Page 62 of Near Pemberley

Good God.

She truly had expected rescue. She had been foolish rather than wicked. Only recklessness. Ignorance. Trust placed in a man wholly unworthy of it. He understood everything now.

Lydia wiped at her eyes clumsily with the back of one hand, though fresh tears continued gathering almost as quickly as she brushed them away.

Darcy gave her his handkerchief. She accepted it with trembling fingers.

Tea and food arrived shortly afterwards. Darcy himself carried the tray towards her and poured a cup with steady hands, though he felt in need of something far stronger himself.

After several moments, he spoke again.

“Miss Lydia, I must ask you something difficult.”

She looked at him with alarm.

“You are not… untouched?”

The colour fled violently from her face.

For one dreadful instant, he believed from her expression that the worst had already occurred.

Then Lydia shook her head rapidly.

“No! No.” Fresh tears rose instantly. “I would not let him.”

Darcy stared at her.

Lydia coloured uncomfortably, evidently mortified by the very subject and yet too distressed now for proper delicacy.

“He was angry sometimes,” she confessed in broken embarrassment. “Or laughed at me. But I told him I would not-not before we were married.” She swallowed hard. “I thought… I thought it improper otherwise.”

The words, awkwardly spoken and entirely artless, affected Darcy far more strongly than any studied defence could have done.

Even now, after all her folly, she had still attempted to preserve some boundary between reckless romance and complete surrender.

And Wickham –

Darcy felt his anger deepen almost beyond restraint.

Lydia, meanwhile, continued haltingly, not quite able to meet his eyes. “When I was brought here, they left me alone for a short time… then, they made me sit with the gentlemen. I had to smile and talk to them. Laugh. Sing.” Her voice trembled violently. “The lady said I must be agreeable if I wished to repay what I owed.”

Darcy’s expression grew colder with every word.

“But lately…” She stopped entirely.

The silence itself became terrible.

“Miss Lydia,” he said gently, “you need not continue unless necessary.”

“No,” she whispered. “You ought to know.”

Her hands twisted together so tightly they had begun to redden.

“She said the debt grew larger every week. That gentlemen would pay more for private company.” Lydia’s voice nearly disappeared altogether. “I refused. Truly, I did. But she said I had nowhere else to go now, and that nobody respectable would receive me again.”

Darcy closed his eyes briefly.

“And tonight…” Lydia’s breathing faltered again. “She said I must begin properly. That I had already been foolish long enough.”