Lydia's Lamentation

This is a reminder that Lydia was sixteen when she was seduced by and married to Wickham, a man in his late twenties or early thirties who fooled far older and wiser heads than hers.

Despite her youthful folly, all is not lost…

At sixteen, Eloping with George Wickham, handsome and charming in his crisp Officer’s uniform and polished manners, had seemed like an adventure.

At sixteen, Lydia’s head had been full of Mama’s stories of dancing with handsome Officer’s at balls, and the idea of going before her sisters as the first of them to be married. To be a married woman, rather than dismissed as a silly girl, had seemed the greatest thing in the world, the future happiness against which no trial could be too great. Mama’s duties of charity and household management and calls to the tenants had seemed rather tedious at times, but an officer’s wife had no tenants to manage, and most of the Militia with wives took rooms at the Inn or a boarding house, Colonel Forster being the only one to rent an entire house. 

At sixteen, married by special license and going before Jane when they visited Longbourn before travelling to Newcastle, it had seemed as though nothing could infringe on Lydia’s blissful happiness.

At seventeen, pregnant with her first child while Wickham spent more nights at the nearest tavern than he did at home, wondering if the interest on her dowery would stretch to cover a nursemaid as well as the new infant’s layette, at least until Jane or Lizzy could be prevailed upon to send some of their pin money, Lydia’s rosy childhood dreams had faded to grim reality.

Mama had not made the raising of children seem so very hard, although as the youngest of five, Lydia had very little to compare it to. She supposed that many things looked easy when there were servants to handle the unpleasant bits. Aunt Gardiner had tried to talk to her about practical matters, before her wedding to Wickham, but Lydia’s younger self had been too excited, too full of anticipation, to listen overmuch. 

Thankfully, Aunt Gardiner and Lydia’s oldest sisters were faithful correspondents, writing with clear instructions on the signs that one was increasing, remedies for those times when Lydia could barely eat without casting up her accounts, and advice for the thousand and one problems that arose with a newborn.

In her more bitter moments, Lydia wondered if Jane and Lizzy spoke of her, over tea served on fine china in their grand drawing rooms. Did they pity or worry after her, lamenting the imprudent match she’d made, and the tribulations she must be suffering? Did they think it no more than her just desserts, or worse of all possibilities, did they not think of her at all, beyond sending her enough money to keep her firmly at a distance from their lofty estates in Derbyshire. Kitty had married, too, to the brother of the Kympton curate, who had an estate about half the size and income of Longbourn, down near Lincon.

Despite their closeness in their youth, Kitty had shown no great interest in renewing any bonds greater than those demanded by the obligations of sisterhood, and had less to spare than their other sisters did. Mary remained at Longbourn, unmarried and as studious as ever, spending her allowance only on books and the occasional new dress. She wrote only when Lydia found the time and money to send a letter first, but they had never been close and had little in common to begin with.

Lydia firmly told herself that she did not mourn the distance that had grown between herself and her family, and turned her attention to the countless tasks that needed to be attended to.

There was nothing like necessity to teach one the value of being careful with one’s pennies, and diligent with household tasks. The boarding house had a maid come through the rooms every other day, and it was worth a few pennies to have the local washerwomen deal with soiled linens. How did babies manage to dirty so much in a single day? Lydia was sure that she had never been such trouble as an infant.

Peace was declared in 1814, shortly after Lydia’s 20th birthday and shortly before the birth of her second child. By then, Wickham had served two short tours. Lydia and her firstborn, also named George in a futile attempt to regain the attention of the babe’s father and namesake, followed the drum to Ireland, finding Killarney a pleasant place that Lydia would not have minded settling. It was not so very unlike the Meryton of her childhood, if one discounted the accents and hostility toward the English.

When Wickham was promoted to Captain and sent to the Continent, Lydia was growing heavy with child again, and made herself agreeable to Colonel Barrow’s sister-in-law, who had lately moved to the area with her new husband. The new Mrs Harrington would not hear of Lydia braving the Channel crossing and days of marching in her condition, and offered to have Lydia and her children stay with her as a guest until the regiment returned.

When she first married, Lydia had viewed a single night away from Wickham, as was tradition until they met at the alter, as a torment. Four years later, she waved the regiment — and her husband — away with a glad heart, and resolved not to think of him further until he was due home.

Wickham’s regiment was not due to return to English shores until just before Christmas, one of the last to do so. It was not until well after New Year that Lydia received word that Wickham had tried to run away from his unit, no doubt reasoning that a post-War Europe would have more opportunities for a charming con-man and former soldier than the north of England, where Wickham was rapidly becoming a household cautionary tale. He’d lasted barely a week before being caught and executed for Desertion.

Lydia thoughtfully bought herself some black ribbons to trim her bonnet, dyed her blue muslin black, and rejoiced in widowhood. After all, if one must be a widow, it was best to be a young and pretty one, while there was still a chance for a more favourable marriage than the one which had condemned a lady to such an enviable state.

By the time Lydia could no longer justify remaining as a guest of the Harringtons, she had a better idea of where she stood.

As a Deserter, Wickham had forfeited any entitlement to a military pension, so Lydia would have no soldier’s portion to care for her children. Already, she had been forced to sell many of their possessions to satisfy the creditors. Judging it better to be a significant distance away, Lydia used the last of her readily available funds — Mr Darcy had arranged to have Lydia’s portion put in a trust that Wickham couldn’t touch, with the interest paid out quarterly — to hire a carriage to take her and her children to Longbourn.

Even if Papa turned them away from his door, Hertfordshire was far enough away that the majority of creditors would not come seeking them.

How odd it was, to see her parents at last as fallible humans, rather than the indomitable figures they had been to Lydia when she was a child. 

Between her position as Mama’s former favourite, and Mary’s stern morals on the topic of charity owed to family and those in need, Papa was prevailed upon to allow Lydia and her children to stay. He even seemed to dote on the children, a little, reading to George and baby Edwina. Where her children inherited their love of books, Lydia could not fathom, but if it gained them something, then why not. 

Lord knew little George did not have much else in his favour, but with the good looks he could not fail to inherit from both parents and a bit of intelligence, perhaps he could make something of himself. Lizzy had been the best-read of them all, and she had married a man with ten thousand a year.

As a girl newly out in society, Lydia had believed that a lively nature and pleasing, flirtatious manners were enough to win a husband. At one-and-twenty, Lydia had learned that merely finding a husband was not enough; one must be sure to marry a man who would be a good husband.

Lydia would rather live in a run-down shack in Scotland, isolated from family and friends and every earthly pleasure, than endure another bad husband.

When Lydia was four-and-twenty, and young George had just started to attend the Parish school, Netherfield Park was let again, this time with the intent to purchase.

The new owner was a Captain Billingsly, who had made his fortune in the Navy during the Napoleonic wars, and was now minded to take up the life of a gentleman farmer. 

Captain Billingsly was not so very handsome as Wickham had been, bearing the scars of numerous battles and the general wear of almost two-score years of life. He preferred dinners and parties to balls, and was sometimes inclined to melancholy. He was a widower, the loss of his wife to illness at sea prompting him to retire from that life. They had not been blessed with children, but the Captain was fond of the younger set.

There were always more young women in want of husbands than there were men seeking wives, but Lydia faced far less competition on that front than she had the last time military men were a common sight in Hertfordshire. Young ladies giggled and whispered, but time and again their eyes strayed to the younger lieutenants and commanders who visited Captain Billingsly, rather than the man himself. Lydia had been similarly blinded in her blush of youth, and did not intend to make that mistake again.

Lydia still loved to dance, and there was enough of a young flirt about her that she never lacked for partners, but marriage and motherhood had made her appreciative of quiet evenings spent in companionable quiet. Captain Billingsly played the fiddle, though he preferred soft serenades to lively jigs. At his entreaty, Lydia brought her children to visit him at Netherfield often, and frequently found herself in conversation with the Captain on matters of being part of the landed gentry that Lydia had grown up knowing.

It was nice, to be able to feel intelligent and knowledgable, even when there were gaps in her understanding, things Lydia had never cared to learn that Lizzy or Jane or Mary could have recited without thinking.

Two years into their acquaintance, eight months after the Captain finally put aside his black armband, Lydia found herself the recipient of her first proper proposal, and accepted with a joy that, while quieter than the excitement that marked the early days of her first marriage, eclipsed it utterly.

Lydia Billingsly bore her husband two more children, both boys, and they had the pleasure of almost five-and-thirty years together before a particularly harsh winter took the Captain to his final rest.

George sought his fortune on the American Frontier, where he thrived for several years before eventually marrying, and while Lydia and her dear Captain only travelled to see him twice, she was satisfied that this George Wickham made a far better man of himself than his father ever ventured.

Harriet was life-long friends with her generation of Lucas children, eventually marrying one of the boys and settling at Lucas Lodge. Lydia’s eldest son by Billingsly acquitted himself as a capable landowner long before he eventually inherited Netherfield from his father, and the youngest Billingsly followed his forebear’s footsteps into the Navy, where he served with distinction.

When Lydia joined her dearest Billingsly in Heaven, she did so with a smile on her face, content that her family would be well looked after.

Natasja Rose is the author of two Austen Variations and twenty-nine non-Austen books of various genres, two of which are being adapted as scripts for a mini-series.

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