The Wickhams (Book 2): A Pride and Prejudice Sequel by M. A. Bard

Author:M. A. Bard [Bard, M. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Sequel - Canon Compliant, Others POV
Goodreads: 219456448
Published: 2024-09-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter: The Return

As Lydia stood on the deck of the French merchant ship, her gaze fixed upon the distant, mist-shrouded coast of England, a tide of conflicting emotions washed over her. There, across the grey-blue waters of the Channel, lay her homeland, familiar and yet strangely foreign after all the turbulence she had endured. Her heart quickened with both relief and trepidation, for though England meant safety, it also meant returning without her husband, who remained embroiled in the perils of war on foreign soil. She could only hope that Wickham was well, though her mind often wandered to darker thoughts of what might be happening to him so far away.

Beside her stood the captain of the French merchant vessel, a thin man with weathered skin and keen eyes that darted nervously between the fluttering flag of truce above them and the imposing sight of British warships maneuvering with practiced precision around their small craft. His unease was palpable, for though the truce had been agreed upon, and Lydia's passage back to England guaranteed, the presence of those formidable vessels was enough to make any Frenchman in these waters feel a prickle of fear. His fingers twitched restlessly on the edge of his worn coat, and from time to time, he would glance at Lydia, as though silently imploring her to stand a little taller, to make herself more visible to the British naval officers who would soon inspect the ship.

“Madame, if you please,” he said in his thickly accented English, trying to mask his anxiety behind an air of professionalism. “It would be... most prudent if the British see you clearly now. Your presence, I trust, will ensure they are swift in recognising our good intentions.”

Lydia, understanding his meaning all too well, stepped forward with a composed grace, though her own nerves fluttered beneath the surface. She stood near the prow, her curls caught by the breeze, her figure unmistakable as that of a lady of rank. Her hand rested lightly on the railing, her face serene but alert, as she gazed toward the shore.

The port of Weymouth, with its bustling quay and the picturesque sprawl of houses beyond, gradually came into clearer view. It was a sight that might have seemed charming under different circumstances—a blend of seafaring industry and the stately charm of a Georgian seaside town. The port had, in recent years, become a fashionable destination for the elite, particularly since King George III had made it his favoured holiday retreat. Ships of all sizes bobbed gently in the waters, from the small fishing vessels that had plied these shores for centuries to the larger merchant ships that ferried goods to and from distant lands. Warehouses lined the quay, and a steady stream of workers moved about, loading and unloading cargo, their calls and shouts mingling with the cries of seagulls that wheeled overhead.

Yet, despite the outward appearance of normalcy, there was an undeniable air of tension. The sight of British warships patrolling the waters near the port was a reminder that these were not ordinary times.

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