by Nia Farrell
I will only say farther that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened which could have led me before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning.
The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters’ uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered, and, alike, sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. We accordingly went—and there I was readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have been staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance that I hesitated not in giving, of your sister’s indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not equal regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister’s being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley…
Who said nothing to him, either.
…but her brother is yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this concealment, this disguise was beneath me; it is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, it was unknowingly done and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them.
Not until Miss Jane passes Aunt Catherine’s inspection. Then I will deal with any recriminations and regrets that arise.
With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.
Including Hugh.
Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father was not only fond of this young man’s society, whose manners were always engaging; he also had the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain—to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character—it adds even another motive.
My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow—and if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman; the business was therefore soon settled—he resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question—of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father’s intentions.
His arrogance never ceases to amaze me. He thinks me a fool, still, the same as when I was a tongue-tied lad who could not speak the simplest sentence without stumbling, mistaking a defect in speech for an intellectual deficiency.
You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.
Chapter Twenty-One
If I struggled with what I wrote before, I sweated blood with what came next.
I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement….
In time to save my sister from that much, at least, but not before he managed to drag her away and force himself upon her, as he had done to at least one other girl in Mrs. Younge’s charge.
…and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to a
s a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister’s credit and feelings prevented any public exposure; but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham’s chief object was unquestionably my sister’s fortune…
A close second to her maidenhead, the bastard.
…which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night; but I was not then master…
I had helped her climax. Had held her after. Had confessed my desire for her submission, but she had not said the honorific, the single word to make it so. Master…
I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the executors of my father’s will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
I look at Hugh. He nods at me. We cannot reach London too soon.
*****
The town house, not Hugh’s club, is our first destination. With Wickham’s wounds picked fresh, each of us needs to see Georgiana, to judge for ourselves if she is as happy and well as her letters purport her to be.
She beams when she sees me. Melts when she sees Hugh, who followed distant enough that the door closed between us, rendering him a surprise.
“Four more months,” I remind her, and relinquish my hold, letting her fly free.
Hugh commands her with nothing more than the look in his eye. When she would have run to him, and thrown herself into his arms, she stops where she is, eyes downcast and breathless, waiting for instruction.
Hugh comes to her, lifts her hands, and sweeps a kiss across her knuckles. “Georgie,” he grates, his voice as rife with feeling as ever I have heard it. “You are well?”
She looks up at him, her face soft, her eyes full of emotion. Joy. Love. Not-so-secret longing.
“Yes, Sir. Now that you both are here, I am complete.”
Her smile for him is radiant. The woman I want abhors me. She called me ungentlemanly—a wound felt to my soul. I am a man of principle. I hold myself to the highest standards of conduct, and yet, with Miss Bennet, I have failed. Fallen short and lost her, perhaps forever.
Damn if my throat doesn’t tighten.
I cough and excuse myself. Even threats of Aunt Catherine will not make me deny them a few private moments after weeks spent apart. “August,” I remind Hugh, and trust that he will not jeopardize their future with any present folly.
My concerns are justified, but I am right to trust Hugh. Before evening, there is one less ginger root in the kitchen, and Mrs. Annesley comes down to dinner alone, followed by Charles and his three sisters.
I nod at the governess, grateful that Georgiana’s wailing has stopped and we may eat in relative peace. Hugh shifts uncomfortably, the tablecloth hiding the erection he is fighting, aroused as he is by the prospect and sounds of discipline. He stays for dessert, then hies off to his club, no doubt to work out some of his frustrations on Thomas’s willing flesh. Theirs is a match made in the rings of hell rather than the spheres of heaven, I am quite certain, but a perfect pairing nonetheless.
I spend the evening with Charles, getting caught up on things. I check in on my sister before going to bed. Georgiana is a ball of misery, but penitent, and wiser for the experience. If she tempts Hugh, there will be consequences.
I tell her as much.
She snuffles and nods, a jerk of the head. Her shoulders hunch, as if she would hide beneath the covers.
“Four months,” I remind her. “Eight already gone. Only half that much left. You can do this. You will behave. You must behave. Moreover, Hugh must behave. He cannot lie to Aunt Catherine. She will know.”
“I am s-sorry,” she rasps, her throat raw from crying and pleading for Mrs. Annesley to stop, to have mercy, to not hurt her so. For Hugh, hearing her must have been like the sight of a pipe to an opium user, full of promise, so very tempting, incredibly arousing.
I predict that Thomas is in for quite a session.
“Good,” I say. “You should be. Weeks apart, and you have robbed Hugh of your company and denied yourself his. Remember the lesson learned and you will not have to repeat it, hmm? Now, dry your eyes and give us a kiss,” I say, turning my cheek and leaning where she can reach it. “Sleep well. If you promise to behave, I believe that we can persuade Mrs. Annesley to allow Hugh to come Monday for tea and stay for dinner. After that, we shall see.”
Tomorrow is too soon. Lessons must be reinforced. If she hopes to see Hugh at church, she is due for disappointment. Even if he rises early enough to attend, he will not worship with us. On that, the three of us—Mrs. Annesley, Hugh, and myself—are agreed.
My sister takes great care in her appearance, as do the three youngest Bingleys. Charles and I roll our eyes at their animated discussion of bonnets and fripperies. The sermon is dry as dust but blessedly short, allowing little time for reflection and recriminations. I have learned that Miss Jane Bennet is still in London but I have not told Charles. Not yet.
I have been thinking, long and hard, about what Miss Elizabeth said, how affected Miss Jane is by their separation. She has seen Caroline and Louisa, and neither of them reported anything amiss…but then, why would they? I believe they would be content for Charles to remain a bachelor; so long as he is unmarried and childless, they are heiresses to the wealth that he will most certainly leave.
When asked, Caroline and Louisa freely admit that they have not seen Miss Jane for several weeks. I press for details, but none are forthcoming. On one side or the other, their acquaintance has been severed.
Perfect.
Victoria is out, she is fond of Miss Jane, and can keep a secret when her brother’s happiness is concerned. She sends word to Gracechurch Street, arranges to visit Miss Jane, and makes Caroline aware of the details. Predictably, Caroline descends upon the Gardiners’ home at the appointed time, and the fireworks commence.
From Victoria’s report, I ascertain two crucial facts. Miss Jane has backbone—enough, I believe, to learn to handle Charles. This, I deduce after she refused to let herself and Victoria be bullied by Caroline, eventually ordering Caroline to leave. Of course, she will still need instruction, which is where Aunt Catherine—Mistress Cat—comes in.
Equally important to the ability to exercise command, Victoria confirms that Miss Jane does indeed harbor the pangs of separation.
She misses Charles. Victoria described her eyes as infinitely sad, inexplicably haunted, with no hint of the laughing social butterfly that flitted from partner to partner at Meryton’s balls. The young woman so pleased with everything, who found fault in nothing? Now she is miserable and cannot stand Caroline Bingley.
It has been a prodigiously productive day. Infinitely satisfying and engendering much hope for the future happiness of all concerned—save Caroline, of course, but any unhappines
s there is of her own making. And if misery loves company, she has Louisa to witness her discontent.
There is a third thing—more disturbing than comforting—that Victoria learns. Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lucas are coming to London soon, with plans to remain here for two weeks and take Miss Jane with them when they go.
I would welcome the chance to prove to Miss Elizabeth that I am indeed a gentleman, but I cannot, not without hiding it, and lying outright to Charles. I have not yet ascertained Charles’s feelings for Miss Jane. I need to see if there is a spark to rekindle, before either of us goes further. But Georgiana’s birthday is at hand, and the girls make plans for a day filled with her favourite things: a trip to the Royal Academy of Arts, lunch at a popular dining establishment, a carriage ride through Hyde Park, dinner at home with the menu of her choosing, and a string ensemble performance that evening—public places that are popular with tourists. It is only by sheerest luck that we do not see the Gardiners and their guests.
Charles remains blissfully unaware of the Bennet sisters’ presence in London, even after they have gone.
My own presence is required at Pemberley, and we make plans to move our joined household for the growing season—Charles, myself, the four girls, Mrs. Annesley, and the servants, leaving a few to maintain the town house in our absence.
Charles’s sisters have been to Pemberley but never without their eldest sisters. Free of the oppression of Caroline and Louisa, they bloom like garden flowers. We bring an older pianoforte into the drawing room, for Clarissa to play to duets with Georgiana and perform as a trio with Marissa’s flute and Georgiana’s harp.
Virginia finds my dogs willing subjects for her sketching, but I sense that she still misses the hounds and their master at Netherfield. Gavin reports that an explosion of puppies has occurred in Charles’s absence. He has selected five to keep and will sell the rest as circumstances allow.