A Virtue of Marriage

by Elizabeth Ann West

  Your Longtime Friend,

  Charlotte Collins

  Elizabeth’s hands trembled as she read, reread and then read once more, the missive. She bit her lower lip to keep from shouting out at the wonderful news of receiving an invitation to Kent, to the very estate where Fitzwilliam was kept prisoner. This whole business of arranged and unarranged marriages did not suit her at all, and though in her heart and mind she trusted Fitzwilliam to prevail, the stabs and pangs of jealousy never truly dissipated while he was away.

  The sounds of the Colonel’s precipitous arrival startled Elizabeth back to the present matters at hand and she swiftly refolded Charlotte’s letter to tuck into her dress pocket. She smiled in preparation for the man to enter the study and glanced over to Anna, sitting calmly in the far corner of the room. Giving the maid a wink, the two shared a silent laugh as Richard entered the room.

  “Miss Bennet, may I say how lovely you look today.” The dashing Colonel bowed low to his favorite cousin’s intended.

  “Colonel, you are so flattering, but I do think we might dispense with pleasant formalities. You have news?” Elizabeth’s throat clenched as her heart hoped Richard held a letter from her Fitzwilliam.

  “I’ve had a letter from Darcy.”

  Jubilation bubbled over in Elizabeth heart, and she finally felt she could breathe easily. “Has he written to me?”

  The Colonel shook his head, and Elizabeth’s hopes crashed to the ground. “I see.” She took a seat in her favorite chair next to the bookcases in Uncle’s study. The Colonel looked around him and found the wooden chair beside Mr. Gardiner’s desk as a suitable place to rest.

  “The situation in Kent has become desperate. I am to leave tomorrow, as I have finally secured permission for leave from the Major General. I only wished to visit here so that I might keep you abreast of the latest developments. Darcy writes that our cousin, Anne, is . . .” The man trailed off as his emotions began to overwhelm him.

  Elizabeth witnessed the difficulties her visitor experienced in saying the words she could easily guess. “Your presence is needed at once,” she said softly.

  Richard nodded. “I shall leave for Kent in the morning on horseback.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips and worked out her plan in her head. Charlotte had invited her to visit at her earliest convenience. And here was an opportunity to not only travel with a maid, as she was sure her aunt and uncle would insist upon, but with a member of His Majesty’s Finest. Would Fitzwilliam be angry for her to leave London without his knowledge? But that thought flittered away as Elizabeth smiled at the opportunity to surprise Fitzwilliam as he had surprised her these last two months with his unannounced returns to the city.

  “Colonel, would you consider assisting me in a surprise attack on your cousin and travel to Kent not on horseback, but by carriage?”

  A consummate prankster himself, Richard at first felt keen to aid Miss Bennet, but visions of his aunt’s wrath made him question the wisdom of such a plan. “While I would love nothing more than to please my cousin with aiding your travel, I hesitate that your presence might complicate our plans . . .”

  Wrinkling her nose, Elizabeth shook her head and retrieved the letter from her pocket. “Oh, I would never presume to stay at Rosings uninvited. It is that I have just today received an invitation to visit my dear friend Charlotte and her husband, my cousin.”

  “The very same cousin you refused to marry?” The Colonel asked, forgetting that was a confidence Darcy had shared. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn.”

  Steadying her emotions with a deep breath through her nose, Elizabeth managed to keep her composure that Richard should know of her past. “Fear not, I am not surprised Fitzwilliam made you aware of the particulars. You are trustee to my future safety. But yes, the very same man, though I do not think now that he is married he should behave untoward in my direction.”

  Richard agreed with Elizabeth with a slow nod of his head, finally considering her proposed travel arrangements more carefully. After the gossip in the newspaper, bringing Elizabeth Bennet to Kent might prove to be the perfect distraction to keep Lady Catherine off his and Darcy’s true aims. And with Richard there, his aunt would never succeed in forcing a sudden marriage between Darcy and Anne. He looked again at his cousin’s intended and measured her mettle as she sat there, fire in her eyes, chin jutted out. This lady was a warrior; there was no doubt about it. And Richard would be a fool to dismiss her offer of aid, even if it did make her the sacrificial lamb in the plan.

  “Miss Bennet, you are a crafty one, I shall warrant you that much. I hope my cousin knows what it is he has found in you.” The compliment was met with a tinkling laughter that made the Colonel join with his deeper bass. “I accept your plan and shall return this evening to discuss the particulars with your uncle.”

  “I shall prepare him for your visit, sir.” Elizabeth rose from her chair to see the colonel out and smiled as he left at nearly the same time as Mr. Warren. Both Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth stood in the entryway for a moment and her aunt asked Lizzie for the news.

  “I am to leave for Kent in the morning, Aunt Maddie, and rescue my knight!” Elizabeth laughed as she pecked her aunt on the cheek and hurried up the stairs. She had much to pack, and little time to prepare.

  Chapter Six

  Regular post amused Mr. Bennet of Hertfordshire. Since losing his favorite daughter to her stubborn will, the letters from his brother-in-law Gardiner rarely interested him beyond a glance. The latest letter, though, appeared to have significant heft to it as it sat, carefully folded upon his desk.

  "Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! Come quickly, a carriage has been spotted!"

  Robert Bennet cast his eyes to his easily excitable wife standing in the doorway to his study. Francine Bennet had not ceased to speak about the impending arrival of their eldest daughter, now fashioned as Mrs. Charles Bingley, since breakfast. She now stood waving her familiar object of comfort, a lace handkerchief, beckoning her husband to leave his den of refuge.

  "Mrs. Bennet, until the carriage has arrived and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley have been welcomed into our home, kindly allow me some peace."

  "You have no compassion, sir 'tis a momentous day for any mother to welcome home a married daughter. A momentous day indeed!"

  Despite her chastisement, Mrs. Bennet did manage to leave her husband alone to await the carriages arrival. Mr. Bennet poured himself a drink and considered the unopened letter from London. If the letter should prove upsetting, the visit of his most obedient and serene daughter, Jane, may alleviate any ill effects. Should the letter not prove upsetting, well, that was an unlikelihood Robert would not deign to expect.

  Slicing the seal of the letter, a number of papers were folded with only the top letter in his brother's hand.

  Brother Bennet,

  Although your continued silence from the numerous updates I have sent regarding your daughter Elizabeth leads me to believe you are uninterested in her future, the father in me refuses to give up the hope that a reconciliation might still come to pass. My last letter explained my reservations concerning a suitor for Elizabeth’s hand, a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire.

  I've had it confirmed through my sister Phillips that the man is indeed the same who nearly killed my niece with his reckless horseback riding. As the injuries to Elizabeth are not lasting, and she appears in fine health, I'm confident the accident has forged a rather strong bond between the two young people.

  Mr. Darcy began to call on my family a number of times each week, by direct result, I am told, of Elizabeth visiting his town home without invitation to return a book lent to her during her lengthy recuperation at Netherfield Park. I did my best to dissuade the man from his interests in Elizabeth because I feared with such wealth, a man was unlikely to be honorable with his intentions.

  While I cannot in clear conscience say I was incorrect, as Mr. Darcy's family has intervened to make him marry his sickly cousin in Kent, your daughter considers herself eng
aged to the man. And despite his difficulties in managing his family's expectations, Mr. Darcy has settled an extensive trust upon your unmarried daughter with his cousin and myself as trustees.

  Robert Bennet’s heart clenched in his chest. How could his brother Gardiner be such an imbecile to not recognize a rich man providing for his mistress? If Mr. Darcy had such designs of marriage towards his Lizzie, there had been ample time for the man to come honorably to Longbourn and discuss such matters with her father. The very fact that this rich man had waited until his daughter was unprotected, in London, proved to Mr. Bennet no such wedding should ever occur between his favorite daughter and Mr. Bingley’s closest friend.

  Lizzie has accepted the invitation of her friend, Mrs. Charlotte Collins, and recently left our home to go to Kent. I am apprehensive about her reception to the very estate where Mr. Darcy is expected to wed his cousin, but both my wife and niece dismissed my concerns. We both know Lizzie's will is ironclad where her heart is concerned, and I felt I had no choice but to assist her in her aims.

  I pray these young people, including Mr. Darcy's cousin, know their business as their intentions are to switch Mr. Darcy as groom to their cousin, a Miss Anne de Bourgh, with the man traveling to Kent with Elizabeth, a Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. I admire their pluck for the Colonel's parents, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, and Miss de Bourgh’s mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, are opposed.

  Raised voices outside of his study alerted Mr. Bennet that it was likely the Bingleys had arrived. He frowned as he remembered the meddling nature of the woman when described by his buffoon of a cousin, William Collins, as his esteemed patroness. Even if such a scheme were truly intended by these rich men with Elizabeth in their clutches, there was no chance such a woman would allow her daughter to marry a Colonel instead of one of the wealthiest landowners in all of England. When had his bright and charming daughter become such an idiot to not see these men wished to play her false?

  Should Lizzie triumph; our families shall see ourselves aligned with no less than an Earl and his family, a development I believe my sister would most relish. This is why I beg of you to consider reconciliation with your daughter in the interest of family harmony. And should Lizzie fail, the consequences of such an effort will ruin her place in society and she shall need the love and support of her relatives to survive. She will have plenty of resources should she lose her Mr. Darcy, the gentleman did mitigate that risk, but you and I both know Elizabeth Bennet could never live the life of an outcast.

  Your servant,

  Edward Gardiner

  Inhaling sharply through his nose, Robert Bennet did not even look at the enclosed papers detailing a whore’s settlement upon his daughter. He crumpled every shred of parchment from London and stood up from his desk to toss the offending missive into the flames. In the back of his mind, he had considered inviting Lizzie home once the Bingleys were settled back into the neighborhood and his wife's anger dissipated. His own anger over her disobedience when he had wished nothing more than to never lose her as he nearly had when Mr. Darcy ran her over with that piece to his left his heart less than a month after she ran the London.

  Tears welled in the eyes of the sixth heir of the Longbourn estate as he leaned against the mantle and observed the flames devouring the papers. With the futures of three more daughters to secure because of the blasted entail, his Lizzie's folly was too much. He used the poker to adjust the embers of the letter so that no scrap remained unburned. As his brother-in-law's request reduced to ashes, one truth remained. Elizabeth Bennet was little better than dead to her family.

  Chapter Seven

  Georgiana Wickham flounced down the stairs at Darcy House in Grosvenor Square at a perfect mid-morning arousal for the lady of the house. Checking her porcelain complexion in the mirror in a hall outside of the breakfast room, she entered to dine with the brightest disposition a nearly 16-year-old bride without a care in the world could possess.

  As she filled a plate with her favorite pastries, her smile dampened a bit as her rascally handsome husband refused to acknowledge her presence with even so much as a glance up from his paper, let alone the gentlemanly custom of rising for a lady entering the room. Puckering her lips into a slight pout, she popped a small strawberry into her mouth and spun around to face the table.

  “If you eat nothing but sweets, your waistline will grow to unimaginable proportions.” George Wickham still refused to look up from the London paper, scanning furtively for any news of Darcy's marriage to Anne de Bourgh.

  Georgiana's slight pout became a full on lip quibble at the harsh tones from her husband. Only married a little less than half a year, she already noticed he lessened the frequency in which he visited her chambers, preferring instead to stay out at all hours. “Does my body displease you? Is this why you no longer come to me?”

  George Wickham let out a frustrated sigh and shuffled the newspaper closed before tossing it down the table in dismissal. He waited for a servant to refill his coffee and took a sip of the piping hot liquid, mindful not to scorch his mouth. With a clatter, he set the cup down, sloshing a small amount of the dark beverage onto the pristine white tablecloth underneath. Ignoring his faux pas, he tossed his napkin onto his plate full of half eaten food.

  “Of course not, Georgie. I am just so bloody bored being cooped up in this house. Why don't we go out tonight, just you and I, and enjoy the theater? Must we stay cooped up in this town home for the entire Season?”

  “Brother said we must stay out of society. That once we return from Bath we may use the town home until he returns.” Georgiana picked up a new pastry, then thought better of it and placed it back down on her plate. She reached for her tea instead.

  “Mrs. Wickham,” he said slyly, waiting for her to smile at her fresh moniker, “you as a married woman must not always do as your brother says. As madame of the house, you may set the social calendar at your whim.”

  Georgiana looked thoughtfully at the window that overlooked a small garden in front of the home, walled off from the busy street. Aside from visits to her modiste, she had not ventured out much from the house as her brother had instructed. Last autumn, he had made it clear that unless she behave accordingly, her dowry and allowance would be kept from them. But surely one night, while he was away in Kent, wouldn't cause any harm. Then again, the anger in her brother's eyes before she married made her pause. What if he did cut her and George off?

  She shook her head. “No, Brother has enough to deal with in soon losing our cousin and being forced to marry. We must not add to his burdens.”

  “Yes, poor Anne is not long for this life I'm afraid. But, as you know, when your brother returns, we shall have to go into full mourning at least for a small amount of time. Surely, she would wish for us to enjoy Town as much as we can before that unhappy event. Anne has the kindest heart a soul could ask for.” George turned on the charm and waited. He reached out to touch his wife's hand and knew he had won his argument the second her face turned to look at his with a softened expression.

  “It is a distance to Kent, and Fitzwilliam might never know. I would like to see the new comedy being performed.”

  “The Imposter? ” Wickham smirked, surprised his little wife was aware of the title.

  Georgiana blushed and nodded. “Fitzwilliam had me read it last year upon turning fifteen and I have always wanted to see it performed live.”

  Wickham picked up her hand properly and bestowed a kiss upon it. “Then tonight, let us shed this melancholy we both feel and will be served more of in the very near future and take a night for French debauchery!”

  Georgiana giggled at the overly dramatic nature of her husband.

  “On the stage only, of course,” he added with another sly grin.

  “I'll go now and select an appropriate gown.” Georgiana rose from the table, this time with her husband offering her the proper behavior due a lady by rising with her.

  “And I shall go to find a trinket for you, thoug
h it will hardly be worth a glance when the jewel of the Darcy family dons my arm this evening.”

  George gave his wife a flourished bow, making her giggle more, and waited until he could hear her running up the stairs before collapsing back into the chair and rubbing his forehead. Nothing rested heavier on a man than a severe lack of both funds and the freedom to garner more.

  No, his plan to elope with Georgiana crumbled when upon discovery and the deed done on paper and in the bedroom, Darcy produced the full will of the late George Darcy. Should Georgiana marry before the age of majority and without the consent of her guardians, the full dowry would remain under Darcy's control until she should reach majority age and then transfer to her husband. With Georgiana's sixteenth birthday being in three short weeks, Wickham had a five-year sentence to play out before he controlled a pence of the thirty thousand pounds.

  Rising to leave the breakfast room and enter Darcy's study, Wickham helped himself to a healthy portion of the finest port and looked again at the business papers he had pulled out and placed on the grand desk. Hopefully, with enough details of the deals Darcy had with the gentry under his belt he would be able to forge an acquaintance with one or more of the men listed on the papers. A very lucrative acquaintance.

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth Bennet gently lifted the hem of her skirt and eyed the two flights of worn stone steps before her. The stair cases marked the entrance to Rosings, the estate owned by Mr. Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an entrance that stared her down with its dark medieval decor. There certainly were scores upon scores of windows, just as her cousin Collins had described last autumn when he bragged about his patroness. But each pane of glass appeared as the narrowed eyes of a great mythological beast with the ornate stone decorations and a number of ghastly-sculpted gargoyles on each parapet.