Chapter 14
Windermere
“Yes, Mrs. Bennet, it was Wickham who tried to elope with Georgiana.” Mr. Darcy was already seated at breakfast when we joined him at the table.
The rest of his party had not yet come down.
“Let me tell you of him. George Wickham was the son of a most respectable man, who managed the Pemberley estates for many years. His loyal service naturally inspired me to look kindly on his son. I was, in all honesty, too generous to the boy, who was also my godson. Pemberley paid for his schooling and later his years at Cambridge—no small gift, since his own father, always in straits thanks to his wife’s extravagance, could never have afforded him a gentleman’s education.
“To my cost, I enjoyed Wickham’s company.
His manners were always pleasant; I thought highly of him and hoped he would enter the church.
I intended to provide him a living. My son Fitzwilliam warned me about his character, but in my pride, I ignored him.
Where Fitzwilliam was reserved, Wickham was outgoing; where my son was cautious, Wickham was open and charming.
At the time, I took Fitzwilliam’s hesitation for jealousy, since Wickham was always quick with a compliment and could enliven any gathering. ”
“I rather think,” I interrupted, “that I might have fallen under his spell myself, if he hadn’t first set his sights on Mrs. Bennet. I suspect his mercenary nature betrayed him—my own fortune, modest as it is, might have tempted him to try his arts on me, were not my mother’s larger.”
I caught a look on Mr. Darcy’s face that I’d never seen before. Mama blushed at my mention of Mr. Wickham’s attempts to flatter and flirt with her. The extra colour suited her, her lace cap glowing in the morning sun streaming through the windows, her golden hair softly framed.
Mr. Darcy gathered himself. “I offered Wickham the living at Kympton—when he had completed his terms at Cambridge and been ordained—but he refused rather bluntly, saying he wished to study law instead. He insisted the thousand pounds I’d promised wasn’t enough to support him.
By then, I’d come to see his true character, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut him off, with all his father had done for Pemberley.
Against Fitzwilliam’s advice, I gave him another three thousand pounds, thinking that would end our connection. ”
“You are truly generous, so like my Mr. Bennet,” Mama murmured, squeezing my hand.
“I should finish the story,” said Mr. Darcy, refilling his coffee.
“For three years, we heard almost nothing of him. Sadly, he failed to attend his father’s funeral, though we sent word to his last address.
When he finally reappeared, he was in dire straits and came to beg for more money.
Four thousand pounds gone in three years!
He claimed the law was unprofitable and now wished to be ordained.
But I sent him away—Pemberley was finished with him. ”
“I imagine he meant to revenge himself on you, Mr. Darcy,” I said. “His anger at being turned out must have matched his desperation. Mama, to think we welcomed him into our home! And poor Georgiana. But what about her companion?”
“Mrs. Younge. She was the one who proposed Georgiana go to Ramsgate—and Wickham soon followed. There was a prior acquaintance between them, which we only discovered too late. With Mrs. Younge’s encouragement, Wickham made love to Georgiana, who always remembered him fondly from her childhood.”
Just then, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered. “What’s this, Uncle?” he asked, sitting down. “What of Wickham? Fitz and I lost track of him after he left Ramsgate.”
“He’s in Hertfordshire,” said Mr. Darcy.
“He’s joined the militia stationed at Meryton, where he’s spreading his stories and charm.
Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth saw through him.
We didn’t tell you, but it was Georgiana’s correspondence with Miss Elizabeth that warned us of his attempt to persuade her to believe herself in love and agree to an elopement. ”
“I wondered why Georgiana was so delighted to meet Miss Elizabeth,” the Colonel said, turning to me. “No offence, ma’am, but she’s usually very reserved, even with friends. You did her a great kindness.”
To Mr. Darcy, he added, “Meryton?—sixteen miles north of Watford? I’m bound for Horse Guards in London tomorrow; perhaps I’ll stop at Pemberley for the vowels and receipts you hold in Wickham’s name, and then on to Meryton to have him arrested for debt. It would be my pleasure.”
“An excellent idea, Richard,” said Mr. Darcy. “And if he tries to run, he can be charged with desertion. Mrs. Bennet, do you know the colonel of the regiment?”
“Colonel Forster. A pleasant man, though I had to tell him we didn’t suit,” Mama laughed, blushing at the memory of another suitor.
“An unlucky fellow,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, grinning. “Denied your favour and now stuck with Wickham in his ranks. With luck, by week’s end we’ll see Wickham in Marshalsea. I take it, Uncle, you don’t care to pay for him to live in the Fleet?”
“Let him see Marshalsea, then choose between the Royal Navy as a common seaman or a longer stay in prison,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice hard but his manner softening as Georgiana and Fitzwilliam entered.
“Ah, the rest of our party. Time to plan the day.” He glanced across the table at Mrs. Bennet. “We would be delighted by your company, ladies, if you will join us.”
* * *
It was decided! We would take a sailing boat and explore Lake Windermere, not from its rocky shores but from the water itself.
Neither Mama nor I had ever stepped on a boat before—the River Ver, which bordered Longbourn, was but a ditch, and dry most of the year round.
Oh, what an adventure! Could we ask for a more fortuitous day?
Even Wordsworth could not describe it better: a flawless, cornflower-blue sky, carrying just enough breeze from the north to ripple the water. A perfect day for a water excursion.
It was less than a mile to Waterhead Landing, so we chose to walk rather than take the carriage, though Mr. Darcy had several baskets of provisions carried to the jetty.
Clearly, he had planned the excursion beforehand, for Mr. White’s boatmen had prepared a pleasure cutter for our use.
She was a fine, broad-beamed, clinker-built vessel, rigged as a cutter with a single grand mainsail and a small forward jib.
A canvas awning was fixed over the stern to shield us ladies from the direct glare of the sun.
Already, my face was sprinkled with freckles—by the end of our tour, I would become brown and coarse, as Miss Bingley had once remarked on my walking too much out of doors. I myself preferred brown and glowing.
“Miss Elizabeth, may I assist you?” The Colonel stood by the edge of the jetty, his hand extended to hold mine. Darcy was already standing in the boat, which rocked gently against the wooden planks. I took the Colonel’s hand and stepped down to the gunwale.
“Oops!” I cried, as the railing slipped under my boot and I felt myself falling. Whilst the Colonel’s grip steadied me, it was Darcy’s hands about my waist that prevented my plummeting towards ignominy and profound humiliation on the sole of the cutter.
Gently, he placed me onto a seat in the boat’s cockpit. He never said a word—nor did I; my embarrassment had, for once, stopped my tongue.
“Lizzy, are you all right?” Mama called from the pier.
“Oh, my! Only my pride, Mama. Both the Colonel and Darcy prevented my fall.” I blushed, scarcely looking at Darcy. Never before had a gentleman held me so close. I leant against him, breathing in the scent of amber and sandalwood, his chest pressed against mine. Oh, Lizzy! Whatever are you about?
Of course, Mama and Miss Darcy stepped lightly into the boat as though they had been born to it.
Georgiana, having anticipated stiff breezes, was sensibly dressed in a riding habit of superfine wool, a deep slate blue, with a smart collar and brass buttons.
She looked ever so elegant—a true Darcy.
Mama and I wore our high-waisted gowns of sturdy white cambric and printed calico cotton.
I had thought them far more practical for stepping into boats than delicate muslin—sadly, I had proved myself singularly wrong.
We were not so foolish as to forgo our quilted spencer jackets to ward off the damp.
Georgiana had forgone the beaver hat that went with her riding habit; in its place, a straw bonnet, similar to those Mama and I wore.
Hers, naturally, was trimmed with blue ribbons, whilst I had decorated mine with yellow, complementing the cotton prints of my dress.
The men, in a nod to nautical utility, wore long, loose-fitting trousers of cream-coloured linen duck, tucked into half-Hessian boots. Their short tailcoats and loosely tied cravats, already slightly askew, gave them a decidedly rakish air.
“Colonel, you dress like pirates; are we searching for gold this morning?”
“‘Twas my intention, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, chuckling, “but, alas, there are no Spanish treasure ships on Windermere.”
“I find myself disappointed. Indeed, where are we headed?”
“I thought to circle Belle Isle, and then take the view from the summerhouse below Claife Heights,” said Mr. Darcy, who had taken a seat opposite. “I am told it has one of the finest views of the Lake.”
“As if there could be any greater beauty than that which surrounds us,” said Mama, gazing at the tree-covered slopes and brown shadowed hills and mountains beyond.
“Certainly, Mrs. Bennet, beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” said Mr. Darcy, smiling, his own eye lingering a little longer on her before turning to gaze across the water.
“We have a small skiff on the lake at Pemberley,” said Georgiana, sitting next to me, “but I have never sailed before. Fitzwilliam said he raced sailboats on Whittlesey Mere when at Cambridge.”