Lydia Bennet's Story by Jane Odiwe Read Free Book Online Page B

much if he thought that she would instantly say yes to his suggestion. She was most vexed to be considered only as an afterthought to Miss Westlake. He was full of his own importance, she decided, and determined right there and then that, if he ever should suggest they go out on horseback or in a donkey cart for two, she would refuse immediately. She was on the point of answering with a cutting retort when he started again, leaving her to gape with her mouth wide open.
    “No, I must go,” he announced, clicking his heels. “I can spend no longer standing here in idle chatter; our Colonel awaits me! I look forward to tomorrow evening, and Miss Bennet, if you stop scowling and smile pleasantly at me, I shall engage you for the first two dances. Good day, Mrs Forster.” With a short bow he set off at a march along the promenade before Lydia had a chance to answer him. She left her friend in no doubt of what she thought of his behaviour.
    “Well, of all the conceited, arrogant . . . good Lord! That man is the end! He thinks he has only to say the word and I shall jump. Well, I will not! I shall endeavour to dance all night with Denny and Chamberlayne or indeed anyone who might wish to partner me but Mr Wickham!”
5
    Fortunately, by the evening, Lydia’s spirits were restored at the prospect of some dancing, so for the moment, Mr Wickham was forgotten. By the time she was dressed in her new gown—a gift from her mama, the most heavenly, snow-white, spotted muslin that she had ever beheld—she was feeling thrilled with her appearance, especially when she considered that the Captain might be in attendance to see her look so well. To finish off, she had kid gloves and her new fan, her hair was all tumbled in curls around her head, interlaced with white beads and silver leaves, sent very kindly by her Aunt Gardiner from the shops in London. A pair of shoe roses, another treat from her mama, were stitched to her satin shoes—festoons of pink and white striped silk, edged in silver thread to match. Harriet, who looked a picture in Pomona satin, arrived at her door with Henry to set out for the promenade upon the Steyne at the fashionable hour. Their party was soon united with the officers, all looking most dashing in their evening clothes. Lydia was begged for half a dozen dances before they had even entered the Assembly Rooms, which were so magnificent in their splendour, she was forced to stop talking for two whole minutes as she stood enthralled before the majestic scene. Beautiful chandeliers sparkled above their heads, illuminating the spangles and silver trim on the ladies’ gowns, adding a flicker of fairyland magic to their glittering flower-dressed tresses.
    Lydia was pleased that Mr Denny first begged her to dance before anyone else had a chance to whisk her away, but then as they came off the floor, Mr Wickham appeared at her side to take her hand. “Miss Bennet, dear sweet creature, may I beg the second dance as Mr Denny appears to have got in before me. As you are Brighton’s most popular partner, there may not be another chance, so please do not break my heart.”
    She had the awful feeling that he was laughing at her. As she opened her mouth to answer, she was halted by his arresting glance. He had stopped smirking to pause for a moment, before he steadily perused Lydia’s form, from the top of her headdress to her satin slippers. His frank expression was of such marked desire that she was taken completely by surprise. She felt almost naked under his scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unable for once, to say a word. “I do hope you will forgive me this indulgence, Miss Lydia,” he began again, “but I cannot let this moment pass without telling you what pleasure it gives a fellow to see such beauty and animation in one so young. Your complexion is so becomingly flushed, and those black eyes, which promise so much—why it does my heart good. I should say Brighton’s air is suiting you