Part I and Only
Lydia stretched languorously on her pillows. The place beside her was empty. "Wickie, oh Wickie, where are you? Come to bed!" she shrilled.
The silent form sitting at the table, his head buried in his hands made no response except a low moan of despair.
"Really, sweetkins, come here. Your Lyddy missed you" crooned she again.
George Wickham, his fingers pressed to his ears, wondered for a thousandth time, what had he done to deserve this. Nothing in his misbegotten and irregular life could have condemned him to this hell, thought he hopelessly. Sure he tried to run off with Georgiana (he moaned again when he thought how silent that lady was), sure he had lied and cheated and slandered a man, but who hasn't?
When he married Lydia, he thought it was a fortuitous way out of his monetary difficulties. Within a week he was thinking he might not have been so lucky. Within a month he began to view the marriage as a particularly malicious revenge plot of Darcy's. Now, he was fast coming to realize he would have preferred to be married to Lady Catherine instead. Damme, he'd even take that clergyman of hers!
He had wistfully thought of murder, but he knew he could not do it. They were simply not evenly matched. His wife could make him shiver with one shrill "Oh Lord!". And her secret and fearsome weapon, the high-pitched giggle, inspired terror in him at the mere thought. He was outclassed and he knew it.
He could not even sleep at night for she was seeping into his dreams. Day after day he prayed despairingly that she would shift her infatuation to any of the other officers, but she held on blindly, like a limpet. He felt his strength giving out.
Lydia got tired of lying on the bed, waiting for her groveling lord and master. She got up and undulated towards him. "La, Wickie, love, I am bored, come to bed!" She wiggled her hips seductively.
And that was another thing, thought Wickham rebelliously. She always wanted him in bed. Sure, he enjoyed seduction, but even his endurance had his limits. She was always at him and not a professional seducer would enjoy that sort of thing for long.
"Wi-i-ckie! Bad boy!" intoned his wife.
Defeated, Wickham sighed and dragged his feet towards the bed.
It was early morning when he woke up. Birds were singing but there was no joy in George Wickham's heart. He knew when he was defeated. Pulling his gun out of the drawer, Wherever I would go after death, it would still be more peaceful, he thought and pulled the trigger.
Lydia woke up from the shot and saw the dead form of her husband lying on the floor, a strange expression of peace on his face.
She looked at him for a moment. Vaguely she knew the occasion was important and she should say something profound. At last she found it. She paused and exclaimed d"La, what a good joke!"