Chapter Twenty-Eight
Darcy Cottage was unique from the other cottages along the cliff road because of the size of the garden that surrounded it.
Otherwise, it was not unlike the others.
The whitewashed walls were softened by sea air and covered in climbing roses, the gardens full of colour.
The Darcys had been in residence for five days and had still not put up the knocker, nor did they intend to.
Their world had become quite small, and neither found the confinement disagreeable.
They rose early despite their nighttime activities, and walked together along the shore each morning at dawn while the seaside village slept.
The world belonged to them at that hour, to them and to the few others who sought peaceful exercise and the beauty of nature, though they avoided encountering others.
Soon they might begin to go out for short trips during the day, to visit the shops, in particular the dressmaker that Lady Matlock recommended to Elizabeth, to make a beginning on her trousseau.
Sometimes during their walks they spoke of nothing more important than the disposition of the waves, and the shapes left by the retreating foam.
Sometimes they spoke of their family and the future with great intensity and seriousness.
Once or twice they walked without speaking at all, content to experience their happiness together in shared silence.
They always returned to the cottage laughing and breathless, Elizabeth’s hems six inches deep in sand, Darcy’s hands deft and sure while he pulled her laces loose as he followed her up the stairs, and they disappeared back to Elizabeth’s bedroom for hours.
Their only servants were Darcy’s valet and Elizabeth’s maid, who were perfectly discreet.
Neither appeared unless summoned, nor did they linger unless their services were necessary.
A local woman arrived each morning to do the washing up, sweep the floors, and leave behind a selection of simple meals that could be easily served without assistance.
Elizabeth was learning that being married was not so much an alteration of one’s life as it was learning how one fit together with their other half.
Darcy was shocked to realise how much of his life had been managed alone and how quickly he became accustomed to companionship, particularly in the form of his beguiling wife.
It was their fifth day in Ramsgate that a knock arrived at the door of the small parlour as they took tea together late one afternoon.
Elizabeth was pouring as Darcy read aloud, as they had done on more than one occasion since they arrived.
Darcy’s valet entered with a single envelope upon a silver tray.
“A letter from Mr Bermondsy, sir.”
Elizabeth noticed her husband’s expression turn grim as he thanked the servant and waited for the door to be closed before he broke the seal. His mouth tightened as he read the short note inside.
“Shall I speculate with abandon, or wait with propriety?” she asked impishly.
“I must write to Priscilla immediately.” He returned her gaze, his familiar steadiness always present. “Mrs Younge has died of consumption.”
It had been a week before the wedding that Priscilla pulled Elizabeth and Georgiana into her bedroom at Pemberley for a private conversation. Elizabeth had just approved the fabrics for her own future suite, which would be re-papered and refreshed while she was away on her wedding trip.
“Lizzy, I am confiding my most private secrets to you because you are to be married to my cousin in a few days, and I cannot ask him to keep secrets from his wife.” Priscilla began as they sat in the private parlour she shared with Georgiana when she was at Pemberley.
“Georgie, I am telling you as well because I promised that I would some day, and I cannot bear to do it twice.”
“Priscilla, I have no desire for you to confess anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Elizabeth reassured her friend. “I will gladly give Darcy permission to keep it from me if it brings you peace of mind.”
“I could never allow it. My cousin deserves a wife he can share all of his worries with,” Priscilla insisted. “Besides, it concerns your family now, at least indirectly.”
“Very well. Of course, you must know that whatever it is, I am certain you cannot be to blame.” Elizabeth waited.
“I agree. Whatever it is cannot have been your fault.” Georgiana looked between her cousin and Elizabeth worriedly.
“But it was.” Priscilla sighed and looked down. “I suppose it was not only my fault, but I share the blame for what happened, certainly, for I allowed it to happen.”
She paused for a moment to consider her next words.
“I ought to begin by mentioning that there was a young man who grew up here at Pemberley who acquired my Uncle Darcy’s approbation with his charm and false manners.
When his father, the steward, died, my uncle invited his son, to whom he stood godfather, to live at Pemberley and provided him with a gentleman’s education.
George Wickham was sent to Eton and later Cambridge with Darcy, and it was there that their friendship dissolved when Wickham found new and more influential friends at school. ”
“Oh dear.” Georgiana shook her head. “It is never good when it concerns George.”
“You are correct, Cousin.” Priscilla smiled sadly.
“George learned profligate ways at school, and Darcy hid his misdeeds so his father would not be grieved. He ought to have let Uncle Darcy deal with the scoundrel while George was still young, before he became dangerous. While at Cambridge, Darcy covered up many of his debts and two of his illegitimate children. None of us knew, except Richard.”
She picked at her nails as she spoke. “My uncle died, and I am told that George was displeased with his inheritance, but he came to some agreement and left the area. Then some time later, he came back and demanded the inheritance he had signed away in exchange for a sum of money. In truth, he was not educated enough to claim a living. He had never even taken orders. When he was refused, he remained in Lambton and Kympton for some weeks, creating debts that nearly crippled the tradesmen, and a number of young girls were trifled with. Both in the village and among the tenant families. He absconded, and Darcy cleaned up the messes again.”
“You are correct that Fitz should never have hidden it all from my father,” Georgiana said. “My father might have put an end to it early and saved so much trouble. Mr Wickham would have been sent into the army years and years ago.”
“When George moved on from Lambton, he visited Matlock some months later.
Darcy was none the wiser, for he was off with Mr Bingley.
I was just past my majority, feeling excessively and foolishly mature, and I began to meet George on my daily walks.
I never allowed my companion to go with me and insisted to my father that it was well and good for her to protect me in the ballrooms, but that I was old enough to walk in our own park to be alone with my thoughts when I was at home. How wrong I was.
“It never seemed odd when he met me in the woods. He always seemed to be nearby, and I was stupid enough to believe him when he said that he had business in the village and was filled with nostalgia for having visited Matlock with the Darcys in his youth. Visiting youthful memories, my foot. I allowed him to pay court to me, and I permitted the most appalling liberties. In my defense, ladies are kept far too sheltered in that regard. I did not know what I was defending against. My virtue was gone before I even quite knew what it meant.”
Elizabeth pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and began to wipe her eyes with it. “I beg your pardon, but he is married to my sister. It is difficult to hear how she must have been fooled.”
“I am sorry, Lizzy.” Priscilla looked wretched.
“We spoke endlessly of marriage, me dreaming of a wedding in the chapel at Matlock, George romanticising elopement. He insisted that my father would never allow me to marry a steward’s son, but when faced with the inevitability of such a fate, he would help us in society to save his own reputation. ”
Priscilla took a breath. “He made a mistake in asking for Mrs Younge’s help.
He had been intimate with her in the past, had even helped her obtain the position as my companion apparently, and she was in love with him.
She was jealous of me, which saved my life.
She viciously told me that he only wanted me for my dowry.
Thank God, she made me doubt him. In a petulant attempt to prove her wrong, I tested him.
I told him that Ashley was a terrible gambler, that most of my dowry had been lost to his debts, and that the last bit, which was much smaller than George expected, was not mine until the death of my mother.
I told him there was no way but to go to my father and pray that he was kind. ”
She let out a bark of hysterical laughter.
“George lost his temper and began to shout at me.
He said that I had tricked him into believing that he could afford to marry me, when my pitiful dowry would only cover a portion of his debts.
Then he departed from the area, abandoning me.
My misery was complete when Mrs Younge confronted me the following morning as I lay sick in my bed with his child.
She called me all manner of vile names for having seduced that sweet boy, and told me that if anyone from my family attempted revenge of any kind, if George suffered so much as a splinter in his thumb, that she would ensure that all of London knew how I had seduced him in an effort to force him into marriage to hide a babe fathered by another man.
Then she left Matlock the same day. There was no other man, but society would love such a tale.
My reputation, my family name, would never have survived the scandal.