A Virtue of Marriage

by Elizabeth Ann West

  Setting his empty glass on the table like a judge's gavel sounding a decision had been made, the young man of not yet eight and twenty puffed his chest. “Right, so to London we go. Shall we leave on the morrow or the next day?”

  Jane laughed and covered her mouth, smiling beguilingly at her husband above her. “You did always say as soon as your mind was made up you'd just as soon leave as stay.”

  “Indeed.” He bowed.

  “But let's not throw the entire house into an uproar. Besides, I don't fancy sharing rooms at an inn and the Hurst town home might be a bit, imposing.”

  Charles blanched. He had never before had to consider travel at a moment's notice with a wife, and it jarred him that the two did not mix well. Of course he could not expect Jane to move from a large estate house to a suite of rooms! How silly she must think him!

  “I shall send a letter to my solicitor to inquire about a home to lease. You are correct that I too have no desire to stay with the Hursts.”

  “And you Miss Bingley? Do you plan to remain with us or go back to your sister? I understand how sisterly affection might pull your heartstrings in that direction and would not feel offended if you leave us in London.” Jane smiled sweetly to her sister-in-law.

  Caroline left her glass for a servant to manage instead of returning it to the sideboard, and rose with a yawn. “Oh, pardon me, I am so utterly fatigued. I should hate to make you feel unsupported, Jane, in your new marriage. I suspect I shall remain with you and Charles.”

  The two ladies exchanged smiles; each knowing the other did not mean it. Bowing her head slightly as she announced she would retire for the evening, Caroline caught the movement of her brother's hand to Jane's midsection. Another brat was surely on its way and Caroline needed to move fast if she was to make her move on Darcy.

  After locking her bedroom door and dismissing her maid, Caroline pulled a treasured teakwood box her father presented her on her sixteenth birthday from one of his business contacts. Inside held an odd assortment of items that Caroline cherished – a letter from Darcy to her brother she had managed to pilfer from his office with a compliment on her hosting, a handkerchief he had once given her when she cried at a play – and also items Caroline wished to protect. Moving the Darcy items to the side, Caroline pulled the letters from Elizabeth Bennet to her sister Jane and read them once more, memorizing the details, word-for-word of the plans for Elizabeth and Darcy to travel to London in a week's time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cigar smoke lingered in the foyer of White’s Gentlemen’s Club on Chesterfield Street as George Wickham worked his charm on the doorkeeper.

  "I tell you again, I'm his brother-in-law! Darcy and I grew up together, he is away in the country because his wife is sick, but I am keeping watch on the family house in London with my young wife. She's perfectly lovely, but it's been a bit too many tea parties to talk about society and dresses if you know what I mean, old man. Darcy wouldn't deny me the company of gentlemen, this is merely an oversight."

  "I'm most sorry, sir, but you are not listed as one of Mr. Darcy's guests." James Thorpe seethed through his teeth, as he grew tired of this dandy's presence. He knew Mr. Darcy personally, as he was always a great tipper, and to hear this man's claims of marriage to Darcy's younger sister made his blood boil. He would certainly make a note of this to tell Mr. Darcy upon his next visit. "Can you give me your name once more?"

  "Wickham. George Wickham. I came here as a youth with old Mr. Darcy. I must be in the guest logs somewhere."

  "Mr. Wickham, we don't grant access to the illustrious White’s to former guests of members, but to members only. Now, if you can furnish a letter of introduction in your brother-in-law's hand, outlining your privileges in his absence, then our membership committee may consider you a candidate—"

  "Bah!" George's frustrations overcame him and he interrupted the doorman's explanation of policy. Darcy would never purposely grant him access to his club. It was time to deploy his alternate plan, with hope that Serendipity would shine on her wayward son once more. Spinning around with a flounce of superiority, George left the club but didn't go far. No, instead of calling for another hack chaise to go back to Darcy House, he casually walked down the lane gripping his new, more stylish cane with his right hand. His ploy paid off as not more than two minutes passed before he physically bumped into an old Cambridge acquaintance.

  "I say, watch where you're walking, sir."

  George turned back and raised his hat to acknowledge the faux pas and then broke into a wide grin. "Robert! Robert Landry?"

  The other man, a few inches shorter than Wickham, and with a touch of ginger to his hair inspected George with slanted eyes of suspicion. "Have we met?"

  "It's Georgie! George Wickham!"

  Robert's face lit up and George thanked his lucky stars that one of the few men he hadn't owed money to when he was kicked out of Cambridge would cross his path when he needed it most. "Wickham, where have you been hiding yourself? It's been what, six years since we last took a pint together."

  "Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you the adventures I've had. But now that I'm a married man, I'm settling down and living the quiet life in London." George tapped his cane on the sidewalk a few times to reinforce his jibe.

  "The quiet life in London?" Robert laughed at his old friend. "You always have the best stories. Come, have a drink with me at White’s, for old times' sake."

  George tipped his hat and followed Robert down the same path he had just walked. Robert signed them both in; George flashed James Thorpe a smug smile before climbing the well-worn wooden stairs to the lounge area above.

  Two hours later, and Robert Landry well into his cups, George kept up a good disguise of being drunk as well. His eyes flicked numerous times to the two dark haired gentlemen in a far corner with heads bent close together. If he was a betting man, and he was, from the frequent toasts and not so frequent handclasps, the two men had a most interesting scheme afoot.

  He nudged Robert and motioned towards the duo, asking if those jolly men should join their own merry party. Without hesitation, Robert stood up and belched to the laughter of the men around them.

  "Thomas Stanley! Don't be so dreary in a corner my man, join us in a drink!"

  Lord Thomas Stanley, heir to the earldom of Derby frowned and picked up his gloves from the small card table they were using to look over documents. With a nod to his mystery guest, the other man rolled up the parchment between them, which looked to be a ledger of some kind to George's well-trained eye. "You jest Robert to speak of only one drink, from the looks of you. What will that taskmistress of a wife say when you stumble home?" Though sharp tongued, Thomas Stanley, fashioned as Lord Strange, walked over to the haphazard semi-circle of men all drinking beer.

  Twitching his nose slightly at the strongly sour odor, Lord Strange ordered a fine wine from the club's man waiting to assist its patrons. As he neared the group, a younger member rose from an armchair to find another place for respite, and Stanley took the better chair without comment.

  "Speaking of wives, did you hear this fox plucked the juiciest fruit of Derbyshire before the rest of us knew she was ripe for the taking?" Robert clapped George on the shoulder making him sputter his drink.

  Lord Strange’s face remained unchanged as he worked out the wife's identity and after a few moments realized there was only one candidate. The youngest sister of his northern neighbor, Fitzwilliam Darcy. "No! Not—"

  "The lovely, talented, and small Georgiana Darcy." Wickham flashed his overconfident charmed smile as the men chuckled and repeated his toast to Mrs. Wickham's smallhood.

  "How furious was Darcy?"

  George shrugged, and then nodded. "Raging like Hades' loss of Persephone."

  "To the steward's son marrying the master's prime jewel!" Robert raised another toast. The wording annoyed Wickham, but he couldn't play the poor sport now. He reluctantly raised his glass and finished the cup.

  Seeing Lor
d Strange and the mysterious man trade looks, George decided it was now or never to play his hand. Wickham rose and offered a hand to Robert. "It's been a rousing good time, but I must return to my new wife and her delights." This brought yet another loud laugh from the group and they added their own insults to roast Wickham for his damn good luck.

  As Wickham started towards the front of the club, the heir of the other half of Derbyshire blocked his path.

  "Mr. Wickham, as the Darcy's nearest neighbor, you must join me in a drink to celebrate your nuptials."

  Wickham pretended to mull over the invitation, but secretly applauded his perfect timing to illicit just the introduction and invitation he so much desired.

  "You are most generous, my Lord. I'm sure my marriage bed will stay warm for another quarter hour or so."

  As Lord Thomas Stanley led Wickham back towards the more boisterous group they had drank with before, he took a sharp left away to lead Wickham in the area of the private lounges afforded to the most prestigious members. "How do you like rum?"

  Wickham made an involuntary flinch, as rum out in town was typically the most watered down spirit served at the pub. Lord Strange noticed and chuckled. "This bottle, I assure you, is as potent as poison and goes down like honey. My family owns land in the islands and one privilege of the trouble is a cellar stocked with the finest dark rum in all of England."

  Stanley’s companion poured the drinks and offered a short glass to both. Wickham obliged with a taste as the smooth, dark liquid stung his taste buds before replacing the bark with a pleasant caramel endnote. "Indeed my Lord, you are much mistaken. This is the finest drink in all of England." Wickham smiled and took another deep draft.

  As Thomas Stanley sampled his own glass and then closed his eyes in appreciation, he opened them with a new spark behind the bright green irises. "I hate pretense, Mr. Wickham."

  Wickham nodded assent, slightly weary this meeting was moving faster than most of his marks.

  "My associate, Mr. Bullington, and I have a business proposition for you. The world is changing and mining is the future. I won't let my family languish under my father's misguided rule while he clings to life."

  "I was unaware your father was so frail. I hope he isn't ill." Wickham remembered the slight from the Earl of Derby well whenever he visited Pemberley to work with old Mr. Darcy on matters of their shared border to the south.

  "You're brash, Wickham. I like that." Lord Strange laughed and his associate joined him for the first time in Wickham's presence.

  "My Lord?"

  "You speak to the heir of the fifth largest land holdings in the kingdom and hope it is longer before he claims his birthright."

  The edge to the greater man's voice made Wickham uneasy, so he opted to enjoy more of his rum and wait for a cue to make his next move.

  "Tell me, your marriage settlement must have brought you into quite a small fortune at your sudden disposal. Have you given any thought about how you will invest those funds?" The Viscount ran his ring finger, heavy with the signet of the Stanley family, around the rim of his empty glass. Mr. Bullington offered the bottle to pour more rum, but Thomas waved off with his hand.

  Wickham gulped. He wanted the heir of Derby to think he knew nothing about proper investing, to play the perfect patsy. It wasn't difficult to portray since he also knew he had no access to Georgiana's funds. "I have given it a little thought. My brother-in-law of course has his own ideas."

  Lord Stanley made another slight movement with his hands and Mr. Bullington unfurled the parchment from earlier.

  "These are the profits from the last six months of our operation. You can see that the mine brings a profit of 200% to its investors." Wickham's eyes widened as he read the totals before him in many columns. The names were disguised, Lord A. T.; Lord S. N; Hon. G. K all the way down in the left-most column. "Unfortunately, the recent drought has required some of our landed investors to withdraw their funds, with half of their profits, and we are looking for new investors to help us expand even further into the valley."

  Wickham saw the investment totals ranged from £500 to upwards of £10 000 pounds. He needed another drink so he finished off the last of his rum. "How much capital are you gentlemen looking for?"

  Lord Strange looked directly on Wickham and held eye contact as he named a figure.

  Wickham stood and thanked both men, leaving with assurance that the family lawyers would draft a bank note on the morrow. Lord Strange shook Wickham's hand, as did Mr. Bullington, and they remained in the private lounge room as Wickham headed home.

  Pouring them both a fresh glass of rum, Mr. Bullington spoke first. "I thought Darcy was against your plans from the very beginning of building the mine."

  "He is. And I doubt very seriously he put Georgiana's dowry in the hands of that man with no strings attached."

  "So we won't get the money?"

  Thomas Stanley held his glass of rum and drank the entire contents in one swig. "Oh, we'll get the money. That snake would sell his own mother for a taste of riches. We'll have the £2 000 pounds we need to make crabby Cecil Tindrell happy and an extra three for our own coffers. The night, I believe, is ready for more lovelier companionship than White’s can offer."

  Bullington snatched the fake ledger from the table and rolled it up again. It wouldn't be good for the document to fall into the wrong hands, such as any of the other investors who could add up sums quickly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  No matter how he ignored it, the tip of Fitzwilliam Darcy's nose grew colder and colder with each moment he scratched quill to paper. Completing a thought in the letter for his Derbyshire steward, the master leaned back and stretched. Exhaling breath he didn't recognize he had been holding, he rose to attend the dwindling coals in the fireplace of the Rosings library. After a warm winter, this sudden cold snap had come from seemingly nowhere and he was surprised to find himself musing that spring most certainly needed to return to her previous position.

  Although the study of the late Sir Lewis was available to him, and much easier to regulate temperature-wise, Darcy preferred the open familiarity of his long time refuge. He poked the coals to illicit a brighter effort on their part before lowering and heaving two large logs from the pile into the fray. A few more pokes and readjustments, he was pleased to see feeble flames lick the new additions. He wasn't surprised Lady Catherine never had the fireplaces upgraded to coal burning.

  “Darcy, man, I know the situation is dire, but surely you haven't dismissed all of the housemaids already.”

  Darcy, still crouched near the hearth, turned his head to see his brother in heart, but cousin in fact, standing in the doorway with a smirk on his face. Darcy dusted off his hands, despite their earlier ink stains, and stuck one out to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the second son of the Earl of Matlock, his uncle on his mother's side.

  Richard pretended to demure at Darcy's rustic state, before grabbing the man's hand and clasping his forearm in warm greeting. The men silently moved to the sideboard and Darcy poured them each a drink with Richard motioning for just a touch more in his glass. Darcy nodded and obliged.

  Settling into the two chairs near the fire, Darcy swirled the thick liquid in his glass and watched the reflection of flames in the glass rim.

  “I did not dismiss all of the housemaids, not that Aunt Catherine would sustain such a purge. I merely weighed the consequences of waiting for assistance over the state of my cold nose and decided the strongest course of action was to rectify the situation myself.”

  “Hear, hear, the master decided and acted.” Richard gulped a large swig down after raising his glass in mockery.

  To those who didn't know the master of Pemberley and Rosings well, his stony expression would appear to be one of censure. But Richard saw the twinkle in his cousin's eye, not that Darcy's reception ever diminished his desire to tease.

  Darcy matched Richard with an equally large gulp, just as a maid entered with a curtsy at the door. He motioned w
ith his fingers for her to approach, and she handed him a simple folded note, before curtsying and leaving the room.

  Darcy flipped the missive open:

  Cousin-

  It is not in my habit to make silly requests as a woman on her deathbed, but my friend, Mrs. Collins, has not visited in two days. Please make inquiries if there are any means we could assist her in returning? Her company and reading is a small light in the darkness I am facing.

  Anne

  Without much interest, Darcy commanded the note to the flames and returned to his chair. He mulled Anne's request and tried to weigh how controlled he would be to visit the parsonage. The Archbishop was to arrive in just three more days and while difficult, he had managed to endure not seeing his Elizabeth in that time.

  “You are frowning. A penny for your thoughts?”

  “Do you have such penny to pay?” Darcy said dryly, not above his own manner of provoking Richard's ire.

  “Two! But come; come what note has you so out of sorts? Has Aunt planned venison pie for dinner?”

  That venison pie was the least favorite of Darcy's was a well-known family fact, after a disastrous time of him running from the dinner table at the age of ten when his mother and father attempted to make him eat it. Since that thrashing for poor manners, Darcy no longer ran from any unpalatable meal, but limited such cuisine to three drawn out mouthfuls and no more.

  “Anne worries that Mrs. Collins has not been to visit her in a few days and she has requested I inquire into the matter.” Darcy took a final drink from his glass before rising to refill his and take Richard's to do the same.

  “So you would deny a dying woman her harmless request?”

  “It's not that light of a decision. She is asking me to tell the parson to send his wife for your future wife's comfort.”