Lydia Bennet's Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

that we shall see him again, do not you?”
    Lydia fiddled with her napkin. “I do not think he is looking particularly at me; he is looking at you just as much,” she whispered, knowing that this was not entirely true. Indeed, she was quite taken aback, as she did not remember inciting such interest since Captain Carter had decided to look her way. She tried not to stare back but the man really was a most prepossessing gent, with blond locks, a firm chin, and eyes the colour of an Italian lake (at least the colour that she imagined that might be). He was obviously in a hurry, drinking two large cups of thick black coffee before he was on his way in a most urgent manner, with a nod and a bow in their direction.
    “I will ask the boy if he knows who that gentleman is and where he is headed. It would be interesting to know a little more, don’t you think, Lydia? Such a manner as one never sees in Hertfordshire, and he was so absorbed in his observation of you that I swear I could see Cupid’s arrow sticking out of his heart! Clearly he is a single man, he is of a very suitable age, and he certainly has the appearance of wealth and good fortune too by the look of him!” Before Lydia had a chance to speak, she had summoned over their glum waiter and made her enquiries.
    “That was Captain Trayton-Camfield, ma’am,” he answered. “Captain James Trayton-Camfield. A very wealthy gentleman by all accounts. He has a big estate somewhere near Brighton at Wilderwick, I believe, and is an officer in Prince George’s own regiment. He keeps horses for racing, which I know to be one of his passions.”
“And is Mrs Trayton-Camfield at home at present?” asked
    Lydia’s devious friend.
“I can’t say as I have ever heard about the gentleman having
a wife, ma’am. He is always busy hunting, shooting, and racing his
horses with the Prince of Wales and his set. He is up and down
from Brighton to London a vast deal and is a regular here. I cannot
tell you any more, except to say he owns a fine set of horses.” The
boy, who had become almost animated when started on the
subject of horses and of his being once invited to watch them race
on White Hawk Down near Brighton, was soon dismissed by
Harriet who could not keep her countenance much longer. “The perfect match,” she declared. “Lydia, with her wit and
beauty, captivates the race-horse-owning Captain who has
royal connections. I can see it now: Lady Lydia TraytonCamfield—at home to her friends, who include Prince George
and his lady, Lord Alvanley, Lord Barrymore, and Letty Lade,
who exhibits her highwayman’s manners by riding at breakneck speed around Wilderwick estate in her phaeton!” Lydia
could not help but laugh at her companion’s enthusiasm for
this ridiculous picture of matrimonial bliss but admonished her
when she persisted.
“Harriet, our paths will likely never cross again. I daresay he
only looked at me because I am in your coach and he naturally
assumes that I am a lady of means. He is probably a huge flirt and
philanderer, which all young men seem to be! I will not even
join you in your musings. Lord, now I have eaten too many
muffins, and I shall have to sleep them off in the coach. Shall we
go? You never know, perhaps we may catch up with him and he
can make his offer as we pass by!”
With Harriet’s scolding retort assailing her ears, Lydia settled
back into the coach for the next leg of the journey, and, as they
crossed Blackfriars Bridge and took the road south, they felt they
were really on their way. The tantalising rows of London’s shops
were soon far behind, and now they were bowling along the
quieter country roads of the old route, Harriet eager to avoid the
worst of the stagecoaches and military wagons that would be
descending on Brighton from all over the country. Even so, the
presence of several officers, driving in their own curricles, was to
be seen as they stopped in Croydon at the Crown. They too were
of Prince George’s own