Bad Miss Bennet Read online

  A Pride and Prejudice Novel

  JEAN BURNETT

  PEGASUS BOOKS

  NEW YORK LONDON

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Copyright

  Over a long and interesting career, Jean Burnett has worked in advertising, won prizes for her writing and has travelled the world. She is an expert on all things Jane Austen – especially on what Lydia Bennet did next …

  To Jane for giving me the spark.

  Acknowledgements

  I am indebted to the Bristol Women’s Writing Group for their continuous support and criticism. Caroline Hogg, editor, read the manuscript and ran with it. Jane Buchanan, local studies librarian in Bath gave invaluable help with research into Regency Bath. Thanks also to my family and friends for their encouragement.

  Chapter One

  Pemberley, September 1815

  Black does not become me: I am convinced it deprives my complexion of all life. I am one of those pale-skinned, chestnut-haired females given to freckling if I venture out in the sun. I suggested to Lizzie that I might wear something in pale grey, perhaps a frilled muslin threaded with a purple velvet ribbon, at dinner this evening. The look of horror on her face rapidly put an end to that idea. Marriage to Mr Darcy has transformed my once outspoken sister into a model of propriety and mysteriously removed her sense of humour.

  ‘How can you think of going into half-mourning so soon?’ she gasped. ‘Think of the scandal it would cause.’ I lowered my eyes so that she could not see the gleam in them at the prospect of a little scandal, anything that would lighten the atmosphere here at Pemberley. Spirits were higher on the battlefield at Waterloo.

  ‘I only thought … my black dress is so drab. I would not want to embarrass you.’ I am, naturally, regarded as an embarrassment to the entire family. Miss Georgiana Darcy looks down her long, aristocratic nose at me. I am not fooled by her reputation for sweetness.

  ‘Are you quite comfortable in your rooms, Mrs Wickham? We all feel deeply for your loss, Mrs Wickham.’ She sneers elegantly at my poor apparel, as if I did not know of her previous entanglement with my late, unlamented spouse. If only Wickham had successfully enticed her away and married her. I would not then have attached myself to him. I might have set my cap at a wealthier and less indifferent officer.

  I loved him once. He was my handsome hero for a while, until I realised that money was the only thing he cared about. I can hear his voice still.

  ‘I bought you, my dear. Ten thousand pounds if I would make an honest woman of you.’ Except that I am no longer honest. Wickham saw to that. These thoughts tumbled through my brain as Lizzie patted my arm awkwardly.

  ‘You need not worry about anything, Lydia dear, while you are under this roof – least of all your wardrobe.’ I smiled gratefully as she left the room. Peering out of the window, I saw my brother-in-law riding up to the house. I must contrive to meet him alone so that I may persuade him to make me a small allowance. Then I might retire to the continent and begin to live. Paris! Paris is calling to me like a siren song. If I could live in the city of amour and splendour among all the nations gathered there, what opportunities might I find? The number of officers gathered in that wonderful place is unimaginable.

  Naturally, I shall suggest Calais to Darcy. I hope that the prospect of being rid of me will be an inducement. I need only a little time to work my feminine wiles upon him, although he is not an easy subject. His eyes bulge slightly when he looks at me, but this may be due to exasperation rather than to any other sentiment.

  Now I must go to the salon to admire my infant nephew, Charles Fitzwilliam, the heir and pride of Pemberley. Yesterday, when I held the child for a moment the little wretch spewed all over my black dyed tussore, the only respectable mourning gown I possess. I shall prevail upon Lizzie to lend me her black silk with the lace trim and the treble flounce. It is the least she can do in the circumstances. I swear the housekeeper is better dressed than my poor self.

  I have been sorely tried since I arrived here a mere seven days ago. I had barely settled before I was being quizzed by Darcy as to the whereabouts of my husband’s corpse, his final resting place.

  ‘Where have you buried him?’ he demanded. His eyes bulged on that occasion too. Perhaps it is a family trait.

  ‘I will be happy to give you a full account of my grievous trials and the whereabouts of my poor husband’s body,’ I replied. With hindsight, the dazzling smile I bestowed on him was not wise in the circumstances, but at least I had the forethought to bury Wickham in Brussels, saving the family additional expense and inconvenience.

  Thus I find myself in this predicament: homeless, lacking in personal possessions, and with nothing but an army pension scarcely sufficient to keep a mouse in cheese. Of course, I told everyone that my husband died a hero’s death. My brother-in-law looked unconvinced, as far as one can detect any expression on his face.

  In fact, my husband was ingloriously trampled upon by his own horse, its reins having become entangled around his scabbard. These details were given to me by an eyewitness. I am only surprised that he had not gambled the beast away before the battle.

  Ah, Waterloo – or rather, the eve of Waterloo. The glory, the dancing, the excitement! Of course, I know the loss of life was dreadful, and we were all in the most appalling state of fear and shock afterwards, but it was all so … thrilling.

  The Duchess of Richmond’s Grand Ball was the most marvellous and magical event of my life thus far. I cannot imagine anything greater happening to me unless I can contrive to be presented at court. I know the Prince Regent always has an eye for a pretty woman and now that he has grown tired of Mrs Fitzherbert, that other widow, I might have a chance. But I digress.

  The first thrill was in actually obtaining a ticket for the ball. In the normal way we would never have been invited, but during that week Wickham was experiencing one of his rare runs of luck at the card tables. The invitation was accepted from another officer in the 5th Inniskillen Dragoon Guards who could not pay his gambling debt to my husband.

  It was extraordinary, I recollect, because I had also been modestly successful at cards so that I was able to purchase the lilac silk gauze gown with deep lace border, and dark blue velvet cape, that were so much admired at the ball. Wellington himself was heard to remark, ‘Who is that pretty little thing?’ before returning to the arms of silly Lady Frances Wedderburn-Webster. Men say she is alluring but I cannot see it myself.

  I am aware that we should have spent the money on clearing some of our debts but such an opportunity occurs only once in a lifetime.

  It is true that the gowns of the ladies were completely overshadowed by
the red coats and magnificence of the men in uniform, but I was very satisfied with my appearance, despite the excessive heat in the ballroom.

  How wonderful, how glittering were the surroundings and the company on that night. When I think of the occasions when we danced cotillions at the assemblies in Meryton, I am filled with shame that I ever thought them elegant, or the company anything other than dreary clodhoppers of the most parochial kind.

  My dance card was filled all evening and I barely saw Wickham who was occupied with gaming in one of the ante rooms, to our mutual satisfaction. The Prince of Orange actually asked me to dance. I cannot describe my feelings at that moment. I was quite transported with joy. He had mistaken me for the wife of a General. Nevertheless, he was most gracious.

  Entertainment was provided by Scottish dancers from the Highland regiments dancing merry reels to the sound of the pipes. The atmosphere of gaiety was, I suppose, tinged with desperation. So many of those gallant officers would be lost in a few hours or days. However, I had only Wickham to lose and that would be a blessing to both of us. I think my husband was ill at ease with himself and bitter with lost hopes and thwarted desires. For myself, I had spent three years learning the truth of the old adage, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’

  Despite the splendour of the evening it ended all too soon as groups of officers departed to take up their battle positions and the duke himself left the ballroom.

  When we emerged into the splendid Grand Place in Brussels just before dawn the anticipation was almost tangible. The shouts of the soldiers and the beat of the drums mingled with the sound of trumpets and the wailing of the Scottish pipes. Women cried out from nearby houses as the men prepared to leave, news having come of Napoleon’s advance. I bade farewell to Wickham who was in a strange mood, defiant and resigned simultaneously. He was even prevailed upon to give me what remained of his winnings.

  ‘It’s all up with us, my dear,’ he told me. ‘The little emperor is nearby with a huge force.’ He kissed my cheek and rode away to Quatre Bras. I, however, had every faith in Wellington. He would see us through.

  And so, after the bloodshed and dust of battle, the burying of the dead and the final farewells, I returned to Pemberley trailing widow’s weeds and anticipating Paris. You must not think me hard and unfeeling, dear reader. I mourned the loss of life at Waterloo as we all did. I would not have wished Wickham dead. But I could not help being glad that we would not meet again.

  Naturally, my family disagreed with my plans.

  ‘My husband will never allow it, Lydia, you may be sure. France, indeed! How will you manage there? You do not speak a word of the language. Now if you had applied yourself when our father was instructing us …’

  I interrupted at this point, not wishing to hear another lecture on my intellectual deficiencies from my bluestocking sister. I am very fond of dear Lizzie but I am amazed that someone of only average looks, and overly fond of reading, should have snared one of the richest and most eligible men in the country. One cannot help feeling a few pangs of jealousy.

  ‘Never fear, dear sister, I shall manage very well. I plan to live quietly in Calais where I understand there is a small colony of the English. My living costs will be greatly reduced in France, and of course I shall apply myself to the language. You will be surprised at my determination when it is necessary.’

  ‘I shall indeed,’ she replied with heavy sarcasm. Ignoring this unfilial display I begged her to speak to Darcy on my behalf, but I intended to snaffle him first. Tactics were required here and I had not spent the last three years among soldiers without learning the basics.

  I well remember the occasion when Wickham was almost cashiered for stealing a horse belonging to one of Wellington’s Generals who was at the time inspecting the regiment. Wickham managed to hire out the horse for a few hours for a large sum before returning it. When questioned about the animal’s abduction, Wickham had claimed – the effrontery! – that his wife was at death’s door and he had seized the nearest animal in order to ride for a doctor. The general chose to overlook the matter on compassionate grounds and I was forced to remain indoors for many days before being allowed out. Even then he obliged me to whiten my face in order to keep up the pretence.

  I decided to approach my brother-in-law after lunch. Never ask a favour of a man who has not eaten recently. I dressed with care – I am in mourning, after all. I wore the gown borrowed from Lizzie, which was most becoming. I did not think Darcy would recognise it. He has a better eye for a horse these days. Some discreet jewellery, my deep red garnets, and a soft but tantalising perfume – a spray of essence of lily and clove – completed the ensemble. I prevailed upon Lizzie’s French maid to arrange my hair. I do believe that my chestnut curls are my crowning glory. Oh, to have the luxury of a French maid. It is so unfair – Lizzie cares very little for her appearance. She still takes long, muddy walks despite being mistress of this great estate. Wealth is wasted on some people.

  After enjoying an excellent jugged hare and a glass of claret I followed Darcy in the direction of the orangery where he invited me to inspect a fine specimen of tiger lily lately arrived from India. I made the appropriate noises of admiration before heaving a deep sigh, fluttering my bosom as much as possible. The triple frills moved most satisfactorily. Darcy looked puzzled.

  ‘Are you unwell, Lydia?’ I looked up at him coyly and then fingered the red stones at my neck. I noticed that his eyes had fallen towards my bosom.

  ‘I am greatly perturbed about my future, dear brother. I could never be a burden to you or the rest of my family, but my financial state is a parlous one. If I could manage to live quietly abroad on a reduced income I feel that would be the best solution.’

  ‘Abroad?’ Darcy yelped. He had a horror of all the foreign parts for which les rosbifs are noted. (I am already acquiring a smattering of the French language.)

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I continued. ‘The cost of living is so much lower on the continent. I might offer English lessons to some genteel French families in order to supplement my paltry income. Do you not agree dear brother?’

  At this point I contrived to lift my skirt discreetly so that a glimpse of a trim ankle in white silk hose flashed before my brother-in-law’s eyes. This ruse has been known to send men mad with desire. In Darcy’s case his eyes began to swivel alarmingly before bulging in the manner I have often remarked upon.

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ he snapped. ‘I am prepared to make you an allowance that will enable you to live as a lady should, although not in any great luxury.’ Did I hear a note of satisfaction in his voice?

  ‘Naturally,’ I murmured sotto voce.

  ‘However,’ he added, ‘there is no question of my sister-in-law living alone on the continent, it is unthinkable. Arrangements can be made for you to live closer to your parents at Longbourn.’ I hope he did not catch the look of horror I could not suppress at this suggestion. Some quick thinking was required. Fortunately, I had been married to a master of devious behaviour for three years. My brother-in-law would be child’s play in comparison. I heaved another sigh.

  ‘I could not possibly live at Longbourn, dear brother. My father would not wish it and my mother would be mortified. If you were generous enough to make me an allowance I could not think of leaving Pemberley. I would stay here and make myself useful to my sister and yourself in any way possible. It would be my solemn duty.’

  I stared mournfully at his face watching the expressions of alarm and disgust passing over them at the prospect. This was my opportunity.

  ‘Of course, I have been offered an invitation for an extended stay with the Caruthers in London, friends from my late husband’s regiment. Captain Miles is now retired from the army and his wife, Selena, is a dear friend.’ My voice trailed away and I watched to see if he would clutch at this straw.

  ‘Well, er, umph,’ he spluttered, ‘that is a possible solution.’ He turned away abruptly. ‘We can discuss the details later. I have an appointment.
’ He strode off and I gazed after him, sorry that he could not see the face I made at his retreating back. Why must I be treated like a child solely because I am poor and female? If I had a reasonable pension my relatives might disapprove of my removal to France but they could not prevent it. I am a respectable widow – at least for the moment.

  London: there could be worse fates for a single woman. It would certainly be an improvement on the army quarters in Newcastle, Longbourn or Pemberley – and it was considerably closer to the continent. Something could be contrived.

  First of all I needed to contact the Caruthers and inveigle an invitation from them. We have not spoken for a while but Selena owes me a favour after I distracted her husband one evening to prevent him finding his wife accepting a billet doux from his commanding officer.

  The next important matter was how much of an allowance Darcy could be persuaded to part with, followed by the question of where I would lodge in the capital. I could not remain forever with my friends and I absolutely refused to be placed under the watchful eye of any relatives. There was always the home of the Gardiners, my aunt and uncle. They are a benevolent couple, but they had disapproved of my marriage to Wickham, and they are far too close to Lizzie and Darcy for comfort. In addition they have no entrée into high society and I … I have danced with the Prince of Orange.

  I needed pleasant rooms in a respectable house in a fashionable street, with an obliging but unobtrusive landlady who would act as a sheepdog on occasions when I needed a chaperone. Perhaps I might cross paths with my hero, the celebrated poet Lord Byron, the most infamous man in London. What a delicious thought.

  Having thus arranged my immediate future satisfactorily in my mind I wandered towards my room, almost failing to notice Miss Georgiana Darcy emerging from the library, wearing an elegant forest green velvet gown trimmed with leaf green taffeta. I ground my teeth silently as she gave me an all-encompassing regard that took in the borrowed gown and the red necklace.