Pledged to Mr Darcy

by Valerie Lennox

  After the death of her parents, she…

  Well, she didn’t know. Had she turned to a mercenary? Or no, that wasn’t what a woman in a situation such as this would be called. It would be an uglier word, one she was not even supposed to know. Whore. Trading her virtue for his money.

  It was sordid, and she did not like it.

  So, that was why she was determined to do as she had said to Miss Thackerey, and mend things between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham. She must do good with her newfound good fortune. She would not deserve it else.

  The next day, she and Miss Thackerey entered into the entrance hall of Pemberley to find Mr. Wickham engaged in conversation with the butler. Miss Thackerey had left Georgiana to play the piano on her own for an hour or so.

  When Wickham saw Elizabeth, he smiled brightly and beckoned. “Oh, Miss Bennet, do come here.”

  She approached, uncertain.

  “Now, I have come to take the soon-to-be Mrs. Darcy on a walk of the grounds. You would not refuse her if she commands that I be given entry, would you?”

  The butler turned to her.

  Elizabeth was confused. “I apologize, I don’t think I quite understand.”

  But the butler only bowed to her. “If it your wish to walk with Mr. Wickham, then what can I say? You are the mistress of the house.”

  “Is there some reason that I should not walk with Mr. Wickham?” said Elizabeth. “If the concern is Miss Darcy, I have made sure that she does not see him. I hope to clear this all up, if I can, and bring Mr. Wickham back to good standing with the master of the house.”

  The butler considered. “Well, then, you know more about it than I.” He turned to Mr. Wickham. “You know that we have no quarrel with you, and that master was not specific when he told us to bar your entry. I am only following orders.”

  “I do know that,” said Wickham, smiling broadly. “This quarrel between Mr. Darcy and I grieves me greatly, however.”

  “They were boyhood friends, were they not?” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps I shall be able to reconcile them.”

  The butler smiled at her. “That is an admirable objective, madam. I shall hope that you are successful.”

  “Excellent, then you will let the staff know I am to be admitted?” said Wickham.

  “Of course,” said the butler, bowing. He took his leave of the two of them.

  Elizabeth was still confused. “Mr. Wickham, you are barred from the house? Why is Mr. Darcy so angry with you?” Then she remembered she was meant to bring up Ramsgate in a roundabout way. “That is, let us go for a turn in the gardens, as we planned. We do not need to speak of unpleasantness right away.”

  “I do not mind to speak of it,” said Wickham. “But let us go and walk as you say.”

  They left the house with Miss Thackerey in tow and slowly made their way through a pathway surrounded by bright flowers on either side.

  Miss Thackerey promptly found a bench and sat down. She fished a book out of her pocket and began to read.

  Elizabeth and Wickham continued on slowly walking amongst the flowers. The scent was heavenly, and the sun was bright on Elizabeth’s face. She basked in it, shutting her eyes, her face upturned to receive it. She would probably grow tan and Martha would scold her, insist on putting white powder on her face, but Elizabeth did not care.

  They walked for a while, until they were far enough from Miss Thackerey that it was unlikely she would overhear them.

  “You spoke of Miss Darcy,” said Wickham. “I assume she has told you some sort of story about me? But you must not believe it, if you are here with me.”

  “Indeed, she refuses to speak of you,” said Elizabeth. “Why? Is there a story to tell?”

  “I know not,” said Wickham, stopping to examine a purple bloom. “I assumed that Darcy had told her all manner of falsehoods about me. But, then, what have you heard, Miss Bennet?”

  “Oh, dreadful rumors,” she said. “Things it would not be appropriate to repeat aloud.”

  “I think if you are to reconcile Mr. Darcy and myself we must have it all out. I shall not be offended to hear the things you have heard.”

  “Well…” She toyed with the ribbon on her bonnet. “As I have said, only rumors. Something about a Miss Younge, Miss Darcy’s previous governess, and about Ramsgate.”

  “That is all?”

  She licked her lips. “There are whispers about some sort of impropriety, between, er, Miss Younge and… and you.” She dared not look at him as she said this. “But also possibly that it was all on Miss Younge’s side, although I have to admit I can’t quite work out why she would do such a thing.”

  Wickham did not say anything.

  She looked at him.

  He was still stroking the purple flower. “This is all you’ve heard? Nothing else? It does not seem to explain why Miss Darcy would not wish to see me.”

  “Oh, yes, well, possibly she was witness to… to something between you and Miss Younge… maybe she misinterpreted or…” Elizabeth was blushing. “Let us walk. Aren’t we to be walking?” She started off.

  Wickham caught up to her. He spoke quietly, near her ear. “The truth is, Miss Bennet, I seem to be too amiable of a man.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Sometimes, when I have done nothing but be friendly, women get ideas in their heads about me. About my intentions.”

  “And… and that is what Miss Younge did?”

  “Quite,” he said. “She brought poor Miss Darcy along for the ride, and when I gently set Miss Younge to rights, I am sure that she told Miss Darcy all manner of awful things about me and about my intentions. Miss Younge was vicious when she was rejected. Why, from some of things that Mr. Darcy has said to me, I think that Miss Younge told him quite a tale. She has poisoned them both to think that I intended to take advantage of Miss Darcy.”

  “Take advantage of her?” said Elizabeth, not comprehending.

  “Indeed, though she is obviously far too young, and quite not of the disposition that would take well to such a venture.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth in a different voice. “But Darcy wouldn’t believe such a thing of you!”

  Wickham spread his hands. “I can’t be sure what he believes. He has not spoken to me since the incident. I barely saw Miss Darcy or Miss Younge besides. Miss Younge pursued me to Ramsgate, thinking that I wished her to do so. I turned her away. That is all that happened.”

  “And she told vicious tales of you because she was scorned,” said Elizabeth. “Yes, that makes sense.”

  “If anyone can make Mr. Darcy see that I am innocent, I think it will be you, Miss Bennet.” His voice had dropped, as if the two of them were entering into a conspiracy together.

  “Yes, but why did she pursue you?” said Elizabeth, voicing her thoughts aloud. Then she felt herself flush. “That is, begging your pardon, sir. I don’t mean to imply that you would not be the kind of man that women would pursue.”

  “No, it is all right,” said Wickham. “It is true, I have no fortune, nor any promise of one. I do not know why Miss Younge acted as she did. I suppose she misinterpreted the way that I interacted with her. I am often told that I am too friendly, too familiar, that it gives women ideas.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth in a different voice, because this admission of Wickham’s was now putting another light on all of her interactions with him. She had never seriously considered Wickham as a possible partner, of course, but there had been a brief period when she was certain he favored her, and she him. But perhaps that was just his way.

  “It’s a fault,” said Wickham, looking apologetic. “I only mean to be kind and polite, I swear.”

  “Well, yes,” said Elizabeth. “I see that, of course.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Wickham. “What is that, the way you are holding yourself so upright now? You seem to be a bit difficult to read yourself, Miss Bennet.” He winked at her. “After all, I could have sworn you despised Mr. Darcy, and now here you are, pledged to him.�
��

  “I never despised him,” said Elizabeth, which she knew was a lie. “Let us not discuss my future husband any further.”

  “Oh,” Wickham chuckled. “So, it is like that?’

  “Like what?”

  “Never mind,” said Wickham. “Far be it from me to cause distress to a lovely creature as yourself. What would you care to discuss, then? Perhaps we should discuss the way the light in the garden falls on your locks of hair, making them glow? Perhaps we should discuss how pretty your face looks when you are set off in mourning frocks, as if the black makes your skin luminescent?”

  “Mr. Wickham!” She was flushing again, and she was scolding him, and she looked back to see if she could still see Miss Thackerey. Perhaps it had not been wise for her to stay so far behind.

  He smirked. “Not that, then. Pray, choose a topic, madam.”

  “Did you speak thus to Miss Younge?”

  “No, indeed, Miss Bennet.” He winked at her. “I would only say such things to you. But I know it is folly, since you are promised to another, and one who hates me nonetheless. It is only that I feel quite overcome by your presence.” But there was something in his smile that made her wonder if he was not making fun of her in some way.

  She felt flustered. “I fear the sun is getting to me. I need to go and sit down.” She turned and began walking quickly back toward the house.

  “Did I say something to upset you, Miss Bennet?” called Wickham after her. “I apologize, most sincerely. Don’t go!”

  She didn’t stop until she got to Miss Thackerey, who closed her book and looked up at Elizabeth with wide, innocent eyes.

  Wickham caught up to them only moments later. He was smiling. He bowed to them both. “Perhaps I shall call tomorrow? This was such a lovely walk. I should like to do it again, if it pleases you?”

  “Of course,” said Elizabeth, trying to smile, really just wanting to get rid of him. She could not understand why it was that Mr. Wickham was making her feel so uneasy.

  He gave them a mock salute, and then a bow. Then, with an insouciant grin, he was on his way, hands in pockets and whistling as he went.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Right after the walk with Wickham, Miss Thackerey had to go and see to Georgiana, so there was no time to discuss what Elizabeth had learned. Instead, she did go and sit down and have a cool drink to try to calm herself. Her pulse was thrumming.

  Oh, it was not to be borne!

  She had forgotten about Mr. Wickham, how he raised her blood in this manner. She had not thought herself capable of such feeling after her family’s death, but here it was. She found him pleasing to look upon, and the things he said to her, about her hair and her face and the glowing and…

  What had she done? Why had she promised herself to Mr. Darcy, when the man didn’t make her feel anything like that at all? Not that she could be with Mr. Wickham, anyway, even if the situation was different. Mr. Wickham had made it clear with his short-lived engagement to Miss King that he was interested in marrying for money. She did not begrudge him that. Indeed, in her current situation, how could she, because she might as well be doing the same?

  Later, after dinner, and after Georgiana had gone to bed, she and Miss Thackerey were able to discuss it all.

  “It all makes sense,” Elizabeth said after she had explained all, “and yet…”

  “What?” said Miss Thackerey.

  “Well, I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels as if something is missing from the story.”

  “You know what strikes me as odd?” said Miss Thackerey.

  “What?”

  “Well, being as I am a governess myself, if I were in the situation where I might be losing my position, I should not be making up stories about whatever man that had wronged me just to get my revenge on him. I should be doing everything in my power to keep my position. I hate to say this, but I should probably lie through my teeth about all of it.”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth. “That is strange. If Darcy only has Miss Younge’s word, then why would she volunteer information that would destroy her?”

  “I think there’s more to it,” said Miss Thackerey. “Mr. Wickham probably did not want to admit how involved he was with Miss Younge. He probably didn’t want to risk your good opinion.”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth quietly. “I could see that he might be concerned with that.” The black makes your skin luminescent.

  “So, he values your opinion?”

  “I…” Elizabeth felt flustered. She folded her arms in her lap. “Yes, I suppose so. Oh, I do wish Mr. Darcy would come home so that I could ask him about it.”

  “Why not send him a letter?”

  Elizabeth unfolded her hands. She didn’t know what to do with them. “No, I don’t wish to bother him during his business. Besides, there is bad blood between them. I could stir things up between them and do irreparable damage. Better wait until I can speak to him face to face.”

  “Listen, I know that you agreed for Mr. Wickham to call on you tomorrow, but I don’t think I can occupy Georgiana again in that way. Besides, I should not leave her alone. She is my charge, and I am employed to watch over her.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth. “Of course. Well, that is no matter. I shall simply tell him we have no chaperone and that it would be inappropriate for us to walk together.”

  * * *

  “Oh, indeed?” said Mr. Wickham, who was standing in the entrance hall of Pemberley. “Well, then, here is what I propose.” He lowered his voice. “In approximately a quarter hour’s time, excuse yourself for a walk alone on the grounds. Perhaps on the horse path we met on originally. You never know who you might meet walking accidentally.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Wickham, I couldn’t possibly.”

  He smiled at her, and something about his smile made her feel a kind of awful excitement. “Well, perhaps you’ll change your mind. I shall wait and see.” And then he left.

  Dash it all.

  She waited the fifteen minutes, telling herself that she would not leave, and she would not go meet up with Mr. Wickham for some clandestine walk on the grounds. It was utterly improper, and it could be taken as a sign that she was not faithful to Mr. Darcy. If he found out, it was the sort of thing that was grounds for dissolving an engagement.

  She would not go. She could not go.

  She went.

  And when she met up with Mr. Wickham, walking under the trees, they did not speak of Mr. Darcy or Miss Younge or Georgiana. They spoke of other things. At first, simple things like the weather and sorts of trees that grew on the grounds and some light gossip about some of the peerage from London. He said no more things about how lovely she looked or how her hair glowed.

  But from time to time, he would look at her, and an expression would come over his countenance, as if she dazzled him.

  She liked the feeling of that expression more than she could say.

  After they walked that day, he asked her take a walk around the same time the next day, and she did.

  It went on for days, nearly a week. They spoke of everything. One day, Mr. Wickham listened while she poured out her heart about the loss of her family, and he was kind and understanding about it all, encouraging her to let it all out. When she sobbed, he gave her his handkerchief and gently patted her shoulder.

  But the last day, everything changed.

  “I have been thinking,” said Mr. Wickham as they walked together. He was close to her, close enough that his arm occasionally brushed hers. She kept trying to put distance between them, but he kept eliminating it. She thought it must be an accident, but it disturbed her, even as part of her almost welcomed it. “It seems that Darcy is not coming back for some time.”

  “Well, that may be so,” said Elizabeth. “He was not specific when he left as to how long he would be gone.”

  “So, it could be months.”

  “Possibly.”

  “The thing is, I am in dire need of some funds.”

  “Oh,” said E
lizabeth. “Well, I really can’t give you anything at this point. Mr. Darcy did speak to me about allocating some funds for me, but I told him it wasn’t necessary yet. After all, I am not spending money here at Pemberley. Nor is it on my mind when I am still in mourning.”

  “No, Miss Bennet, I wouldn’t think to impose upon you in that way. However, I was thinking that you might be able to escort me to Mr. Darcy’s study.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, I shall come and knock on the door, and you shall tell the servants we have business in the study, and then, I shall—”

  “Shall what? Steal from Mr. Darcy’s desk?”

  “It’s not stealing.” Wickham’s countenance went stony. “He has stolen from me by preventing me from having what I was rightfully promised.”

  “Yes, and that is because of the business with Miss Younge? Because I don’t feel as though the timing of that really lines up—”

  “No, he has always been thus with me,” said Wickham. “It is as I told you, he is jealous of the love his father bore me, and he denies my rights and thinks the worst of me. But you know me, Miss Bennet. You know that I could not be the monster he says that I am.”

  Mr. Darcy had not called Wickham a monster. He had not said a word about him, in fact. She had never broached the subject with him. “Mr. Wickham, I don’t think it is right—”

  “Is what he has put me through right? No, it is wrong. I have been wronged. You would be righting your fiance’s wrong. I know that is what you wish to do.”

  “And how am I tell him that I allowed you to perform thievery—”

  “It is not thievery.”

  “Well, I will be living with this man for the rest of my life, and if I displease him—”

  “There, see. You’re afraid of him.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but it’s true.” Wickham folded his arms over his chest. “Look, I don’t mean to be out of line. I know when I said anything before it made you uncomfortable. But you don’t belong with Darcy.”

  “Mr. Wickham…”

  “No, you know it’s true.” Wickham’s expression was earnest. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life with a man like him.”