Prologue Part 1 C #2
His aim was to ingratiate himself with Mr Darcy this summer so things would go back to the way they had been before he had been so unfairly treated.
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George could not understand why, when he had been his most charming self, and Mr Darcy had said he was pleased by the reports he had received, that nothing had changed.
In fact, Mr Darcy had told him that it would take for him to complete his three years of studies in the same fashion before he would consider making any changes.
That was not what he wanted to hear, so when he was not entertaining little Georgiana, he was skulking about the place, refusing his father’s entreaties to work so he would be able to earn additional coin for when he was back at Oxford.
His late mother had assured him that he could not be so charming and handsome for no reason. She convinced him, which became part of his persona, that he was destined for great things and would not have to toil for his money like his father and others did. Hence, work was out of the question.
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As per his invitation to Bingley, William was waiting for his friend to arrive on the first Friday in August. He was taken aback to see two carriages and a cart.
He did not miss the smirk on Richard’s face.
His cousin had been correct, and he was the one who was mistaken. He hated to be proved wrong.
To soothe his own pride, William would have not said anything and made like all was as it should be, but after hearing Richard’s opinion, his father had been adamant that only the person who was invited would be welcome.
As soon as the first conveyance stopped, William spied a smiling Bingley with two women. One a lot older, the other one of an age with Bingley, or younger. Both were dressed as if they were on their way to a ball at St James’s Palace. The footman knew not to retract the step or open the door.
“You there,” came a screech from the cabin of the lead carriage. “Open this door now!”
The second equipage stopped, and the Darcy footman did not open that door either.
William stepped up to the door nearest to Bingley.
“A word,” he said curtly. He stepped back as the footman opened the door for his friend.
The man closed it before the younger lady could move.
He led Bingley away from the coach. Richard joined them, still smirking.
“Bingley, did my invitation include you and the whole of your family or only you?” William asked quietly.
“Ahem, err, I mean. I did not think you would mind if my mother, sisters, and my older sister’s betrothed joined me.
Is that an issue?” Charles enquired while he refused to look his friend in the eye.
He had tried to tell his mother and sisters the Darcys would not welcome them without an invitation, but in the end, he had bowed to their wishes.
“Bingley, if I were the master here, I may have allowed them to stay for a day, but my father suspected there would be more than just you arriving. Hence, he said that no one but you would be allowed to remain. In our circles, it is not done for one to invite themselves in this way. I am afraid you will either have to send them away or all depart,” William related.
“Charles, open the door this instant!” Mrs Bingley commanded in a very shrill tone of voice.
Once his friend had gone and spoken to the coachman of each carriage, William nodded to the footman who opened the door so that Bingley could board the coach. As soon as his friend was in, the footman closed the door.
William watched the coaches and the cart as they were jerked into motion, make a wide turn in the courtyard, and depart.
He wondered if his friendship with Bingley would survive after his family was sent away from Pemberley.
He was well aware how uncomfortable he was around those he did not know, and making new friends was a difficulty for him.
He would put up with a lot to keep his friendship with Bingley.
Charles had to endure being berated by his mother and younger sister all the way to the nearest inn, the Rose and Crown Inn in the town of Lambton.
At least, when they alighted from the following equipage, his older sister and her affianced had the decency to look embarrassed.
His mother and younger sister were outraged that they had been turned away from Pemberley.
All Charles could do was hope he had not lost Darcy’s friendship.
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While his cousin was enjoying his summer at Pemberley, shortly after the aborted Bingley visit—he had been pleased his uncle had stood firm and given William no choice—Richard Fitzwilliam joined the Royal Dragoons.
No matter how much his parents tried to talk him out of his choice, Richard had been adamant that the only profession he was interested in was the army.
Matlock could hear the drumbeats of war, which had begun when the little Corsican had executed his coup d’état and made himself the First Consul of France.
Richard began as a second lieutenant. It was the lowest commissioned rank possible. Even though his father had been more than willing to purchase him a higher rank, Richard wanted to earn any subsequent promotions based on his own merits.
He spent most of the remainder of the summer at the Dragoons’ training grounds learning to be an officer.
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When William returned for his final year at Cambridge, he was happy to discover that Bingley did not want to cut the acquaintanceship.
He did not know that his friend was just as keen as he was to continue the connection.
Charles never told Darcy how much vitriol his mother and younger sister had spilt on the return journey to Scarborough, right until they arrived home, where his father, who had remained in Scarborough, had been furious that his wife had prevaricated to tell him the invitation was for all of them.
At the same time the two friends were at Cambridge, George Wickham returned to Oxford for his second year of studies.
It was inconceivable to him that he had used his charm on Mr Darcy whenever he saw him while at Pemberley, and nothing had changed.
He had even spent more time with the annoying Miss Darcy, or Gigi, as she preferred to be called, in the hopes of ingratiating himself with her father. Nothing had helped.
George felt the pull of his urges and was not at all happy that he had to be careful, still living under the unreasonable restrictions Mr Darcy had imposed on him. Well, his father too!
No amount of cajoling, begging, or anything else had convinced his father to speak to Mr Darcy and intercede on George’s behalf.
His mother would have done so. It was obvious that his father did not love him like his mother had.
Mother would never have allowed him to have to worry about what Mr Darcy would do.
For the first two terms, much to his distaste, George managed to remain within the strictures which had been placed upon him, or at least when he indulged himself, word never reached Pemberley.
That changed in the final term. George had been back from Pemberley for less than a sennight when he seduced the daughter of a tradesman with promises of marriage.
All would have been well, except the irate father caught him and demanded he marry the young chit.
Of course, George refused, but word reached the university.
That information was posted to Darcy, and it took only a few days before a report was read by him. He immediately summoned his steward. Wickham agreed that his son had wasted his final chance.
Darcy composed a note to Oxford informing them that he would no longer pay for George Wickham’s education, and if the latter needed to be sent down, Darcy would not interfere.
An epistle was received some days later from Lord Frederick North, the chancellor of Oxford, which explained that based on reports from proctors about all of the rules he had broken, George had been expelled from Oxford.
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By the time George arrived back at Pemberley in late April of 1803, Robert Darcy had added to the letters he had written to his children and placed them with his first letter and those Anne had written.
Unlike Anne, Darcy did not always have the easiest time expressing himself emotionally in words; however, he was well able to write what he needed to say.
Unfortunately, this was something William inherited from him.
George was furious he had been sent down from Oxford, but nothing he said to his father or Mr Darcy changed that fact.
He licked his wounds and bided his time at his father’s home.
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William arrived home the Saturday before his twentieth birthday after graduating with honours. As the day of his birth was on the sabbath, it was celebrated on the second Monday of July 1803.
That summer was one of the most enjoyable for William, except for one thing.
Not only was Richard not present, but England had been at war with France since May of the current year, and William, like the rest of his family, worried terribly that Richard would be injured, or worse, when he was sent to fight against the little Corsican’s forces.
He spent much time with his father continuing to learn how to manage Pemberley, so he would be ready when it became his one day—William prayed it would be decades in the future—and a good amount of time with Gigi, who was seven.
Something which made the summer even more pleasant was that William almost never saw George Wickham, and when he did, it was at a distance. He knew that the libertine spent time with Gigi, but as long as Father did not see fit to stop that, it was not William’s place to do so.
At the end of August, William left for his grand tour, except it would not be so grand. He was to travel around England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. With Richard in the army, he was forced to do so on his own.
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