Chapter Persuaded to Believe Herself in Love #8
When the maid was out of the room, she packed all of her jewellery, including the several pieces purchased in Ramsgate, tucking it and a carved wooden box with letters and her pin money, into the bottom of her trunk.
In the sitting room after dinner, following Mr Wickham’s departure, she flipped the pages of her book restlessly, then looked up at her companion.
“Are you quite sure this is the only option? Surely my brother would support us, and we could have a proper wedding.”
Mrs Younge smiled sadly. “You cannot risk it, my dear. If you were to wait, and he denied you… Well, your honour is engaged at this point, and there is no turning back.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded wearily. “I understand. I simply cannot bear the thought of disappointing my brother, who has been more like a father to me.”
“When a woman agrees to marry, her allegiance changes from her family to her new husband. It is Mr Wickham’s happiness you must put first,” her companion said.
20 June 1811
Today was her birthday, the day that would change her life forever. Her questions of the night before remained, but she set them aside. Her decision was made.
Lane entered quietly from the dressing room, pulling the curtains open to reveal more of the daylight.
“Are you ready to rise? Mrs Younge said that you were to leave very early.”
She nodded and after splashing cold water on her tired eyes, was quickly dressed in a practical dark carriage dress, her hair in braids tightly wound around her head.
Downstairs, Mrs Younge’s small trunk sat by the front door, and her companion stood by the window in the breakfast room, watching the street below.
“Eat quickly. Mr Wickham should be here at any moment. I am quite anxious to be on my way to my sister,” she added, for the benefit of any listeners.
Breakfast completed, they removed to the rather dreary parlour across the hall, which also had a view of the street. An hour passed, then another, with Mrs Younge pacing and peering out the window on each lap.
She is more nervous than I am. It still seems unreal that I am to be married.
Finally, there was a knock at the door, and the two ladies stood in anticipation. Mr Wickham entered with a swagger and bow, leaning to kiss the hands of first Mrs Younge, then Georgiana. Rather than releasing her hand, he took the other, pulling both up to hold over his heart.
“Happy birthday, my darling. Are you prepared to begin our lives together?”
She nodded, captured by his intimate gaze, feeling his heart pound beneath her hands.
In the distance, she heard another knock, and tore her eyes away to see her brother appear in the doorway, his expression grim.
“Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed, trying to pull her hands away from Mr Wickham. He held them up, kissing each one in a leisurely manner, before releasing them.
“Fitz, have you come to give us your congratulations? Georgie and I are to be wed, you see.”
“I do not see,” Fitzwilliam growled and Georgiana’s eyes widened. “You will not be marrying my sister, or quite possibly anyone, when I am finished with you.”
“But, Brother.” She rushed toward him. His jaw was clenched and a vein at his temple throbbed. She had never seen him so angry.
“But, Brother,” she repeated. “This is George, your best friend. I am sure you can reconcile your differences, and we will all be family. And you will not have the trouble of giving me a season or looking for a husband for me.”
“It has been a very long time since Mr Wickham and I have been friends. Is that not right, George?”
Mr Wickham’s face was pale, and his smile lacked its usual charm.
“Mere misunderstandings. I have told Georgiana that you were disappointed that I refused the living, choosing to make my own way instead. Can you not bear the thought of a tradesman as friend and family?”
The contradiction in his words struck her. Her brother’s best friend, Charles Bingley, came from a family in trade. Why would her brother disdain an old friend for such a choice? She swivelled her head to her brother.
“A tradesman? Are you suggesting you actually do honourable work for a living? I cut you from my life for your degenerate behaviour, as you are well aware.”
“Gigi.” Fitzwilliam’s gaze softened as he looked down at her.
“Gigi, I am afraid Mr Wickham—and your companion—have deceived you.” He turned to Mrs Younge, who had been quietly moving toward the door.
“Or do you have an explanation for allowing your charge, who is not yet out, to spend time in the company of an unrelated man?”
Mrs Younge paled noticeably and grabbed at the mantle to steady herself.
“You two—” Fitzwilliam pointed “—sit down over there and wait for me to decide what to do with you. Georgiana, we need to speak privately.”
Two footmen in Darcy livery appeared and stood guard at each of the doors to the parlour. Fitzwilliam led Georgiana across the hall to the breakfast room.
“Why did you not tell me Wickham was here?” he asked urgently. “Why did you not write? I never told you of Wickham’s depravities because I never expected you would encounter him. But if you had written I would have warned you!”
“I did write! Twice a week, just as always! I told you of meeting him. And I only received one letter from you, announcing your arrival in London after you left. Mrs Younge said you were too busy with gentlemanly activities to write to me.”
He took a deep breath, then another.
“I wrote to you weekly, dear heart, and expected a stack of letters when I returned to Darcy House Monday, but found only one. I had an overwhelming fear that something was wrong, and determined to come to you at once.
“Oh, Gigi.” He pulled her into a close embrace. “If I had been any later I would have lost you forever.”
“But Mr Wickham loves me!” she protested weakly, her voice muffled as she leaned against him. “It was most romantic, our reunion and his suit. And Mrs Younge said it would be a fine match.”
“Wickham loves only himself—and money.” Fitzwilliam released her. “I must speak to them, without you present, but you need to hear this. Would you, please, go into the study and listen at the door without letting them know you are there?”
She nodded, the knots in her stomach easing as her brother’s affections wrapped around her. He had not forgotten or abandoned her, despite her fears and Mrs Younge’s discouraging words.
She slipped into the study and stealthily turned the latch on the door to the adjacent parlour. Through the tiny opening between door and frame she could see Mr Wickham and Mrs Younge standing towards her brother, who towered over them with arms crossed and a stern expression.
“You will explain everything,” he commanded. “Then I will decide what to do with you. And be warned, I already know a great deal, so the smallest variation from the truth will seal your fate.”
“Oh, come Fitz, we can work this out without risking dear Georgie’s reputation,” Mr Wickham said ingratiatingly. Georgiana stifled a gasp at the insinuation.
Fitzwilliam glared and set his arms more firmly across his chest. A long silence was broken only by the clatter of hoofbeats outside the front window.
“It was all George’s idea,” Mrs Younge burst out.
Once she began to speak, the story poured out, and Mr Wickham’s posture melted with every word.
Mr Wickham and Mrs Younge were associates, lovers, in fact. When Mr Wickham heard through his sources that Georgiana was to leave school and have a companion, he had encouraged Mrs Younge to apply. A confederate of her late husband had forged her reference letters.
“Our plan was to separate her from you as soon as possible, encourage her to resent you, and fear her coming out into society. Then Wickham could appear and sweep her away in a grand romantic gesture,” she recounted in a flat tone.
“After he received her dowry, he was to deposit her at Pemberley, then we would live on her fortune.”
She added details in response to his questions, including admitting to removing Georgiana’s letters to him or other family members from the salver, and hiding any letters from him. The one letter that had reached him, it was determined, had been delivered to the post by Georgiana’s maid.
“Anything to add to that, Wickham?”
“There is nothing illegal about courting a young woman for her fortune,” Mr Wickham blustered.
“It happens all the time. Even your cousin has said he must marry with an eye to practicality. Really, you cannot expect anyone to pursue such an insipid young girl for anything other than her fortune. I was doing her a favour by bringing some romance into her life.”
Tears welled up, and Georgiana tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It had all been an act. Everything he said was a lie. Instead of the true love she had dreamed of, she had been a means to an end.
“A favour, tying my dear sister to a wastrel such as you? I think not.” Fitzwilliam paused for a moment, listening to a commotion in the hall. “And you mentioned my cousin?”
The door swung open and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam strode in. Mr Wickham staggered back and away from him, tripping as he bumped into the sofa and falling into an untidy heap.
“Ah, Wicky.” Richard’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Falling at my feet. How convenient.”
He reached Mr Wickham in three steps, grabbing him by the cravat and pulling him up roughly.
“Any objections if I introduce Wicky, here, to my friends?” he asked Fitzwilliam. At her brother’s shake of the head, he turned back to Mr Wickham, who appeared to be trying to pull away from the larger man.
“As I said, it is ever so convenient for you to try such a scheme in a town full of the Royal Navy. You are about to join His Majesty’s forces on the sea. Such a shame you suffer from mal-de-mer.” He shook his head with a grin.
Two more men, in navy uniforms, entered and grabbed him from either side.
“Darcy, you can’t allow this!” Mr Wickham begged. “Your father—”
“My father would have been disgusted with your schemes and would have applauded us finally taking you in hand,” Fitzwilliam said coldly, nodding to Richard.
The two men marched him out, his loud protests fading as they left the house.
Mrs Younge was offered the choice between exile and trial for theft.
“You forgot to explain one part of your scheme. When I reached London, I found bills for hundreds of pounds worth of jewellery, purchased on accounts in my sister’s name,” he said.
“I know my sister likes pretty things, but”—he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his waistcoat—”a black pearl necklace and bracelet?
An amethyst ring with diamonds? And a ruby necklace, bracelet, and ring? ”
The housekeeper entered, holding a wooden box, and nodded. He opened the box, shaking his head.
Faced with the evidence of her crimes, Mrs Younge agreed to leave for the Canadas and never return.
“Gigi?” Fitzwilliam called out. “Is there anything you wish to say?”
She stepped into the room, hands trembling. “How could you?” Her voice quavered as she glared at her companion. “I trusted you—how could you?”
She retreated into the study, slamming the door behind her, and dropped into a cosy chair next to the empty fireplace.
Tears poured out as the reality of the past few weeks washed over her.
Everything she had believed had been a lie.
Fitzwilliam was not avoiding her or ignoring her.
Mr Wickham was not in love with her, and Mrs Younge was not her friend.
She, and to a lesser extent her brother, had been manipulated by a pair of masters.
Within moments, the door opened and her brother rushed in, kneeling down to hug her where she sat.
“My apologies, Gigi. I should have protected you.”
Richard handed her a handkerchief. “We should have protected you. I also apologise that I was not here to help prevent all this.”
She rose and accepted a hug from her cousin, then another from her brother.
“Thank you for coming, for rescuing me. I was such a fool!”
“And they were very clever,” said Richard. “Come, dry your eyes and change into a pretty gown. We can discuss this more later. We have a birthday to celebrate.”