Chapter Fifteen #2
“He understood what it was like to be . . . to be expected to be something which you knew you were not,” Miss Darcy continued.
“At first, it was merely a flirtation, but after a few months, it developed into something more. And then he wanted to, er . . . take what married men have a right to.” Georgiana’s cheeks pinked.
“I told him that I couldn’t possibly do such a thing unless we were wed.
He relented, after a time, but he wanted to tell my brother directly about our intentions.
I suspect he thought it would make him seem more of an equal, for George always did have a bee in his bonnet about his station in life.
But I knew that my brother would never allow the match.
The only way—at least, the only way I thought he’d have to accept it—would be if we ran away to Gretna Green.
If we were already married, then my brother would simply have to accept the matter. ”
“An elopement? With Wickham?” Caroline goggled, her jaw dropping. “Darcy would have been furious.”
Good Lord, that was an understatement. Heads would have rolled.
“Well, yes, but I . . .” Georgiana shrugged, looking more uncomfortable than Caroline had ever seen her. “What was the alternative?
Telling the truth? Having Fitz throw George out and forbid him from ever seeing me again? I knew how he’d react, and merely
sought to . . .” She shrugged again. “Bypass it.”
“That is certainly . . .” Caroline hesitated. She could see Georgiana’s point, she supposed, but lying about something as
large as this seemed like it was by far the worse option of the two. Darcy was far too good a shot; better to be honest to
the gentleman’s face and accept whatever consequences came as a result.
“It is the greatest regret of my life that I let my brother think the elopement was George’s idea,” Georgiana sighed.
“Hold on,” Caroline said, sitting up straighter. “Why did you not simply tell him the truth?”
“You do not understand the pressure put on us,” Georgiana continued, her lips pursing into a thin, pale line. “We lost our
parents at such a young age, and Fitz always impressed upon me the strictest need to maintain pristine reputations. One slip,
he said, and we might lose all that our parents had sought to endow us with.” She shrugged, a muscle jumping in her jaw. “George
took the blame for the elopement before I could even open my mouth, and I did not correct him. Fitz sent me out of the room
in order to speak to George privately, and then I never saw George again. No final farewell, no letter of explanation. From
that point until I debuted, my brother kept such a close eye on me that I could barely breathe. Afterwards, he made it clear
that no young man anywhere was to so much as look at me twice. I cannot really blame him, and in truth, I did not really care.
I was not eager to get into another relationship. It was only after Fitz met Miss Elizabeth Bennet that he . . . that he and
I had a conversation.” Georgiana hesitated, biting her lip.
Caroline could very well imagine Darcy’s new approach: sympathetic, reconciliatory, kind. “Why did you not reveal the truth
then?”
“I had planned to, but he revealed his own truth first, and that rather threw me. It turned out that he had offered George a significant amount of money to never see or speak to me again. The man who claimed to love me did not reject the idea out of hand, but instead bargained for more, which my brother gave gladly in order to be rid of him.” Miss Darcy smiled as if she cared not a whit for this news, though the tense line of her jaw told Caroline otherwise.
“I think people claim that they would do anything for love, until the right opportunity presents itself. Everyone has a price. That is my opinion, anyway. Now you may see why it is hard for me to trust, and why I have not sought a match of my own before now. I did not tell you because I did not want you to think less of me.” Georgiana bit her lip again. “You do not, do you?”
Caroline opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Certainly, the idea of Georgiana marrying a man who would never
amount to anything more than a mere soldier was an affront to dignity and added to the sour feeling churning in her stomach,
but that was not a fair assessment of the affair, nor of Georgiana’s part in it. Miss Darcy had been young and impressionable
at the time, and evidently, Wickham had been charming enough to keep her convinced of his affections.
“No,” she said slowly. “I do not think less of you for the affair.” Georgiana looked relieved, and really, Caroline ought
to have left the matter there, but she could not help adding, “Though I might have, if you’d married him. There did not seem,
at least to me, to be anything extraordinary about the man. Certainly I would have thought you a fool for giving up so much
for so little.”
Georgiana sighed. “Then I cannot say you would be different from any of the other ladies of our acquaintance in that respect.
I doubt any one of them would have kept up our friendship if I’d actually married him.”
“Could he really have made you happy, though?” Caroline pressed. The idea of Georgiana in some tiny house, the wife of a common
soldier, sharing his bed every night and his table for every meal, was increasingly abhorrent to her the more she thought
about it.
“That is a difficult question to answer.” Georgiana hesitated. “I know I loved him, though he was far from perfect. But one can never predict the future with any degree of real accuracy. Perhaps love would not have been enough.”
Caroline coughed to cover the unladylike sound that bubbled out of her throat. What was so special about George Wickham that
might make a woman such as Georgiana consider giving up her entire fortune, her status, her entire life? “I am afraid I do
not follow,” she said. “There is not a single man in the world who could elicit such feelings in me that would compel me to
give up everything I have in order to love him. I can tell you that for certain.”
“Then I pray that you are never presented with such a choice.” Georgiana smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “It
is of no consequence, though, since all the men in our circles are likely to be worth a few thousand a year. You are surrounded
by suitable options.”
“Hmm. Do you ever think it odd that your former lover married your sister-in-law’s sister?” Caroline mused. “Wickham might
have married anyone, but he chose the youngest Bennet of all people.” She remembered very little of the girl, but she’d seemed
wild, a half-feral blaze of exuberance that drew the attention of every foolish man in the room. Another fifteen-year-old,
if Caroline recalled correctly. Wickham clearly had a particular taste for girls too young to know better.
“I . . .” Georgiana blinked at her. “I hadn’t actually thought of it like that. I suppose it is a bit odd, though when one
moves in certain circles, one is bound to come across people with whom one has formerly been . . . acquainted.”
Caroline did not particularly want to think about how well Georgiana and Wickham had been acquainted.
She could see it now: that smug, satisfied smile of his, those strong arms snaking around Georgiana’s waist. His lips upon hers, pressing his body close.
To make matters worse, Wickham had tried to court Miss Elizabeth Bennet, too.
If only he’d managed it, she thought wistfully.
Then I wouldn’t have had to listen about how bloody wonderful she is.
She scowled, then realised Georgiana was staring at her with some impatience. Evidently she’d been asked a question. “My apologies,”
Caroline floundered. “Pray repeat yourself. I was too busy wondering why, when England is clearly full of people, that there
appear to be but seven or eight families in all the country who intermarry.”
That earned a snort of laughter from Georgiana. “I asked if you would like some lemonade.”
Caroline agreed that lemonade sounded lovely, and they busied themselves with the contents of the wicker basket for the next
few minutes. Mrs Addlecombe had provided fruit scones liberally smeared with clotted cream, a bowl of glistening and luscious
strawberries to accompany them, and two enormous slices of spiced cinnamon cake. Caroline plucked the raisins out of her scones
and handed each to Georgiana, who ate them with relish.
“I really do not understand why you are so opposed to raisins,” said she. “They are so delicious.”
“I do not like their texture.” Caroline glared down at the latest piece of offending fruit. “So wrinkled. So very . . . elderly
and dry. Whatever the process entails, it seems a terrible thing to do to a perfectly good grape.”
“What about wine?”
“That is quite different. In fact, one might argue that wine is a grape’s natural ambition.”
“So there is a spectrum, in your opinion.”
“My dear Georgie, it is objective fact,” Caroline argued. “If I were a grape, I would be delighted to become wine and extremely
offended to be relegated to the fate of a raisin.”
In this way, they passed the next half hour with pleasant bickering. After they had enjoyed their fill from the basket, they
lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stared up at the sky. It was unusual for Georgiana not to disappear into a book
at this stage of any picnic, but a quick glance into the basket proved that Miss Darcy had not even brought one with her.
Caroline’s earlier jealousy vanished, replaced by a fluffy, warm contentment. Of course I am more interesting than any book, she thought, but it is nice to have confirmation of such a thing from time to time.
It almost certainly didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Georgiana had been a little more tactile than usual since
the harp incident. Or perhaps Caroline was just aware of her friend in a way she had never been before; the heat emanating