Chapter 1 #2
Kitty and Lydia crossed the street, and Elizabeth and Wickham followed. She noticed how he drew out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. He looked flushed. It was not that hot in the sun, and she hoped her friend was not ill. “Are you feverish, Mr Wickham? You must rest if you are unwell.”
He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and gave her a smile. “Nonsense. Besides, nothing would keep me from seeing all of your pretty faces at the concert tomorrow.”
While Georgiana and her sisters had light banter and flirtatious talk with him, she tried to persevere with more serious conversations. “I noticed you looked displeased at the mention of Mr Darcy.”
“Not at all,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. When she gave him a disbelieving look, he smiled and dropped his voice. “Well, he is good enough, but duller than stagnant mud.”
She laughed. “You divert me against my conscience. You must not prejudice me against Miss Darcy’s brother.”
“Too true!” he agreed. “Aside from him being too proud of his family name, I cannot say a word against him, since his father supported my education, and because his sweet sister is my dear friend. Let us say no more about Mr Darcy.”
She thought he had looked too alarmed at the mention of a man whose only crime was that he was dull, but then Wickham employed his happy readiness of conversation to more diverting topics.
He might be the property of Georgiana given their previous relationship and how fondly she looked at him, but Wickham flirted with every young lady in Ramsgate.
Fitzwilliam Darcy detested watering places. All of Ramsgate felt too much like a perpetual holiday. London had public places and amusements, but it was still a city that worked and lived, educated and worshipped, governed and legislated. These resort towns had nothing of substance.
He chose to stay in the London Hotel, since the King’s Head was across the street from the assembly rooms. There would be no entertainment whilehe was here.
He would dine at the hotel tonight, perhaps read the papers at Burgess’s library, and then take his sister from Ramsgate and George Wickham in the morning.
His sister was a month removed from school, and he had entrusted her to the care of a preparatory governess to superintend the rest of her education.
A fifteen-year-old without a mother needed to learn how to manage a home, the servants, her expenses, and all the other talents and domesticities expected of her—and a seminary in London could do no more.
Mrs Younge came to them highly recommended and would further her refinement, once she learnt Wickham was not to be trusted.
After seventy-six miles in a carriage from London, he walked to his sister’s lodgings in Sion Hill rather than ride another foot.
Why had Mrs Younge insisted they come here?
He disliked Brighton, Weymouth, and Bath, but at least they were grand.
They might have at least gone to Margate a few miles away.
He was shown into his sister’s rooms just as they finished dinner and, in seeing Georgiana’s sincere happiness at his arrival, briefly forgot his anger and why he rushed here.
“Fitzwilliam,” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “You are so good to visit me.”
“I promised you I would,” he said, returning her hug before greeting Mrs Younge.
“Yes, but I did not expect you for a week,” Georgiana said, still smiling at him.
“I had urgent business here,” he said, with a heavy look to Mrs Younge, who met his eye with an unembarrassed stare.
Georgiana faltered. “What is the matter?”
Darcy forced himself to smile. Whatever Wickham was doing here, it was not his sister’s fault. “Nothing to worry yourself about. I have spent a day in a carriage; do you think we might go for a walk? Why do you not make yourself ready while I speak to Mrs Younge?”
His sister left, and he said immediately to her companion, “I do not approve of the acquaintance she has made under your care.”
“Do you mean the Bennet ladies? They are genteel, if not wealthy or well-connected. I think the eldest might even be worth her knowing.”
Darcy tilted his head. “Who? No, I mean Mr Wickham.”
Mrs Younge blew out a slow breath before giving him a confused look. “He is not a new acquaintance. I understand he grew up with you, that he was your father’s godson.”
“Yes,” he answered grimly. “But all presumption of an acquaintance has been dropped on both sides, I assure you. He likely is as abusive of me to others as he has been to my face.”
“No, sir,” she answered. “He has not said a word against you, nothing to indicate you would not approve of his acknowledging your sister.”
This took him aback. He had expected to hear of Wickham’s vitriol and even of him turning his sister against him.
Wickham had been promised the best living in his gift, but said he wished to study the law instead, and so Darcy paid him in lieu of the living.
Of course, Wickham had not studied the law but continued to gamble, drink, and seduce for the past three years.
Two months ago, when the living intended for him fell vacant, Wickham, with all his money gone, had demanded the presentation.
When Darcy refused, his father’s godson was extraordinarily angry.
“His circumstances are terrible, I promise you,” he continued, not wanting to explain the extent of Wickham’s situation. “My sister is returning to London in the morning. That man is not a suitable acquaintance.”
“This is drastic.” Mrs Younge slowly sat. “How is she to live in London if she cannot be nodding acquaintances with someone imperfect? Will you drag her away every time she encounters a person you do not approve of?”
“I will if it protects my sister.” He was essentially her father since theirs died five years ago.
Mrs Younge frowned. “Protect her from what? I see no reason to leave and make her feel she has done wrong. Miss Darcy is gaining friends and confidence, as you wished she would.”
“I am her guardian, and I say there is reason to remove her.”
“What do you fear will happen?” she asked incredulously.
“And you cannot remove her from every city, resort, and village if a man in distressed circumstances speaks to her. She must learn how to deflect them. I can teach her that and even use Mr Wickham as an example.” She threw up her hands.
“With all due respect, you hired me because I am well-versed in bringing out a young lady.”
“I do not fault your judgment,” he said to put her at ease. “You could not have known what Mr Wickham is.”
“He could be exactly the sort of gentleman for her to talk to, for he can have no designs on her, considering your history.”
Darcy stared. “How do you mean?”
“There is nothing real between them, for he flirts with everyone,” she said hurriedly. “I can teach her to deflect him and turn her attentions to a worthier object. She will need to learn that to manage life in London, for you want her to marry well.”
“Of course I do, but there is plenty of time for all of that.”
“She is already anxious about having to be on display to find a husband, so it would be good for her to learn how to manage the men who are not good prospects.” He was about to speak, but Mrs Younge was not done.
“And if you dissuade her from enjoying his harmless gallantry, you must explain why, lest she hate you for it and it drives her to deepen the connexion.”
Explain that Wickham compromised his health with any woman who would take his coin?
That he spent three thousand pounds on every manner of vice and now had no way to support himself?
That he would lie to friend or foe if it meant he would have something to gain?
That he knew more prostitutes in London by name than he knew clergymen or lawyers combined?
No, he could not say that to a little girl.
“I dare not speak of such things to a delicate young lady.”
“I agree not to distress her with whatever you think Mr Wickham has done. She is innocent, and perhaps he is not as bad as you say.” He opened his mouth to disagree, and she went on.
“If you drag her away from him, you will make him seem more appealing. Your sister will also be distressed to be taken away when she is enjoying herself. You will make her feel she has done wrong if you make her leave.”
“I do not blame her,” he said quickly. “She is a child—”
“I am not a child!”
Georgiana stood in the doorway, scowling at him and clutching her bonnet.
“You are absolutely a child,” he retorted.
“You removed me from school. I am not a child. I am fifteen!”
“What has that to do with anything?”
Mrs Younge gave him a disapproving frown while his sister’s scowl deepened.
Darcy stared at them both in confusion. Was she not a child anymore?
Mrs Younge saw her as nearly grown up. The rest of the world saw her as fifteen, not out, but soon to be.
She looked very much a young woman rather than a little girl.
Mrs Younge was right; Georgiana had to learn how to navigate the world of adults and all the scheming manipulators who might prey on her.
“I do not like who you are mixing with in Ramsgate, my dear,” he began.
Georgiana gasped. “You do not know my friends!”
“I know Mr Wickham,” he said sharply.
This caught her attention. “What is so bad about him?”
He looked to Mrs Younge, who raised an eyebrow. Did she know more about the heart and mind of a young girl than he did? Would telling her what Wickham was and forbidding her from speaking to him just push her toward him?
Perhaps her companion was right and unfolding Wickham’s vices or dragging her away was unnecessary.
Georgiana was only fifteen, after all, and he would rather not explain what vicious propensities existed in one man.
He wanted to keep his sister a little girl for a while longer, but she could learn now what sort of men existed in the world.
“He has made poor choices, I am afraid, and has wasted a great deal of money.”
“Oh, that is unfortunate,” she said, entering the room and putting on her bonnet. “I hope he has learnt his lesson. Once he has been called to the bar, he will be in a better situation. Is that any reason to leave Ramsgate?”
Darcy felt in his heart that it was, but Mrs Younge was certain it would have the opposite effect he wished for. “I consider it might be, given how much you have seen of him. Besides, a man such as him is not a proper friend for you. You have your reputation to remember.”
“I have made other friends here,” Georgiana pleaded, “and it is unfair to take me from all of them because of your quarrel with one of them. I am not a little girl for you to direct and control.”
“But you are in my care.”
Her sweet expression turned sulky. “You are always telling me where to go and what to do.”
Like any guardian of a fifteen-year-old should. “You forget I let you go to Ramsgate,” he said drily.
“But here you are trying to drag me home. You are not my father!”
Her vehemence hurt him, however right she was. Did all girls go through a defiant phase against their parents? Perhaps Mrs Younge did know best, because he surely did not know how to proceed. “I still must protect you, however little you like it now.”
His sister glared, and Mrs Younge went to Georgiana, putting an arm around her. “I am certain since Wickham knows you are here, sir, he will withdraw rather than meet you. He is sensible and would hate to distress you. I daresay we will not see him for the rest of your visit.”
Georgiana’s shoulders slumped. Before he could ask her what was the matter, Mrs Younge said, “If you are still concerned, why do you not stay longer, rather than take Miss Darcy away?”
Georgiana looked at him with bright eyes. “Would you stay? For a fortnight? Ten days,” she amended when he frowned. “You can meet my friends and we can walk the pier and ride to East Cliff Lodge, and go to the theatre in Margate, and—”
“Very well, my dear,” Darcy said, laughing at her enthusiasm. “I will stay.”
His sister hugged him tightly. “Thank you!”
She grinned at him, all her brief petulance gone, and Darcy’s heart softened.
All he had wanted since his father died was to take care of his sister as well as he would have.
His presence would deter Wickham, and perhaps after introducing him to her friends and showing him all the amusements, she would be more willing to leave.
“Let her show you what a fine young lady she has become,” Mrs Younge said gently after they broke apart. “Escort her to meet her friends and see the amusements. Wickham will not trouble her if you are with her.”
Georgiana frowned, saying, “I like Mr Wickham very much. He is charming and ever so fond of me. Our father even liked him. Is he truly so bad, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy looked her right in the eye, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Trust me when I say that he is.”
His sister huffed in disbelief, and Mrs Younge said, “You will be here, sir. What harm could come to her if you accompanied her to events and met her friends?”
“Nothing at all,” he said, smiling to encourage Georgiana. He hated to see her cast down. “Shall we go for a walk while you tell me about Ramsgate? Mrs Younge, will you join us?”
Mrs Younge was already opening her writing box and sitting down. Without looking up from her paper, she said, “I have a letter to write. It cannot wait. You and Miss Darcy must enjoy some time to yourselves.”
“Fitzwilliam, there is a concert tomorrow. You must come and meet the Bennet girls.”
They walked the promenade where he listened to all her chatter about her friends and how she had spent the last few weeks. He grew more accustomed to the idea of staying in Ramsgate rather than hauling her away from Wickham’s presence. It was not for him or his sister to be driven away by Wickham.
It was not as though absence would make the heart grow fonder. There was no affection on either side, after all.