Wickham

  Wickham believes life is cruel to him until he comes face-to-face with an irresistible pair of dark brown glinting eyes and falls in love.

  He is bored with his wife, Lydia, and his lot in life. She drives him as mad as a hornet’s nest, and he does not give her the attention and respect she demands.

  They both yearn for change.

  When Wickham leaves England to fight against Napoléon’s army in France, they both get their chance.

  However, what they want is dangerous, foolhardy, and could wind up killing Wickham and ruining Lydia’s reputation forever.

  Lydia’s wicked neglect of their infant son in favour of her own desires and need for attention could lead her into very hot water.

  Wickham’s desire for the Frenchwoman he yearns for could be his complete undoing.

  The continuing tale of one of Jane Austen’s most infamous characters.

  By

  Karen Aminadra

  Published in 2014 by Karen Aminadra

  Copyright © 2014 Karen Aminadra

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. All names and characters in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  The author has asserted their moral right under the

  Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN-13: 978-1502972262

  ISBN-10: 1502972263

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  With thanks to Susan Uttendorfsky of Adirondack Editing for being such a super-woman, as always. To Estelle and Lionel Billoret for advising me on the French in this book. To Linda Boulanger at Tell Tale Book Covers. And, finally, to the British War Office.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Lieutenant George Wickham shivered. He was freezing sitting on the damp grass, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the pain in his wrists where the cold, hard iron from the manacles dug into his flesh. He tried to shift position to ease his pain, but with every movement, some other part of his body hurt. Sighing he gave up. He lolled his head back against the stake in the ground he was chained to. It serves me right. I do not deserve comfort.

  A shuffling on the ground behind him and the touch of a gentle hand against his, reminded him sharply of his beautiful companion. It was entirely his fault that she now found herself chained and shackled beside him. Whatever her fate was to be—whether free or imprisoned, alive or dead, it was all his doing.

  He closed his eyes and wished to God that he had been a steadier man, not prone to the whims of fancy. He wished he could think straight when his heart fluttered at the sight of womanly beauty; yet, he was no such man. He was a libertine and a blackguard, and his insatiable desires were the reason he found himself in his current predicament.

  His thoughts returned to six months ago, to England, to where this whole regretful misadventure began…

  Wickham was bored. He was bored with his life, bored with his northern regiment, bored with the restrictions forced upon him, and, mayhap most significantly of all, he was bored with his wife.

  Oh, Lydia Wickham, née Bennet, had been fun to begin with a lot of fun, to own the truth. When he met her, she was just the kind of naughty flirt of a girl with whom he liked to play, chase down, conquer, and have his way with.

  When his regiment moved to Brighton for the summer, he thought that all opportunities to see precisely how much fun he could have with Lydia Bennet were gone. However, unbeknownst to him, Mrs Forster—the wife of his commanding officer, Colonel Forster had invited Lydia to visit Brighton with her as her particular friend. Nothing could have pleased either party more. They were thrown into each other’s company on a daily basis, and Wickham knew that very soon, Lydia would be like putty in his hands and would agree to whatever he suggested. With a little help from Mrs Forster with regards to throwing evening soirées and little parties, Wickham knew his designs on Lydia would come to fruition. It amused him how easy a conquest she really was. Nevertheless, to own the truth, he saw in her a kindred spirit and was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was as much as flirt as he was, and he enjoyed every playful minute of the chase. He managed to conceal his plans, catch Lydia alone, and convince her of his growing affection for her. Her belief in his sincerity spurred him on. The couple met in private frequently, and almost before he knew it, they were planning their elopement. Lydia was so excited, but Wickham had his eye on one prize alone—and that was not Lydia’s hand in marriage.

  The night for their secret escape arrived and with mounting nerves, Wickham waited where they prearranged to meet, along the Brighton Promenade, with a carriage ready to take them wherever the young lovers chose. When she climbed giddily into the carriage, Lydia chattered on incessantly about going to Gretna and returning to Longbourn, her family home, as man and wife.

  Regardless of what Lydia thought, in Wickham’s mind, the plan was for them to travel only as far as London, to an inn he had stayed in many times, and for him to have his fun with her. Habitually, that was where Wickham’s finesse and interestedness ended. He would wake early, dress hurriedly, and depart the city before the young girl ever stirred herself to arise in the morning. What he did not bank on this time was his purse running dry before he could make his escape. Day after day dragged on as they remained shut up together in their room, whilst Wickham wrote increasingly desperate letters to his friends, Captains Denny and Carter, to petition them for funds. He did not mention Lydia in them. Not once—he was certain they would not understand what he had done and did not wish to endure their censure and lose their friendship.

  The novelty of the illicit dalliance with Lydia soon wore off once Wickham had what he wanted from her. All the attributes that made her an easy target for his lasciviousness now only made him roll his eyes and groan inwardly. He was desperate to get away from her. She was silly, naïve, and utterly tedious as she prattled on about going to the theatre and the opera. She talked incessantly from the time they awoke to the time they fell asleep at night, and to make matters worse, her displeasure at being sequestered in the hotel turned her girlish voice into a high-pitched, ear-dulling whine.

  Their temporary stay in London lasted days, and Wickham grew desperate from not receiving a single missive from his friends as his unpaid bills mounted. He turned to
drink to stave off the boredom and to make being with Lydia more tolerable. One day, when he was beginning to despair and thought they would have to flee the inn without paying, Lydia cried out from her position near the window, “Good Lord! What is he doing here?”

  “Who?” Wickham fairly shot out of his chair to look at her. “Get away from the window!” he snapped at her.

  “No I will not. I care not who sees me—after all, I am to be a married woman,” she replied proudly as she pointed her nose in the air.

  “Who is it?” Wickham demanded again.

  Lydia’s expression changed in a heartbeat to one of high irritation. “Mr Darcy!” she bit back.

  “What?” Wickham was out of his chair by the fire and standing by the window faster than his partially drunken state allowed. He pushed Lydia to one side and, hiding himself behind the curtains, peeped out into the courtyard below. There, to his horror, he saw the one man he wished never to see again in the whole course of his life—Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Wickham stepped back from the window, but it was too late. Mr Darcy happened to look upwards at the window at the very moment Wickham stepped back and saw him clearly. They were found out.

  At first, Wickham refused to marry Lydia, but, under pressure from Mr Darcy, eventually he agreed to do so only if Mr Bennet would guarantee him a small income. However, he had another inducement, and one which gave him great pleasure—his behaviour and unwillingness to marry Lydia forced Mr Darcy to make him an offer of a financial sweetener to close the deal and save Lydia and the whole Bennet family’s reputation.

  Once again with money in his pocket, Wickham looked for an escape, but there was none to be had. He was friendless, and Mr Darcy stuck to him like glue. He did not let Wickham out of his sight and he began to feel that once the marriage took place, he would breathe easier. At least then, he would be free from Mr Darcy’s officiousness. The gentleman even had to purchase a commission for Wickham in a northern regiment after his old one refused to have him back again.

  Lydia did not understand at all, but here, Wickham had the advantage. She believed all the stories he told her about Mr Darcy and his unfair behaviour towards her dear Wickham. Therefore, it was only too easy for Wickham to lie again. “My dear, isn’t it obvious?”

  Lydia shook her head. “No, not to me, dearest.”

  “Darcy clearly feels guilty for how he treated me in the past.”

  “You mean for not giving you the living that his father promised you?”

  Wickham grinned—goodness, she was naïve. “Precisely, my dear. He wishes to make recompense.”

  “And that is why he is here in London, and to be groomsman, and take over all the wedding arrangements?” She pouted.

  “Indeed.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Do not fret; let him make amends. You will have the wedding you desire and—”

  “But it’s not the wedding I desire!” she cried and marched out of their room, with Wickham in tow, and hammered on the door to Mr Darcy’s room. “Mr Darcy,” she said bluntly when he opened the door.

  “Good evening, Miss Bennet.”

  “I wish to be married from Longbourn.”

  Mr Darcy did not look amused. He opened his door wider and ushered the couple in. Once he closed the door, he spoke. “You cannot be married from Longbourn, Miss Bennet.”

  Wickham sighed. He knew Lydia would argue the point.

  “Why not? This is so unfair!”

  “Surely you see, Miss Bennet, that you have been living with Mr Wickham here for some time now, and to return home to Longbourn unmarried still would cause great scandal to your family.” He looked at Wickham, who only wanted to shrink into the shadows. “I was of the impression that Mrs Gardiner had spoken to her on this.”

  “She did, but I do not care about that,” Lydia cried and stomped her foot. “I want to be married in Longbourn.”

  Wickham watched Mr Darcy’s jaw clench and knew he was growing frustrated with her.

  “You cannot, and that is an end to it,” Mr Darcy snapped. “Good evening, Miss Bennet.” He strode to the door and held it open for them to pass. Wickham left and went back to their room, but Lydia did not move at all. Wickham heard Mr Darcy repeat more firmly, “Good evening, Miss Bennet.” Lydia rushed past him, weeping, as he heard Mr Darcy’s door slam shut.

  All that night, Lydia wept and decried how unfair they all were to her. All Wickham could think was how unfair life was to him.

  Wickham still dwelt on it all months later. His anger at Mr Darcy’s high-handed interference in forcing them to marry continued to burn slowly. Wickham did not intend to marry Lydia Bennet whatsoever; she was a silly girl, and he just wanted his fun. However, Darcy’s officiousness had put an end to that. Unbelievably, as far as Wickham was concerned, Darcy had tracked the lovers all the way from Brighton to London and found them out. Admittedly, he cushioned the matrimonial blow financially, but the money had not lasted them long. Wickham was too fond of strong drink, high stakes at the card tables, and loose women to keep hold of the bounty. Being forced into marriage with a woman he did not actually love, when all he wanted was a doxy, made him desperate. He contemplated having Lydia put away, but he certainly did not have the funds to support her until they could be divorced five years later. He also doubted Lydia could be trusted not to beg him to come back to her and ruin the plan entirely. There was pressure on all sides. From Lydia’s father and uncle, from Darcy, and even from his own colonel, who seemed to be fully apprised on the matter.

  What was he to do? He was a man no longer in control of his own destiny.

  Lydia Wickham was just as fed up as her husband. She was fed up with the cold, dank weather in the north of England. Fed up with Scarborough’s society not giving her the respect she felt was due to her station in life, and fed up with being with child. She felt fat, ungainly, and no longer beautiful.

  After they wed, they moved to Newcastle, in the northeast, where Wickham was to be stationed. Lydia had a wonderful time there and they passed an excellent Christmas with the regiment and their new friends. Their duration in Newcastle was shorter than Lydia would have liked and she was loathe to leave that city, but the regiment was relocated and the Wickhams had little choice in the matter. Lydia opined continually, to anyone who would listen, that Newcastle was far superior to Scarborough, in her estimation. Despite being a tad colder than Scarborough during the winter months, the society in Newcastle was lively and diverse. There were balls and parties enough to satisfy even her longing for them. In Scarborough, however, she found the society drab and uninteresting. However, as nothing could be done to halt the relocation of Wickham’s regiment, they had to content themselves with Scarborough. Lydia, nevertheless, was not content; yet, as Wickham’s wife, she must follow.

  Now, though, as her belly swelled over the past few months, she became more and more uncomfortable and irritated with her condition and the resulting isolation forced upon her by it. She snapped a lot at her husband, and they bickered incessantly. She was not in the least bit excited to become a mother feeling exceedingly put out by it. She could no longer attend parties; neither could she dance, and knew that even after the birth, if she ever attended another assembly, she would be forced to sit with the other mamas and watch from the side-lines, unless her husband deigned to ask her to dance. Life was so unfair.

  She missed the Hertfordshire countryside where she grew up. She missed the fields and woods surrounding her father’s estate, Longbourn. She missed the clement weather, but most of all, she missed her friends and their regular little soirées. To her, it seemed Hertfordshire was a world away. It always appeared to rain incessantly in Scarborough, and no one ever came and invited her to do anything fun at all. It was truly tiresome.

  Thinking of her husband, George Wickham, made her frown. He was not the man she once believed him to be. He was no longer fun to be with, but tiresome and grumpy. Oh, she still found him vastly superior to all other men of her acquaintance in looks, but h
e preferred to go out with the other soldiers in the evenings, leaving her alone with the wives and drinking tea until Lydia felt she might possibly die of boredom.

  Sadly, Lydia had to admit that marriage was not all she dreamt it would be. In fact, as far as she could see, it was downright tedious. In addition, as their funds dwindled, she was forced to go against her own nature and be frugal. That did not suit her at all and she, by far, would prefer to buy a new bonnet than brisket, which only served to irritate her husband further when he brought his friends home and there was nothing fitting to serve them for dinner, despite Lydia being prettily attired. No matter how handsome she looked, that did not excuse her for not fulfilling her wifely duty well.

  Lydia kicked her foot with irritation against the leg of the jacquard-covered wingback armchair in front of the window seat on which she perched. She did not care if she damaged her pretty pink satin pumps. She would simply go out and buy new ones. It would serve Wickham right for being such a bore of a husband and treating her ill if she did indeed venture out and buy a new pair. Whenever Lydia dwelt on the subject of money, it made her think of her sisters, Jane and Elizabeth. Both of them had married extremely well and were rich beyond their wildest dreams. Lydia kicked the leg of the chair again in a fit of jealousy. It was so unfair that Wickham had no money, and from what he said, it was all Darcy’s fault. She continued to kick the chair leg. What made the fact of Elizabeth’s marriage worse was that she had married Darcy, the man responsible for their impoverished state.

  Lydia was tired of having nothing to do all day, every day, and so longed for a good ball or a dinner invitation to arrive. But what she wanted more than anything was to have her own body back and to dance and have fun as she did before marrying Wickham.

  She sighed. It had been one thing after another since their elopement. What started out as a great adventure soon turned sour. She was certain her family did not approve of the match, despite how excited her mother was. Her father barely said two words to either herself or Wickham when they visited Longbourn after the marriage. Moreover, as for Elizabeth, she was curt in all her replies, especially to Lydia. However, Lydia was well accustomed to the face her sister pulled when she did not approve and so was well accustomed to ignoring her censure. She even offered kindly to get all her sisters husbands from the regiment, but Elizabeth’s response said it all: “I thank you for my share of the favour, but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands.” Upon reflection, Lydia was now convinced that her family did not approve of her marriage to Wickham, despite the fact that she was certain he was once a favourite of Elizabeth’s.