Windswept: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

Chapter 1

Mid-November 1811 - Hertfordshire

Elizabeth Bennet shifted the heavy basket to her right hand while gathering her billowing skirts into a semblance of modesty with her left. For two weeks, the wind whipped through the valleys of Hertfordshire, blowing autumn leaves to the ground and then swirling them high into the air. Had elderly Mrs. Hammond not needed provisions, Elizabeth would have remained closer to the leeward side of the large brick edifice that was her home, Longbourn.

Her bonnet twisted and pulled against the knot under her chin until the brim finally flipped upwards, leaving her eyes exposed to the dust pelting her side. They desperately needed rain. The summer months sweltered. By mid-November, there had been a few showers but not one good downpour.

She mocked the low clouds as she laughed at her dilemma. If she let go of her skirt to straighten her bonnet, the risk of exposing her legs was high. If she bent to set the basket on the ground, she feared she would topple over from the force of the gale. In exasperation, she dropped her chin to her chest and hurried to Mrs. Hammond’s door.

Unfortunately, from Longbourn, the elderly widow lived in the last building at the far end of the farming village of Meryton. Hoping she would not be observed fighting her garments, she rushed up the three steps to the door. Before she could raise her hand to knock, she was hailed from behind by the last person she ever hoped to see again, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh no!

“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?”

Good grief! Could he not see her struggles? “I am well, sir.” Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, she turned before dipping into an insignificant curtsey.

Of all the people to see her bedraggled! Mr. Darcy was always perfectly turned out. Even with the stiff wind, his clothing was impeccable, his hat was perched just right (how on earth did he do that?), and his boots held a shine. In spite of the elegance of his appearance, he was proud, arrogant, officious, and quite rude.Within moments of their first meeting, he proclaimed to his friend and host, Mr. Bingley, that she was just tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him. Well! Even with his reported ten thousand a year and his handsome form, Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with him. He could take his wealth and noble relatives somewhere they would be better appreciated, for the man had done nothing to ease his way into local society. Instead, he remained aloof, proving without words that, in his mind, he was superior and the people of Meryton were no more than feudal minions.

Mr. Darcy was accompanied by another man, who was not Mr. Bingley, the new lessee of Netherfield Park. In his saddle, the stranger appeared to be almost as tall as Mr. Darcy. This was no mean feat since Mr. Bingley’s guest towered over every other person at the assembly room where they first met. At a glance, the gentleman looked to be of an age with Mr. Darcy, or possibly older. His clothing appeared to have been designed by the same tailor. Even their horses were of similar conformation. Where they differed was Mr. Darcy’s skin was slightly tanned from being out of doors. His eyes were ice blue, cold, and penetrating. The other man’s skin was weathered, his eyes were a light brown, and the little hair visible under his hat was sandy blond. Unlike Mr. “Grumpy” Darcy, the other man’s face was friendly.

Before she could offer a welcome to the stranger, one of the unruly ribbons on her errant bonnet snapped, lashing her temple.

“Ouch!” Elizabeth swiped a tear from the sting while turning her face from the gentlemen. Unfortunately, having let go of her skirt, the wind exposed far more than her ankles.

Good heavens!How much did they see? Humiliated, she wanted to melt into the ground. After setting her skirt to rights, she grasped her fist even harder around the bunched cotton.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy jumped from his horse and rushed to her side.

Elizabeth teased to distract herself and them. “Are you to be my knight in shining armor, slaying my favorite ribbon with your sword?”

The upward turn of his lips caught her completely unaware, something she considered impossible. In the four weeks since his arrival at the neighboring estate of Netherfield Park, the man appeared as if he suffered from a bad case of gout or stomach pains. Not even during the three days when Jane was ill at Netherfield Park had Elizabeth spied a hint of a smile, despite plenty of fodder from Mr. Bingley’s sisters. They were termagants whose snips and snarls were often overly exaggerated. They certainly gave her reason for mirth, yet Mr. Darcy always failed to react.

She stared at the door, wondering how she could knock without being indecent again.

“Pardon me.” Surprising her, he lifted the basket from her hand and reached around her, his gloved hand rapping on the decorative casing behind where she stood.

Before she could thank him, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, is the pain from your injury subsiding?”

“My injury?”

He pointed to his temple. “’Twas good it was not your fingers, I suppose.”

The man was a complete puzzle. What was he talking of? “My fingers?”

He rapped again as a strong gust whipped down the street, again threatening her unruly skirts. When he glanced at the bunched-up side of her gown, where she had a firm grip, she clearly understood his meaning. Oh, good grief! He had seen far more than he should. Elizabeth’s mortification was complete.

Mrs. Hammond finally came to the door.

“Welcome, Miss Lizzy. Sir, I am grateful that you can lift the basket onto the table since she always brings far more than she should.” She opened the door wider, letting in a fearful gust. “Please come in, Miss Lizzy. Gentlemen, it is a breezy day for a ride. You are welcome to enter for a spot of tea and cake.”

Elizabeth said, “I will deliver your appreciation to Mama. She enjoys tucking extra delicacies in the basket.”

“Pray see that you do.” Mrs. Hammond smiled.

Elizabeth barely kept her mouth from gaping as Mr. Darcy, the most arrogant man of her acquaintance, gave Mrs. Hammond a courtly bow before entering the cottage and effortlessly lifted the basket to the table.

“Do come down from your horse and join us, sir.” Mrs. Hammond’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at Mr. Darcy’s companion. “The wind carries a chill, and I feel the dampness coming in my bones. The water is already hot in the kettle.”

Mr. Darcy stepped back. “Another time, perhaps. There is an order at the bookseller’s that I have been waiting for since my arrival. If the weather continues to worsen, the likelihood of needing to remain inside Netherfield Park will be eased with excellent reading material to pass the long hours. Perhaps my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and I will return in time to escort Miss Elizabeth safely back to Longbourn. Should she stroll between our horses, we could keep most of the wind from knocking her about. Would a quarter hour do?”

Before Elizabeth could respond, “Not at all,” or far less politely, “Not on your life,” Mrs. Hammond replied, “Yes, I believe it will do very well.”

As soon as the men were gone and the door closed, Elizabeth huffed, “Mrs. Olivia Hammond, whatever are you about?”

“Pshaw, I am merely an old woman. I am about nothing at all.”

Olivia Hammond was eighty-two years young with a bold zest for living that equaled Elizabeth’s. Before her widowhood, she sailed with her husband, a sea captain, to places Elizabeth only dreamed of. From her youth, Elizabeth spent time with Mrs. Hammond every week. The two were the best of friends.

“Do not say so, for I know you far too well.” Elizabeth busied herself emptying the basket since Hannah, the girl who helped Mrs. Hammond in the mornings, was already gone. “If half the men in the War Department were as crafty as you, the conflict with France would have ended years ago. Napoleon would shake in his boots if he knew you.”

“Crafty? Not at all. I say, who are those gentlemen, how well do you know them, and why have I heard nothing from you about either man?”

Elizabeth studied the widow. Was she trying to make a match, or was she trying to make new acquaintances? Whatever the case, she replied, “The man carrying the basket is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire and Darcy House in London. Currently, he is a guest of Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park. He arrived approximately one month ago. Since I was taught not to say anything at all if I could not speak well of someone, I did not tell you about him. Our initial introduction did not go well. As we both just learned, Colonel Fitzwilliam is his cousin.”

“And who has caught your eye?”

Emphatically, Elizabeth stated, “Neither!”

Mrs. Hammond chuckled. “Elizabeth Bennet, you dare to tease me? What I noticed was not one, but two handsome men who appear to be wealthy and possibly unattached. I suspect that the one who came to your aid could not say if my hair was black or white since his eyes rested only on you. The other had a ready smile, though it appears that a natural reticence or the lack of introduction kept him on his horse. He would be welcomed in most parlors as he is a relative of Mr. Darcy and a colonel.” She tutted. “Miss Lizzy, if I were your age with such fine ankles and shapely legs, I would—”

“Mrs. Hammond! You were at the window?” Chagrined, she wondered again exactly how much Mr. Darcy and his cousin saw. Running her hands down her skirt, despite the fact that it was far too late, Elizabeth made certain that her hems were precisely where they should be.

“I might have been, for there have been such goings-on with the regiment here. They are quite noisy when they pass by my house on the way to and from their camp. I fear they are not as they appear, honorable men desiring to aid their fellow man.”

Elizabeth paused, a jar of soup in one hand and a piece of cook’s favorite cake in the other. “For as long as I can recall, we have never had so many officers in Meryton. With the arrival of the militia, it seems we are surrounded.”

Mrs. Hammond agreed. “Certainly, none in the militia here are so finely dressed as the colonel. Why, I have not seen the like since Captain Hammond and I sailed from Port Royal in the year ’68. In Jamaica, the officers dressed formally despite the heat and humidity. I do wonder why Colonel Fitzwilliam is here and how the two gentlemen get on. Not all cousins are alike, you know. Nor do they always do well together. Why, my only cousin Mildred was as quiet as a little mouse. Never would she have boarded her husband’s ship as I did. She made several attempts to discourage me from the match. As far as the two gentlemen go, I am curious, that is all.”

“In this, you are not alone.” Elizabeth set the rest of the items from the basket on the table. “The colonel was not at the assembly where we first were introduced to the party from Netherfield Park. Nor was he at any other gatherings. I cannot imagine that he is in Hertfordshire for official military business.”

Mrs. Hammond set the empty basket aside. “Do you think he is associated in some way with the militia who have been in Meryton for a mere four days? They are social beasts.”

“Why would you say so?” Elizabeth asked. “Although the majority are rank and file, the officers I have met have been jovial and charming. I would hardly describe Captain Carter, Mr. Chamberlayne, and Mr. Denny as vicious wolves.”

Mrs. Hammond’s spine stiffened. “I fear you will not like my reply at all. You see, I understand that quite a few of those officers were gathered at your aunt Philips’s house last evening. The noise they made as they returned through the village was enough to wake the dead. I will tell you, Miss Lizzy, stay away from them. They may look appealing in their fine red uniforms with their lofty plan to protect us from the French, but the ribald comments I heard from them were disrespectful of our ladies, especially your younger sisters. You had best speak to your Papa about keeping Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia inside. They are far too trusting to be around men who are not.”

Elizabeth’s hand flew to her chest. “Mrs. Hammond, how can you say this? Several times, my sisters and I have encountered the officers, and they have been nothing but gentlemanly toward us.” Elizabeth paused. “Yet, if what you say is so, and I have no reason to doubt you, I cannot imagine someone as pleasant as, say, Mr. Wickham approving of the conduct of his peers. He recently joined the militia, likely unaware of the sort of men with whom he would associate. Yes, he was gathered with other officers at Aunt’s house. We were there for only a short time before the weather drove us home. His conduct was nothing less than proper.”

Mrs. Hammond’s face was a study in earnestness. Her eyes were sharp as they looked directly at her. “Mr. Wickham? Is he a favorite of yours?”

Elizabeth considered her question carefully. She had complete confidence that Mrs. Hammond would not share anything she said with others. No, her questions were to satisfy her curiosity, nothing more.

“No, I would not say he was. Last evening, he trusted me with a report of Mr. Darcy’s misconduct. I will confess that the bad I knew of Mr. Darcy paled when the full truth of the master of Pemberley’s misdeeds was known. Apparently, he went against the desires of his father by robbing Mr. Wickham of a promised living three years prior. When I asked why Mr. Darcy was not taken to court to enforce the inheritance, Mr. Wickham clarified that the portion of the late Mr. Darcy’s will where his entitlement was written was ambiguous. Otherwise, Mr. Wickham would have pursued the matter legally.”

Mrs. Hammond stirred a small amount of honey into her tea. “Could this be true?” Seating herself in the chair closest to the fireplace, she said, “Great men have many experts in the rules of inheritance at their disposal who are well-versed in the law. To be casual or unclear about an asset must be unusual, I imagine, since gentlemen, especially with a large estate intended for future generations, would be particularly careful in leaving enough instructions so their wishes were carried out to the letter.” She set the spoon on the table next to her. “I am wondering why Mr. Wickham is certain that he had the right to the position. Did he mention if he had the offer in writing?”

The doubt creeping in made Elizabeth uncomfortable. “He told me that he grew up at Mr. Darcy’s estate as the godson of the elder Mr. Darcy, who provided him with a gentleman’s education. His opinion was that Mr. Darcy’s father enjoyed the company of Mr. Wickham far more than he did his morose son.”

“I see,” Mrs. Hammond mused. “It is odd, is it not? Mr. Darcy left clear enough instructions for his heir, who looks to be not yet thirty, to inherit a massive estate with all its holdings, yet he did not make it clear about this one living? Livings are valuable and particularly important to a property since the chosen one would provide spiritual guidance to those occupying the land. I read the circulating papers, Miss Lizzy, and have for years. I have heard of the Darcys of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Their assets are reputed to be some of the grandest in all of England. Had there been an inkling of a loophole where poor legal rhetoric would have questioned the veracity of Mr. Darcy’s inheritance, there would have been an uproar from the abundance of claims against the estate. Do you not agree? To be the master of Pemberley would be the ultimate dream for most men.”

“I suppose.” She barely kept from squirming in place. Why had she so easily accepted Mr. Wickham’s narrative without questioning it as Mrs. Hammond did? The facts were obvious. And she considered herself clever!

Mrs. Hammond continued. “Additionally, I wonder why he shared private information with you, an almost stranger to him. What was his purpose? What did he hope to gain? Especially since Mr. Darcy was not there to come to his own defense.”

Hesitating, Elizabeth admitted, “I do not know.”

“Another thing to consider is why an educated man is in the militia instead of being settled in a career. Because of the Darcy family, Mr. Wickham could have pursued the law, fighting his own battle in court. Or he was in a position to qualify for another living in the church. Even had the military been his goal, his education would have merited an increase in rank or a place in the regulars. Do think about this, Miss Lizzy. Could it be that Mr. Wickham wasted the investment Mr. Darcy’s father made in the young man? Providing a gentleman’s education is expensive.”

Elizabeth sputtered as Mrs. Hammond’s words trickled past her quick judgments. She, who prided herself on making accurate first impressions, had not thought the matter through. Confound it all! She closed her eyes momentarily, wondering why in the world she had not come up with the same questions.

“Miss Lizzy, this leads me to wonder: What was it about him that appealed to you? Is he handsome?”

“Yes, his appearance is easy to admire.” Mr. Wickham was devilishly handsome with light blond hair and warm brown eyes. His attention made her feel special, honored, to have an attractive gentleman share private information with only her.

“I see.” Mrs. Hammond shook her head slowly. “I do wonder if it is as the vicar’s wife says in Oliver Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield that handsome is as handsome does or as is most commonly believed that handsome is all that matters?”

“I do not know.” Had Mr. Wickham’s charms exceeded her ability to sketch his character?

“And I wonder, why would a new acquaintance share his distress with someone unrelated to his trials who has no power or authority to change the situation? Was he tugging on your heartstrings to purposefully sour you against Mr. Darcy and stir up sympathy for himself?”

“I…” Elizabeth was feeling a bit foolish. Mrs. Hammond was correct. She sighed.

“Now, dear, do not be upset. The salient point is that the officers, who might or might not have included this Mr. Wickham, disparaged your family based on the conduct of your sisters. It is that single detail upon which you need to center your attention. The other, between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, will sort itself out in due time. It always does with these great men.”

Elizabeth swallowed. In all honesty, she enjoyed being singled out by Mr. Wickham above her sisters and all other unattached females at the gathering. Sarah and Sally Long spent the whole evening sashaying back and forth in front of Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham in hopes of garnering his attention. Lydia overtly flirted with the man. Yet, Mr. Wickham paid them no heed in favor of spending time with her.

Vain, prideful girl!

Elizabeth would ponder the recent appearance of Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Wickham later that evening once the beds were turned down and the candles snuffed for the night. She vowed to herself that she would examine the little she knew of Mr. Wickham’s character closer, too. Right now, she needed to consider the reputation of her family.

Mrs. Hammond’s report was not a surprise. Both Kitty and Lydia were often referred to as ‘the silliest girls in the county’ by their father, and many times they embarrassed Elizabeth with their poor manners. They were fully enamored with the idea of being a military wife. That the regiment’s commanding officer, Colonel Forster, had a seventeen-year-old bride did not help Elizabeth’s cause to keep her sisters from mischief with the militia. Despite Kitty also being seventeen, it was Lydia, at fifteen, who was the boldest and most determined to be the first Bennet daughter wed. Whatever Lydia did, Kitty followed.

Their mother delighted in the retelling of once being madly in love with a handsome officer in her seventeenth year. When given a choice between the impoverished lieutenant or Mr. Thomas Bennet, an educated older squire with an estate, she sought security over infatuation. It was a poor example for her youngest daughters to hear oft-repeated, especially with an entire militia camped not one mile from Longbourn.

Elizabeth would heed Mrs. Hammond’s suggestion and warn her father as soon as she returned home.

Glancing out the window, the branches of the large oak tree across the road dipped and swayed in the wind. A spatter of raindrops hit the window.

“My dear girl, it is reassuring to me that the gentlemen will protect you on your return to Longbourn. It looks to be turning into a right squall outside. Perhaps it would be wisest to wait out the storm before attempting to venture out. It is possible that the inclement weather will keep the gentlemen from leaving the bookstore.”

Elizabeth pulled the lapels of her coat tighter, then readjusted the bonnet over her curls, re-tying it tightly under her chin. “A little rain or wind will not hurt me as I have been wet and blown about before. I believe the course of wisdom is that I depart for Longbourn right away so they can ride quickly to Netherfield Park for their health and safety.”