Links to previous chapters can be found on the menu.
A couple of things to remember: This is Lydia and Wickham’s story of growth and change. It is not a Darcy and Elizabeth story. It is a departure from my normal style of story as I wanted to challenge myself to do a story with a more somber tone that dealt with relationship issues rather than good fighting evil. These are drafts of the story and will contain mistakes.
Lydia sat in the parlour awaiting the arrival of her sister and children. She tried to focus on her stitching, but her mind could not be confined to the activity. Focusing on one activity for any length of time had always been a challenge for her. Today, however, it was a near impossibility. Wickham had not spoken to her since leaving her room yesterday. He had sent her some flowers, but there had been no note, no word of comfort. She knew he had every reason to be angry with her. She was angry with herself. Her tendency to become bored easily and her rash nature had put her family once again in a precarious position.
She lay her stitching to the side. Continuing an attempt at stitching with her mind in such an addled state would only lead to a waste of thread as the stitches would have to be pulled later. She decided a turn about the front garden would be more beneficial.
The sunshine felt good, warming and comforting. The morning air was crisp and fresh. Lydia hoped that a good drawing in of this fresh air would help to clear her thoughts. She stopped to look at the bulbs in the garden that were just beginning to send their green shoots through the ground. She had some seedlings that needed to be planted, but despite the warmth of the sun that nudged her to remove her pelisse, the soils felt cold, too cold for transplanting. Lydia brushed the dirt from her fingertips, maybe next week.
“Mama! Mama!” Five-year-old Thomas Wickham pulled his hand free from his aunt and raced toward his mother. “Mama, you came home.” He threw his arms about her waist.
Lydia ruffled his hair. “Of course, I came home. Do you think I could stay away from my darlings?”
Eight-year-old Louisa folded her arms across her chest and glared at her mother.
“Good morning, Louisa,” said Lydia.
“Humph,” snorted Louisa before stomping into the house.
Lydia shot a concerned look toward Kitty. “Thomas, I think cook has some fresh biscuits waiting for you.” Thomas clapped his hands and dashed toward the house.
“Louisa is not well pleased with you.”
“That is obvious. Might I ask why?” Lydia laced her arm through Kitty’s and the two sisters entered the house.
“You do know she is strongly attached to her father.”
“Yes, I know that, but what does that have to do with her being angry with me?”
Harriet quietly slipped into the room with the tea tray. Lydia thanked her and began pouring.
“Oh, Lydia. Do you have any idea what your abrupt departure with my husband’s officer did to your poor husband?”
Continue reading Chapter 4