Page 69 of What Change Entails

Lydia’s head jerked upward. “Wickham?”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched between them, broken by birds outside the open windows and Horace snoring faintly against the wall.

Georgiana spoke without looking directly at Lydia. “My father favored Mr. Wickham greatly when they were boys. He was meant for the church eventually. My father assisted his education and trusted him completely.”

“That sounds exactly like Wickham,” Lydia muttered. “Everyone trusts him.”

Georgiana’s hands wove together. “He persuaded me last summer that my brother wished to separate us unfairly. I was foolish and lonely and very ready to believe someone charming.”

Lydia stopped moving restlessly where she sat.

Georgiana continued, though her voice caught once midway through the sentence. “He wished for me to elope with him.”

Lydia rose so abruptly the window-seat cushion slid sideways beneath her. She stared across the scattered music sheets at Georgiana’s bent head and thought first, absurdly, of red regimentals and laughing officers and Brighton.

Then she pictured Georgiana traveling with him, trusting him. She thought of how she herself had come to admire him without question.

“How old are you?” Lydia asked abruptly.

“Sixteen.”

Lydia’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.

“You are my age.”

“Yes.”

“And he—”

“Is older. Considerably.”

Horace raised his head at the sharpness entering Lydia’s voice.

Georgiana spoke quickly then, perhaps mistaking Lydia’s anger. “Nothing ultimately occurred. My brother found us before—before anything irreparable happened.”

Lydia whirled to face Georgiana. “What a villain.” How could Mr. Wickham be so despicable?

Georgiana gaped.

Lydia crossed the room, wheeled sharply, and crossed back again. “That absolute nefarious creature. Mama invited him to dinner repeatedly. Kitty cried for two days after the regiment—after he—left Meryton. He danced with everyone. He flirted with—”

She stopped herself. He had flirted with her, talked of an engagement and marriage. He was the one who had urged Mrs. Forster to invite Lydia to Brighton.

Georgiana watched her warily now.

Lydia faced the windows. “I thought him very handsome,” she admitted finally, furious with herself. “And amusing. Lizzy defended him constantly after hearing him speak against your brother. And then she thought his presence distasteful.”

He would have been in Brighton with the regiment, free to flatter her without Lizzy or her family nearby. For the first time, Lydia understood that recklessness was not just a thing other people accused her of; it was a door through which men like Wickham entered. Had Papa not intervened, Brighton might have become her own Ramsgate.

“She had reason then.”

“Yes, but still—” Lydia broke off again.

Georgiana bent to gather fallen music sheets from the carpet. Lydia crouched beside her to help. Their heads nearly collided.

“Sorry.”