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CHAPTER 1

Posted on 2008-07-13

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth and Jane Bennet each started at their father's voice and turned to stare at him wide-eyed. His face, framed in his library window---which they now realized was open to the lovely Spring day---held the most incredulous look.

"Lizzy?" he repeated. "Please come in here for a moment. I'd like to speak with you."

"Yes, Father."

He disappeared back into the room, and Jane grabbed Elizabeth's arm and whispered, "He heard us, Lizzy!"

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered back, "but how much did he hear?"

She went indoors and found Mr. Bennet standing in front of his desk, still gripped with surprise---his mouth hung open, his eyebrows quivered near his hairline, and his complexion had flushed an unflattering crimson. This was just the sort of situation that would normally have tickled Elizabeth's sense of the absurd, but instead of amusement she felt only mortification---she should have been more careful. She knew what was coming, and despite everything, Mr. Darcy deserved better.

"Lizzy," he began slowly, "I do not wish to pry into your personal affai. . . uh, personal business, but please explain to me why Mr. Darcy, of all men, has written you a letter."

"Oh, Papa, must I? It was nothing improper, I assure you."

"I insist on being satisfied, Elizabeth."

Whenever he called her "Elizabeth" he was serious indeed. With a heavy sigh, she said, "Mr. Darcy and I argued in Kent. I accused him of things. He defended himself with a letter that he personally placed in my hand in the park at Rosings. Nobody saw it."

"What did you argue about? Come, come, my dear, I am not a fool. There is more here than a simple argument. Did Mr. Darcy make improper advances to you?" He stepped forward and took her hand. "I understand these things, Lizzy. It would not be your fault. Many of these wealthy young men have the morals of barn cats."

"Please, it was not like that." She retrieved her hand and glanced nervously at the still-open window. "I would like to keep this secret, sir, both for my sake and Mr. Darcy's. He did nothing dishonorable, but if Mama ever found out. . . Will you assure me of your secrecy, Father?"

"Of course. I understand how your mother is."

Elizabeth briefly narrowed her eyes at him, then she shrugged and said, "Mr. Darcy made me an offer of marriage in Kent. I refused him in strident terms. I accused him of separating Mr. Bingley from Jane and of ruining Mr. Wickham's prospects." She looked down at the floor and softly continued, "I told him he had behaved in an ungentleman-like manner, that he was selfish and disdainful and the last man in the world I could ever marry."

She returned her gaze to her father and her heart sank, for Mr. Bennet was overflowing with mirth.

"Oh, Lizzy, this is rich!" He sat back on his desk and laughed. "And such a set down---it must have been a great shock to such a proud, important man, but so in character for you, my dear!" He paused to wipe his eyes. "Did he say why he wanted to marry you?"

She looked at the floor again and nodded. "He said he loved me." She cringed as her father guffawed.

"This is irony worthy of Mr. Shakespeare," he cried. "You weren't handsome enough to tempt him---remember?" She colored and nodded. "And he fell in love with you!" He suddenly cleared his throat and said, "Not that loving you is strange."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and he began to laugh again. At last he said, "Did he tell you how it came about? When you became tempting enough for such an illustrious man?"

Her skin crawled at the unseemliness of the conversation, but she had to answer. "He claimed he began to love me when he was at Netherfield, but struggled against his feelings. He felt that a connection to our family would be a degradation."

Elizabeth felt a guilty satisfaction when Mr. Bennet's amusement evaporated.

"A degradation?" he said. "I am a gentleman. My family have been gentle-borne for two centuries. Ha, a degradation indeed!"

"Mr. Darcy's ancestors were aristocrats in France before the Norman Invasion, when they still had an apostrophe. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, told me all about them." She sighed. "His uncle is an earl, his mother's grandfather was a duke. So it actually would be a degradation for him to marry the connectionless daughter of a country gentleman of middling rank. With a fortune only one-thirtieth of his sister's."

Mr. Bennet whistled. "Miss Darcy has thirty thousand? My my---she must be swamped with eager suitors. Among whom is apparently Mr. Bingley."

"Perhaps, but Miss Darcy is very young, no more than sixteen. I doubt they would have a serious attachment at this point, especially given her recent past." Elizabeth now explained Mr. Darcy's association with Mr. Wickham, including Miss Darcy's near escape.

"That explains quite a bit," said Mr. Bennet when she'd done. "It certainly casts a new light on your Mr. Wickham. Well, well---Miss King is well rid of him it seems. When I think of the fortune hunting scoundrels that infest society, I am sometimes glad I have so little to leave my daughters."

Elizabeth thought that was going pretty far---she would rather her father than her poverty protect her from fortune hunters.

"Was that in Mr. Darcy's letter?" he asked. She nodded. "Did he also explain the business between Jane and Mr. Bingley?"

"Yes." She glared at her father. "He explained that the matter of our lack of consequence was not so important to Mr. Bingley as to himself. He objected to that connection because of our family's behavior in society, particularly that of my mother and younger sisters, which he considered almost uniformly improper."

"So," her father said, "the forbidding Mr. Darcy is nothing but a squeamish youth. Then I am happy to see the back of him. Any young man who can not bear to be associated with a little absurdity is not worth a regret." Then he seemed to notice Elizabeth's look. "Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known, you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of---or I may say, three---very silly sisters."

What about a father who can not be bothered to provide any of them with proper guidance, she thought dismally. "I have not told Jane anything about Mr. Darcy's interference with Mr. Bingley. It can only cause her pain."

Mr. Bennet nodded. "Very well, I won't say anything to her. Thank you for telling me about this, Lizzy. Remember you can talk to me about anything."

He kissed her forehead, shooed back into the hall and closed the door behind her. Elizabeth stood there for some moments, chewing her lip and digesting her father's last, absurd comment. He either did not remember or did not care to remember that she only talked to him because he had overheard her conversation with Jane; and after this discussion, it would be a cold day in Hades before she would ever confide in him again.

She pondered what he had said about Mr. Darcy, that he was "a squeamish youth." Was it squeamishness to want to shield yourself and your family from society's disdain? Was it squeamishness to want to protect a young sister's sensibilities? To want only proper influences on one's own children?

She shook her head---Mr. Darcy was no squeamish youth. He was a young man who recognized impropriety when he saw it and who endeavored to limit its impact on those he loved. And suddenly it struck her, as if for the first time, that he included her amongst that group. He loved her. Or at least he had loved her. After the unwarranted abuse she had heaped upon him, his emotions would now be quite different, she was certain. She must now be the object of his most implacable resentment, and deservedly so.

She was so ashamed of herself.

Not that she regretted her refusal---how could she ever love such a man? But that she was so very wrong about his essential character, and so trusting of Mr. Wickham, for no reason but her own pride and vanity.

If there was anything about which she would have liked to confide in her father, that was it. But she knew that while he might comprehend the facts, he would never comprehend her feelings. He would make sport of her, and she could not listen with composure as he mocked her shame.

And she could not bear to hear him speak that way again about Mr. Darcy.

Jane was still in the garden when Elizabeth returned. Together they made their way to a distant corner of the park, far away from open windows. Jane took Elizabeth's hands in hers.

"What did Papa say, Lizzy? You look very unhappy!"

"Oh, Jane, he will never change."

Jane seemed to require no more explanation. "I am sorry he overheard us. I should have insisted we go farther from the house."

Elizabeth smirked. "Yes, Jane, it is all your fault! My misunderstanding Mr. Darcy and taking Mr. Wickham's side; Mr. Darcy's insulting me at the assembly and making as grotesque a marriage offer as Mr. Collins; my father's eavesdropping on our discussion of it all and making it an object of sport for his own amusement---yes, it is all your fault! Oh, how can I continue to love you, dear sister, when your character is so lacking!"

By this time Jane was laughing out loud. "Stop it. I should have been more careful, and you know it. But you must make me laugh about it." She tried not to smile, failing miserably.

"Oh, well," said Elizabeth, "it is in the past now. Let us just enjoy being out of the house and away from the constant bickering about Brighton---my family have no compassion on my poor nerves!"

Elizabeth spoke on that subject with more levity than she felt. She had tried to be diverted by her family's arguing over a Brighton visit, but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his friend, as when she beheld her mother and youngest sisters wheedling Mr. Bennet for an opportunity to go sea bathing, or lamenting the loss of the militia's society.

Suddenly they saw Kitty running toward them from the house. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Kitty," cried Jane, "what is the matter, dear?!"

"Oh, it is entirely horrible! Such dreadful news!" Kitty stopped before them, her chest heaving from exertion, and pointed back at the house. "She gets to go to Brighton!"

"You mean Lydia?" asked Elizabeth.

Kitty nodded. "Mrs. Forster invited her to accompany them as her particular friend. I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia," said she, "though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."

"Father has not said she can go, has he?"

"He said he will think about it."

As Jane tried to comfort Kitty, Elizabeth returned to the house and found Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughter in the drawing room re-reading Mrs. Forster's letter, all atwitter. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's general behavior, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home. He heard her attentively, and then said,

"Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances."

"You are already aware,'' said Elizabeth, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which has arisen from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner. How can you now judge this affair in such a way?"

Mr. Bennet was incredulous. "You mean because she frightened away one of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. You surely do not feel yourself injured in that case, do you?"

"Of course not---the injury was to Jane. I told you how Mr. Bingley's friend dissuaded him from her because of our family's impropriety. Do you not see that our importance, our respectability in the world, is affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character?"

"Come, Lizzy---you can hardly blame your sister for Mr. Darcy's officious interference in Mr. Bingley's life."

"Of course Mr. Darcy was officious. I do not mean to excuse him entirely." She took a deep breath and continued earnestly, "Excuse me---for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking Lydia's exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself and her family ridiculous. A flirt, too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and from the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty is also comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads.---Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?"

Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject; and affectionately taking her hand, said in reply,

"Please rest easy, my dear. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to any body. At Brighton she will be of less importance, even as a common flirt, than she has been here. The officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse without authorizing us to lock her up for the rest of her life. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go then."

With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature to increase her vexations by dwelling on them, yet she was not confident of having performed her duty, and began to wonder if this was perhaps an avoidable evil. She cast about for some way to mitigate the damage.

Lydia could never be convinced to stay home---in her imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. In fact, had Lydia and her mother known the substance of Elizabeth's conference with her father, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their united volubility. No, she could never convince Lydia to stay home.

What Lydia needed, Elizabeth decided, was guidance---or perhaps a keeper---and since her parents had no inclination for the task, she wondered if there was some way she herself might take it on. It would mean traveling to Brighton for the summer, which would mean missing her northern trip with the Gardiners, which she was loath to do---she had so hoped to see the Lake country, and so looked forward to the Gardiners' sensible company.

A trip to Brighton, then, would be a sacrifice, but it would be for the good of her family. And there were worse sacrifices than spending the summer at the seashore among scores of handsome young men, even if Mr. Wickham was one of them.

None of this, though, would be possible without another invitation from Mrs. Forster, but she hardly knew the woman and they seemed to have little in common. How could she influence the colonel's wife?

Elizabeth felt very much out to sea. This was not her usual way of getting on, and she wasn't even certain of her moral ground in trying to manipulate a silly young woman. She longed for a confidante. She longed to discuss it with Jane, but she could not---it struck far too close to the subject of Mr. Bingley.

No sooner did she think of Mr. Bingley than she thought of his friend, and she had the sudden, irrational urge to get his view of the matter. What a help, what a solid guide Mr. Darcy would be through such a trial! He was certainly not without fault, but somewhere, somehow, she had come to admire his judgment and respect his character, which were in such contrast to her father's.

What a shame he was such an ill-tempered, disagreeable man.

Elizabeth contemplated her problem for almost a day, and very nearly despaired. Whenever she thought of befriending Mrs. Forster---Harriet---she could not imagine it. Little older than Kitty, Mrs. Forster was as silly a girl as any Elizabeth had ever met. What little conversation they had had in the past had only confirmed how well suited Lydia was to be her particular friend.

How was such a woman to be worked on? How was Elizabeth to---and she never got to this point in her thinking without severe pangs of conscience---manipulate her into an invitation to Brighton?

She was nowhere near a solution at bed time, when Jane asked, "May I borrow your new lace tomorrow evening to trim my gown, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth looked at her and blinked. "Oh---I'd forgot about tomorrow. Yes, of course you may. I shall be crippled in my attempts at elegance, but I shall persevere!"

Jane laughed and thanked her, then left her alone to contemplate tomorrow evening's party---the Forsters had been invited to Longbourn along with several officers, including Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth had been in his company twice since returning from Kent and felt only discomfort and distaste. He, however, had shown that he wished to renew his attentions now that Miss King was out of the picture, which only served to remind Elizabeth of how easily he had manipulated her in the past---evidently he expected her to fall back into their old pattern and feed his vanity until the next heiress came along.

Mrs. Forster had always seemed to enjoy Mr. Wickham's company. Perhaps Elizabeth could use that fact. Perhaps she could return the favor he had done her all these past months, by manipulating him in turn!

She resolved to befriend him anew, to flirt with him as necessary, and through him to worm her way into Mrs. Forster's circle. The whole idea made her feel a little sick, but she saw no other way to get to Brighton in the short time available. After all, she told herself, she would inflict no real injuries, except to her own conscience.

The next evening Elizabeth went out of her way to engage Mr. Wickham in conversation, as in the old days; and after some smilingly flirtatious small talk, she said, "Did you know that Lydia has been invited to accompany Mrs. Forster to Brighton as her particular companion?"

He indicated that he had heard.

"I am so happy for her," Elizabeth said. Then, affecting an air of disappointment, "Envious, as well."

Mr. Wickham perked up at this. "Envious of Miss Lydia? You?"

"Of course. You who know me so well can understand how I shall miss the lively company of you and your fellow officers. There will be so few young gentlemen left in the neighborhood," she smiled flirtatiously, "and fewer still with the good sense to be handsome and agreeable, that I shall again have to become accustomed to sitting out dances."

He smiled charmingly. "And what would you do in Brighton, Miss Elizabeth? It is the campaigning season, you know, and we shall be more often on duty there on the coast," he struck an exaggerated martial pose, "ready to valiantly drive off the French should Boney take it in his head to cross the channel."

"Surely you shall have some opportunity to see to the pleasure of we ladies?"

"Ah---an important part of every officer's duty, to be sure." They laughed. "I did not mean to imply that we would have no time for society, only not so much as here in Hertfordshire. But it will be just as well, as the society there can not possibly be so pleasant as here." He bowed gallantly.

"I'm sure there are many activities I could take pleasure in at Brighton---I always enjoy trying things for the first time." His eyes rounded, and she continued brightly, "My mother speaks highly of sea-bathing. I've always longed to go sea-bathing." She leaned forward and whispered, "Is it true that they use great machines so that ladies can bathe, you know---without our gowns?"

Wickham looked for a moment like he might drool. He actually blushed as his gaze quickly traveled up her body---leaving Elizabeth feeling rather unclean---then he cleared his throat. "Yes, it is true, I have seen it myself. It is certainly a shame," declared he, "that you should be so deprived. I feel the unfairness of it acutely. Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth, if you were to receive an invitation of your own from Mrs. Forster, you could also travel with them."

"But Lydia only received an invitation because she is Mrs. Forster's particular friend." Her smile grew coquettish. "I'm afraid I have no such claim on the affections of the regiment."

"You have a greater claim than you know, Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps I can speak to Mrs. Forster myself. I have some influence with her, you know. That is," he said with a self-conscious glance at his colonel, "Mrs. Forster is well aware of the great respect I have earned in the officers' mess."

After the party broke up, Elizabeth wondered if she had done the right thing. The whole business had left her feeling queasy. She had intentionally misled Mr. Wickham---she had never done such a thing in her life! And the impression she had created was not one of a well-bred young lady. Her face grew hot as she remembered his looks and her own insinuations.

No more, she decided---no more! She could not go through with it. She could not give Mr. Wickham such ideas for a moment longer.

She would have to find another way to get to Brighton.

Such was her resolution two days later when she received a note from Mrs. Forster inviting her to accompany Lydia to Brighton---Mr. Wickham's influence was apparently great indeed---and Elizabeth was happy to be able to accept with the clean conscience of the recently repentant.

How pleasing to be Mrs. Forster's particular friend without having to actually get to know the woman!

To be sure, her father knew precisely what she was about.

"So, Lizzy," he said when he'd called her into his library to discuss it, "you have gained a new particular friend---that was fast work, I must say. How unhappy Jane and Mrs. Collins shall be when they learn they have been displaced in your affections by Mrs. Forster."

"Papa," she said with a resigned sigh.

"Truly, my dear, it does my heart good to see you broadening your social horizons this way." Suddenly he narrowed his eyes and exclaimed, "Wait a moment---you mean to give up your trip to the Lake District to keep an eye on Lydia in Brighton?"

She folded her hands in her lap. "I do."

"But my dear," he cried in exasperation, "there is no call for that. You need not make such a sacrifice."

"It is not too great a sacrifice, sir. There is certain to be plenty of society there, and who knows, I may even enjoy sea-bathing. I am determined, Father."

He shook his head and read Mrs. Forster's note again. "Very well. It is your choice." He took her hand. "My dear, please do not spend all your time watching Lydia. Try to enjoy yourself. Who knows, you both may look back on this summer as the best time of your lives."

Elizabeth sincerely doubted it, but thanked him just the same for the sentiment.

When the news was revealed to all, her mother and sisters were quite surprised at Elizabeth's sudden friendship with the colonel's wife, and while Jane saw it as perfectly natural that the lady would want dear Lizzy's company for the summer, Kitty was thrown even further into vexation and envy. Lydia herself seemed content to have her liveliest sister along, while Mrs. Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of both her daughters, and impressive in her injunctions that they would not miss the opportunity of enjoying themselves as much as possible; advice, which there was every reason to believe Lydia at least would attend to.

All sacrifices, Elizabeth decided as she went down the set with the handsome Major Wilkinson, should be like this.

They had been in Brighton for only eight days and were already attending their second ball. And she had yet to sit out a dance. At the first ball she had eaten supper with a rakishly charming, extremely flirtatious captain who had twice tried unsuccessfully to steal a kiss; and tonight she would eat with the major, who was the second son of a wealthy gentleman from Sussex, and who was so unstinting in his efforts to please that Elizabeth briefly wondered if the older brother was sickly.

During the day she and Lydia and the ladies of their circle---mostly the wives or sisters of officers---had attended musical parties, socialized at the town's libraries, viewed the Royal Pavilion, eaten and toured and visited and shopped and walked and rode. The only things they hadn't done were work and go sea-bathing, and sea-bathing was scheduled two mornings hence. Rough surf had delayed it---the ladies had ventured to the bluff on their second morning there, and had watched the waves knock about the bathing machines and dippers like so much flotsam. The two Bennet sisters---endowed with perhaps more than their fair share of courage---had wanted to try, but the others were not as brave.

If there was a cloud on Elizabeth's horizon, it was the danger of being seen twice in the same ball gown inside of a month. Her father had been right---it was the time of her life.

The dance ended and supper was announced. Major Wilkinson offered his arm, but Elizabeth said,

"I should find my sister, major. Please excuse me a moment."

Major Wilkinson smiled. "I shall accompany you, if you do not mind."

They found Lydia and Mrs. Forster in the garden with several officers of Colonel Forster's regiment, including Mr. Wickham. When Elizabeth and the major arrived, Mr. Denny said,

"I thought you had finally decided to have pity on your old friends and favor us with your charming company, Miss Bennet, but no, you bring with you an interloper."

Everyone laughed, but Elizabeth thought she detected some reserve in Mr. Wickham and Lydia, who stood close together in the center of the small group. Wickham's reserve she believed she understood---the night before they left for Brighton, she had let him know something of her time in Kent. He had become wary upon hearing that she met Colonel Fitzwilliam and that her opinion of Mr. Darcy had improved, and by the end of the evening it was apparent that he no longer anticipated pleasure in her company at Brighton. They had exchanged nothing but polite greetings since their arrival there.

But something was bothering Lydia as well. As everyone made their way to supper, Elizabeth took her aside. "Lydia, are you well?"

"Of course I'm well."

Elizabeth would not settle for such a response. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

"Oh, very well," Lydia said. "I will tell you but you will not like it. I do not care for the way you are behaving, Lizzy."

"What!"

"You've been flirting with every new officer we've met, you know you have."

"I've done nothing but dance and eat supper with new acquaintances. That is what one does at a ball, is it not?" Then, uncomfortable with the defensive undercurrent in her voice, Elizabeth quickly smiled and added, "Perhaps it would be more rational if conversation rather than dancing was the order of the day, but as Mr. Bingley once said, it would not be near so much like a ball."

"But you keep them to yourself."

"You have been introduced to them all."

So that was Lydia's complaint---she, Elizabeth, had indeed danced with many of their new acquaintances, young and old, charming and dull, while Lydia had almost exclusively danced with officers of Colonel Forster's regiment. In Lydia's mind this was Elizabeth's fault, as though she should have volunteered Lydia as a partner to Major Wilkinson or the rakish captain, the way Sir William Lucas had offered Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy.

Lydia scowled at her for a few moments, but then suddenly grinned. "I know why you are behaving so---you're jealous that Wickham now prefers me!"

Elizabeth laughed incredulously. "Lydia, you are quite welcome to Mr. Wickham's attentions, but I advise you not to take them too seriously. He must marry for money, dear, and we have very little."

"I knew it," Lydia cried in triumph, "you are jealous, just as you were of Mary King; and I with only a tenth of her fortune." She put a comforting hand on Elizabeth's arm. "Lizzy, you must not allow this to come between us, though Wickham is much the handsomest man we know."

And with that, she bounced off toward supper. Elizabeth followed her with the major but found it difficult to concentrate on his gallantry at table, for not only was it becoming clear that he was just the other side of insipid, but several seats away Lydia was throwing herself at Mr. Wickham and tossing a series of victorious looks at Elizabeth. Wickham accepted it as one would expect, and the couple exchanged enough smiles and innuendos and tender touches to satisfy even Elizabeth's rakish captain---and that thought made Elizabeth cringe as she wondered what Lydia's response would be if Mr. Wickham attempted to steal a kiss, or even something more permanent.

Lydia was indeed feeling her own unimportance; but rather than learn the lesson Mr. Bennet had hoped, she was working hard to gain the attentions of the most likely---and least appropriate---gentleman available.

Elizabeth was suddenly awash in self-recrimination. Instead of taking care of Lydia as she had come to Brighton to do, she had got caught up in the social whirl. Her time of sacrifice had been the time of her life because she had not really sacrificed a thing.

But that would stop now.

As soon as supper ended, Elizabeth left the major to his own devices and joined Lydia and Mr. Wickham. And there she was determined to remain. She would continue to dance, but between dances she would remain by her sister's side and be the most intrusive chaperon imaginable.

So the night went. She danced with all her old friends---Mr. Denny and Mr. Sanderson and Captain Carter---and finally even with Mr. Wickham. He seemed to ask her out of some perverse desire to separate her from Lydia at all costs, and their dance was even more uncomfortable than her dance with Mr. Darcy had been in November. At last it ended and they made their way back to the group surrounding Mrs. Forster, only to find that it had expanded.

The additions to their group were two regular officers of the Foot Guards, whom the militia officers eyed warily. Mr. Wickham was most uncomfortable of all, and actually stopped dead in his tracks just as Elizabeth recognized the shorter of the two Guardsmen.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she cried happily.

"Ah, I thought it was you." Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed over her hand, just a little unsteadily. "I told DeWitt here," he nodded at the major by his side, "I told him, 'That's Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I must speak to her,' and I almost dragged the poor fellow with me! But you left for the dance with that gentleman," he spit the word, "before I could get to you."

"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Forster, who had once again had too much wine, "do you know Mr. Wickham, Colonel?" Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded grimly. "What a happy coincidence," the lady unthinkingly continued, "for he is also a good friend of Miss Elizabeth's. In fact, it was he who requested I invite her to Brighton."

The colonel turned his eyes---bleary eyes, Elizabeth noted with amusement, having never seen the man drunk before---on Mr. Wickham and Elizabeth. But her amusement evaporated when he said in amazement,

"Good friends? But what about Darcy?

Posted on 2008-07-19

Elizabeth wondered if she had heard the colonel correctly. She asked, "Indeed, what about Mr. Darcy?"

"My cousin Darcy . . . you remember him, I'm sure . . . your friend . . . but Wickham . . ."

The sober amongst them had realized by this point that the colonel's incoherence resulted from drink as much as surprise; but Lydia suffered not from sobriety, and cried,

"La, why would Lizzy care two hoots about that dull, unpleasant man. Mr. Darcy! Ha! You hate him, do you not, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth did not know how to answer such a question in a crowded ball room, and shot Lydia a quelling look.

"Don't look at me like that," her sister said. Mrs. Forster and the officers of the regiment suppressed their laughter with varying degrees of success.

Oh, how earnestly did Elizabeth then wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from this mortifying inquisition, and may have spared her from Mr. Wickham's attentions altogether! Her mortification only increased when Colonel Fitzwilliam gathered himself up and declared,

"I will hear nothing against Darcy, young lady, and I refuse to believe that of you, Miss Bennet!"

Mr. Wickham chose that moment to step next to Elizabeth with a charming grin. "Richard, your loyalty to Darcy is admirable, but hardly called for." He placed a hand intimately on Elizabeth's arm. "We know him for who he really is, do we not Miss Elizabeth? How many times have we discussed Darcy's many faults, you and I?"

Elizabeth was about to respond to these shocking comments when Colonel Fitzwilliam, moving with a speed that belied his drunken state, slapped Mr. Wickham across the face with such force that blood splattered Mr. Denny's cheek and tunic. Stunned silence fell on that part of the room, so the colonel's voice was clearly heard as he said with only a slight slur,

"You are a coward and a blackguard, Mr. Wickham. I have no choice but to call you to account for slanders against my cousin. You shall apologize now and later in writing, or choose your weapon."

Wickham's friends stirred ominously until Major DeWitt stepped to the colonel's side and glared at them from his imposing height. Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice rang out again,

"Well, what shall it be---an apology or grass before breakfast?"

Wickham's eyes darted about as he wiped at the red trickle that ran from his nose. At last he said weakly, "See here, Rich . . . Colonel Fitzwilliam, dueling is illegal."

The colonel laughed. Mr. Wickham swallowed, then looked at his shoes and said softly, "I apologize."

"I did not hear you. Did you hear him, DeWitt?" Major DeWitt shook his head.

"I apologize," Mr. Wickham said again, more loudly. "I should not have said what I said about Mr. Darcy. It was a slander. I shall send you a written apology tomorrow."

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. Mr. Wickham bowed red-faced and hurried from the room, dozens of pairs of eyes following him all the way. When he had disappeared, Major DeWitt drawled under his breath. "Well, that was exciting."

Elizabeth watched Mr. Denny try to wipe Mr. Wickham's blood from his tunic with an elegant handkerchief, seemingly oblivious to the drops still on his cheek. Lydia's eyes swept from Mr. Denny to the two regular officers in sheer amazement. She whispered,

"Oh, Lizzy---a duel! And Wickham too much a coward to fight! I must write to Kitty!" Lydia's eyes eventually settled on Major DeWitt, who for a moment returned her gaze before looking away with a frown.

Elizabeth was saved from forming a sensible response to it all by Colonel Fitzwilliam, who reverted to his usual good manners and said with drunkenly exaggerated propriety, "I am afraid that we have not all been properly introduced."

"Oh," cried Mrs. Forster, looking as though a pig had just flown into the room, "no we have not."

It turned out that she had some days earlier met him and the major through her husband, so she made the introductions. Silence again reigned. Finally Colonel Fitzwilliam begged to be excused, pleading fatigue. He and the major left after declaring their intention to call on the ladies in a few days.

It was with great relief that Elizabeth watched them go.

Lydia, who had also been watching them, asked her, "What was that all about, Lizzy?"

"You heard it. Colonel Fitzwilliam is Mr. Darcy's cousin and he did not care for Mr. Wickham's lies."

"So all those things Wickham said about Mr. Darcy were lies? About him denying the living?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"How long have you known?"

"Since I visited Charlotte in Kent."

At that moment, Captain Carter and Mr. Sanderson arrived with drinks for the ladies. Elizabeth hoped the interruption would distract Lydia from the subject of Kent, but it was not to be, for Lydia took a sip and asked,

"How did you find out?"

Elizabeth had no wish to lie, but she certainly could not tell the complete truth. She stirred her drink. "Well . . . I spent several weeks among Mr. Darcy's relations---Lady Catherine deBourgh is his aunt, you know---so once Mr. Wickham's name came up in, er, conversation . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"I see." Lydia considered her own drink for a moment. "Did you see much of Mr. Darcy in Kent, Lizzy?"

For once, Elizabeth wished her youngest sister stupid as well as silly. This line of questioning would not do. "I saw no more of Mr. Darcy than I saw of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Really, Lydia, you make it sound as though I had a romantic adventure amidst Charlotte's pigs and chickens."

Lydia smirked. "You're the only one who mentioned romance, Lizzy. La, you are blushing! You did have a romantic adventure in Kent!"

"Shush!" Elizabeth grabbed her arm. "Quiet. I had no romances in Kent; and if I had, you should know better than to announce them to a roomful of strangers, Lydia! Have you no sense?"

"I should like to have a romantic adventure, and as we are in Brighton I dare say I shall." Lydia held her drink out at her side and spun slowly around. "Colonel Fitzwilliam is not very handsome, but his friend is."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is the younger son of an earl, and he is determined to marry a lady of great fortune."

"Was he the one you did not have a romantic adventure with?"

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, dear, he was one of many with whom I did not have a romantic adventure."

Lydia giggled and went off to find a partner for the next dance. Elizabeth shook her head smilingly before doing the same.

An exciting evening, indeed!

"Those are small waves?" Miss Carter stood on the steps of her bathing machine and gazed down with deep concern at the breakers foaming along the pebbled beach.

"Yes, ma'am. It's nearly like glass this morning." Mrs. Sherwood was a dipper---one of the local women who dunked ladies beneath the waves at the business end of the bathing machines. She soothed the skittish young gentlewoman with the air of an old salt. "Nothing at all to worry about. And I'll be right there with you, Miss. It would take a wave indeed to wash me away!"

Waist deep in the sea, she held her great arms out at her side, displaying a truly impressive wingspan, and the ladies all laughed.

There were six in the party, two to a machine, dressed in rented flannel bathing costumes. Only Miss Carter showed any reluctance to enter the sea, and for a moment Elizabeth wondered if the lady was afraid in her own bathtub; but as dippers came to help her and Lydia into the water, Elizabeth forgot about Miss Carter's fears and stepped down into more than three feet of cool, undulating saltwater.

"There now, it's a treat, ain't it," laughed Elizabeth's own dipper, who then said by way of greeting, "My name's Mary, Missy."

Elizabeth grinned. "Thank you, Mary-Missy."

The dipper laughed delightedly.

"Oh, it's cold," cried Lydia. "What now?"

"Well, we're supposed to dunk you three times," Lydia's dipper said to them both, "for your health and all. But if you like it, we can linger a bit. Nobody really cares, you paid your subscription either way."

Elizabeth nodded. "Very well. Do your worst, Mary-Missy!"

After some brief instruction on keeping water out of the nose, the large woman very deliberately dipped Elizabeth's head into the seawater. Tart with brine, flushed this way and that by tide and current, it was the most refreshing thing Elizabeth had ever experienced! When she came up for air, she saw Lydia's face stamped with pure joy.

"Lizzy, I love it! Oh, dip me again, Agnes!"

So it went. Even Miss Carter relaxed and took great pleasure splashing about, and the party of ladies soon had the look of giddy toddlers at bath-time. Elizabeth quickly discovered that a dipper was not always needed. She began dunking her own head beneath the water, even seeking out the more substantial waves as they ran to shore.

"Lydia," she asked at one point, "do you suppose we could swim?"

"Ladies don't swim, Lizzy."

"Gentlemen swim. I'm sure ladies can swim as well."

Lydia laughed. "Look at this heavy costume---it must weigh twenty pounds wet. You'd sink like a boat that sprung a leak if you tried to swim in it."

Feeling rather daring---in the back of her mind, she wondered if something about sea-bathing or the tangy ocean air loosened one's inhibitions---Elizabeth said with a wicked grin, "Gentlemen don't wear anything at all. Isn't that right, Mary-Missy?"

Lydia let out a scandalized squeal. The dippers just shook their heads knowingly, and Elizabeth realized they had seen it all, that she was not even close to being the first young lady to daringly remark on gentlemen swimming in the nude.

"Look there," called Mrs. Forster suddenly, pointing at a figure a great distance out who appeared to be in some distress.

A lady in another party nearby pointed and cried, "There is another!"

A second figure was swimming out to the first. This one was obviously male, having originated from the gentlemen's swimming area to the east.

"Oh," cried Lydia, "he is going to the rescue!"

Everyone in the water and on shore watched as the the rescuer reached the struggling swimmer. There was a pause with much thrashing and some distant shouting barely heard over the waves, before they turned together toward shore.

So rapt were they, that none of the women quite realized the implications until two very tired, very nude men began to rise out of the surf!

"Oh dear!" cried dozens of ladies as they turned away all at once. Knowing her sister quite well, Elizabeth glanced at Lydia, who was still looking back over her shoulder.

"Lydia!"

Lydia quit looking and turned round eyes to Elizabeth. With an amazed grin, she said, "It is Major DeWitt!"

"Which one?"

"The rescuer. The other is some nasty, fat old man. I could barely see his you-know-what for all his blubber!"

Elizabeth-did-indeed-know-what---in theory, at any rate---and she was mortified by her own heated reaction to that bit of information. All she could think to say was, "You should not have looked."

Lydia giggled. "Or perhaps you should have, Lizzy! I've quite forgot Mr. Wickham, I can tell you."

Elizabeth laughed in spite of herself.

After a time, the dipper Mrs. Sherwood called out that it was all clear; the gentlemen were safe and had left the women's bathing area. Nervous, relieved laughter accompanied the ladies back into their bathing machines.

As they dressed, Elizabeth again scolded Lydia for not having averted her eyes.

"I hurt no one," Lydia countered. "They seemed not to even notice."

"They were probably mortified at coming ashore in such a way at the ladies' beach. If they did notice your ogling, it would only have made them feel worse. You should have more consideration for others."

"Harriet says that some of the gentlemen use spyglasses to watch the ladies bathe. How is what I did any worse than that?"

"Their doing it doesn't make it right." Utterly exasperated now, Elizabeth threw her boots down and said, "You are not a child. Why must I tell you these things? Why do you pretend not to understand? You do remember, do you not, that Major DeWitt has promised to call on us with Colonel Fitzwilliam? How can you face him after this?"

"Like so," said Lydia, and she slowly drew her appreciative gaze up the form of an imaginary gentleman.

"Be serious," cried Elizabeth.

Lydia pouted. "Sometimes you are no fun, Lizzy."

"Sometimes you are too much fun, Lydia.

Posted on 2008-07-26

Colonel and Mrs. Forster had taken a large house in a moderately fashionable neighborhood just a few streets from the seaside bluffs, with Elizabeth and Lydia as their only long-term guests. It was there, the day after the the near-tragedy at the beach, that Colonel Fitzwilliam called. After exchanging polite greetings with the three young ladies, he blushed in shame and said,

"I believe I must apologize for my brutish behavior at the ball. It was unpardonable. I hope you can forgive me."

Mrs. Forster tittered and flapped her fan. "Oh, colonel, you are entirely too charming not to be forgiven."

"I thought it was exciting," exclaimed Lydia. "I'd never before seen a man challenged to a duel. Do you duel very often, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

The colonel stared at Lydia for a moment, then smiled. "No I do not. Too much dueling dulls one's blade something dreadful."

As Lydia giggled, Elizabeth cleared her throat loudly and said, "I hope Major DeWitt is well?"

Lydia almost bounced off the sofa. "Oh," she cried, "we saw him at the beach yesterday---he rescued a drowning man!"

The colonel's smile faded a bit. "He mentioned that you had seen him." He turned to Elizabeth. "He is very well, but found himself otherwise engaged today."

Elizabeth was mortified for her sister---the colonel was clearly aware that Lydia had spied on the naked Major DeWitt, which meant that the major must have mentioned it. He must have purposely avoided them today, though whether out of embarrassment or disgust she knew not. Oh Lydia, she thought, what a reputation you are earning!

"How goes your business in Brighton?" Mrs. Forster asked the colonel.

"Quite well, thank you." He turned to Elizabeth again. "DeWitt and I are on Lord Almsworth's staff. The battalions around Brighton are part of his lordship's division."

Lydia said, "Lord Almsworth is a tiny little man, is he not? I believe we saw him on the Steine riding with the Prince Regent."

"Indeed, his lordship is rather deficient in physical stature." Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled and leaned forward. "Last week he was standing next to my cousin Darcy---I swear, he didn't even reach Darcy's shoulder---and His Royal Highness called out, "Darcy, you are dressing your stable boys rather well these days!' Ha! But his Lordship's a cagey old bird---he shouted back, 'Your Royal Highness must know that Darcy's servants are all fitted out as dragoons!'"

As it was well known that the tenth dragoons was the Regent's own regiment, the ladies shared a hearty laugh at the portly prince's expense. But this mention of Mr. Darcy---merrymaking with His Royal Highness, no less---made Elizabeth uneasy. The last thing she desired was to encounter the man.

"Is your cousin here at Brighton?" she asked.

"No, not any longer. He only stayed with me a week. The delights of Brighton do not much appeal to him. The only thing he truly enjoyed was swimming---he went out to the beach each morning." He shook his head and smiled. "No---to be fair, he did make an effort to socialize. We attended a ball, and though I did not count, I believe he danced more than four dances! And he actually ate supper with a young lady he had never met before---you would have been proud of him, Miss Bennet. He will be sorry to have missed you here."

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave her a slightly challenging look that Elizabeth fancied she understood---he remembered what Mr. Wickham and Lydia had said.

She tried to think of some small compliment for Mr. Darcy to relieve the colonel's concern; but instead she was struck by the thought of Mr. Darcy smiling and flirting at supper with a beautiful young lady, and she unaccountably frowned. Then suddenly her mind's eye filled with the image of his naked form slowly rising out of the ocean, fresh from his morning swim!

Oh dear! She turned away and surreptitiously patted her flaming cheeks.

"What of the man Major DeWitt rescued?" asked Mrs. Forster. "Is he well?"

"That fool? Yes, he is quite well. His name is Upchurch and he has been making an ass of himself since he arrived in Brighton a few weeks ago. Yesterday's stupidity was only the latest episode."

Mrs. Forster flipped her fan. "Heavens, what did he do?"

"He is a fifty-year-old man behaving like he is twenty. Shortly after he arrived, I am told, his hair changed from gray to its present orange color, and he began carousing all about town---chasing young ladies, drinking, racing his curricle, racing horses; and now he has taken to swimming beyond the breakers."

"He is fortunate Major DeWitt was there."

"Yes he is. DeWitt is a fine swimmer. His father's estate is near the shore in Devon, and he has swum in the ocean all his life. I was not there, but from what I have heard of the incident I doubt there are many others who could have saved the old rascal."

"Will you be long in Brighton?" Lydia asked.

"For some weeks, yes, though our responsibilities will often call DeWitt or me away for days at a time. I am sure we will see you ladies often."

"My husband and several of his officers are taking us to the races on White Hawk Down day after tomorrow," Mrs. Forster said. "We will make a day of it. Will you and Major DeWitt join us?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked a little uncomfortable. "I hesitate to commit my friend. I do not know his plans." He brightened. "But I will certainly attend. Shall I meet you here at ten?"

It was agreed, and the colonel left soon after.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is a very gentlemanly man," said Mrs. Forster later. Then she laughed. "When he isn't tipsy!"

"But he is not very handsome," said Lydia.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Looks are not everything, Lydia. A gentleman's character is much more important." She resisted patting her cheeks again as the image returned of Mr. Darcy in the surf.

"La, you are silly, Lizzy. Is that the first thing you do at a ball---scan the room and look for the gentlemen of good character? Never mind how they fill out their stockings, you wonder what books they've read or how they treat their mothers?"

Mrs. Forster giggled and said, "Some of the men you have danced with in Brighton have hardly been moral exemplars, Eliza. Heavens, you should hear some of the stories the married ladies tell."

"Yes," cried Lydia, "you have been enjoying yourself with some regular rakes, Lizzy. Did that captain ever get the kiss he wanted so badly?"

Elizabeth blushed violently, trying not to think of Mr. Darcy stealing kisses at a ball---what is wrong with me! she wondered. She said aloud,

"No he did not get his kiss, nor will he. If I could tell by looks, then I would dance only with men of good character." But she could not continue in that vein while heated thoughts of the disagreeable Mr. Darcy wreaked havoc with her composure---she felt too much the hypocrite. She sighed and gave Lydia a little smirk "But since I am only human, I do not abuse myself for noticing a fine leg."

"Major DeWitt certainly has a fine . . . leg!"

"Lydia!"

The morning of the races found Lydia nearly tripping over herself in her eagerness to get ready. She flew about their room, tossing clothes this way and that, continually seeking Elizabeth's opinion on whether a color became her, or whether a certain bonnet hid too much of her face, or whether it would be amiss to expose so much of her bosom before evening.

Rarely had Elizabeth been as well entertained. When the dust settled, both Bennet sisters managed to appear as well-bred young ladies should; and when they went downstairs to breakfast, Colonel Forster gallantly remarked on the number of gentlemen whose hearts were sure to be broken.

Lydia glanced around the breakfast room and asked, "Where is Harriet?"

"Poor Mrs. Forster is under the weather today," the colonel said.

"I hope it's nothing serious," said Elizabeth.

"I believe not," Colonel Forster mumbled between bites of ham. "I have not seen her, but the maid did not appear too agitated when she brought me her note. I dare say she will send for the apothecary if it is a serious case."

"Poor Harriet," Lydia cried, "she will miss all the fun!"

The colonel laughed. "That is unusual enough---Mrs. Forster missing out on fun! Well, Miss Lydia, you shall have to remember it all so you can faithfully report it. She shall have her fun vicariously."

Though she imagined that the illness was simply the result of Mrs. Forster's monthly visitor, Elizabeth shook her head at Colonel Forster's lack of true concern for his wife. He was a younger son who had put off marriage until he had risen in his profession---a true man of the world, over forty, clever and experienced. Mrs. Forster was young, exuberant and silly. To Elizabeth, they appeared to have nothing in common but aspiration, which they shared in abundance. To be well-established in society was now the greatest wish of each.

It was a standard sort of marriage and perfectly respectable, but Elizabeth did not understand it. How could anyone trade connubial felicity for social consequence? She did not aspire to the society of the deBourghs and Hursts and Darcys, people whose prime goal in life was to look down on as many others as possible.

No, she corrected herself, not the Darcys. Elizabeth could no longer think that of Mr. Darcy. After all, had status and wealth been his main concerns, he would never have made her an offer---at least, not that kind of offer. And his care and concern for his sister, and even his desire to help Mr. Bingley, reflected very well on him---

Heavens, she had to stop thinking about Mr. Darcy! Since encountering Colonel Fitzwilliam at the ball, everything seemed to draw her mind toward his cousin, and it would not do!

She forced herself instead to listen to Lydia's excited chatter about the upcoming outing: the races ("Ooh, what if we win our wagers?"), the handsome officers ("You will leave some to me, won't you Lizzy?"), Colonel Fitzwilliam's tall friend ("I hope he comes, though I shall strain my neck looking him in the eyes---if I ever glance that high again!"), all required discussion.

Friends began to arrive over the next hour---Captain and Miss Carter, Lieutenant and Miss Denny, Lieutenant Sanderson---as their party took shape. The yard filled with open carriages, and servants and private soldiers loaded a wagon with awnings, lawn furniture and baskets stuffed with food and drink.

At ten o'clock precisely Elizabeth heard Lydia give out a little squeal---Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived, and he was accompanied by Major DeWitt. They rode into the yard side by side as the party were sorting themselves into conveyances for the trip. Lydia dashed over to them; Elizabeth rolled her eyes and followed.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, Major DeWitt," Lydia cried as they dismounted, "we are so glad you came!" Elizabeth was relieved that Lydia did not make good on her threat to blatantly ogle the poor major.

Colonel Forster stepped toward them and said, "Welcome, gentlemen."

Colonel Fitzwilliam responded good-naturedly; but Major DeWitt only bowed stiffly before standing silently with heightened color, apparently determined not to meet Lydia's eyes.

"Is this the whole party?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

"Yes," said Colonel Forster. "My wife is under the weather, and you needn't worry about Wickham. He has been making himself scarce since you called him out." He frowned. "A bit of a yellow streak there, I'm afraid. Not a good thing in the mess. He may not be with us much longer."

"Thank goodness," muttered Elizabeth.

"Yes, Miss Bennet," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Thank goodness."

To Elizabeth's great relief, they shared an understanding smile. She couldn't help teasing him. "Or perhaps we should thank a tipsy Guardsman," she nodded toward Major DeWitt, "or two?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. "That would require us both to have been tipsy, and that will never do, will it DeWitt?"

Major DeWitt blushed and smiled. "No, sir."

"Oh," said Lydia, "do you not like wine, Major?"

He looked at her and opened his mouth but nothing came out. He blushed again, and finally said, "I like it well enough, Miss Lydia, but I do not like to over-imbibe."

"A very prudent attitude, Major," said Colonel Forster. He cast a glance at the rest of their party. "I wish some of my officers might emulate it. Well, everything appears ready---shall we go?"

The two gentlemen remounted the horses, but Lydia did not move until Elizabeth, with another eye-roll, took her arm and led her to their carriage. Colonel Forster sat opposite them, so Lydia had to lean in to Elizabeth to whisper,

"Major DeWitt is a very fine looking man." She looked over at where he rode. "I believe he and I are well suited, Lizzy. What do you think? We are both quite tall."

"You are certainly both tall." Thoughts of another tall gentleman invaded Elizabeth's mind, but she managed to suppress them. "Do you believe people should marry by height?"

Lydia giggled. "You are so droll, Lizzy! But surely every lady wants a handsome husband."

"We had this discussion already," Elizabeth said. "There are other things to a man besides his height and how he fills out his stockings." She cast a sly glance Major DeWitt's way, noting his fine seat, then smiled at Lydia."Though if that were all a lady considered, Major DeWitt would be prime husband material."

Lydia laughed and said teasingly, "But, Lizzy, I haven't yet discovered how he treats his mother!"

"It would certainly be worth knowing."

Lydia glanced at him again. Her grin softened a bit, and she said, "I would imagine he treats her very well.

Posted on 2008-08-02

Colonel Forster's party set up on the crowded grounds a quarter mile from the grandstand, with a fine view of the sea and the racecourse. Their white and red awning ruffled in the offshore breeze, sheltering the happy group as servants and soldiers brought them cold food and warm beer and wine. All that was needed was an actual horse race---the first was still an hour off.

Elizabeth's spirits were high. Not only was she enjoying their outing---she was stretched out next to Lydia on a blanket, drowsily listening to Mr. Sanderson read bad poetry---but she was convinced that Colonel Fitzwilliam now understood her opinion of Mr. Wickham. She could not say why, but it was intolerable for Mr. Darcy to believe that she still thought well of his worst enemy.

Mr. Sanderson droned monotonously on, and Elizabeth's eyes gradually closed. She soon discovered that Mr. Darcy---in his unclothed aquatic form---now inhabited her dream state. It was a rather pleasant discovery, for he taught her to swim. Dream swimming was much easier than Lydia had supposed the wakeful kind to be, possibly because Elizabeth herself was as naked as Eve.

It was an excellent lesson. Mr. Darcy displayed endless patience in his stern way, even massaging out all her little bumps and strains---a leg cramp gave her particular difficulty---but it all ended abruptly and her eyes flew open when he offered to teach her the breast stroke!

She immediately met Lydia's curious gaze.

"Lizzy, are you all right? You looked to be having a bad dream."

"Oh?"

"You were mumbling, and every now and then your head would jerk to the side. And your cheeks are very flushed."

"Did I say anything?" She nearly fainted with relief when Lydia shook her head no. From now on, Elizabeth would strenuously endeavor to stay awake in company! "I am fine, dear. I was dreaming about sea-bathing. It was not a bad dream at all. Was I asleep long?"

"Not five minutes," said Lydia who, seeming satisfied, turned back to Mr. Sanderson.

Elizabeth hardly knew what to think---now she was dreaming about him, and such dreams! If this was how she reacted after simply discussing him with his cousin, what would happen if she saw him again? Oh, how confusing to have such pleasant thoughts of such an unpleasant man!

Perhaps it was merely an effect of the sea air.

She heaved a great sigh and glanced about to get her bearings. Colonel Fitzwilliam was engaged in a shallow flirtation with Miss Carter, whose fortune of 3,000 pounds was insufficient for anything deeper. Major DeWitt stood rather stiffly with Colonel Forster and Mr. Denny, occasionally speaking a few earnest words that Elizabeth was unable to make out---probably some dreadfully dull business about the war or politics. The sort of thing Mr. Darcy would probably discuss.

That thought---which she immediately suppressed, of course---caused her to look again at Major DeWitt. The similarity was quite remarkable, actually, notwithstanding that the Major had yet to insult her. He was not as tall as Mr. Darcy, nor as handsome, but then few were. Most likely, he was not as clever either. But he held himself like Mr. Darcy, and the way he was staring was very reminiscent---

Staring?

Elizabeth realized with a start that Major DeWitt had often been staring in her direction since they had arrived at White Hawk Down. She wondered for a moment if he was was more like Mr. Darcy than she had at first supposed, and she resolved to test this by moving a few feet while watching him from the corner of her eye. His gaze did not follow her, and she felt a surprising level of relief at having avoided such a complication.

No, he was still staring right next to the spot she had just vacated. Right at Lydia! What could he mean by it? His look was self-conscious but not necessarily disapproving. His color was often high---was it possible that he admired Lydia?

Mr. Denny interrupted her thoughts. "Who wishes to make bets for the first race?" he asked. "DeWitt and I are going to the bookmaker."

Everyone in the party placed a bet---horses with the cleverest names seemed to be the favorites---and the two men went off toward the grandstand, near which the bookmakers had set up shop. When they returned twenty minutes later, they brought with them a new companion who looked rather familiar: a plump, middle-aged gentleman with orange hair.

"Lizzy," whispered Lydia, "that's the whale! That's Mr. Upchurch, the man Major DeWitt rescued."

Major DeWitt---who looked more uncomfortable than ever---made the introductions.

Mr. Upchurch's gaze immediately landed on Lydia. He smiled. "Miss Lydia, have we seen each other before? Were you not at the beach the other morning? When I was swimming?"

Lydia nodded and did not quite conceal a giggle at his ridiculousness, but Mr. Upchurch was undismayed. "It is so good to see you again," he said with an unmistakable look.

Of course, thought Elizabeth---if Lydia had seen Mr. Upchurch in the altogether, then he had seen her in her wet bathing costume. He had apparently enjoyed the view!

Colonel Fitzwilliam, with a warning look at Elizabeth, engaged Mr. Upchurch in small talk about the upcoming race, while Major DeWitt stood bye as if on guard duty. Lydia took the opportunity to lean toward Elizabeth.

"Is he wearing rouge?" she whispered.

Elizabeth snorted. When all eyes turned towards her, she affected a sneeze. "I am sorry," she explained. "Hay fever." She slyly pinched Lydia's arm.

"Miss Lydia," said Mr. Upchurch at the first pause in his conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, "what horse are you playing this race?"

"I've bet on 'Yellow Parasol', because if I win that is what I shall buy!"

"You are a very practical young lady," he declared with a grin, "spending money you do not yet have! But it is best to maintain a positive attitude, and to always believe that our fondest desires will come true."

Lydia's eyes widened. "Maybe you should be preparing for disappointment instead."

Good girl, thought Elizabeth, if somewhat blunt.

Mr. Upchurch simply laughed delightedly and turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam. After a few minutes, he said to the group at large, "I am very sorry, but however charming I find my new friends, I must return to my party for the race. I am sure I shall see you all again soon."

Lydia stared incredulously after him, then looked at Elizabeth and said, "What a . . . Oh! Desires, indeed!"

With Mr. Upchurch's departure, they were able to turn their attention back to the competition. Six thrilling races were run that day, and the party were close enough to feel the ground shake when the horses thundered past. They had a splendid time cheering on their favorites and exclaiming in dismay over their losses, which were numerous.

At one point between races, as Elizabeth ate a slice of carrot cake alone on her blanket, Major DeWitt sat next to her, taking the place that had belonged to Lydia most of the day.

"I am sorry," he said, "for bringing that man here. I should have known better."

"You are not to blame. You could not avoid making the introduction."

He turned to watch cloud shadows dance over the whitecaps---the sea was much rougher than three days before---and said, "I knew his reputation, and I should have realized he had seen Miss Lydia at the beach." He colored. "She was very striking that morning."

Her suspicions that he admired Lydia thus confirmed, Elizabeth said with a tiny smirk, "My sister is very tall and easy to spot wherever she is."

"Oh, no," he said, giving Elizabeth an earnest look, "that is not what I meant. Though you are correct. She is quite tall. No, I meant that she was striking because she looked very lovely. I did not mean her height. I am sorry I confused you."

"I was only teasing you, Major. I knew you didn't mean her height."

He blushed again. "I beg your pardon."

Elizabeth nodded and decided that perhaps it would be a good idea after all to find out how the major treated his mother.

"Lydia," Elizabeth said to her the night after the races when they had gone to bed, "what do you really think of Major DeWitt."

"He is very handsome. Regimentals become him quite well, I believe."

"I don't mean his appearance, dear."

"Oh, you wonder about what he reads. I hardly know, Lizzy, and I am not so sure I care." She shook her head. "I am no reader."

"I do not simply mean reading. I mean his character, what he is truly like. Do you have any idea what sort of man he is?"

Lydia was quiet for a moment, looking up at the ceiling in the dim light. "I can't say. He has not hardly spoken to me. I saw him talking to you today, though." She frowned.

"We talked about you."

Lydia's eyes widened. "What did he say about me?"

"It seems you are very tall."

"Lizzy!"

Elizabeth giggled. "He said that he was not surprised that the whale noticed you at the beach because you were---let me see, what word did he use?---oh yes, you were 'striking'. And lovely."

"Oooh, he thinks I'm lovely!" Lydia grinned happily.

"That simply means that he has good vision," Elizabeth declared with sisterly loyalty.

Lydia said, "I am not so lovely as Jane."

"You are taller and have a fine figure. And you are livelier than Jane---believe me, some men seem to find that very attractive."

"Oh?" Lydia gave Elizabeth a speculative glance. "You know that for certain, Lizzy? Is it something you learned in Kent?"

"We were talking about you." Elizabeth was glad the darkness hid her blush---at least she hoped it did.

Lydia huffed. "Well I would like to know more about Major DeWitt, but he doesn't talk to me. He stammers and bows. He has not even kissed my hand. Half the men I meet kiss my hand, but not him."

"I do not know the answer," said Elizabeth. "We can only hope he gets over his stammering."

"What if he doesn't? Perhaps I can encourage him. I have one or two gowns that are particularly flattering---Mama helped me select them."

Elizabeth laughed. "I've seen them---they would probably only induce more stammering, dear. No, I think we can only wait and see. It would not do to be too forward; he would think you are not a well-bred lady, and if he is a well-bred gentleman, that would not be good."

"I do not like to wait."

"I know, but sometimes you must."

The next day harsh reality descended on the Forsters' house, for there was emergency sewing that could no longer be put off. Miss Denny and Miss Carter came over and the ladies all spent the day indoors, mending tears, reinforcing seams and replacing lost buttons. They took turns reading aloud from a novel while the others worked, and that was the only relief from their drudgery until the afternoon when Colonel Fitzwilliam and Major DeWitt paid a call.

As tea was served, Colonel Fitzwilliam noted their reading material. "What book is that? A ladies' novel, no doubt."

"A 'ladies' novel'?" cried Elizabeth. "What is that, Colonel?"

"I would hardly know. Something my sisters or cousin Georgiana would read." He smirked. "A novel about fripperies, I suppose, and housekeeping and sewing. And tiny obnoxious dogs. You know---ladies' concerns."

Everyone laughed.

"Do you think we read tales of sewing while we sew?" Elizabeth asked. "Do you read novels of hunting while you shoot? Novels of shotguns and game birds and big obnoxious dogs?"

"I do not," the colonel said, "but I know for a fact that DeWitt here does just that. Many is the time I have seen him afield with a thick volume. He can hardly shoot for turning pages. Eh, DeWitt?"

Major DeWitt blushed. Or rather blushed more deeply, as he had maintained high color since arriving. And his efforts not to stare at Lydia had been so obvious that Elizabeth was certain the entire room had noticed. Several of the ladies made little effort to hide their knowing smiles---heavens, no wonder the poor man was blushing.

"I am sure I've never seen a novel about hunting, sir," Major DeWitt said in response to the colonel's gibe.

"Nor any other novel, I'd wager," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "DeWitt is not known as the regiment's greatest reader."

Elizabeth could not help sharing a wide-eyed look with Lydia, who smiled and seized her chance.

"That is understandable," she said. "Why read a book when there is real life all around?"

Major DeWitt looked surprised. "Do you not like to read, Miss Lydia?"

"No. I would rather be doing something active." She laughed. "With real people!"

"Oh. I understood that Miss Elizabeth enjoyed reading."

"I do," said Elizabeth. "But just because we are sisters does not make us alike in all ways. You should see the rest of the Bennet sisters---we are as different as any five young ladies can be. And yet," she continued with a smirk, "we are all alike."

"A paradox!" cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But are not all ladies paradoxes?"

Miss Carter laughed and said, "We ladies prefer to think of it as being mysterious."

The colonel just grinned and nodded.

The party fell into general conversation for the rest of the visit. Elizabeth was very pleased to see that Major DeWitt overcame his embarrassment and talked to Lydia for the entire time, which was much longer than propriety dictated, and she thought that perhaps that was his entire purpose in visiting.

Were they ill-suited? The major was quiet and serious, while Lydia was gregarious and talkative. They were alarmingly different; but as Elizabeth watched them together she thought that maybe it was not a bad thing. Perhaps their differences would actually be complementary---he might dampen Lydia's excessive liveliness and she might enliven his dour earnestness. And neither was much of a reader or deep thinker, and they were both inclined to the active, physical side of life.

Goodness! The more Elizabeth considered it, the more promising it seemed.

After the gentlemen had left, she privately quizzed Lydia on the major.

"He is very interesting," Lydia told her. "He won't tell me much of the war, but I believe that unlike the militia officers, he has seen real battle. He loves to ride and thinks I might like it as well. He enjoys dancing but is not much in the habit---I believe it is because he is shy, Lizzy. He says he will ask me for a set next week at Lord Almsworth's ball. I am quite looking forward to it."

Elizabeth smirked and asked, "How does he treat his mother?"

Lydia smiled sadly. "His mother is dead, but he seems to have loved her very much."

"I am sorry. I should not have been flippant about it."

"It was about ten years ago. He is twenty-five and has an older brother who is married with two sons. They live with his father at their estate." She chewed her lip. "It is on the shore, but not a smooth, pebbly beach like here. He says it is craggy and rocky and dangerous for ships, with great storms and wrecks rotting everywhere. I should like to see that."

Later that night as Elizabeth lay in bed, she could not stop thinking about Lydia. Might she soon be leaving Longbourn to live as an army wife, with a handsome, respectable husband? The tone of Lydia's voice was almost wistful when talking of the major, and she seemed eager to know him better, to dance with him and learn to ride.

Was she too young? Probably, but that was Mr. Bennet's concern. Elizabeth hoped it wasn't too much trouble for him to impose reasonable conditions on Lydia's new romance and to make certain it was appropriate as to fortune. Otherwise it would be up to the major---which made Elizabeth smile, as it was actually rather a comfort.

Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was to wonder whether Major DeWitt would teach Lydia to swim on the rugged shores of Devon, and suddenly she saw them there, laughing and splashing together in the sea; and just as suddenly the image was replaced by another, and Elizabeth found herself once again with Mr. Darcy, eagerly learning the pleasures of the breast stroke