The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy (6 page)

If the weather held, the carriage would arrive at the coaching inn at Bromley in about an hour. Once there, Fitzwilliam and Darcy would part company, and Darcy would be left alone with his thoughts. He had left Rosings Park an hour after he was sure Elizabeth had read his letter. He had seen her sitting outside the parsonage holding his letter to her breast, and he sensed that it had distressed her. And that memory would be the very last one he would have of her, and as Anne had predicted, he regretted having written it.

“Darcy, you are contemplative this day,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

“There are times when silence is beneficial.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy were exactly the same age, and the young Richard Fitzwilliam had spent many summers at the Pemberley estate. As young men, both had attended Cambridge, and from there, they experienced the Grand Tour of Europe’s great cities. Without a care in the world, the duo drank champagne at the Chateau de Crecy in Picardy, joined costumed revelers at Carnavale in Venice, saw Rome and its catacombs by torchlight, and danced into the early hours of the morning in Paris. They were traveling to the south of France when a rider intercepted them with a message from Pemberley: Darcy’s father was dead.

In that one instant, Fitzwilliam Darcy went from being someone with few responsibilities to a young man who was now the master of a great estate. The staff, the tenants, the villagers, all would look to him to make decisions that would affect their everyday lives. But the greatest responsibility was that he was now the guardian of his sister, who had just celebrated her thirteenth birthday. Until Georgiana married, everything she wanted to do required his approval, and his decisions would chart the course her life would take. These changes in his circumstances had an immediate and permanent impact. Darcy was much more serious, and although Fitzwilliam was used to long rides with Darcy saying very little, even for him, no conversation at all was not the norm.

“Darcy, it is quite obvious that something is troubling you, and I would like to think that you could speak of it to me.”

“I
have
been preoccupied,” Darcy confessed. “As you know, since that episode with Wickham and Georgiana, I am ill at ease when we are apart. Once I am back in town and see that all is well, everything will be as it was before,” and Darcy turned his attention to the passing countryside.

“Does your preoccupation have anything to do with Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“What?” Darcy said, sitting up straight. “Why would you say that?”

“On the evening Miss Elizabeth was at Rosings for dinner, I noticed how often you looked at her. She is a very attractive woman with an inquisitive mind and a sharp wit and is completely without airs. I was totally taken in by her. However, being the younger son of an earl, I cannot marry where I wish, so I do not form attachments for ladies with no fortune. On the other hand, you are rich, and you may marry whomever you please.”

“Why are you speaking of marriage? You interpret my admiration for her technique in playing the pianoforte and a few glances in her direction as a prelude to a proposal. That is quite a stretch, Fitzwilliam.”

“It will not do, Darcy. You were not admiring her technique; you were admiring her. And it was not a few glances. You could hardly take your eyes off her.” When Darcy said nothing, Fitzwilliam continued. “Let us suppose for the sake of argument that you are in love with Miss Elizabeth and that you would like to marry the lady.”

“If I asked you to stop before you made yourself ridiculous, would you?”

“No, because I think you want to hear me out. So let us examine what would happen if you chose to go down that path. Because of your position in society, you would be able to weather any storm that would ensue. You are rich and well connected, and as such, cannot be ignored no matter whom you marry. As for the matter of Elizabeth being the daughter of a gentleman farmer, theoretically, you are equal. She is the daughter of a gentleman, and you are the son of one. From my perspective, you lose nothing, but there is much to be gained.”

“Richard, these are all fine arguments. But you obviously did not notice that Miss Elizabeth does not like me very much.”

“That is because she does not know you as well as I do. She needs to see the man who cares so deeply for his sister or who will travel to Rosings to surprise Anne. She does not know of your kindness to me in keeping me out of poverty or in rescuing my brother from embarrassment. My advice to you is to seek the first opportunity that offers for the purpose of courting her.”

The carriage pulled into the courtyard at the inn, and while the colonel waited for his horse to be saddled, he said, “If all I have said does not persuade you, think of my brother and sister-in-law, Lord Fitzwilliam and Lady Eleanor. You have seen them together, when they are together. Both have impeccable pedigrees, but they cannot tolerate each other and all of this was easily predictable. Will, pursue Miss Elizabeth. She will challenge you.”

Pursue Elizabeth
. Simple advice. But what Richard did not know was that he had already attempted to pursue her and was rejected with a vehemence that had stunned him: “I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.” She would have accepted an offer from a dustman before she would have consented to marry him.

Thinking back to that afternoon, he wondered at his own behavior, which was the antithesis of how he usually acted. It was spontaneous, irrational, and, in the end, self-defeating. He had never intended to ask Elizabeth to marry him, which was obvious by the mode of his declaration. He was working it through in his mind. Unfortunately, that process was spoken aloud, and not realizing that Elizabeth might find his musings to be offensive, he did not even look at her while he was pointing out her defects. If he had, he would have said no more. In his mind, he could now recall the pursed lips, the raised shoulders, the flashing eyes. He had seen eyes like that before, at Pemberley, when a bull had chased him out of a pasture.

Well, what had been done could not be undone, so he would make his way to London. Once at home, his beloved sister would put him in a better humor.

Darcy’s first opportunity to visit with his sister was in the early afternoon when she had finished her lessons with her German tutor. It was not too long ago that she would have run across the room and thrown her arms around him, but within the last year, he had noticed that she walked in the measured steps of a lady
before
throwing her arms around him. These changes were inevitable, but he missed the complete lack of inhibition of her younger years.

Georgiana was a talker, and although the intrigues of young ladies who had not yet come out into society were of little interest to him, Darcy listened to her as if she were discussing the debates in Parliament.

“Will, must I continue with German? I hate it. I always feel as if I am spitting at someone. The only reason I have to study German is because the old king speaks it, and I very much doubt I shall ever have an occasion to address him in English or German. I have been declared to be proficient in Italian and French. May I please stop my German lessons?”

“Yes, when you return to seminary after Twelfth Night, you do not have to study German.” He was entirely sympathetic on this point. He had never liked German lessons and did not do well at them despite his parents having employed a tutor from Saxony.

Georgiana had been expecting her brother to insist that she continue and was thinking of additional arguments when he had given in. This was not like Will. A lot of discussion was required before any decision was made regarding her education. Looking at her brother, she wondered if something had happened at Rosings Park. She knew that a visit with Aunt Catherine was unpleasant because her constant negativity wore on everyone, but Will was very good at paying only enough attention so that he could answer a question if asked. He never engaged, as that only served to prolong the pain. Putting her hand on her brother’s arm, she said, “What is the matter, Will? You look so tired.”

“I am tired. The journey from Kent took longer than usual because of the rain, but as I wrote in my letters, Aunt Catherine and Anne are well and send their love, as does Richard.”

“Are you sure there is nothing wrong? You look sad.”

“Georgiana, I need a good night’s sleep, and then all will be well.”

“But all is not well. I can see it in your eyes. You have had a sadness about you ever since Wickham…”

“You are mistaken,” he said, interrupting her, “and we shall not speak of him or anything to do with that matter.”

“But what if I wish to speak of it?”

“Georgiana, this is not subject to discussion,” and he got up to pour a glass of Madeira.

“Will, that is unfair. You have determined in your own mind what happened, and a good deal of it is wrong. And, yet, I cannot tell you the truth as you will not hear it. So I have to bear this burden of you thinking I would have eloped with Wickham, but I never would have. Never.”

Will sunk back into the chair. Were the stars aligned against him? Is that why he was unable to say or do the right thing as far as the female of the species was concerned?

“I know it pains you, but you will have a different understanding if only you will listen.”

Darcy shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “I will hear you, and then we will not speak of it again. Is that agreed?”

“Yes, of course, and you will be glad when I am done.”

Just the mention of George Wickham’s name infuriated him. Darcy knew little about Wickham’s early background, except that, as a young child, he had been placed in the care of Pemberley’s steward and his wife, who were childless and who loved their adopted son dearly. Darcy’s father also grew fond of Wickham, who had a most pleasing manner, one that hid a deceitful and conniving character, and had agreed to support him at Cambridge. In an act of generosity, Darcy’s father informed Wickham that once he had completed his studies, some money would become available so that he might purchase a living in the church, a commission in the army, or study the law. From that one conversation and because of old Darcy’s interest in his welfare and education, Wickham had decided that he was the natural son of his uncle, George Ashton, who was known to have fathered several children and had scattered them about the country. Because of Ashton’s association with the Darcy family, in Wickham’s mind, he was entitled to much more than the purchase of a living.

After the elder Darcy had died, Wickham left Cambridge and came to Darcy to ask for the value of the living and had disregarded all of Darcy’s arguments against such a scheme. At Wickham’s insistence, he had provided him with a draft on a London bank for the full amount. Within six months, Wickham was back at Pemberley asking for additional sums, but was refused. An angry George Wickham had declared that he knew who his father was and would expose Ashton if his demands were not met. The conversation and his response were still lodged in his memory.

“I do not know who your father is, but I know who he is not. And he is not George Ashton. My father agreed to manage a sum of money on your behalf as long as you pursued your studies or a career. It is obvious that your intention is to do neither. You made a mistake by coming to me today with your demands. You will get nothing from me, and you are to leave Pemberley immediately.”

In a rage, Wickham had told him, “You will come to regret your decision. I will see to it.” And he had come very near to succeeding.

A year earlier, on the spur of the moment, Darcy had decided to visit his sister in Ramsgate. Instead of enjoying the sea air with her companion, Georgiana had been receiving, in her rooms, George Wickham. The scoundrel had followed his sister to Ramsgate and had convinced her that he was in love with her, so much so that they should marry immediately. Because Darcy had thought it improper to discuss the man’s appetite for gaming and loose women and his spendthrift ways with a girl who knew nothing of how the world really worked, Georgiana had been unaware of Wickham’s true nature. As far as Darcy was concerned, Wickham had ceased to exist when he had accepted a cash payment in lieu of a living.

Although Georgiana insisted she would never have married without his consent, Darcy believed he had prevented their elopement, and now she was asking that he listen to the details of Wickham’s plan. And he signaled for his sister to begin.

“At my brother’s insistence,” Georgiana said, smiling weakly, “before being allowed to go to Ramsgate, I had to promise to study my German and practice my pieces on the pianoforte for at least two hours every morning. Mrs. Younge would sit with me in the parlor, but I thought it was unfair as there was nothing for her to do. So we agreed that during that time she could go to the shops or down to the pier and enjoy the sea air. Somehow, Mr. Wickham discovered I was in Ramsgate, and after learning that Mrs. Younge was my companion, befriended her. At this point, she was completely innocent.”

“If you wish for me to listen to you,” Darcy said, preventing his sister from continuing, “please do not refer to Mrs. Younge as being innocent. If she is to be believed, she talked to a man not of her acquaintance, and if for no other reason, she failed in her primary duty to protect you.”

“I understand,” his sister said. “But before I go on, I must step back. While you were at Cambridge and I remained at Pemberley, I would often go out onto the lawn and sketch with Mrs. Bridges. One day, Mr. Wickham came by and admired my sketch, and he asked for one of my chalks and drew a very funny picture of Mrs. Bridges. And we laughed because it was very funny. The next day, he brought me a sketch of himself, which was also funny. There was no third day because Mrs. Bridges insisted I remain in the classroom and draw, saying that Mr. Wickham was neglecting his duties. Other than seeing him about the property, we had no further contact.

“And now to the heart of the story,” and taking a deep breath, Georgiana plunged in. “One morning, Mrs. Younge encountered Mr. Wickham on her walk, and it was then he revealed that he had grown up at Pemberley and asked if he might call on me. She asked, and I agreed. Well, it was a very pleasant hour, and he suggested that I join him for a walk around the harbor the next day, which I did, and continued to do for another three days. I must confess I was flattered by the attention, especially when he bought me a jewelry box decorated with seashells. After that day, the weather turned against us, and he now called at the house, and much to my surprise, he professed his love for me. Not having been introduced to society, I did not realize that this was a common ploy used by men who were in search of women who would inherit a fortune.

“Finally, he asked if we might go for a carriage ride without Mrs. Younge. I agreed, but as soon as I did, I knew that I would not. I realized that I should have written to you to ask for your permission before I had ever agreed to receive him. It was my intention to do so, but it was not necessary. That morning, while Mrs. Younge was doing my hair, she repeated stories Wickham had told her about providing endless hours of amusement for me while we were at Pemberley, including walks in the garden and our reading poetry together, neither of which had ever happened. And I realized what a fool I had been, and without saying anything to Mrs. Younge, I waited for Wickham in the parlor for the purpose of telling him he must never come again. That is when you arrived, and you know the rest.”

Yes, he did know the rest. He had missed his sister’s company and was looking forward to visiting her, and in order to surprise her, he had not written to inform her that he was coming to Ramsgate. When he went into the parlor, the first person he saw was not Georgiana, but Wickham, and he had no doubt why he was there. He grabbed him by his coat, pushed him down the stairs and into the foyer before throwing him into the street. Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Younge came to see what was happening and encountered her employer in full fury. He very quickly got the whole of the story, and giving her only enough time to gather her belongings, demanded she leave immediately.

Georgiana was correct. Despite tears and protests, he had refused to hear what she had to say. He sent her to her room and ordered the servants to pack up everything as they would be returning to London immediately. On several occasions, she had tried to tell him the truth of what had happened, but he could not bear to hear Wickham’s name.

“I know what I did was wrong, and now that you know the whole of it, you will understand that I would never, ever marry without your consent. What I did was foolish and immature, but I love you, and I would not hurt you for all the world. I was never at risk of becoming Wickham’s wife.”

Darcy opened his arms to his sister, and she came running to him. He kissed her on the top of her head and told her, “I was not angry with you, but with myself. It was I who had personally interviewed Mrs. Younge and had decided she was an appropriate companion for you. But that is in the past.”

Gesturing for his sister to sit down, he said, “Your future is quickly upon us. In the spring, you will come out into society. It is well known that you are to inherit a great deal of money. There are men who will say anything if they think it will give them access to your fortune. Allow me to give you an example. You are acquainted with Abigail Curzon,” and Georgiana nodded. “Would you describe her as a ‘jewel plucked out of the night sky’?” Georgiana tried not to laugh because poor Abigail was one of those unfortunate people who had inherited the very worst traits from both of her parents, and Georgiana shook her head “no.”

“Exactly. She is an intelligent and thoughtful young lady, but she is not handsome, except to Lord Corman’s spendthrift son, who paid her that compliment within my hearing.”

“Will, did Mr. Corman actually say ‘plucked’?” Miss Curzon was often described as having a “swan neck,” and in her case, it was true. She had the longest neck of anyone Georgiana had ever seen.

“Yes, he said ‘plucked.’ And I understand why that word came to mind.” And both of them started to laugh.

“Oh Will, I can see your spirits have lifted. I am truly sorry for the hurt I caused you, but I am much wiser now. I understand that there are people who will lie and deceive for their own gain. I shall be on my guard against such ruses.”

“Georgiana, you know you are the dearest part of my life. You and I, we are a pair. Anything that injures you hurts me. So come and give me a kiss, and we shall say good night.”

Later that evening, while in his study drinking his nightly glass of brandy, Darcy wondered at his inability to take the true measure of a woman. He did not have this problem with men. He knew Wickham to be a liar, and possibly a thief, from when they were mere boys. And then there was Charles Bingley, an awkward young man, who had very few social graces but who was a stellar fellow. He had recognized his attributes from the very beginning of their acquaintance.

But women? They were something else entirely. He had seriously misjudged Mrs. Younge. His housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, had cautioned him that she might be too young, but then he thought of Mrs. Jenkinson. As devoted as she was to Anne, she was old enough to be her mother. Darcy believed the ten-year age difference between Georgiana and Mrs. Younge would make her presence not only tolerable but enjoyable. But it had all gone so badly.

And Jane Bennet. There was another one. He had truly believed she liked Bingley very much, but he did not see any depth of regard in her looks. But Elizabeth insisted she was very much in love with him, and it was only her modesty that prevented an open display of affection.

And had he fallen any shorter of the mark than when judging Miss Elizabeth Bennet? He knew her to be a fighter from their time together at Netherfield Park. She challenged almost everything he said with a biting wit and sometimes just biting. How could he have believed that the same woman who had made such sharp remarks while dancing with him at the Netherfield ball would put aside all prejudices because he was honoring her with his proposal?

Darcy stared into the fire and remembered the evening at Rosings when Elizabeth was sitting at the pianoforte. They had a pleasant, almost playful, exchange in which she accused him of trying to frighten her, and he teased her in return, but concluded by praising her playing. If Aunt Catherine had not interrupted the conversation, he would have said more. But before she resumed her playing, Elizabeth had looked at him with a puzzled expression that he had interpreted as her wanting to know him better so that she might understand him better.