Mrs. Bennet's Favorite Daughter

by Jann Rowland

  “I had determined that much myself, Mama,” said Elizabeth, kissing her mother’s cheek. “But I thank you, regardless. It is good to have it confirmed by his own mouth.”

  “If you see my sister, give her my regards,” said Mrs. Bennet, before exiting the vestibule.

  The entire length of their walk to Meryton, Elizabeth did not think Mr. Collins was silent for two seconds together. He spoke of his patroness, his wishes for his visit, the people he thought he would meet and the places he would dine—dining seemed to be a matter of much interest to Mr. Collins, unsurprising, given the state of his belly. Underneath it all was an odd sort of self-congratulation mixed with a healthy measure of disdain for them all, Elizabeth thought. That they returned it in full measure meant Elizabeth did not feel it necessary to concern herself with Mr. Collins’s opinions. However, during their walk, she ensured each one of her sisters knew what their mother had discovered from the man the previous day.

  “Good!” spat Lydia when Elizabeth shared it with her. “Though I should take immense pleasure in laughing in the face of a proposal, Mr. Collins is not worth the effort.” With that sentiment, Elizabeth could not but agree.

  Meryton’s principal street was busy that morning. The Bennet sisters visited some of the shops—a still pontificating Mr. Collins following behind—enjoying their outing as much as possible given the circumstances. During their activities, they met a certain number of friends, to whom they introduced Mr. Collins like the chore it was. For Mr. Collins’s part, it seemed he did not appreciate those to whom he was introduced—though he greeted them all with his peculiar brand of civility, there was little warmth in his tone.

  After some time of this, the Bennet sisters had determined it was time to return to Longbourn when they met a person who had been absent of late. The sisters were not among the coterie of ladies who hung off the officers’ every word, and thus, they did not concern themselves with the officers’ doings. But Lieutenant Denny was a friendly man impossible not to like, as he was a favorite of all. That morning, he had come to Meryton with a friend.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” greeted the officer as he and his friend stepped toward them. “How do you do today?”

  “Very well, Mr. Denny. Welcome back to Meryton; I understand your family called you away for a time.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Denny. “Now I am returned, and I could not be happier. And I have brought a friend with me.”

  With an expansive gesture, Mr. Denny motioned toward his friend and said: “Please allow me to introduce my good friend, George Wickham. Wickham is to join the regiment, so you will see much of him in the coming weeks and months.”

  Mr. Wickham bowed and greeted them all with perfect manners, showing his pleasure at having met them. As he did so, Elizabeth studied him. Mr. Wickham was a tall man, lean and handsome, moving with fluid grace, his air practiced and gentlemanly. His hair was a dark brown, his eyes a light blue, and his countenance suggested good humor and an open disposition. In Elizabeth’s experience, there were few men as blessed as Mr. Wickham.

  “This is an auspicious beginning, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth after they had exchanged pleasantries for a few moments. “The commander of the regiment has changed of late—I am certain you have heard?”

  “So Denny tells me,” replied Mr. Wickham. “I am eager to meet him. That was where we were to go when we happened upon you ladies.”

  “Then we shall not keep you, sir,” replied Elizabeth.

  With a few more words, the Bennet sisters farewelled the officers, and after a quick conference among themselves, turned their footsteps toward home. The unwanted person of Mr. Collins following, they made their way toward the road leading back to Longbourn.

  “Well, Wickham?” said Denny, pulling Wickham’s thoughts from the fetching picture of five lovely young ladies walking away from them. “There are beauties aplenty in Hertfordshire—did I not tell you?”

  “That you did,” said Wickham absently, watching the tall blonde as she moved away. Now that was a woman worth a second look. And the brunette who spoke to him was her equal in beauty, and playful too. Wickham could think of a few activities in which he would like to engage with her.

  “But what of fortune? Are any of them dowered enough to keep a man in comfort?”

  Denny laughed. “We cannot all be fortune hunters, Wickham. I do not know the state of the Bennets’ fortunes, but the estate is not large. Beyond that, you must speak to the ladies themselves.”

  “Ah, but it would not do to scare them away, would it?”

  “No, I suppose not,” replied Denny. “Anyway, let us go to the barracks.”

  Wickham went along with his friend with a will, reflecting on what had brought him here. A favor called in from a former friend had furnished him with enough funds to make the purchase of the commission—it had annoyed Wickham the man had refused to give him the money as would have been his preference. Military life, he thought, would not suit him, as he had no interest in the discipline such a life would entail.

  A chance meeting with Denny had changed his mind, at least for the moment. It seemed the militia was not strict in their adherence to such things, and the stories of society and the potential for fun informed Wickham that it may be a pleasure to spend some time in the company of such people. It would not be his profession for long, but at present, with few funds and fewer prospects, Wickham thought he could endure it.

  The colonel’s assistant met them as they entered the regiment’s headquarters and informed them that Wickham was to report at once to his commanding officer. That was not unexpected, Wickham supposed, though he might have wished for some evidence of a more relaxed commanding officer. Denny slapped him on the back and promised to meet with him once he had made the colonel’s acquaintance, then left to return to his own quarters.

  The building was a fine one, though perhaps not new. Then again, militia companies such as this one were at the mercy of their hosts for their accommodations, and this was as good as any, he supposed.

  The sergeant led Wickham to a door and with a smile, gestured inside. Wickham, confident as ever of making a good impression, strode through and approached the desk, where a man was sitting, writing on some papers. The door closed behind him and Wickham waited for the man to notice him, wondering at the delay.

  Then the colonel looked up. “Hello, Wickham.”

  Chapter VI

  A simpleton could have seen the shock etched onto Wickham’s features. Though it had not been his intention to surprise the man in the manner he had, Fitzwilliam reflected now that it had been for the best. Not only would he not put it past Wickham to run at the sight of him, but it gave Fitzwilliam the opportunity to see him in an unguarded moment, attempt to determine what Wickham’s purpose was for joining the regiment.

  Shock, as he had already noted, was present in Wickham’s features—shock at seeing a man he feared and detested, followed soon after by the realization that he had put himself into the power of one who knew what he was and would not hesitate to use that power to good use. Then came the fear, uncertainty, and panic, wondering just what Fitzwilliam would do. Finally, Fitzwilliam thought he caught a hint of acceptance, though perhaps colored by determination. But determination for what? To flee at the first opportunity? To attempt to bring his fellow officers to his side, to ensure his fellows accepted his stories before anyone could dispute them?

  If he thought that, he was a greater fool than Fitzwilliam had ever suspected. It would be the work of a moment to see him discredited and thrown from the militia in disgrace, his commission—and the money used to purchase it—confiscated and gone forever.

  The thought caused Fitzwilliam to frown, which destroyed much of Wickham’s bravado, he noted with an absence of mind. How had Wickham acquired the funds to purchase the commission? The last Fitzwilliam had heard of the man after Ramsgate, Wickham had been destitute because of his failed bid to lure Georgiana and steal her fortune. Fitzwilliam filed that thought aw
ay for future investigation.

  Under the weight of Fitzwilliam’s pitiless glare, Wickham struggled for some time to say anything, though it was clear the words would not come. Seeing this, Fitzwilliam’s amusement grew ever darker. At length, Wickham found his voice, though his attempt to speak was as ineffectual as the way he lived his life.

  “I had not expected to see you here.”

  “That much is evident,” was Fitzwilliam’s reply. “If you had known I was seated behind this desk, would you still have braved entry?”

  Wickham did not respond, and Fitzwilliam realized there was no response. Though Wickham might not own to it, Fitzwilliam had always known he was a coward, better suited to preying on the defenseless than standing up to a man who would return his assaults blow for blow. When Wickham fell silent a second time, Fitzwilliam knew he would need to speak next, for the man appeared ready to flee.

  “The question is, what are we to do with you?”

  Wickham’s silence persisted for an instant, and then the man responded with words Fitzwilliam might have predicted in advance. “I shall resign the commission.”

  In that instant, Fitzwilliam made a snap decision. If he allowed Wickham to walk out the door, he would never amount to anything, his most likely future being an unmarked pauper’s grave. Though the thought of attempting to reform George Wickham into a man of whom his Uncle Darcy might have spoken with pride was no less than repugnant, Fitzwilliam knew it was the correct path to take.

  “Sit, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam when he noticed the man about to rise. “Let us not be too hasty. Shall we not speak like rational adults?”

  Wickham gave a nervous laugh. “As I recall, the last time we met you promised to run me through.”

  The chuckle which escaped Fitzwilliam’s lips was involuntary and caused Wickham to blanch further. “Yes, I said that, did I not? I had forgotten.”

  “I have not,” replied Wickham.

  “In some respects, the urge to run you through is still with me, Wickham, but at present, I would prefer speech instead of action.”

  “To what end?”

  Fitzwilliam sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching the man as one watches a rabid dog. “I shall not bore you with diatribes about how you have lived your life. Not only would it do no good at all, but I am also aware you would become angry and declare your life was yours to do with as you please.

  “But let us face the facts.” Fitzwilliam leaned forward and stared into the other man’s eyes. “You are seven and twenty and are without occupation. If I allow you to resign your commission, where will you go? What will you do? Do you have some means of supporting yourself of which I am not aware?”

  His lip curled with the old bitterness Fitzwilliam knew he had always harbored for his life and what he saw was Darcy’s good fortune. For a moment Fitzwilliam thought he might speak, rail again at Darcy for denying him his due or complaining bitterly over his lot in life. In the end, he did not open his mouth, for he must know Fitzwilliam would not stand for the repetition of such grievances.

  “It is as I suspect,” said Fitzwilliam. “My uncle educated you at great expense, gave you advantages no one of your station could have dreamed of receiving. Yet, you squandered those advantages in gambling, wenching, and carelessness, and now you have nothing. To be blunt, if I allow you to walk out that door, your ways will lead you to poverty and death.”

  “Why should you care?” demanded Wickham, at last showing a hint of the spirit Fitzwilliam knew he possessed under his bravado, for all he usually shunted it aside in favor of his cowardice. “Do you not wish me dead for the trouble I have caused your cousin? Do not my actions toward Georgiana leave you wild to follow through with your threats?”

  Fitzwilliam sighed. “I have never wished you dead, Wickham, my threats notwithstanding. My Uncle Darcy esteemed you, though you did not deserve it. It is for that reason and that reason alone that I offer you this chance.”

  “What chance is that?”

  “The chance to make something of your life,” said Fitzwilliam, fixing Wickham with a pointed look. “What I propose is that you stay in the militia and learn something of life in the army. Should you wish it, once you have a taste of what it is like, I can see about getting a transfer to the regulars if you decide it is the life you wish to lead.”

  “Why should I wish to join the regulars?” asked Wickham with a sneer. “I do not fancy being the target for every soldier in Bonny’s army.”

  With a laugh, Fitzwilliam agreed, saying: “No, I suppose you would not at that.”

  Wickham’s eyes narrowed and he said: “Why are you here anyway? You have spent your career with the dragoons, as I recall.”

  “You are correct,” replied Fitzwilliam. “But an injury left me unfit for duty, and with my regiment due to be deployed to Spain, my superiors gave me this command while I heal.”

  “You have all the luck, it seems,” muttered Wickham.

  “In some ways, you may be correct. I will note, however, that I have fought against the French before. A colonel is less likely to die in the crown's service than, say, a lieutenant, though there is still some danger.”

  “Then why do you think I would accept such a posting?” demanded Wickham.

  “Because it pays better,” replied Fitzwilliam, knowing Wickham was a man for whom such things would matter most.

  “Not nearly enough to bother,” rejoined Wickham. “No matter how well the regulars pay, serving therein will not make a man wealthy.”

  “No, it will not,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Come, Wickham, by this time you must understand it is not likely you will ever attain your goal of fabulous wealth. You have sought after riches all the years of your life and are no closer to procuring them now than when you were fresh out of university.”

  Wickham glared, but he did not respond.

  “Let us come to the point. The militia is not a taxing environment, though I expect the men under my command to do their part and complete their duties. But the militia also does not even pay enough to meet an officer’s immediate needs. Most of these men have families who assist in their support. Do you have such a means?”

  It was clear from Wickham’s stony look that he had no such means, which Fitzwilliam already knew. “Perhaps you mean to further supplement your income by gambling with your fellow officers, but you never had much luck in such things. The regulars, however, pay well, enough for a man to support himself. Then, when the war is over, you may go on half-pay, and while it will not be much as a lieutenant, there is also the possibility of advancement.”

  “Where will I have the funds to purchase higher commissions? There is no way to save enough to allow me to purchase them.”

  “Perhaps I might persuade Darcy to assist.”

  Wickham snorted his disdain. “Darcy told me the last time we met that he had no intention of further funding my activities. Furthermore, I would need to survive the war to ever take advantage of that half-pay of which you speak.”

  “Perhaps a posting in a northern regiment, unlikely to suffer deployment?”

  “You know as well as I that is no guarantee.”

  “That is irrelevant,” said Fitzwilliam, tiring of the conversation. “Let us be plain then, Wickham. Do not even offer to resign your commission, for I will not accept it. I owe my uncle enough to try to make something of you. What you become is your choice, for I will force nothing on you other than to see you remain in this company. From here, you will proceed as far as you wish on your own merit. But I will not allow you to walk away when this may be the last chance you have at a useful life.”

  It was clear Wickham did not appreciate what he was being told, but he did not respond, drawing on whatever well of restraint he possessed. Fitzwilliam nodded with approval.

  “As I said before, I will expect you to complete your duties. But not all will be drudgery, for there is society aplenty in this town, and we do not run our officers to the point of exhaustion. One thing upon which
I will insist is your behavior regarding the townsfolk. Regiments such as this are not always welcomed with open arms—this community has been very good to us. That means no credit and no dallying. Am I clear?”

  The man appeared as if Fitzwilliam had just forced a lemon down his gullet, but he gave a curt nod.

  “Though I cannot stop the men from gambling, I insist upon temperance. If you choose to join the men at cards, you will ensure you do not gamble away all means of support. Remember moderation, Wickham.

  “If you abide by these strictures and do your best, I will be willing to assist you in selling your commission. Perhaps you may prefer to emigrate to the Americas. I can assist you with that should you wish it; I might even persuade Darcy to help.”

  Thoughtful, Wickham nodded again, this time with less asperity. Deciding he had had enough of Wickham for the moment, Fitzwilliam stood and offered his hand. Wickham looked at it for a moment, then accepted it, though hesitantly.

  “Speak to Sergeant Danvers, and he will show you to your quarters. Denny is your friend, is he not?”

  “He is,” was Wickham’s terse reply.

  “Then have him introduce you to the rest of your fellow officers. When that is complete, send him to see me.” Wickham gave Fitzwilliam such a foul look that he laughed. “Do not concern yourself, man—I have no interest in besmirching your name. I have not met Denny and should like to do so at the first available opportunity.

  “I would have you remember, Wickham,” added Fitzwilliam, fixing a stern look on the man, “that as I have taken you into my regiment, your behavior now reflects on me. Not only have I no interest in ruining your reputation with Denny or the townsfolk or anyone else, but I also have a vested interest in your good behavior. Do not make me regret my decision.”

  Implicit in Fitzwilliam’s words was the promise that if Wickham caused him regret, Wickham would share in it. The grim nod with which he responded told Fitzwilliam that Wickham had understood his warning. With a nod, Wickham turned to leave.