Chapter Persuaded to Believe Herself in Love #2
“I could not,” Mrs Younge protested, somewhat half-heartedly, as she quickly ripped away the wrapping. “It is lovely. I will treasure it as a memento of our visit here.”
They had collected one of her new gowns Thursday, and Georgiana wore the yellow muslin Sunday on their first foray to the local church.
After dinner, Mrs Younge disappeared to her rooms to take a nap, and Georgiana was left to amuse herself, wandering from the sitting room to the terrace overlooking the small garden.
Since her brother’s departure, Georgiana had not spoken to a single person outside the household, other than clerks in the shops.
They had not even stopped to speak to the curate at church.
The day after Fitzwilliam departed, Mrs Younge had informed her that she had cancelled the planned watercolour lessons.
And despite her aunts’ promises of sending letters of introduction, there had been no visitors nor new acquaintances.
Mrs Younge had rushed Georgiana past the two young ladies at the cottage two doors away on several occasions, despite their friendly smiles.
“I do not believe your brother knew there would be such a… variety of people here,” Mrs Younge explained. “You are on holiday, but you are still a Darcy. You cannot risk becoming entangled with people not of your station. They could be anyone!”
In her letter to Fitzwilliam the day before, Georgiana had described their plans for sea-bathing, the beauty of the seashore and the cancellation of her water-colour master, but avoided any complaints about the lack of society.
Her brother was much too busy with Pemberley and his other duties to worry whether she made any new friends.
He had been kind enough to allow her to remove from the school she disliked and to bring her to Ramsgate.
She must not take up too much of his time.
Monday night, Georgiana settled into her bed with a contented sigh. It had been the best day since her brother left her in Ramsgate with Mrs Younge.
She and Mrs Younge had set out before breakfast for an early walk. The sea breeze was brisk, blowing Georgiana’s curls into her eyes despite the deep brim of her straw bonnet. The quiet was broken only by the cry of sea birds.
Georgiana stopped to release her skirts, where they had caught on the laces of her half-boots. When she arose, a man appeared ahead, silhouetted by the early morning sun. He shifted to allow them to pass, lifting his hat in a polite salute. He was almost past them when he stopped.
“Georgiana Darcy, is that you? Oh, my, you are all grown up.”
She stopped, turning to look at the speaker. Her eyes now sheltered from the sun, she could see him. Tall, slim but broad-shouldered, honey-brown hair, tied in a queue, glistening with golden reflections of the sun. Hat in hand, he swept into a deeper bow.
“It is you? Miss Darcy?”
“George? George Wickham?” She stepped forward eagerly, then, remembering herself, dropped into a gracious curtsey. “Yes, it is I.”
Mrs Younge cleared her throat pointedly and Georgiana flushed. “Mrs Younge, might I introduce Mr George Wickham. He grew up at Pemberley and was a dear friend of my brother. Mr Wickham, Mrs Younge, my companion.”
Mr Wickham offered a gracious bow, but his eyes hardly left Georgiana, and she flushed under his intent gaze.
“What brings you to Ramsgate, Mr Wickham?” Mrs Younge asked, her voice stiff.
“I had some business in the area, and thought to take a few days to benefit from the sea air before returning to my duties,” he said lightly. “And I can see that both you lovely ladies are blooming from your holiday. Is Fitz with you?”
No one else called her brother “Fitz.”
“He had to return to Pemberley for some business. He will be very sorry he missed you.”
“Perhaps, but you know we are not on such good terms as we once were,” he said, a wry smile crossing his face. “Mr Darcy,” he addressed Mrs Younge,” is a very industrious sort of fellow. I am afraid we mere mortals, who enjoy our leisure, cannot meet his high standards.”
Mrs Younge’s posture eased. “It is a pleasure to meet an old friend of the Darcy family. We are here for several weeks for Miss Darcy to take the sea air, while Mr Darcy engages in his responsibilities.”
He turned to Georgiana. “I am loath to give up your company just yet. I would hear all the news from Pemberley and how you came to be such a fine young lady when I remember a lovely child.” His eyes dropped from her own to her neckline, but returned immediately.
“Could I interest you ladies in some tea? Or ices? There is a fine little teashop not too far away.”
Georgiana turned to Mrs Younge, who nodded slightly, and accepted on their behalf.
“I see no harm in conversation with an old friend.”
He bowed gracefully, his hair catching the sun, then returned his hat to his head and offered an arm to each lady. “I shall be the envy of Ramsgate, with such beauties on my arms.”
They proceeded back towards town, Georgiana very aware of the heat of the arm under her hand, and the scent of the cologne he wore.
“And where do you reside, Mr Wickham?” Mrs Younge asked.
“Oh, London, of course, when I am not needed elsewhere. My business keeps me moving about. And what of you, Georgiana, excuse me, Miss Darcy? Have you been residing in London?”
He addressed Mrs Younge. “Please excuse the informality. The previous Mr Darcy was my godfather, you know. For many years, I was ‘big George’ while Miss Darcy was ‘little Georgie It is hard not to fall into the habits of happier times.”
The tea room, when they reached it, was not at all what Georgiana expected.
Tucked away on a side street, it was dark, and the few customers appeared to be shop girls from the nearby businesses.
But the heavy plates and cups set before them were clean, if not fine, and the girl who took their order welcomed them with a genuine smile.
He ordered lemon ices, turning back to Georgiana, smiling confidentially. “The best ices this side of Gunter’s, if I might say so.
“Now, Miss Darcy,” he emphasised, “you must tell me all about your recent doings, and those at Pemberley. Have you made your curtsey to the Queen? Has Fitz finally found a lady who meets his ever-so-high expectations and begun filling his nursery? Or has he given in to Lady Catherine and agreed to marry your cousin? Come, you must tell me all!”
“No, no and no!” She laughed. “I will probably make my curtsey next year. Lady Matlock is already planning my gown.” She grimaced, thinking of the heavy, elaborate court gown her aunt Rebecca had shown her.
“Fitzwilliam has not married and has no intentions of marrying Cousin Anne. We saw her when we stopped at Rosings on the way to Ramsgate. Her health has not improved.”
“Such a shame.” He shook his head slowly. “I remember her visit to Pemberley before Sir Louis died and before the scarlet fever. She was a lively, happy girl.”
“I am afraid I only remember her as sickly.” Georgiana pictured her cousin, swaddled in shawls, sitting near the fire even on the finest days.
There was a brief silence, while their ices were placed before them, then Mr Wickham turned his brilliant smile on her companion. “Mrs Younge? How long have you been with our dear Miss Darcy?”
“Only a short time. Mr Darcy hired me as her companion when she left school in the spring. We plan to set up her own establishment in London when we return from Ramsgate.”
“But—” Georgiana caught herself, shaking her head. They were to go to Pemberley, but there was no need for that discussion here. She took a bite of her ice instead. It was excellent, tart, sweet and cool.
“Oh, you will not live at Darcy House?” Mr Wickham raised an eyebrow. “No, I suppose not. These important men are much too busy to cater to a younger sister. No, it is Fitz’s way to spend money, rather than time or attention.
“Pardon me, I should not let our ill parting disturb this joyous gathering. But I can never think of Pemberley, and old Mr Darcy’s kindness to me, without regretting the current circumstances.”
What had happened between her brother and Mr Wickham?
Georgiana remembered only that he had disappeared from their lives after her father had died, almost five years before.
Aunt Rebecca had carried her away to Matlock after her father’s funeral, and when she returned to Pemberley two months later, Mr Wickham was never mentioned.
“So, Mr Wickham.” Mrs Younge broke the silence. “What is your occupation? You mentioned business?”
“Why, yes?” He paused to spoon up the last bit of his ice.
“After old Mr Darcy’s death, I went to London to study law.
Much too dry for me, I am afraid.” He laughed.
“But I learned a bit, and made some connexions, and became a man of business for a number of gentlemen. Traveling about to check on their holdings, shuffling papers about from one shire to another, that sort of thing.”
As Mrs Younge and Mr Wickham continued a light conversation about travel and the perils of unknown inns, Georgiana glanced away from her companion to meet Mr Wickham’s admiring gaze, and straightened slightly in her chair.
Their ices consumed, Mr Wickham escorted them about town for another hour or more, then back to their cottage, graciously refusing an offer to come in for tea.
He had plans for the following day, he told them at the doorstep but hoped he could call on them at least one more time before business called him away.
Mrs Younge had assured him that he was always welcome, and Georgiana had floated up to her room, head full of velvety brown eyes and sparkling honey-coloured hair.