Chapter 13 #2
“It is so long since we have been able to be in the company of gentlemen without their trying to flatter us and catch our interest. While I trust the Darcys and Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoy our company, I doubt we are in danger from them.”
Mama smiled, perhaps a little wistfully. “The Colonel is an earl’s son, and Mr. Darcy’s late wife was an earl’s daughter, both very high in the nobility. Mr. Darcy and his son move in the very highest London circles, well above ours with my brother Mr. Gardiner’s connection to trade.”
“But Mr. George Darcy was all condescension. Darcy, his son, appeared more reserved and spoke very little. I am not sure he approves of us—particularly of me.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy,” Mama replied. “He’s quiet and reserved, yes, but I thought him extremely clever when he quoted the verse about Homer and Cicero. I admit, I did not understand a word of the Latin—but I have read the Iliad to Mr. Bennet in translation.”
She began brushing out my hair—in the looking-glass, I saw myself blush. “It was mortifying that he could so easily turn my quip—I am not accustomed to such dry wit being used against me.”
“All to the good, Lizzy,” she said, amusement crinkling her eyes.
“You have become, perhaps, too prideful with no one in Meryton able to match your quickness, without your father countering your sharp tongue. Mr. Darcy is a true scholar, as Mr. Bennet once remarked; and it is likely his son has inherited his intellect in full measure.”
I laughed; but truly, Mama was correct—I had begun to think of myself as above most others in Meryton.
With Jane living at Netherfield Park, I was accustomed to being the sharpest knife on the dining table—oh!
what an appalling metaphor! Luckily, I had not spoken such aloud during dinner, for I’m sure Darcy would have responded with a cutting and, most likely, wittier remark: the brightest candle in the chandelier?
all my eggs in the one basket? the sharpest pencil in the box?
‘Maybe, Lizzy,’ Mary whispered to me, ‘Darcy thinks you’re not clever at all. Likely he would say: dumb as a bag of hammers.’ Her laughter echoed in the room—had Mary really made a joke?
“Lizzy, I knew you corresponded with Miss Darcy, but I was astonished by her reaction when you were introduced. Can you tell me of it?” Mama now sat before the glass; she glanced at my reflection as I brushed out her hair.
“Do you recall, Mama, when Mr. Darcy and I walked together just after Uncle Philips had read the will?”
She nodded, recalling that the gentleman had returned much agitated and immediately wrote a letter to be sent by express to London.
“Georgiana had written to me,” I continued, “that she had been courted by a man who professed to love her, but was of much lower status—being the son of a steward. She was sure Mr. Darcy would not approve of their marriage.”
“And the express? Mr. Darcy appeared extremely vexed.”
“Georgiana’s dowry is thirty thousand pounds, a veritable fortune!
It was certain that the man was a fortune-hunter.
Who else would court a fifteen-year-old girl and suggest they elope and marry in Scotland?
The express was sent to his son Fitzwilliam to have him immediately go to Ramsgate, where Georgiana was staying with her companion. ”
“An elopement which certainly did not occur,” said Mama. “I can see why the girl was so emotional upon meeting you. But I am surprised she was not angry that you had betrayed a confidence to her father.”
“I truly did not know how to act, but then I thought of what you would do. If Georgiana had been Jane or me, you would have counselled caution and prudence: that a man who truly loved us would fight for his love; and then, no matter how long it took, convince her father that he was a proper, respectable gentleman, able to support the daughter irrespective of his humble origins. I felt it was my duty to inform Mr. Darcy, for I could not countenance the young girl throwing away her life on such recklessness—though I feared in doing so, that I would lose Georgiana’s trust, likely forever. ”
“Oh, Lizzy. I am so proud of you. You saved the girl from a very improvident union. Yet, there are some things that puzzle me: you said he was the son of a steward. But how did he discover Miss Darcy’s dowry?
Such things aren’t spoken of in polite company, and she is a most proper young lady.
And how did he gain her admiration so quickly, especially with a companion present? ”
I had never thought of it; indeed, it was very strange. “Perchance he was already acquainted—maybe a family friend.”
Mama’s expression grew troubled. “Did she describe him in her letters? Perhaps she didn’t name him, but used an initial instead?”
“She called him G. She said he had a good figure, pleasing manners—like a gentleman.”
Mama looked at me with disquiet, putting her hand to her mouth. “Who do we know, Lizzy, who fits that description, the son of a steward, comes from Derbyshire, and seeks out young women of fortune?”
The answer came in but an instant. “George Wickham!” I exclaimed. “Surely not! But, I confess, the similarities are too close to be dismissed.”
“On the morrow, I shall speak with Mr. Darcy,” said Mama, her manner emphatic.
“If it truly is Wickham who attempted to seduce Miss Darcy, then the good people of Meryton must be warned immediately of his manipulative and deceitful nature. Miss King is certainly in danger. I will have Mr. Darcy send an express to Sir William—let us hope the young lady remains safe.”
We dressed in our night rails and climbed under the coverlets of the bed. The evening was mild, and the bed cosy.
“Lizzy, before you drift off to sleep,” Mama said softly, “today, above Loughrigg Tarn, you drew the most beautiful sketch. You certainly have a talent which I never suspected.”
Tears moistened my eyes. “Oh, Mama,” I cried, rolling over and embracing her. “I never meant to disappoint you. But it was not me, it was Kitty who drew the scene—she has such skill, so much more than me.”
Mama was silent for a long while, then pulled me into a close embrace.
“Dearest, you can never disappoint me. If little Kitty lives on inside you, that is a miracle in itself: that she, who never saw the world, can now see through your eyes and bring such joy to this world.
Truly, my darling, it is a gift you must treasure.
Your talent—because it is yours, Lizzy—is so very, very special.
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