Chapter Twenty-One Back to Previous Chapter Lydia's impending nuptials were understandably the prime topic of conversation around the Longbourn dinner table. Mrs. Bennet's joy led her to chatter on about fine muslins, new carriages, and servants. It was bad enough that the Longbourn servants, undoubtedly in possession of the salient facts of Lydia's circumstances, heard her raptures; but viewing his father's darkened brow and the mortification of his two eldest sisters, Henry could only be relieved that none of the neighbours were present. As the cheese and fruit were brought in, Mrs. Bennet made verbal inventory of the houses in the neighbourhood, finding none sufficiently grand for her dear Wickham and her dear, dear Lydia. "Haye-Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings would quit it, or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for Purvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful." In other circumstances, Henry would have found great humour in his stepmother's catalogue, remembering the indignity of the situation in which he had found Wickham and Lydia; however, that very memory, and the truth of the happy couple's situation, effectively destroyed any amusement he might have enjoyed. Mr. Bennet allowed his wife to talk on without interruption while the servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, "Mrs. Bennet, before you take any or all of these houses for your son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into one house in this neighbourhood they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage the impudence of either by receiving them at Longbourn." Mrs. Bennet stared at her husband in horror. "My dear, how can you be so cruel to your own daughter? And what will the neighbours say?" "My cruelty, as you call it, is in proportion to her crime. If you fear the neighbours' tongues, I fail to see why you insist upon presenting them with the opportunity to speculate on how the presence of a daughter married in such disgraceful circumstances might act upon the susceptibilities of her unmarried sisters." "Sir," Henry interjected respectfully, "while I salute your fatherly scruples, your sanction of the marriage is public. To allow the Wickhams to visit Longbourn will lend the marriage countenance, which can only reflect well upon my sisters' reputations." Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. "After what has passed between you and Wickham, Henry, I cannot imagine that you look forward to welcoming him to Longbourn." "No, Father, I do not; but I will for my sisters' sake--Lydia's as well as the others." Mr. Bennet looked shrewdly at Catherine, who said nothing, but stared at her plate and worried a grape into shreds. "I see that your notion of Christian charity is more advanced than mine, son. However, my decision is final." "I do not understand you, Mr. Bennet," cried his wife. "Everyone knows that you have given permission for the marriage, and it will look very strange if you do not allow the Wickhams to visit! When you have given poor Lydia money for her wedding-clothes, everything done in the proper way--" "Wedding-clothes?" Mr. Bennet interrupted. "I do not recall advancing any money for Lydia to buy wedding-clothes." "You have not yet done so, but naturally you shall--which reminds me, my dear, how much shall you send? I will write to my sister Gardiner directly to tell her where to buy--" Mr. Bennet interrupted once more. "You need not trouble yourself, madam. I have no intention of advancing Lydia a guinea for wedding-clothes. She shall receive from me no mark of affection whatever on the occasion." Mrs. Bennet's astonishment rendered her nearly speechless. "No--no wedding clothes?" she faltered, more alive to the disgrace which the want of new clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials than to any sense of shame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they took place. Though his aspect remained outwardly sanguine, it soon became clear that Mr. Bennet's anger toward his youngest daughter was much advanced, and that he would remain firm in his pronouncements. Thus, Mrs. Bennet rose from the table rather hastily and said, "Come, girls, let us leave the gentlemen to their port." As she passed Henry's chair, she pressed a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Talk to your papa, Henry, there's a good boy," and sailed out of the room. When the ladies were gone, Mr. Bennet cast an ironic glance at Henry. "Save your arguments. You've no hope of changing my mind--certainly not while your bruises are still fresh." "Then I must hope that time not only will cause the bruises to fade, but your anger as well. I do not like the connection that Lydia's imprudence has forced upon her, but I must accept it for her sake, and my sisters'. I beg you to do the same, sir." "I fear that my loyalties are not so easily adjusted. Will you take some of the old port, Henry?" Henry's bruises began to fade almost immediately, though neither Mr. Bennet nor Catherine felt more reconciled to them. The pain in his side faded as well; on the third day after his return, he awakened, sat up in bed, and stretched his arms over his head with the satisfied groan of a man who has slept deeply and well. He noticed Catherine, lying back on the pillow, watching him with a strange expression. "What is it, my sweet? Has my nightshirt a rent? How mortifying. I shall turn off my valet directly." He pretended to check under the arms of the innocent garment. Catherine giggled. "You look like you used to," she said. "I find it impossible to determine if that is a compliment; however, I shall accept it as such, and pray forgive me if I err on the side of vanity. I feel a new man today, Cat! Positively middle-aged, rather than the decrepit elderly fellow who has been inhabiting my body of late. Could you stand a kiss from the broken-down creature you married?" Catherine, her eyes sparkling, indicated that she could stand it very well; and Henry promptly obliged her. With such pleasant distractions, it is not to be wondered at that the Tilneys should be later than usual descending to breakfast. Jane, Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet were already in the breakfast-room, and it was obvious from their expressions that something of great import had occurred. Mr. Bennet did not keep them in suspense. "A letter arrived in the morning post from Mr. Gardiner," he said, handing the letter to Henry. Gracechurch-street Thursday, August -- My dear Brother, The arrangements for my niece's marriage have been completed, though unfortunately not with the ease and dispatch that I had expected. When the solicitor and I called upon Mr. Wickham with the agreement ready for his signature, he stated that he would not be held to the terms you authorized, and insisted that only a large monetary settlement, under his complete control, would persuade him to marry Lydia. Henry, momentarily forgetting the presence of his wife and sisters, swore a most unclerical oath. "Indeed," said his father dryly. Haggerston and I withdrew, and I took the liberty of not sending a message to Longbourn, trusting that it was a temporary misunderstanding as a consequence of Mr. Wickham's concussion. My prudence was rewarded, for today I received a communication that Mr. Wickham was willing to go forward with the marriage with only a slight emendation of the particulars. All that is required of you is to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand pounds secured among your children after the decease of yourself and my sister; and, moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions which, considering everything, I had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged, for you. You will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham's circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. The world has been deceived in that respect; and, I am happy to say, there will be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune. If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business, I will immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your or Henry's coming to town again; therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend on my diligence and care. Send back your answer as soon as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. Your's, &c. EDW. GARDINER. Henry handed the letter to Catherine and said, "I suspected that this would not be settled so easily." "The terms, I suppose, must be complied with," said Elizabeth. "Complied with!" exclaimed Mr. Bennet. "I am only ashamed of his asking so little. There are two things that I want very much to know: -- one is, how much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about; and the other, how I am ever to pay him." Henry stared at his father in surprise, but said nothing. "Money! My uncle!" cried Jane. "What do you mean, sir?" "I mean that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am gone. The original arrangement would have been more lucrative--an establishment, and a larger annuity." "That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though it had not occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh! it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good man; I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this." "No," said her father, "Wickham's a fool, if he takes her with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him in the very beginning of our relationship." "Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid?" Henry remained silent throughout this discussion, his jaw clenched; he paced the room restlessly. "Well," said Mr. Bennet, "if you will all run along to your breakfast, I will write to my brother and give him leave to go forward." He went to his library. "Go on into the dining parlour," Henry said to the ladies. "I shall join you presently." The girls looked at each other, and Elizabeth and Jane left the room, but Catherine stayed behind. She watched Henry pace for a few moments, and then ventured, "Is it so bad? You shall contrive a way to repay Mr. Gardiner, to be sure." "It is not Mr. Gardiner whom I must repay." The words burst out of Henry. "What do you mean? Do not you agree with Mr. Bennet that Wickham was paid what he demanded?" "I believe it; but I do not think that Mr. Gardiner paid it. I believe it was Darcy." "Mr. Darcy!" cried Catherine, very much surprised. "How came he to be involved? Is he not in Derbyshire?" "Perhaps he is now; but a week ago, nay, but a few days ago, he was in town." Henry went to Catherine and took her hands in his. "I know I can trust you with a confidence, Cat; therefore, I must ask you to keep this information to yourself. The Bennets must not be told." "I shall not tell; but now that you have raised my curiosity, please satisfy it!" "Of course. I confess that it is a relief for me to speak of it. Darcy knew of an acquaintance of Wickham's who was living in town, and without my knowledge, he contacted the individual and bribed her to obtain intelligence about Wickham's whereabouts. When we called on Wickham, he made it clear that he would not voluntarily marry Lydia, and Darcy suggested that I challenge Wickham to a boxing match, rather than a traditional duel. Darcy arranged it all, stood by me, pulled from the floor when Wickham knocked me down--Catherine, I tell you, if it were not for Darcy's assistance, Lydia would still be lost to us." "And after all that," she cried, "Wickham refused to honour his word!" "I suspected he might, and expressed my fear to Darcy. He assured me that he would see to it. And so he has." "Mr. Darcy is a great friend." Henry smiled wryly. "Yes, but he tells me that he acted out of his affection for Lizzy, though knowing Darcy as I do, I dare say that there is a different sort of weight upon his conscience as well." He would not betray Georgiana, even to Catherine; but her face showed perfect comprehension. "Do you mean the incident at Ramsgate?" Henry looked his surprise. "Do you know about that?" "Georgiana wrote to me and told me all about it when she heard about Lydia. Poor girl, she is very ashamed of her behaviour, and wishes that her brother had warned Lydia away, even if it was at the expense of her own reputation." Henry smiled. "Georgiana is a sweet girl, and means well, as does her brother. Well, I shall endeavour to repay him, somehow." "You may take some of my money, if it will help," Catherine offered virtuously, with only the slightest pang at the notion of having no new bonnets or gowns for many years. "Nay, my sweet, your pin-money is safe. We shall contrive without it." "Perhaps," said Catherine hopefully, "if Mr. Darcy marries Lizzy, he will not expect repayment." "I dare say that he does not expect repayment, whether or not he marries Lizzy, but it must be so." Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. Your gratitude was kindly expressed, though unnecessary. I am always glad to do whatever is in my power to promote the welfare of any of my family, and indeed my activity in this case has been negligible. I beg you to never mention it again. I do not write this letter to place a claim upon your gratitude, but to tell you that Wickham has resolved on quitting the militia. It was greatly my wish that he should do so as soon as his marriage was fixed on. 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 General ----'s regiment, now quartered in the North. It is an advantage to have it 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, for which I have pledged myself. 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. Haggerston has our directions, and all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to Longbourn; and 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 to you and her mother. Henry admired the neatness of Darcy's arrangements, although he could not speak of them. Instead he said to his father, "I should have thought to purchase Wickham a commission in the regulars. He could not return to the militia regiment, of course, and this will at least provide them with an income. No wonder he was willing to take less in the settlement." "I presume that the purchase of the commission was part of the settlement demands. My good brother Gardiner would not say so, of course. That is another debt that I owe him." "I do not question Mr. Gardiner's generosity, sir, but there is no indication that Wickham was paid anything beyond the amount of his debts, the commission, and Lydia's settlement--which was wisely placed out of Wickham's control." "I have often wished that, instead of spending my whole income, I had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of my children, and of my wife, if she should survive me. I now wish it more than ever. Had I done my duty in that respect, Lydia need not be indebted to her uncle for whatever of honour or credit can now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be her husband might have rested in its proper place." Mr. Bennet sighed and pushed aside the folio he had been aimlessly perusing. "I am seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to anyone should be forwarded at the sole expense of my brother-in-law, and I am determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as I can." Henry had regrets of his own. Convinced as he was that their obligation was to Darcy, and not Mr. Gardiner, he wished to turn his father's mind from a useless concern. "I feel most strongly that Mr. Gardiner will not demand immediate repayment." Hopefully, Darcy will be successful in his suit, and all will be revealed. And the obligation of repayment will become mine. "Did you answer Mr. Gardiner's letter?" "I did. I sent my approbation of all that was done, and my willingness to fulfill the engagements that had been made for me, and once again expressed my gratitude. I did not suppose that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry Lydia, it could be done with so little inconvenience to myself as by the present arrangement. I shall scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser, by the hundred that they will receive; for, what with her board and pocket allowance, and the continual presents in money which pass to her through her mother's hands, Lydia's expenses have been very little within that sum. Everything is arranged, and with such trifling exertion on my side. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished." Tolerably cheered by his reflections, he returned his attention to the folio, donning his spectacles and turning over a leaf with a sigh of satisfaction. Mrs. Bennet's feelings on the occasion were rather different. "The North!" she cried fretfully when Jane had read the letter to her. "How provoking! Lydia is so fond of Mrs. Forster, it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General ----'s regiment. But now, Mr. Bennet, you must allow poor Lydia to come to Longbourn. She will be going away, and who knows when we may see her again?" Mr. Bennet was still very angry with Lydia, and at first, Mrs. Bennet's pleas received an absolute negative from her husband; but Henry's dependence upon time softening his father's resolution was rewarded. Faced with the rational and mild persuasion of his son and two eldest daughters, Mr. Bennet was prevailed upon to think as they thought, and act as they wished. Lydia and her new husband were to come to Longbourn on the very day of their wedding. When Catherine heard the news, she said nothing, and gave her sewing a great deal more attention than usual. They had been married long enough for Henry to sense her moods with a high degree of accuracy; thus, the next time they were alone together, he asked for her opinion on the newlyweds' impending visit. "Must we be here, Henry?" Catherine's eyes were large and imploring. "I cannot meet Wickham with any degree of comfort; not after what he has done to you. He is a dishonourable man." "Yes, he is, but he will be married to my sister. If we were known to leave Longbourn before they arrive, after what has passed between Wickham and me, it will only occasion unkind gossip. We must stay here, and lend them what countenance we can." "I am sure I do not know why you must always be the one to make sacrifices, Henry." "Alas, Cat, that is the unfortunate responsibility of the firstborn. You should have married a younger son." Catherine stared at Henry in stunned indignation for a moment; then she noticed the twinkle in his eye, and finally relaxed so much as to allow herself to smile. Lydia's wedding-day arrived, and the emotions of the Longbourn party were understandably mixed. Mrs. Bennet was the picture of delight, knowing that she might show her married daughter off to the neighbours before Wickham carried her off to the North. Jane and Elizabeth felt for Lydia probably more than she felt for herself; Jane especially ascribed to her the very proper feelings which she would have felt had she found herself in similar circumstances, and was quite wretched on her sister's behalf. Catherine would normally have felt much the same as Jane, but she found her natural sympathy overcome by feelings of resentment toward Wickham, and by extension Lydia. For Henry's part, he did not look forward to the visit, but was determined to show a good face to the world. The carriage was sent to meet the newlyweds at -----, and they were to return in it by dinner-time. The family was assembled in the breakfast-room to receive them. Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule, and in another moment she was being embraced by her mother. Her husband was just behind her, smiling beatifically, without an ounce of embarrassment or consciousness. He greeted Mr. Bennet with an affability that was not returned; rather, Mr. Bennet's face grew more austere at the young couple's easy assurance. Not at all put out by his father-in-law's coldness, Wickham approached Henry with his hand out and a wide smile on his face. "No hard feelings, brother Henry," he said. "On this happy day, let us put the past behind us, and start fresh." To spurn the handshake would have been churlish, but Henry had no intention of encouraging Wickham's pretensions. He shook his brother-in-law's hand and nodded silently. Lydia was Lydia still, untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. Elizabeth's expression showed that she was disgusted with her sister's brash behaviour; even Jane seemed shocked. Catherine's expression was neutral, though to Henry's knowing eye a trifle masklike. Lydia noticed Catherine. "You must be Cathy! La, you are prettier than I thought you would be. Do you like my ring?" She waved her hand under the older girl's nose. "Let me see yours. Lord, but Henry bought you a very fine ring! Well, he is the eldest. I dare say he has the right. You have not met my husband, have you? My love," she called imperiously to Wickham, "come here so that I may present you to Cathy." Wickham good-naturedly responded to Lydia's command, stepping forward, smiling warmly and reaching out both his hands. "My dear Cathy, I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last!" He would have taken Catherine's hands, but she deliberately clasped them behind her back and dropped the tiniest of curtseys. Henry had never seen Catherine's changeable eyes such a stormy shade of grey. Wickham was no more put out by Catherine's repulsion than he had been by Mr. Bennet's or Henry's. He made a graceful bow and went to sit by Elizabeth, who did not appear happy to see or talk to him, but hid her resentment rather better than did Catherine. Lydia and Mrs. Bennet carried the conversation. There were certain subjects to which Mrs. Wickham's sisters would not have alluded to for the world, but Lydia herself felt no embarrassment. "Oh, Mamma, do the people hereabouts know I am married today? I was afraid they might not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined he should know it, and 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, and then I bowed and smiled like anything." Elizabeth rose, and ran out of the room. Jane looked as though she wished for the courage to follow her; but it was not long till they passed into the dining-parlour, and Elizabeth rejoined the party. Instead of taking her customary chair, Lydia walked up to her mother's right hand--the place reserved for her eldest sister. "Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman." She turned to Catherine and held out her hand. "Come, Cathy," she commanded. "Sit across from me, in Lizzy's place; the ummarried girls must give way to us." Catherine was too astonished to speak for a long moment. When she found her tongue, she said, "I am a guest at Longbourn, Mrs. Wickham. I would never expect to receive precedence over Henry's sisters." Lydia stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing. "La! You are an odd creature!" she cried, and to Catherine's relief, did not press the point any further, but sat down and chattered with her mother. Catherine stared at her plate, fearing that she had said too much, or the wrong thing; but the reassuring pressure of Henry's hand on hers beneath the table, and a look from Mr. Bennet that had something like approval writ in it, made her a great deal more comfortable. Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight. No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short, and she made the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter. Catherine was always relieved when Mrs. Wickham was not about, as Lydia seemed to feel that their status as married women was sufficient to support intimacy, and Catherine still carried some resentment over the injuries Henry had suffered at Wickham's hands. Wickham, for his part, wisely avoided Catherine, though he was always perfectly cordial to her, but Lydia persisted in making a sort of pet of her sister-in-law. Catherine knew not which was worse: Lydia's seeming ignorance of the disgrace and trouble her behaviour had brought upon her family, or her patronizing attempts at sisterhood. One morning, soon after their arrival, Lydia came into the room where Catherine and the two eldest Miss Bennets were quietly working. She picked up one of Kitty's bonnets and began to idly pull off the trimming. Unable to bear a silence for very long, after a few minutes she said to Elizabeth, "Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I believe. You were not by, when I told mamma and the others all about it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?" "I think there cannot be too little said on the subject," replied Elizabeth tartly. "La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were in that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat." "Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt were horrid 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. To be sure London was rather thin, but, however, the Little Theatre was open. Well, and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, there is no end of it. Well, 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, he came back again in ten minutes' time, and then we all set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well." "Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement. "Oh, yes! He was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!" Catherine stared at Lydia indignantly, wondering if she should warn Lydia not to give away Mr. Darcy's secret, which he especially wished to keep from Elizabeth. How could Lydia be so careless? Fortunately, Jane's nice sense of honour saved the day. "If it was to be secret," she said to Lydia, "say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further." "Oh, certainly," said Elizabeth, to Catherine's relief. "We will ask you no questions." "Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry." Elizabeth hastily excused herself, bundled up her sewing, and fled the room. Soon after, Jane was called away by the housekeeper, and Catherine and Lydia were left alone. After a moment, Catherine ventured to say, "Jane will not ask you, but if Lizzy should, do not tell her about Mr. Darcy's part in the arrangement of your marriage. Henry told me most particularly that Mr. Darcy does not wish her to know about it." "And why, pray, should I care what Mr. Darcy wants?" asked Lydia with a toss of her head. "Henry told you. I fail to see why I should be expected to keep Mr. Darcy's secrets if his friends cannot." Catherine blushed, regretting that she had brought up the subject at all. "Well then, remember that it shall anger your husband." "Oh, Wickham will not stay angry for long; he never does. I am not married to an insufferable prig like my brother." The breaking point was reached at last. "I would rather be married to an insufferable prig, if Henry is such," cried Catherine, "than to a man who ruined me, and whose honour could not be prevailed upon to make it right, but had to be beaten and bribed into it!" She was instantly ashamed, and dropped her sewing and ran from the room in tears, leaving Lydia to stare wonderingly behind her, and after a moment return to pulling apart Kitty's bonnet. Mr. Bennet was to have gone shooting with Henry, Wickham, and some of the neighbouring gentlemen, but when the morning proved cold and rainy, he decided to stay in his library. The new brothers-in-law accordingly set out, and in the crowd, Henry was able to decently avoid Wickham's company, but he could not help overhearing Wickham's conversation with one of the young Lucases. "Are you finding married life agreeable?" the young man asked Wickham with all the air of a practiced courtier, which Henry found alternately amusing and annoying from a wet-behind-the-ears pup who was cooling his heels at Lucas Lodge until the beginning of Michaelmas term. "Very much so," said Wickham, with a glance in Henry's direction. Henry looked off into the distance, his hand shading his eyes, as though he could not hear, or was not listening, and was intent on sighting his quarry. "You will find out for yourself one day, I dare say." "Not I," declared young Mr. Lucas. "I'm no marrying man. Let a woman rule the roost? Not I, faith!" Wickham was apparently satisfied that his brother-in-law was not attending to the conversation, and took the opportunity to ingratiate himself with the younger man; not a difficult task, as Mr. Lucas was ready to be impressed. "You will find, Lucas, that there are ways to allow your lady to think that she is in charge, while still retaining the freedom of your bachelor days. It is not difficult; attend to her words when you are together, say 'yes, my love,' and 'no, my love,' when the occasion requires it, and she will be happy, and you may go your merry way. One must show subjection to one's wife before the world; but if a man is discreet, he may find his pleasures elsewhere, if you understand my meaning." Mr. Lucas, who had hung onto every word, was clearly transfigured by this wisdom. He laughed loudly and cried, "I say, Wickham, that is capital! You are a deep one!" His unguarded shout caused several birds to rise from a nearby patch of brush, to the disgust of his fellows, who were not prepared to raise and sight their guns. The dogs ran off after the birds, barking aimlessly, and young Lucas lapsed into embarrassed silence. The day was soon too far advanced for much sport, and the gentlemen trooped back to their respective houses. Henry allowed himself to drop well back of the attendants, and called Wickham to his side. "You have an admirable program for managing Lydia. You seem to be enjoying great success thus far, for you are still her dearest Wickham in every conversation." Wickham glanced at Henry apprehensively. "That was just talk, you know, Tilney, between men." "Then I cannot help but wonder why you conducted such a discussion with young Lucas, who is still a boy. Nonetheless, the philosophy you imparted to him was fascinating, and he probably attended it more closely than he attends his tutors at school. My philosophy, however, is rather different. You see, I liken marriage to dancing. Once a gentleman chooses his partner, he does not throw her aside for the first pretty face that passes, does he?" Wickham said nothing, but watched Henry warily. "No," Henry continued, "he does not. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both the husband and the dancing partner. A man has no business with any woman other than his partner--or his wife. I am always distressed to hear of a lady ill-treated at a ball. You may consider my notions quaint, but I have delivered severe dressings-down even to my friends when they fall short of my ideals in the ballroom." Henry's voice dropped lower, taking on a menacing tone, though his expression remained entirely good-natured. "Now, should I hear the least breath of domestic unhappiness from my sister, I could not vouch for my temper." "You wanted this marriage," said Wickham carelessly. "You've no right to tell me how to conduct my affairs." "Perhaps not. However, you will remember that I have a large military acquaintance. If word should reach me that Lydia has experienced conjugal disappointment, I fear that I would be moved to write to my acquaintances. I know your type of soldier, Wickham; you like to parade about in your scarlet coat, go to balls and dinners, without the least notion of engaging in battle. I put you on warning now: a few well-chosen words from me in the proper channels, and you shall find yourself at the front lines, facing French soldiers drunk on revolutionary fervour, liberté, égalité, et fraternité running hot in their veins. They will see Ensign Wickham, imperialism incarnate in his scarlet coat, come to snatch the bread from their mouths and return them to feudal servitude. They shall fix bayonets--so!" Henry lunged suddenly with his gun. Wickham let out a startled yelp, backing away from Henry in panic, his eyes wide with fear. Henry's face remained grave, but internally he was very much amused. It appears that I have not lost my talent for storytelling, after all! "Oh, buck up, Wickham," he said genially. "I know better than to expect you to live like a monk. A healthy sense of discretion will be sufficient to guarantee you a comfortable billet far from Bonaparte." Wickham swallowed convulsively. He seemed unable to meet Henry's eyes. "You will forgive me, I am sure. I still suffer from the headache occasionally; a lingering effect of the concussion." Wickham's weak attempt to discompose his brother-in-law failed utterly. "That is unfortunate," agreed Henry. He held out his hand, his dark eyes dancing with mischief. "No hard feelings, eh, brother George?" There was nothing else for Wickham to do but shake Henry's hand, and beat a rapid retreat into the house. Henry followed, more slowly, and once inside found a letter had arrived for him in the morning post. Recognizing the hand, he smiled, broke the wafer, and quickly read it through, then took the steps two at a time to the bedchamber he shared with Catherine. She was there, bathing her eyes in cool water. "I thought Mrs. Bennet was out visiting," said Henry, recognizing the signs that something had occurred in his absence to upset his wife. "She is." Catherine dabbed at her face with her handkerchief. "I had a row with Lydia. I am very sorry, Henry." "Do not apologize to me, Cat. You have had a deal to bear in that quarter, poor girl." He held out his arms, and she went to them willingly. "Can we go home, Henry? Please?" Catherine sniffled into his lapel. "Home to Woodston? We have been married nearly three months, and I have yet to pass a night there!" "As attractive a prospect as that may be, my sweet, I have another to present." He showed her the letter. "This is from Bingley, and tells me that he and Darcy will be coming to Netherfield--alone--only a few days after the Wickhams depart for the north." Catherine looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Do you mean--they are coming to court Jane and Lizzy?" She took the letter from him and read it eagerly. "Bingley does not say so, but I can think of no other reason. The lease on Netherfield is not binding, and there is plenty of sport to be had at Pemberley, if sport is all that they seek. I should like to be here when they arrive; imagine the fun, Catherine, of watching Bingley and Darcy cast themselves abjectly at the feet of my sisters!" "It will be delightful! Indeed, let us stay! But Henry," she added, looking up from the letter, "we must take care not to let our partiality influence Jane and Lizzy. They must make up their own minds." "What a romantic you are," said Henry with a fond smile. "Would you grudge my sisters extremely eligible matches for something so trifling as a want of affection?" Not realizing that she was being teased, Catherine considered the question seriously. "Yes," she said gravely, "I believe that I would." Henry found himself obliged to demonstrate that there was no want of affection in their own marriage; and, judging by Catherine's response, flattered himself that he did so tolerably well. Continued in Next Chapter ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.