James said, all but snatching it up. “Thank you, Hill.”

“What is that?” Jane asked when her brother returned much too quickly and without tea. Then she remembered his hasty explanation the night before. “What! That’s it? She replied? But Lydia said—”

“Shh!” he snapped, trying to read.

Dear nephew—

I have just received your letter and shall devote this very moment to responding. I foresee that a little writing will not comprise what I have to tell you but I will keep accounts as concise as I can manage.

In short order: yes, to your question. In explanation, upon the very day of my return home from Longbourn, your uncle received the most unexpected visitor. He and Darcy were shut up for several hours and it was all over before I arrived. It was a good thing I had not yet come for he was there to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found where your sister and Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked with them both. Wickham repeatedly. Lydia once.

From what I can collect, he came to town just as we knew, to hunt for them. My husband described it curiously, as Mr. Darcy declaring that it was his duty to step forward, to endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself. I must inquire to you if you know whatever this means, for neither of us understand it.

James felt Jane beside him reading but did not mind it.

Nevertheless, there is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though we know not what. This Mrs. Younge, he knew, was intimately acquainted with Wickham, and she had taken house on Edward Street. Darcy went to her for intelligence of him, but it was two or three days before he could get from her what he wanted. Her loyalty was in the wrong man, it seems, but Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in London.

The next portion may not put your sister in the most favourable light, although even I must admire her conviction. Darcy called upon Wickham first thing, and as I heard it, addressed him most briefly in order to speak to Lydia. His first object with her had been to persuade her to quit her disgraceful situation and return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her. He offered his assistance as far as it would go, but he found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends, wanted no help of his, and would not hear of leaving Wickham.

She was certain marriage was coming, you see, and thought nothing of her circumstances. Since such were her feelings, it only remained to secure and expedite a marriage, which I am even more sorry to inform, was just as you had known. In Darcy’s first conversation with the man, he easily learnt a marriage had never been his design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment, leaving Lydia’s fate to be blamed on her own folly, and as to his future, he conjectured very little about it. He must go somewhere but he knew not where, and certainly would have nothing to live on.

Myself and Darcy share the same inquiry, which he asked next: why ever did he not marry Lydia at once? Though your father is not rich, he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation would have benefited somehow through the match. In reply to his question, Wickham still cherished the hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage.

Obviously, Darcy was then the one to drown him in the waters of reality. He proceeded on convincing him to marry your sister. Of course Wickham wanted more than he could get; his wants were reduced to be reasonable.

After this he went to call on my husband. It was the evening before your father left; however Darcy judged, and rightly so I must add, that your father would not be the person whom he could properly consult.

“He saved papa’s life,” Jane breathed. James kept reading.

So next he came when your father was gone, and spoke at great length with my husband. But he came again the next day, during which I saw him. Lydia may think herself steadfast, but a Darcy’s obstinacy is not to be outmatched. I wonder, Lizzy, if his obstinacy is the real defect of his character, but it came in most handy during these times. Your uncle was, naturally, displeased about the sums, which Darcy took on entirely, but as his wife and, frankly, accountant, I cannot thank his lordship enough.

Nevertheless, they battled for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But, as I said, at last Mr. Gardiner was forced to yield, and instead of helping his niece, was entirely given credit of it, which went sorely against the grain. Men and their prides, no offense. Although your letter has certainly given him great pleasure, because it requires the explanation he has been so eager of giving. He does so hate to fly on borrowed feathers, so now we may give praise where it is due

But Lizzy, and I am sure, Jane, this must go no further than yourselves. You both know pretty well, I think, what has been done for these young people. His debts are paid, and more than one thousand pounds they were; the other sums, of which I believe you are aware, and his commission purchased. When all this was resolved upon, his lordship was to return to his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley, but it was agreed that he should be in London once more when the wedding took place, both to finalize the transactions as well as to be nearer at hand, if necessary.

I believe I have now told you everything. As ever, it is a tale of much displeasure, but it is not without its thankful parts. Lydia came to us, and Wickham had constant admission to the house, which he frequently used. I saw myself the genuine fondness between them, imbeciles though they are. There is no love lost on my part for my niece, rest assured. But really. Imbeciles. I tried my utmost to tell her repeatedly of the wickedness of what she had done, but if she heard me, it was by good luck. Only in my recollections of you, Lizzy, and sweet Jane, was my temper quelled and patience nurtured.

Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, at the wedding. Your letter, in fact, arrived not long after he left our home, for he dined with us this evening. I must say, with as little apology as I’ve ever given you, for these are not new sentiments I am sharing with you, how much I like him. His behaviour to us has, in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His understanding and opinions all please me; he is wanting of nothing but a little more liveliness, and that, if he marries rightly, his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly; he hardly mentioned your name but once. He understands discretion after sensitive events, I think. Slyness also seems to be the fashion.

But I will finish here and send this to you.

Yours, very sincerely.

“He was in London all this time,” Jane concluded. Her brother startled when a little laugh escaped her. “He’s very resourceful.”

“Jane,” he lamented, “He’s mortified. That woman helped Wickham steal his sister, and he had to go to her for aid. He’s had to supplicate a woman he despises in order to find the man he equally abominates, all to persuade and bribe a marriage to our sister, whom would neither regard nor esteem.”

“Lizzy,” she returned, not caring for the details. “He’s done this for you.”

“What?” he retorted, even while his heart whispered the very same words.

“Well he certainly hasn’t any pride now,” she remarked. “But what use is pride in the efforts of love? He loves you. This was for you, not Lydia.”

“Then why hasn’t he written?” his voice rasped. He said it spitefully, but not so much as to her as to himself, to prove to himself that he was unloved. That his deeply seeded hope, which was growing into the most gargantuan weed, was clouding his vision of the truth.

Jane’s eyes softened. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m sure he is busy, that’s all—”

All at once, many noises sounded downstairs. Hill rang the bell announcing brunch was ready, a knock sounded on the door, eliciting Mrs. Bennet’s exclamations and what sounded like Mary and Kitty rushing out of bed. “Lydia! Lydia’s here! Everyone! Downstairs, now!”

By the time the eldest Bennet siblings arrived to the breakfast table, all apart from their father were seated. The patriarch was nowhere to be seen, but no one raised any inquiry for him, and thus were allowed to sit where they wished. Only Wickham noticed Jane and James sitting down. He nodded at them both, but only Jane acknowledged him; James turned his gaze away, focusing on the food while his mother and Lydia conversed.

“You will be with us all day again, won’t you?”

“Not here, surely,” Lydia complained. “I intend to walk through Meryton. I’ve had the worst luck, coming and going when no one of interest is about! Not even Lady Lucas has been in her usual bookshop when I popped in last night and this morning before we came here.”

“How is Charlotte?” Wickham asked, his eyes on James.

Lydia answered, “Still married to that horrible Collins, can you believe? It’s almost as if she is truly fond of him; I can’t believe her endurance so strong.”

She was raising a white wine to her lips, or at least she intended, until James, reaching for the bread rolls, knocked her arm. She coughed and sputtered and he simply took the glass from her while she recovered, setting it between himself and Jane and far from her.

“Lizzy! Give that back, and you did that on purpose! Oh, my dress—”

“Do you think being married allows you to drink at all hours of the day?” he returned.

“Ah!” she piped a laugh. “I am married indeed, so your silly opinion on what I drink no longer matters.”

Jane frowned. “You wield marriage like a divine ordinance to do what you want?”

Wickham graciously intercepted. “The day is long and there is much to do. The glass will be better savoured afterward.”

Lydia giggled. “You’re right, of course, love.”

James refrained from rolling his eyes and contented himself with drinking tea instead of eating.

However it was decided not long thereafter that the Wickhams, and whatever Bennets, would journey to the Lucases’ abode. “If they cannot be found in town, we shall call upon them directly!” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed, much to the glee of her youngest.

James shot a warning look at Hill, who instantly understood and went to send word to the Lucases. His gaze was drawn back by Wickham’s calm voice asking, “You will join us, won’t you, James?”

It was not so much him as it was Jane’s tight grasp on his trouser leg under the table that answered. “Afraid not.”

Something deflated behind Wickham’s eyes. “Afterwards, then,” he said, as if his inquiry had been more in depth.

The house soon emptied of all but James and his father, the latter remaining outside for the farm’s toil until he returned to his library. James was content to roam the grounds, relishing the golden rays that warmed him through even while the cold spring breeze moved his hair. Again he raked a hand through it, considering a trim, but let the consideration fade from his thoughts.

His gaze was drawn to their small pasture, where a newborn calf was hopping about. “She’s new?” he called to the nearest workman.

“Aye, sir. Born just this morning. The goats as well.”

Indeed, their pair of goats had spawned three more, which were making a great spectacle of climbing and falling over the piled stones of an abandoned fireplace or even going as high as the roof of their small barn.

James smirked to himself and how life continued around him; blissfully ignorant of the sinkhole they had been living in. His gaze moved over their fields and the distant forest they shared with Netherfield, then all the way back to the small shed attached to the barn. More like a closet, really, he opened it to reveal all manner of rakes and play tools left untouched for years. At the bottom leaned two cricket bats, one of them broken.

He roused by someone’s approach. His mind wiped clean at the sight of Wickham coming over the path. “I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, Mr. Bennet?”

James grimaced, though it probably only looked as if he were squinting in the sun. “You certainly do. You’ve escaped the Lucases.”

“Merely a head start on the way back,” he smiled cordially. James returned to the pasture fence as he added, “It’s been a long time since we spoke together.”

“The others are coming along?” James disregarded.

“Eventually, I’m sure. Your mother showed me off and then as good as waved me out, my duties done. You and I were good friends, I’d like to be better now.”

James eyed him. “Brothers-in-law?”

“Well, yes,” Wickham laughed. “I can’t think of one better.”

James did not respond. In his peripheral, he saw Wickham’s smile fade but he smoothly moved on to an alternate topic. “I heard from the Gardiners that you have actually seen Pemberley since we last spoke.”

“I have.”

Wickham joined him beside the fence. “I almost envy you the pleasure. I do often miss it. Yet I believe it would be too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. Best not,” he laughed. “Lydia would get it in her head that we could acquire such a place. Then you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Reynolds is still there? Woman never caught so much as a cold all the while I was there. Of course she did not mention my name to you—”

“She did.”

There was a second’s delay to Wickham’s reply. “And what did she say?”

“Not much.”

“Oh, then,” Wickham cleared his throat. “That can hardly be a surprise. It’s been a long time since we knew each other. Did I interrupt an activity?”

James peeked at him and saw his gaze on the shed. “No. Just rummaging.”

“May I? Rummage,” he flashed a grin.

“Fine. No one’s been in there since I was fifteen.”

“Really?” Wickham wondered, picking up the nearest and least filthy thing. Twirling the undamaged cricket bat between his palms, he continued, “Perhaps you saw his lordship while you were there?”

“Yes, he introduced us to his sister,” James tested.

“Did you like her?” Wickham asked.

“Very much. She wasn’t at all as you’d described.”

“Is that so?” he drifted off before he picked up with more confidence. “Good. Growth is always an admirable attribute. I have heard that she is uncommonly improved but thought nothing of it. From your lips, though, I may celebrate the news. I am glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well.”

“I dare say she will,” James all but scoffed. “She has gotten over the most trying age.”

“Did you go by the village of Kympton?”

James frowned at him. “I do not recollect that we did.”

Wickham tipped his head. “I mention it because it is the living which I ought to have had: a most delightful place with a parsonage house. It would have suited me in every respect.”

“And how would you have liked making sermons?” James disregarded, turning to march back to the house.

“Exceedingly well,” Wickham declared. James peered over his shoulder at him. “I should have considered it as part of my duty, but I won’t repine. I don’t suppose Darcy ever mentioned the place. Why would he?”

“No, but as I said. You were hardly mentioned.” They arrived at the back of his house. “I do have it upon good understanding, that the place was conditionally promised, however.”

Wickham laughed. “Is not everything attached with conditions—oh, I ought to have returned this,” he realized, looking at the bat.

“It’s fine,” James stated. Wickham then leaned it against the house while James continued, “I believe sermon making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present, though a simple bargain even I can understand: work for the church and have everything promised to you. But after hearing such a resolution of never taking orders, your conditions were forfeited, certainly.”

“Did you hear indeed?” Wickham chimed, but not so pleasantly this time. His eyes narrowed as if searching James’s gaze. James was illegible, and so he resolved to a shrug. “I suppose the past does not matter, though. I am sorry for embarking on such a worthless subject.”

“The recent past does interest me,” James intercepted. “You shall not blame Lydia or my aunt for it. Lydia spills secrets as easily as her wine, and my aunt shares confidences as much as her hospitality, in which you took part. I’ve learned you’ve spent some time with his lordship recently.”

Wickham shifted his weight. “I have, of course. But I sense a specific question underway.”

James relented, “Where might he be now?”

Wickham blinked, genuinely perplexed. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Back to Pemberley or London? Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh. I did see an envelope bearing her mother’s writing among his pile of letters during our time together.”

James felt nearly every muscle in his face pull downwards. He had completely forgotten about Miss de Bourgh, and it was exactly the answer he lastly wanted to hear.

He paced briefly before he was reaching for the bat. Wickham was still speaking. “Though that is not irregular. Always watching over her nephew—You’ve played before, I assume?”

“Once,” James confirmed, feeling the familiar grip.

“Only once? But you seem athletic enough. I don’t suppose the ladies might partake?” he added, his gaze far off like he might see them along the road. “Or I may pitch for you?”

“No.”

“No?” Wickham repeated, turning back around.

“I tend to break the bats,” James declared, and swung.

The conk of the wood was dull compared to the crack of Wickham’s nose. He landed on his back, more out of shock than pain, but as the latter caught up with him, red poured over his lips.

A rough sound escaped him when James bluntly pressed the bat to his sternum. Teary eyes stared up at him. Gone was Wickham’s charm, replaced by real concern for his well being.

“Did he buy your wife’s ring?” James growled. “Did he buy it?”

“No,” he coughed painfully, shifting onto his side. James realized he had in fact seen someone on the road, because now he heard Lydia’s distant cry. “It was my mother’s.”

James moved the bat to the base of his throat. Wickham stilled. “If my sister…ever comes to me crying because of you, I suggest you leave the country. Darcy won’t save you.”

“George! GEORGE!” Lydia screamed. It was another moment before she was able to catch up to them, and by then James had thrown the bat away. “LIZZY! LIZZY, what have—you’ve—oh my god—you’ve broken his nose! George, oh love…”

Jane had been right on her heels, but she swiftly moved out of her brother’s way, leaving him free to stride into the house. Their mother was huffing raggedly, eventually catching up and crying snippets of speech, generally exclaiming her incredulity over Wickham’s bloody face and shirtfront.

James marched right past his father standing in the doorway of his study, his silver brows merely raised with interest.