A Wife for Mr. Darcy

Dickinson to take the men to the kitchen for a large bowl of Mrs. Grant’s soup and the meat pies she had prepared for them. “I have ordered supper for you as well, but I am sure you are eager to have a report on Miss Lydia and Wickham.”
    As soon as the colonel had finished reading the letter from Darcy, a search for Wickham had been undertaken, and he was found within the hour at a sporting house. The next morning, Wickham had been interrogated by the colonel, but denied any plans to leave Brighton with Lydia, insisting that all he had done was to renew an acquaintance that he had formed while encamped near Meryton. When confronted with details of assignations provided by Lydia and documented in her diary, Wickham admitted he had had some harmless fun with the girl. However, he continued to insist his purpose had never been the seduction of one so young and concluded by saying that he had never intended to marry Lydia Bennet.
    At that point, the colonel had stood up and said, “That is the first statement you have made that I actually believe.” After informing him that he was confined to quarters indefinitely, Colonel Forster left.
    “The long and the short of it, Mr. Darcy, is that your letter prevented Wickham from carrying out his plans. When Miss Lydia came down to breakfast this morning, her room was searched, and an overnight bag was found. When asked for an explanation, she revealed all. She was actually quite proud that she had been able to secure the affections of such an admirable fellow. Even after we told her unequivocally that he had said it was never his intention to marry her, she just laughed, explaining that was what he had to say in order to protect his position in the regiment. To my utter astonishment, she actually thinks our discovery of her plans merely delays the marriage, and the nuptials will take place quickly ‘now that everything is out in the open.’”
    From the room above, a loud cry could be heard, and Darcy looked to the colonel for an explanation. “That is our young lady grieving for her lover. That caterwauling has been going on all morning. ‘My dear Wickham,’ she cries, ‘when will you come for me?’ She sobs and moans for about fifteen minutes and then takes a rest before starting up again. My wife attempted to console her, but because she is with child, her nerves were fraying. So she has departed and our housemaid, the poor girl, is sitting in the room with Miss Lydia.”
    “Thank you, Colonel, for your quick response. You have saved that girl from certain ruin,” Darcy said, standing up. “I believe her father is on the road to Brighton as we speak, but since I have no way of knowing when he will arrive, I intend to talk to Miss Lydia after I have eaten and have had the use of a wash basin. The young lady needs to know Wickham’s history, and although I doubt it will do much good, she will hear it.”

    Lydia looked startled when the maid opened the door to reveal Mr. Darcy. She had heard the colonel talking to someone, but when she did not recognize the voice, she assumed it was one of the soldiers who had been running back and forth to headquarters. The colonel had told her he was not budging from the house until he had safely delivered her to her father. He had then droned on about “a betrayal of trust and violating the rules of hospitality,” and other such drivel. Didn’t the old goat remember what it was like to be in love, especially since he had married a woman half his age?
    Grabbing a wooden chair from the hallway, Darcy brought it into the room and sat opposite to Lydia, and he thought what a little shit she was. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in her demeanor. Instead, she was trying to defiantly stare him down, and he wanted to laugh—he of the furrowed brow, steel gray eyes, and look of thunder yielded to no one—except Elizabeth.
    “Let us get right to business, Miss Lydia. First, if you intend to reproduce the hysterical crying I heard when I first entered this house, your confinement will continue, and I am sure that at this point it is getting rather close in here.”
    “You can’t talk to me like that,” Lydia said, outraged. “You are not my father, and you are not my guardian. I know about these things because my uncle is a solicitor.”
    “Secondly, I see you have not eaten your breakfast,” he said, looking at the untouched tray on the side table. “There are three hungry men in the kitchen who have been traveling