Chapter 5 Seize the Day
by D. C. Williams
Darcy House, Mayfair, London
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam sprawled before the fireplace in his cousin’s study, feet up, sipping a glass of brandy. Across from him was Fitzwilliam Darcy, his cousin and best friend since childhood, who stared unseeing at the flickering flames illuminating the room.
“Enough. Darcy, you have been morose and silent—oblivious even for you—since your return from Hertfordshire. Did Bingley’s sister finally find the courage to compromise you?”
Darcy gave a dark chuckle. “No.” He tossed back his drink with a grimace. He rose abruptly and paced the room, pausing at the window to glare at the darkness.
“Bingley found a new angel, the eldest daughter of a neighbouring estate, a typical mercenary mother.”
“And…”
“I joined his sister in extracting him. Again.”
“I do not understand. Bingley follows your lead like a green lad. Unless you mean he raised expectations?”
“Indeed, the local society had every expectation of a proposal. I was…distracted and did not see it in time. I fear it will be difficult for the young lady.”
“I still do not see that as your problem, Darce. Perhaps it is time you allow Bingley to play the hand he was dealt. This is not the first such result of his wandering eye. What makes this time different?”
Darcy refilled his drink, waving the decanter towards Fitzwilliam, who nodded and lifted his glass.
“There is more. The lady has young sisters, and Wickham has paid them much attention.”
Fitzwilliam jumped to his feet, sloshing brandy onto his trousers. “Bollocks! When did you plan to mention Wickham had re-emerged?”
Darcy waved his hand dismissively. “I am sick to death of him…but cannot get the image of him speaking to the youngest Bennet daughters—of an age with Georgiana—from my mind. He has poisoned the entire community with his usual lies.”
“What is he doing there? Did he follow you?”
“No, he was as shocked to see me as I was to find him flirting in the village square. He has acquired a commission in the Derbyshire Militia. It is billeted there for the winter.”
Fitzwilliam resumed his seat. Setting his brandy on the table, he tapped his finger against his lips.
“Ahh, opportunity. Perhaps you will finally allow me to deal with him?”
Darcy turned away. “Perhaps.”
Fitzwilliam closely observed his cousin. This was too easy.
“So, you will leave this to me. Why now? After letting the blackguard go free at Ramsgate? What has changed?”
“The Bennets are a family of five daughters—all out—the youngest are ripe for his type of charm. Wickham would ruin them for sport. I could not act… Georgiana…”
Fitzwilliam was certain there was more to this than a misplaced sense of responsibility. “What of the other sisters?”
Darcy flinched and took a deep drink of his brandy. “The elder sisters are admirable women, kind and intelligent. The middle sister is excessively prim, but harmless enough. The elders attempt to regulate the younger two with limited success.”
“What was so very bad about this Miss Bennet? Mercenary mothers are as common as horses.”
“No fortune or connexions, close ties to trade, and as intolerable a family as I have ever seen. The mother is loud, vulgar, grasping. The younger girls are wild. The father, clearly indolent regarding responsibility to his estate and his family. Such a connexion would be a degradation.” Darcy spoke with disgust and finished his drink.
Fitzwilliam considered the disposition of their former companion, George Wickham, with no little satisfaction.
Two days later, Fitzwilliam rode north with a select few men and a satchel containing the IOUs Darcy had accrued over the years in a misguided effort to preserve the world from the depredations of one Lieutenant George Wickham.
They arrived at the militia headquarters in the village of Meryton near ten o’clock and were taken directly to the commanding officer, Colonel Forster.
He reviewed the evidence and indicated they should break their fast and return in a few hours to secure their prisoner. He was seriously displeased that the charming new officer had proved a fraud.
They led their horses towards the inn Colonel Forster had recommended for a hearty meal.
As they rounded a corner, Fitzwilliam observed five lovely young women exit a shop, their laughter bright in the winter sunshine.
They were immediately stopped on the street by two officers.
Fitzwilliam felt his blood rise as the scene unfolded—he would recognise Wickham anywhere.
One of the young women pointed at his group, causing all the ladies to look. The observation of a pretty brunette held Fitzwilliam’s attention, and he saw the moment Wickham moved behind her as though to hide. He frowned when Wickham’s hands settled at her waist as he ducked lower.
The lady startled. Eyes blazing, she quickly stomped the heel of her walking boot on the instep of Wickham’s foot, before whirling to slap his face. Hopping on one foot, Wickham lost his balance, falling in an ignominious heap at her feet.
“You detestable cur!” she spat. “Never come near my sisters or me. You are unwelcome at Longbourn, and I shall see that you are prohibited from any of my neighbours’ homes as well!”
She grabbed the hands of her nearest sisters and propelled them towards the closest shop, cutting off their protest at her forceful handling.
The shopkeeper held the door open, inquiring whether the lady was well as he herded them inside.
They all crowded round the doorway to witness what transpired.
Fitzwilliam was captivated. Her remarkable eyes and colour in her cheeks had rendered the young woman magnificent even before she castigated Wickham. He forced his attention from her visage to the business at hand.
He heard men’s laughter near the inn as Wickham stumbled to his feet, brushing the dust from his breeches. Fitzwilliam joined in, motioning his men forwards.
“Wickham! It seems you have met your match. The ladies in this fine community have grown wise to your charms.”
Wickham blustered, face pale, as two large soldiers took position at his side.
“What is this, Fitzwilliam? I am under the authority of the militia. You can have no business with me.”
“On the contrary, Lieutenant. Your commander was more than pleased to turn you over when presented with evidence of your profligate ways.” Fitzwilliam addressed the curious citizenry.
“We are arresting this man for theft, fraud, and unpaid debts, but he is also known to be quite free with his attentions, if you get my meaning. It would be a good thing to settle his debts with Colonel Forster, as Wickham does not honour his promises.”
Fitzwilliam’s men grumbled good-naturedly at the need to delay their meal while they collected their prisoner and escorted him to the militia headquarters for processing. Wickham whimpered at his rough handling, complaining loudly and limping pitifully between them.
Fitzwilliam told his captain he would await them at the inn. He was determined to learn the identity of the young lady, if only to ensure her well-being after the incident. His instincts told him the lady might be worth a second glance.
He entered the common room to hear the locals speaking of a “Miss Elizabeth” and the set-to with the insolent lieutenant.
The young woman was obviously well respected and appreciated.
The innkeeper was a gregarious man, and whilst Fitzwilliam sampled a bowl of the hearty stew with fresh bread and ale, he made short work of gaining the direction to Longbourn estate, the home of the Miss Bennets.
Could this be the family Darcy spoke of?
His men returned, advising him that Colonel Forster would have the prisoner ready within one to two hours. They had time to enjoy their meal.
Upon recommending the stew to his men, Fitzwilliam excused himself, informing them that after his errand in the village, he would meet them at the headquarters for their return to London. He retrieved his horse and followed the directions to the Bennet estate.
As Fitzwilliam rode through the gates of Longbourn, he could see the young women entering the house. One looked back, and he could hear raised voices as the door closed behind them.
“Colonel the Honourable Richard Fitzwilliam of London,” the elderly manservant said as he passed the card to the master. Fitzwilliam bowed as the man closed the door of Mr Bennet’s study behind him.
The gentleman stood, laying a well-worn book upon his desk as he came around to meet Fitzwilliam’s extended hand. Bennet waved the colonel to a seat and, after the usual niceties were exchanged, indulged his curiosity.
Fitzwilliam considered the older gentleman during their opening sallies in view of his cousin’s opinions.
What he observed was a gentleman dressed for comfort in good quality garments suitable for a country squire, though not in the newest fashion.
His desk was clear, a stack of ledgers on an adjacent table, and a tray with a half-full crystal decanter and glasses was visible on a lower shelf.
A wider perusal showed an extensive library that would make his erudite cousin drool.
Bennet waited for Fitzwilliam to complete his appraisal, eyebrows raised and eyes twinkling with good humour.
“Colonel, I am most interested to learn what business has drawn you to Longbourn this fine winter day. I will acknowledge that I am not unfamiliar with the Fitzwilliam name. Would I be correct in presuming you are connected to the Matlock earldom?” His scrutiny was penetrating.
“A relation of yours spent a brief sojourn here this autumn.”
“Lord Matlock is my father, yes. I presume you speak of my cousin Darcy. His concern for the citizenry was the impetus for my visit. I believe you are acquainted with a Lieutenant George Wickham?” Bennet nodded coolly.