Almost Persuaded: Miss Mary King by P. O. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

account
of the militia’s decampment to Brighton. Mary had thought the
development would have persuaded her father to allow her to return
to her home. It did not, for his heart was now set on her being in
Liverpool when her cousin returned from the continent in late
autumn.
    “Your father
would not want you to learn the nature of the matter I intend to
convey, but you need to hear this. First, prepare yourself for
something dreadful. At last, Mrs. Bennet’s dream of one of her
daughters being married is realised, but its means of coming about
had threatened to ruin the family entirely.”
    Catching her breath, Mary shifted in her seat. What could be so
bad? How might a marriage threaten the prospects of a family with
five daughters? Her unasked questions soon received an answer.
    “Miss Lydia
ran off with—with Mr. Wickham.”
    Mary’s mouth gaped. Lydia, Mr. Wickham! “No!” I am aware she travelled to Brighton with
her particular friend, Mrs. Forster. The subject of how Mr. Bennet had agreed
to such a scheme had been fodder for many a lively debate amongst
the Meryton folks. Surely he could not have anticipated anything as grave as
this.
    “I am afraid
it gets worse. She left the protection of the Forsters and threw
herself in Mr. Wickham’s power, thinking they were to elope to
Gretna Green, but they never did. Mr. Wickham never intended to
marry the foolish girl at all.”
    Mary failed to
control her heart’s racing. “But you said there was a wedding.”
    “Indeed, but
only after Mr. Bennet and Colonel Forster set off from Longbourn
pursuant to the unhappy news and headed to London to ascertain Miss
Lydia’s whereabouts. Mr. Bennet gave up the search and returned to
Longbourn. In due course, her uncle was the one who discovered
them—living together as would a man and his wife. It is rumoured
the conditions in which they were cohabiting were deplorable. My
sister said Mr. Wickham was forced to marry Miss Lydia to salvage
her honour—the marriage a patched-up affair and at considerable
expense to her uncle in town.”
    By now, Mary was pacing the floor. How could this have happened? What manner of man
would tempt a young girl to leave the protection of her family and
friends, believing she was in love and to be married? Mary swallowed the
bitter taste of irony. Although fully aware Anne was speaking, Mary
heard not a word she said.
    What manner of
man indeed. He is no more than a predator—preying upon the young,
the innocent, the unsuspecting. Poor Lydia is nearly half the vile
man’s age.
    Her father had warned her on more than one occasion that
the gentleman was not to be trusted. Her father had refused to
allow her to be taken advantage of as had been the case with the
youngest Bennet daughter. He had protected her from a fate that
might have been no different from poor Lydia’s; the result
being she would have been in the unenviable position of the woman who
now called herself Mrs. George Wickham.
    Torn between
relief and remorse, tears welled in her eyes. The life that might
have been hers passed before her—the unhappy wife of a gamester, a
schemer, a mercenary, and a scoundrel. Now perfectly understanding
of how her life might have been, she settled herself in the window
seat. She dabbed at her eyes.
    Mary did not
intend to be unhappy. Was hers not a future filled with wonder and
the promise of an upcoming Season in town? Why, even the prospect
of making her cousin’s acquaintance was beginning to spark her
imagination.
    Still, Mary
could not contemplate all she had heard without considering how
ridiculous she had been—courting passion beyond reason and deriding
the advice and wisdom of her companion and her own father—both of
whom had known the heartrending pain of misguided love.
    Sharp spasms of guilt rippled through her. How many times have
I secretly wished my own father had been more like Mr.
Bennet ? Having come within an inch of walking in young Lydia’s
shoes, I cannot help but