Chapter Six
A few weeks earlier
At Ramsgate
Mrs. Younge! Look! It is George, I know it is!”
The older woman peered out from under her hat, shading her eyes with her hand. “George? George who? Do you know him?”
“Oh, yes! George Wickham! We were childhood friends; he must remember me!”
The gentleman in question very evidently did recall Miss Georgiana Darcy, for he all but galloped up to her and shook her hand enthusiastically.
“Georgiana! I can hardly believe it! Oh, I suppose I must call you Miss Darcy now, you are so grown-up!” And with that, he executed a theatrical bow and smiled widely, showing two charming dimples.
Georgiana giggled. “Oh, do not be so silly, George. Mrs. Younge, allow me to present Mr. George Wickham; George, this is Mrs. Younge; she is my companion.”
“A companion? I suppose you are now too grown-up for a mere governess! Good morning, Mrs. Younge. I hope you will excuse Miss Darcy’s enthusiasm. We grew up together, but have not seen one another for several years. This is a joyful reunion indeed.”
“I understand completely, Mr. Wickham,” Mrs. Younge said, easily. “But what an odd coincidence, that you two should find one another in Ramsgate!”
“Odd, indeed,” he returned. “Almost as if it were…fate!”
Georgiana turned to Mrs. Younge. “Might George not visit us at home tomorrow afternoon?”
“I can see no harm in it, the two of you being such old friends,” Mrs. Younge said, agreeably, and gave him their direction. “Do come for tea, Mr. Wickham; we will look forward to it.”
“Nothing could keep me away!” he declared, fervently. And then he caught up Georgiana’s hand and – kissed it! Yes, kissed it, just like in a novel.
Georgiana turned bright pink with pleasure. She could not resist peeking over her shoulder at him as she and Mrs. Younge walked away. He was staring after her.
“What an attractive young man!” Mrs. Younge cooed. “Tell me again how you know one another.”
“Oh! His father was my father’s steward.”
“You do not mean to tell me that he is the son of a servant; I shall never believe it!” Mrs. Younge declared.
Georgiana felt rather wrong-footed now. “No. Well, yes. But – we all played together as children, so I never thought of him that way.”
“He left the estate at some point?”
“Yes, though I am uncertain as to the circumstances…” Georgiana trailed off.
“But Mr. Darcy has never said anything outright about Mr. Wickham, I take it, or you could not be so friendly with him.”
“No, he never said anything. And so it must be all right, or Brother would have told me!” Georgiana’s voice was relieved now.
“Quite right, Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Younge said. “It appears there is no reason not to enjoy the young man’s company.”
***
The next day, George Wickham came to their pretty little cottage for tea.
He exclaimed about the cottage, the furnishings, but most of all about how lovely Georgiana – oh, no, he must remember to call her Miss Darcy, mustn’t he!
– looked in her pale blue muslin gown. “I can scarce believe that this is the little girl who begged me to carry her on my back all over the estate,” he laughed over his cup of tea.
Georgiana blushed. “I must have been a dreadful nuisance.”
“You could never be that,” he declared, gazing at her soulfully over the rim of his cup.
“I cannot wait to write to Brother and tell him that we met!” she said. “I do not doubt that he will drop everything and come to visit us!”
Was it her imagination, or did George shoot a quick glance at Mrs. Younge before replying? No, that made no sense.
George immediately said, “Oh, no, let us not pull the estimable Mr. Darcy away from his tasks. For he is the busiest man I know, what with Pemberley and the satellite estates, and who knows what all!”
“But he will want to know –“
“I think Mr. Wickham is quite right, Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Younge said, smoothly. “Your brother has a good deal on his mind just now; you recall that one of the tenant cottages burnt down and he must consider how to rebuild it.”
“Oh, yes, the cottage,” Georgiana said.
“That is why he was so willing to agree to our little holiday here at Ramsgate,” Mrs. Younge said. How fortunate you were to meet a friend here!”
***
The next day, George came again and begged Georgiana to allow him to escort her for a walk along the beach. “I do not know,” she answered. “I am not at all certain that Brother would like it.”
Mrs. Younge smiled at her. “Mr. Darcy relies on my discretion, Miss Darcy, and I can see nothing amiss. You are merely strolling with a childhood friend; what could be more innocent?”
Thus reassured, Georgiana ran upstairs for her straw hat and a parasol; returning downstairs, she accepted George’s proffered arm eagerly.
Mrs. Younge waved as they departed and turned to go back inside the house.
“Should we not have invited her to accompany us?” Georgiana wondered, ill at ease despite Mrs. Younge’s reassurances.
“No, indeed, for she knows that you and I have much to talk of,” he replied.
“Have we?” She turned innocent eyes up to his.
“Do we not?” he countered. “Do you think it an accident that we should meet here, dear Georgiana?” He used her first name easily.
“Why – what else could it be?”
“Fate! Kind, kind fate, that has given me the opportunity to speak to you as I have so long wished to!”
Georgiana was too confused to speak.
“You are too modest, my dear one! Can you truly not know that I have loved you – yes, loved you, and not as a brother! – for the entirety of your life?”
Georgiana started, stared, and then stammered, “But – you scarce know me, George!”
“Scarce know you! How can you say so? I have known you since the day you were born! I have known, always known, that your lovely face, your sweet temperament, your gentle ways were everything perfect, everything wonderful! I have met so many young ladies, hoping to find your equal, only to be disappointed at every turn. And now, miraculously, by the hand of a kind and merciful God, here you are before me, every dream come true, every hope come alive!”
There might be a young lady in England who could resist such words, but Georgiana Darcy was not that young lady. “Can you truly mean it, George?” she whispered.
“Every word!” he vowed. “I know I am not good enough for you, Georgiana; indeed, who could be good enough? No mortal man, that is certain! I beg you to put me out of my misery and promise to be my bride!” With that, he dropped to one knee and gazed up at her, his heart in his eyes.
“Oh, yes! Yes! I will!” cried starry-eyed Georgiana. “I will write to Brother at once!”
Mr. Wickham rose to his feet in one lithe movement. “No, that will never serve. He can only disapprove. For who am I, compared with Miss Darcy? I am no one at all, only the man who loves you more than his life! No, the only way for us is to elope to Gretna Green!”
“To – to Scotland?” stammered Georgiana. “But Brother will be –“
“Furious, of course, but the deed will be done, and he will have to accept it. Please, dearest Georgiana, it is the only way we can be together.”
“Very well, if you are certain, George!” Georgiana was entirely swept away by the romance of the scene.
“I am very, very certain,” he assured her. “Let us tell Mrs. Younge our news!”
“Mrs. Younge! Oh, she will disapprove, I am certain!” Georgiana wrung her hands.
***
But she was quite wrong; Mrs. Younge was everything delighted. How romantic! How wonderful! To be married at just fifteen years of age – was Miss Darcy not the luckiest girl alive! And yes, they must be off the very next morning at dawn, for Scotland was a long way away!
“May I have some time alone with my fiancée, Mrs. Younge?” George asked.
“Of course, Mr. Wickham,” she replied. “Miss Darcy, remember that he is your betrothed now, and certain…liberties…may be permitted.”
“Liberties?” Georgiana asked, confused.
“Just trust George,” Mrs. Younge said, mysteriously. Then she left the drawing room, closing the door behind her.
George immediately advanced upon Georgiana, suddenly looking dangerous. She drew back, heart suddenly pounding, and his demeanor changed at once. “Are you afraid of me, dearest one? You must know, surely you know, that I would not hurt you for the entire world!”
Reassured, Georgiana relaxed and sat on the sofa. “No, of course you would not.”
He sat beside her and gently put an arm around her. “There, is this not nice?”
“Oh, very nice!”
“Lean your head – yes, like that.” After a moment, he said, “Now tilt your head up, so that I might kiss your forehead. Ah! Ah! How soft your skin! Now tilt your face up so that I might taste your lips.”
He pressed his lips to hers, and then suddenly his tongue thrust its way into her mouth, and at the same time, his hand pulled up her skirt and he put his hand – “What are you doing! George!” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast.
The door to the drawing room flew open.