A Worthless Rake (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter One

The summer heat pressed heavily upon Longbourn, but a chill of dread had taken hold of Elizabeth since that terrible letter had arrived.

Lydia had run off with Wickham—run off unmarried, unchaperoned, without a thought for her family’s ruin or her own.

The house seemed to echo with absence. Her father was gone to London on what all knew was likely a fool’s errand.

Mrs. Bennet was confined to her room with nerves and sal volatile.

Jane moved, pale and silent, through the halls like a reproach.

Elizabeth stood at the window of her chamber.

The glass was cool beneath her fingertips, a sharp contrast to the oppressive summer heat.

She watched the lane as if her gaze alone could conjure the letter that would resolve their misery, though she knew, in truth, no such letter would come.

How bitterly ironic that she should finally have seen Mr. Darcy as he truly was.

Whilst she had walked through Pemberley’s grounds and glimpsed the master, described with such warmth by the housekeeper, her heart had opened to possibilities she had scorned at Hunsford.

Then, Lydia’s disgrace closed every door before her.

Lydia, with her foolish recklessness, had accomplished what nothing else could.

Elizabeth was certain it had severed irrevocably any thread of regard Mr. Darcy might have begun to feel for her.

What gentleman of sense and propriety would ally himself with a family so tainted by scandal?

The question needed no answer, yet she could not let it rest. Repetition did not dull the sharp edge of her distress.

After their return from the north, Mrs. Gardiner remained at Longbourn these past days, a steady presence amidst the upheaval.

She had done what she could to settle Mrs. Bennet and urge discretion.

As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she and her children should go to London at the same time that Mr. Bennet came from it.

The Bennet coach, therefore, would take them the first stage of their journey, and bring its master back to Longbourn.

Mr. Bennet would travel in the Gardiner coach and they would switch to complete the journey to their homes.

The children — two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys — were loth to spend their day in a carriage.

Mrs. Gardiner, having been from home above a month and sensible of all the discomforts attendant on her condition, sighed as the girls disputed who should sit with Mamma and who with the little ones.

“There is plenty of room, girls, and we may change places from time to time so that everyone is satisfied,” Mrs. Gardiner assured them.

Jenny, the elder girl, was not persuaded. “It is so very dull in the carriage, Mamma. Nurse cannot read whilst the wheels are turning, and there are no games we can play with all the bumping and shaking.”

“I wish we could have stories whilst we travel,” said Frances Rose, the younger girl. “Like Cousin Lizzy tells—with all the people talking differently.”

“We have not finished The Story of the Robins, either,” Jenny added earnestly.

Mrs. Gardiner could not offer to read. In her delicate state, the very thought of reading in a moving carriage was sufficient to make her queasy.

Elizabeth caught her aunt’s eye. “I could travel with you to Barnet and then return with Papa,” she said.

At first, Mrs. Gardiner demurred. “I could not ask you to spend all that time travelling so soon after our holiday.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It is no trouble at all. I know how difficult it is for little ones to sit for hours with nothing to occupy them—I am not much better myself, as you know. And I am perfectly able to read whilst we travel, provided it is not some long, serious passage. It will be much easier for you and the children both.”

Mrs. Gardiner accepted her niece’s offer with quiet gratitude. Elizabeth went above stairs to pack a few necessaries for the journey—a clean shift and stockings in case they encountered any delay, and a light volume to read aloud to the children over the rattle of wheels.

At mid-morning the four Gardiner children, their mother, and their cousin Elizabeth settled into the Bennet coach for the drive to Barnet. They would meet Mr. Bennet there, arriving from London. The dusty and worn velvet seats held the warmth of the summer sun.

The coaching inn at Barnet was a bustling establishment, accustomed to the constant flow of travellers between London and the northern counties.

As they pulled into the yard, anticipation rose within Elizabeth.

Soon she would see her father and learn what progress, if any, had been made in the search for Lydia.

“Out you come, children,” Mrs. Gardiner said, her voice lighter than it had been all morning. “You may stretch your legs whilst we wait for your Uncle Bennet.”

The four children tumbled from the carriage with relief, and Elizabeth followed, glad herself to be free of the confined space.

The journey from Longbourn had been accomplished with tolerable comfort—Mrs. Gardiner had been quieter than usual, her hand occasionally pressed to her middle, but she had borne the jostling better than Elizabeth had feared.

The children had alternately attended to the story and dozed.

Now, they were quite ready to be set free from the carriage.

“Miss Lizzy, will you tell us more of the story?” Frances Rose asked, tugging at Elizabeth’s sleeve. “About the robin who learnt to fly?”

“In a moment, dear. Let us walk about the yard first. See how your legs have forgotten what to do after sitting so long!”

She guided the children toward a small garden adjacent to the inn, where they might move about without getting underfoot of the ostlers and postilions.

Nurse followed, looking rather pale herself, and Elizabeth suspected the woman would be grateful for a respite before the second stage of their journey.

Together, Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth stood, watching the children explore the modest plantings with all the energy of spirits too long confined.

“You are feeling better, Aunt?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, much better now that we are still. This time I fear my nausea has been worse than with any of the others, but it does pass by the noon hour.” Mrs. Gardiner glanced back toward the road. “I hope your father is not much delayed. The children settle more readily when we keep to our routine.”

“And I am eager for news,” Elizabeth admitted. “Surely after so many days in London, even as poor a correspondent as Papa must have something to tell us.”

After waiting nearly two hours, whilst the children were wearying of a game of their own devising amongst the hedgerows, a rider came into the yard at some speed. Elizabeth’s curiosity rose as he dismounted and spoke urgently to the innkeeper, who pointed toward their party.

“Mrs. Gardiner?” the man called, approaching with a letter in hand. “Mrs. Edward Gardiner?”

“I am she,” Mrs. Gardiner replied, her hand going instinctively to her throat.

“An express from London, ma’am. I was bid to find you on the road between London and Meryton.”

Mrs. Gardiner took the letter with trembling fingers, and Elizabeth’s own hands trembled. An express! That could mean only urgent news. Her aunt’s face as she broke the seal and read showed a succession of expressions—surprise, relief, perplexity.

“What is it?” Elizabeth could not help asking. “Have they found her?”

After Mrs. Gardiner read through the letter once more, she answered. “It is from your uncle. He writes—well, perhaps you had better read it yourself.”

Elizabeth read it with anxious haste.

Gracechurch Street, Monday

My dear Madeline,

I write in haste to inform you that your brother must remain in town and cannot meet you at Barnet as planned.

I was fortunate enough this morning to discover intelligence regarding the matter through a gentleman of our acquaintance who has come forward with information as to their whereabouts.

The particulars I reserve until we meet, but Mr. Bennet’s immediate presence is required here.

Pray continue your journey home. I hope to have more satisfactory news when you arrive.

Yours affectionately, E. Gardiner

Elizabeth read it through, her mind racing. “A gentleman of our acquaintance? Who could that be? Perhaps Colonel Forster? But he would have no knowledge of London. One of the officers?” She looked up at her aunt. “And ‘information as to their whereabouts’ — do you suppose they have been found?”

“We cannot be certain, but it sounds hopeful, does it not?” Mrs. Gardiner reclaimed the letter and folded it carefully. “Though I own I cannot guess which gentleman your uncle means.”

“But Papa will not come.” Elizabeth’s hopes sank. She had been so close to hearing the news, and now — “I shall have to wait until he can send a fuller account to Longbourn.”

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, then back toward the coach, then at the children playing in the garden. A small frown creased her brow.

“Lizzy,” she said slowly, “I have just realised—we had not considered what you should do now. You were to return with your father in the Bennet coach, but now...”

At the far side of the yard, the public stage was being readied for departure. “I could take the stage back to Longbourn,” Elizabeth said, though even as she spoke, she knew the inadequacy of the suggestion.

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Gardiner said firmly.

“A young woman travelling alone on the public coach? It is not safe, nor is it proper. When we made our plan this morning in haste to ease my journey and entertain the children, I never thought of sending word ahead that you would be accompanying us.” Mrs. Gardiner shook her head.

“No, there is nothing for it. You must continue on to Gracechurch Street with us.”

“But I cannot impose upon you in town, not when you are unwell and have the children to manage—”

“Nonsense. You are no imposition. Indeed, you may be a great help to me.” Mrs. Gardiner glanced at Nurse, who was sitting on a bench looking distinctly unwell.

“I suspect poor Nurse will need a day or two to regain her strength before she is fit for her duties. With matters as they stand, you will be able to learn the news from the source rather than waiting days for letters to reach Hertfordshire.”

The prospect seized her with equal parts alarm and excitement. To go to London, to be where the search was happening, where this mysterious gentleman had brought intelligence—she hardly knew whether to fear it or welcome it.

“Are you certain, Aunt?”

“Quite certain. Come, we must gather the children and continue on. With any luck, we shall reach Gracechurch Street before supper, and your uncle can tell us everything.”

As they called the children back to the coach and prepared for the remainder of their journey, Elizabeth turned over that phrase in her mind: a gentleman of our acquaintance who has come forward with information. Who could it possibly be?

The journey from Barnet to Gracechurch Street passed in anxious speculation. Elizabeth attended to the children, reading when the motion of the carriage allowed, but her mind raced ahead to London. What did it mean that they had been found? Were they married? Were they even together still?

Mrs. Gardiner, observing her niece’s distraction, reached across to pat her hand. “We shall know soon enough, my dear. Let us not torment ourselves with wondering.”

But it was impossible not to wonder.

As the summer evening stretched long shadows across the street, they arrived at Gracechurch Street. When they entered, all was quiet—with no sign of either Mr. Gardiner or Mr. Bennet.

“They must still be occupied with the business,” Mrs. Gardiner said, though Elizabeth detected a note of concern beneath her calm tone. “Come, let us see the children settled.”