Chapter 23
She stood on the stone bridge facing east, her back toward him, her head bent toward the turbulent waters of the stream. The sun’s setting rays shone against her luxurious dark hair, a tantalizing mix of browns and reds.
“Elizabeth…”
She turned toward him now, her fine eyes a mesmerizing amalgam of golds and browns, her unbound hair cascading down her shoulders. She was wearing her favorite green gown, and her skirt swayed gracefully with her movements.
“Fitzwilliam, my love…”
He moved toward her, his hungry gaze fixed on her beautiful face, and she was in his arms, and he pressed a kiss on those enchanting pink lips, and…
The whole world shifted abruptly, and Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, jerked in astonishment and nearly fell off the seat of his carriage. He woke up with a start and looked around in confusion. What was happening?
“Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana exclaimed, peering worriedly at her brother. “Is something wrong?”
Darcy looked around rather wildly, then relaxed as his mind caught up with his surroundings. He was in his carriage traveling on the road to Hertfordshire. His sister and her companion were with him and lovely, glorious, enchanting Elizabeth Bennet was some thirty miles farther down the road.
“I am well,” he said hastily, noting the look of concern in his sister’s eyes. “I fell over while drowsing, that is all. I apologize to you both.”
“I am certain we are all a little weary after last night,” Mrs. Annesley said, returning her attention to her knitting. “The inn was rather a noisy one.”
“It was,” Georgiana agreed somberly. “I find it odd that some people enjoy staying up so late. I like the mornings better.”
“I do too,” Darcy said, recovering his poise, “but of course different individuals enjoy different things, my dear. During the Season, balls often last into the wee hours of the morning.”
Georgiana shuddered and sighed. “I will not like that in the least. It is bad enough to be up so late, but the thought of being around all those people makes my stomach hurt.”
“You still have several years before your presentation,” Mrs. Annesley said comfortingly.
“Moreover, there are some remarkable experiences in London which are available only at night. Vauxhall Gardens, for example, is a fairyland of lights after dusk. There is also an orchestra which plays under a large pavilion.”
Georgiana had been eyeing her companion doubtfully, but she smiled at these last words. “Do the musicians play well?”
“Oh yes, very well. They are well trained, and...”
Darcy, confident that Georgiana was properly distracted, leaned back in his seat and allowed his thoughts to drift back to his dream.
It was not the first time that he had dreamed of lovely Miss Bennet, but this was by far the most detailed, most .
.. romantic, vision yet. It seemed that with the closer he drew to the enticing Elizabeth, the more his mind focused on the lady.
He blew out a breath as he turned to stare out the window at the passing countryside, which was full of fields, cottages, and groves of trees.
In the few weeks since Bingley’s party had left Pemberley, Darcy had missed Miss Bennet more than he thought possible.
His mind told him that he was being absurd; he had only known Miss Bennet for a little more than a week, and he was far too jaded and intellectual a man to fall for a maiden in such a short time.
And yet, it appeared that he had done exactly that, tumbling into love like a mooncalf rather than a sensible man of almost thirty summers.
He felt his mouth curve into a smile at this thought.
At least his wayward heart had chosen a truly remarkable woman.
Elizabeth was handsome, most definitely, but she was far more than that – she was intelligent, well read, vigorous, godly, and kind.
She had also won the admiration and devotion of Georgiana, and Darcy’s little sister did not love easily.
He forced himself to breathe deeply in an attempt to think logically.
Miss Bennet was exceptional, but her connections were poor and her dowry nonexistent.
He was inclined to believe now that such things did not matter in the least, but he was eager to consult with Richard.
Would his marriage to Elizabeth harm Georgiana’s chances in society?
Would it affect their children? Furthermore, was it possible he had put Elizabeth on a pedestal in the last weeks since they had parted?
Would she disappoint him when they met again?
Would she seem a different woman amongst her family and in her place of birth?
The wisps of the dream nibbled at the edge of his consciousness.
His mind yearned for her; his chest ached as he thought of her.
And if she was the woman of his dreams, would he in turn disappoint her? He was not entirely certain that if he offered, she would accept. She was no society miss, to marry only for money and connections, of that he was confident.
His breath came more quickly, his heart beating faster as the turning wheels brought him inexorably closer to Netherfield.
/
Elizabeth Bennet looked out the window of the library, her eyes fixed on the graveled road which led to Netherfield.
The sun had not yet reached its zenith and she knew that the party from Pemberley would probably not arrive for at least two hours.
Nonetheless, she found herself quite unable to read the book in her lap, in spite of the fact that it was an old favorite, Ann Radcliffe’s Romance of the Forest. Her mind was, instead, distracted by the thought of a well sprung carriage rolling toward Netherfield carrying Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Mrs. Annesley.
In the weeks since she had returned to Hertfordshire, Elizabeth, usually a sanguine soul, had been seized by occasional bouts of melancholy, all of which centered around Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.
She had always considered herself a practical woman with a gift for understanding the characters of those in her sphere.
Well, she had learned better this summer!
She had championed George Wickham, who was in fact a dissolute rake.
She had first met Mr. Darcy with an arch certainty that the man would be proud and arrogant, only to determine that he was a most admirable gentleman.
There were few young men of his birth and connections who, burdened with the oversight of a large estate at a young age, managed to fulfill their duties with diligence and sense.
In addition, Darcy was a remarkable older brother to Miss Darcy who was, while wonderful, also unusual.
Elizabeth let out a sigh, and her lips curled into a smile.
Mr. Darcy was also exceptionally handsome, with his tall, fine figure, his dark eyes, his perfectly straight nose, his dark hair which curled around his temples.
She had dreamed of him only last night, a prosaic dream, to be sure, in which they had argued over the meaning of a plot point of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, but it was obvious that her own subconscious was spending a good deal of time contemplating Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
She wondered if perhaps she was in love with him.
She had no experience at all in love – the closest she had felt before this was toward George Wickham, but she knew now, with the benefit of hindsight, that her attraction had been all for Wickham’s handsome countenance, fine figure, and pleasing speech.
Behind that facade lay the soul and character of a snake.
But with Mr. Darcy it was quite different.
She had initially been impressed by his looks and unimpressed by his reputation, but it was in his kindness toward Georgiana, his diligence as master of a great estate, and his powerful intellect, which had initially drawn her to him.
Georgiana had spoken openly of a possible marriage to her brother.
But that was Georgiana; she cut through such trifling concerns as connections and money with regal indifference.
Mr. Darcy, as master of his house, might well consider the second daughter of a country gentleman not worthy as a possible bride.
Elizabeth felt a tear form in her eye and quickly wiped it away. There was no reason to mourn. She would find out soon enough whether there was hope for such a match.
/
Brighton
Sussex
“Wickham!”
George Wickham cringed inwardly, but he turned a confident stare toward Lieutenant Pratt, who was puffing slightly, obviously having hurried down the street to catch up with him. “Pratt! How are you this fine morning?”
Pratt glowered at him, obviously indifferent to the blue skies and fair winds. “I would be far better if you would pay me. Come now, Wickham; it has been three weeks since you lost thirty pounds to me. It is time to pay up!”
Wickham produced his usual charming smile and said, “It is, without a doubt, and I apologize for the delay. In truth, I am in the same situation as you are; Captain Oakley from Dorset owes me fifty pounds, but I intend to find him today. I assure you that I will pay you as soon as I receive those funds.”
Pratt, a tall, well-built young man, puffed his chest up, the better to look more menacing, and said, “See that you do, Wickham.”
The man stalked away, and Wickham heaved a soft sigh of relief as he turned to enter the barracks where he was staying.
He found himself hurrying a little to attain the relative safety of his small room; Pratt was not the only fellow officer to whom he owed money, and several of them were growing restive with his continued delays.
Wickham walked over to open the top drawer of his wooden bureau and pulled out a small pile of correspondence.
A few were bills, which he tossed aside indifferently, and most of the rest were letters from female admirers.
The one on the top, from his old paramour, Mrs. Younge, was the most intriguing.
He opened and scanned it in search of the paragraph of interest. Ah, there it was:
My cousin Mildred’s cook’s daughter works at Pemberley as a maid, and the girl informed her mother, who in turn told Mildred, who informed me, that the Darcys plan to journey to Ramsgate at the end of July and will be staying in the same red brick house as usual.
I find that rather peculiar given the dramatics of last year’s visit to that town, but Georgiana no doubt wishes to drool over the wild birds in the salt marshes.
Wickham wandered over to stare out of the small window, which opened out toward an odiferous stable yard. It was not an attractive view, but at least the window opened to allow the ocean breezes to dissipate some of the heat.
He wrinkled his nose as he pondered his next move.
Regrettably, he would need to leave Brighton within the next few days.
Gaming debts were not legally enforceable, but it would be impossible for him to coexist with his fellow officers if he did not pay them off.
Naturally he would pay them if he could, but the dice and cards had been cruel to him of late.
Captain Oakley from Dorset had left the regiment the previous day on leave, and thus Wickham felt safe claiming that the man owed him money, when in fact he did not.
No one owed Wickham money. He owed many officers substantial sums, along with numerous shopkeepers, pub owners, and the like.
He would have to flee. The question was, where could he go?
As confirmed in her recent letter, Mrs. Younge’s boarding house and bedchamber were open to him, but that was a short term solution to his difficulties.
He would have to find another source of income from somewhere.
He looked down at the letter in his hand and read it again, his eyes now gleaming rapaciously.
It seemed curious that Miss Darcy was returning to Ramsgate, but he would be a fool if he did not take advantage of the situation.
Georgiana, with her singular temperament and thirty thousand pound dowry, had slipped between his fingers the previous year.
This time, with Darcy in Ramsgate as well, Wickham would need to use a more firm approach to successfully carry Miss Darcy away if he hoped to succeed.
Did he dare do so? Abduction was a capital offense.
But even if he were caught, there was no true danger.
Darcy would be forced to accede to the situation; Wickham would take care that Georgiana’s precious reputation was entirely ruined unless Darcy either permitted the marriage, or paid him off well.
It was risky, without a doubt – Colonel Fitzwilliam, Georgiana’s other guardian, had threatened to shoot him down when last they met.
But truly, Wickham had no choice. Ever since Darcy had refused to give him the church living, he had been living on borrowed time.
He was the godson of the deceased George Darcy, raised as a gentleman, and he was as deserving of good things as his former friend!
Furthermore, Georgiana loved him, or at least she loved him inasmuch as was possible in such an unusual girl.
At an early age, Wickham had discovered that he had a gift for making himself agreeable to women, for understanding their dreams and hopes, and their yearning desires.
Sometimes this took the form of physical passion, sometimes delicate compliments, and in Georgiana’s case, a promise of a farm with limitless birds.
He had no intention of wasting his money in such a way, of course, but Georgiana would not understand that.
She was a na?ve maiden and all too inclined to believe what others told her, especially her old playmate, George Wickham, godson of her father.
No, he would spend Georgiana’s dowry in whatever way he saw fit, and Darcy would doubtless provide well for his only sister.
It was a perfect situation for all of them; he would get his money, and Georgiana would attain a husband.
Given her bizarre passions and predilections, Miss Darcy would find it difficult to find a man to wed.
Really, he would be doing Georgiana a favor in taking her off the Marriage Mart.
Darcy had undoubtedly done his best to poison Georgiana against him, but Wickham knew the girl well.
It would not take long before she was once again under his spell.
He would have to act cautiously. He was confident of his own ability to prevail, and he had no intention of accepting failure.
He nodded with determination. He would flee Brighton and go to Ramsgate in pursuit of his fortune.