Chapter Persuaded to Believe Herself in Love #7
She turned to see Mr Wickham pull up in a smart landau, its top down, pulled by two matched chestnuts. The driver signalled the horses, and Mr Wickham jumped down as soon as the carriage stopped, rushing toward her, and taking both her hands in his own.
“Miss Darcy, I did not dare hope I would see you today. I am just returning to town and thought only to pass by your house to leave a card. What great fortune to find you here.
“Mrs Younge, beg pardon. Good day, madam.”
He turned to bow briefly to her companion, then returned his focus to Georgiana.
“I have thought of you every moment while I was gone. My business connexions were quite amused at my distraction. But they were kind enough to attend me at Canterbury, so I did not have to travel so far. I hope you are pleased at my return?”
Georgiana felt a rush of pleasure at his attentions. Her skin tingled at his touch, even through her gloves, and butterflies danced inside her. As she searched for an answer to his question, Mrs Younge spoke.
“Perhaps we might continue our conversation in a more appropriate setting. Mr Wickham, would you join us for dinner?”
With the meal complete and no host to offer port and cigars, the threesome retreated to the sitting room, where Mr Wickham suggested a walk in the garden.
Mrs Younge said she could chaperone perfectly well from her seat by the window, so Mr Wickham offered an arm to Georgiana, and led her to the far corner of the tiny garden. He turned to take both her hands.
“Miss Darcy—Georgiana—” he began. “I was not exaggerating when I said I thought of you every moment I was gone. I hope you thought of me, as well?”
She nodded, her eyes on the carved button of his waistcoat.
“Before I departed, I told you of my growing admiration for you. This separation has proven to me that it is deep and true, a foundation to build a life upon.” He gracefully dropped to one knee, kissing one hand, then the other, before looking up at her with beseeching eyes.
“Miss Georgiana Darcy, would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife? Of allowing me to love and care for you all of our days?”
The adoration in his eyes touched her even more than his words. She had never imagined anyone looking at her in that way. The most handsome man in the world, on his knees because he loved her!
“Yes, yes, George, I will marry you,” she answered, her throat so tight with emotion that the words were a mere whisper.
“Yes? Yes?” He rose and hugged her, whirling her around in the tiny space. “We will be the happiest of couples, you will see.”
She laughed giddily. “Put me down, silly man, before Mrs Younge comes out and scolds us.”
“Oh, I believe Mrs Younge will be very happy for us. She cannot have been blind to my attraction to you.”
“I believe you are right,” she said shyly, taking his arm, and, daringly, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. “She has told me I would be foolish to let such a fine-looking man escape from me.”
“I knew she could not be so intelligent for nothing.” He laughed.
A knock at the breakfast room door was followed by James announcing Mr Wickham’s arrival on Tuesday morning. Mr Wickham held two posies, one with red roses, tied with a blue ribbon. The second Georgiana did not notice.
“Welcome, Mr Wickham,” Mrs Younge said while Georgiana stared at her betrothed. She carefully placed her fork on her plate before standing and accepting the bouquet in his outstretched hand with a curtsey.
“Thank you, they are lovely. Good morning… George.” She raised her eyes to those of her betrothed, who smiled warmly at her.
“Please excuse the early arrival. I could not wait a moment longer to see you.”
He accepted a cup of tea and a seat at the table, and the ladies resumed their places, though Georgiana did little more than stir her eggs around her plate.
“You are quite welcome, of course,” Mrs Younge said, taking over the conversation. “It is not every day a young man becomes engaged, after all.”
“Indeed, and to such a beautiful lady. I regret every moment spent apart from her.” He gave Georgiana his intimate smile again.
There was silence for a moment, only the clink of silverware against china. Georgiana’s eggs were cold and lumpy, her toast torn to a pile of crumbs, but she accepted another cup of tea, adding extra honey to make up for her lack of sleep.
“Well,” Mrs Younge broke the silence. “I believe we have a wedding to plan. I presume you wish to wed soon? That way you can be presented to society as Mrs Wickham.” She nodded to Georgiana.
“Oh, yes,” Georgiana agreed. “When shall you go to my brother? He is not to arrive until the end of the month, so we would not want to wait so long.”
“As to that…” Mr Wickham’s smile disappeared, and he took a deep breath.
“I told you we are not on the best of terms. He was disappointed I chose a life of trade rather than accept the living your father planned for me. It may take weeks, or even months, for him to become reconciled to our engagement. He could—he could insist you go through with your season, hoping you will change your mind. Or he could require we wait until you are of age.”
“That is five years!” she gasped. “He would not do that!”
“Mr Darcy was quite insistent that you be prepared to enter society during the Little Season this year,” Mrs Younge said thoughtfully.
“I had not considered that he would object to Mr Wickham’s position in trade, only that he was an old friend of the family.
He might well insist you have a season before marrying Mr Wickham.
He would hope you would change your mind and marry one of his society friends. ”
“Never,” Georgiana exclaimed. “I hate the very thought of a Season, of all the attention and the insincere offers of friendship from people who only want something from me!”
“You sound as if you have already suffered such attentions?” Mr Wickham—George—asked in a sympathetic tone.
“Brother’s friend, Mr Bingley, has a sister who pretends to be my friend, but really only wants Brother for herself. Well, she also hints that Mr Bingley and I would be a good match. You do not think he plans me to marry Mr Bingley, do you?” she asked her companion.
“It is possible.” Mrs Younge shrugged. “Though he may have much higher aspirations. Your mother was the daughter of an earl, after all.”
George reached over and took her hand, his thumb rubbing soothingly across her bare skin. She was immediately comforted and let out a long sigh.
“So, what do we do?”
There was a long silence, and Georgiana looked from George to Mrs Younge, then back again.
“Well, I hesitate to suggest it,” George said thoughtfully, still rubbing her hand. “I am sure you have dreamed of a society wedding in St George’s with a beautiful gown, and a ball, and a fine wedding breakfast, but…”
“But? And no, I do not need any of those things!”
“You could elope!” Mrs Younge exclaimed. “It would be very romantic, and you would be wed before your brother could object or interfere.”
“Elope?”
“We could,” George replied, squeezing her hand. “We could travel to Scotland, and be married within the week. Once we were brothers, I believe Fitz and I could reconcile.”
“It is the perfect solution,” Mrs Younge said resolutely.
Breakfast completed, Mrs Younge suggested the three take a walk to discuss arrangements.
By the time they returned, their plan was set.
They would tell the servants that Mrs Younge’s sister was in Dover, feeling poorly, and that Mr Wickham was to escort the two ladies to visit and assist her for several days.
In reality, they would travel to Canterbury, where Mr Wickham would exchange the landau for a larger travelling coach for the long journey to Scotland.
Their departure was set two days hence, on the morning of Georgiana’s sixteenth birthday.
“I hope you will consider a new husband an appropriate birthday gift.” Mr Wickham leaned down to whisper to her, sending a shiver as his warm breath caressed her ear.
Georgiana nodded, glancing toward Mrs Younge to see if she was listening, but her companion stood several steps away.
They turned back toward the cottage as Mrs Younge listed what each would need to prepare.
“Everything must appear as ordinary today, then, when the ‘express letter’ arrives tomorrow, Miss Darcy and I will make our preparations.”
Wednesday morning, Mr Wickham once again arrived during breakfast, this time with a letter in hand.
“Ladies, you are looking particularly lovely today.” He bowed extravagantly. “I encountered an express rider as I approached and took the liberty of sending him to the inn for breakfast. If you need to reply, I will send for him.”
He presented the letter to Mrs Younge, who made a show of reading it with an expression of worry and soft exclamations of dismay.
“It is my sister,” she explained, in a voice loud enough to be heard beyond the open door. “She and her husband are in Dover on his business, and she is not well. She begs that I come and stay with her for a few days.”
She sighed. “I simply do not know what to do. I cannot leave Miss Darcy here alone.”
“I could go with you,” Georgiana said her lines as rehearsed. “I have never been to Dover and would be glad to see it.”
“And I could escort you ladies there,” Mr Wickham concluded.
“If you are both sure it would not be an inconvenience? I would not wish to disappoint my sister.”
Within moments, Mrs Younge had written a reply to her sister, and Mr Wickham departed to give it to the supposed express writer and prepare himself for travel. Mrs Younge spoke to the housekeeper about their plans and Georgiana returned to her room to begin packing with Lane’s help.
The maid offered to travel with them, but Georgiana demurred, with the explanation that they would not wish to impose on Mrs Younge’s sister any more than necessary.
“We shall probably be very quiet, and I am sure someone can help me.”