His Choice of a Wife

by Heather Moll

  “That explains Wickham’s interest in her as he always hoped to make his fortune through marriage. But it does not explain why Lord Hindley would allow his ward to marry that reprobate.”

  “There is more!” His cousin relished his role as storyteller. “The lady is some sort of invalid. She is often in Bath taking the waters and is quite on the shelf, but some months ago she came to fancy herself in a love match. She had been secretly engaged to some doctor in Bath, and from what the gossiping ladies say, Lord Hindley was almost convinced to agree to the marriage. I guess the earl is not long for this world and wanted to see his sickly, spinster niece hap—”

  “Get to the point! What has this to do with Wickham?”

  “Miss Hareton and her uncle were in London on their way to Bath when she somehow caught Wickham’s notice. After he learned about her fortune and the likelihood she might be married, he seems to have formed a desperate resolution. He paid the lady’s maid to let him into their house. Wickham purposely allowed himself to be found in her bed, and there was not a servant in the house who did not know about Miss Hareton’s tainted reputation by the end of the morning! They say her screams of outrage could be heard three houses down the square, and Wickham eagerly told all who would listen how he—”

  “Spare me the shocking details!”

  Fitzwilliam smirked at his cousin’s modesty. “Whether or not Wickham was successful, Miss Hareton was still considered ruined, and her uncle insisted they marry immediately. Apparently, even Wickham was better than a doctor. The earl purchased a special license, they were married on the tenth, and the newlyweds have gone on to Bath.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed his ankles and placed his hands behind his head. It was all well and good for Fitzwilliam to be entertained by a scandal, but Darcy was preoccupied with poor Lydia Bennet. George Wickham had left debts with tradesmen and debts of honor wherever he travelled; he had blackened Darcy’s reputation at every available opportunity; he had attempted to seduce his sister for her fortune and had successfully seduced Lydia for revenge; and now he had ruined a lonely invalid spinster. Darcy needed to think, so he rose and again paced.

  “That man’s maneuvers of selfishness and duplicity are revolting,” Darcy muttered as he walked by. “He is a dreadful man.”

  “You look as though you are planning something, but I cannot comprehend what,” Fitzwilliam interrupted after Darcy paced by a third time. “Wickham cannot be worked on to marry Miss Elizabeth’s sister—he is a married man! I am sorry to be blunt, but your soon-to-be sister-in-law is ruined, and the stigma will follow her and her bastard child.”

  Darcy stalked up and down the room, looking grave and pensive, and Fitzwilliam knew enough of his character to leave him alone to think. By the time Fitzwilliam walked to the brandy decanter and poured himself a glass, Darcy was standing in the center of the room, his jaw set in determination.

  “I must go to Bath.”

  “Why?”

  “Lydia is resolved against marrying anyone else, and her father will never exert himself to force her. Wickham cannot marry Lydia, but he ought to acknowledge his transgression and be made to provide for her child.”

  “What do you propose to do? Appeal to his sense of honor as a gentleman? Tell him to take in the child? I recommend you go back to Hertfordshire, marry your pretty betrothed, and then shun the rest of her family as everyone else must and undoubtedly will.”

  Darcy heaved a heavy sigh and idly touched the sleeve buttons Elizabeth had given him. “I could not do that to Elizabeth. She would resent me forever if I resigned the Bennets to social ostracism. The only way to now preserve part of the Bennet family honor is to have Wickham recognize the child. I shall not return to Elizabeth without having done all that was possible for the sake of her family. Now that he has access to Miss Hareton’s fortune, Wickham will not be able to argue that he cannot provide for Lydia’s child.”

  “You cannot expect him to bring up the child in the same household with whatever legitimate heirs he manages to produce! The invalid bride already hates Wickham. She would never permit his sideslips to be brought up on equal terms with her own children.”

  “The father of an illegitimate child has the duty of maintenance of that child,” Darcy replied firmly. “I shall go to Bath to see that Wickham acknowledges it. It is all I can do—save for calling the man out—to see Elizabeth’s family maintain some semblance of respectability.” If Wickham was now married to an heiress, her wealth alone would improve his own social standing. Wickham’s wealthy gentleman’s status as the acknowledged father would determine the acceptability of the illegitimate child. It was not as much as Darcy could have hoped for, but his sense of justice told him to do whatever was in his power to see that Wickham did one good thing in his dishonorable life and recognize Lydia’s child.

  “I know you will arrange the business just as you please,” Fitzwilliam replied, “and if you wish to go to Bath to convince the gamester to acknowledge this girl’s bastard, then I wish you well. Shall I accompany you?”

  “That would make an unpleasant venture more palatable, thank you. We should leave immediately.”

  “Some of us have employment. My royal regiment will not allow me to join you in Bath until Friday.”

  “Your duties with the Blues are largely ceremonial,” Darcy scoffed. “Can you not leave just as you please?”

  “We do not all possess your means to have our own way all the time.” His cousin winked. “Be thankful my expensive commission is in a regiment stationed in London and not the Peninsula.”

  Darcy immediately apologized for his thoughtlessness. If Fitzwilliam found this humility at odds with what he expected of Darcy’s behavior, he was too generous to mention it. He told Darcy to go on to Bath alone and promised to join him by Friday.

  “Do refrain from running Wickham through with your blade when you first encounter him, Darcy,” the colonel said with a laugh as he rose to leave. “Or, at the very least, wait until I have arrived before you do!”

  Chapter 23

  Darcy hated Bath. It was already the last place he wished to visit, and that he was traveling to this wretched city to find George Wickham made his approach all the more distressing. He was arriving on a hot afternoon, and driving to the lodgings he had acquired in Camden Place in such heat, amidst the noisy dash of other carriages, had given him a headache.

  His hand came up to his coat pocket and lingered over Elizabeth’s letter folded therein. He had read it twice, devouring her sweet and witty words as a man starved for sustenance. Her spirits seemed improved over what they had been when he left Hertfordshire, but his last letter reporting the devastating news that Wickham was married had yet to arrive in her hands. He dreaded her realization that the most that could be done for Lydia would be to have Wickham publicly acknowledge and support her child.

  Darcy knew he ought to go to the Grand Pump Room where he was most likely to encounter his quarry. Now that Wickham was married to the niece of a wealthy and prominent earl, Darcy was unlikely to find him in a hidden gambling hell since he could now afford to play with more affluent gentlemen. Darcy would almost certainly be barred from admittance if he followed social niceties and called at Laura Place, where he had learned the new Mr. and Mrs. Wickham had taken residence. His only other option was to engage Wickham socially, and so he resignedly made his way to the center of Bath’s social life: the Pump Room.

  The crowd and the heat were unbearable. The Pump Room was full of customers and those wishing to see and be seen, and all the while, the orchestra played from one side of the room. There was a mixture of invalids taking their daily dose of medicinal water alongside parading young ladies attempting to catch a man’s eye. He hoped to avoid being asked to sign in to the subscription book and keep his name out of the newspaper. He did not wish to make Wickham aware of his presence by having his name publish
ed along with the other visitors to Bath.

  Darcy loitered in and around the Pump Room for the greater part of the day but did not see Wickham. Today was Wednesday, and tonight’s amusements would be confined to concerts instead of dancing. Darcy had little reason to hope that he might find Wickham in such a place as a concert hall. He walked back into the brilliant sunlight, too tired and in too distressed spirits to loiter in the card rooms tonight to look for Wickham. Unwilling to draw attention to himself by visiting every place in Bath that might have a card table, he instead left his card for Bingley, who was still in Bath with the Hursts.

  The first instinct of Darcy’s heart had been to give in to his resentful nature and cut all ties with Bingley, but he had thought better of it. From their years of friendship, he was not ready to give up on the prospect of maintaining some manner of relationship with him. While he could not condone Bingley’s treatment of Jane, Darcy could at the least let Bingley know he was in Bath; it was the civil action to take. He walked in the heat and humidity, which kept him in a perpetual state of inelegance, from the Pump Room to Hurst’s lodgings near the Crescent to leave his card.

  That chore being done, Darcy chose to hire a carriage to take him from the Hursts’ to Camden Place instead of walking up Bath’s steep hills. It allowed him the opportunity to reflect on what lay before him. Since Wickham now had the funds to play in any game he wanted, Darcy knew where he would be sure to encounter Wickham tomorrow night: the Upper Rooms. Bath’s wealthiest and most serious gamesters would gather there to play high into the early hours of the morning. Then he would need to have a dialogue, in full view of Bath’s gossiping and prominent visitors, with a man whose name was a punishment to pronounce. The only comfort Darcy had was in knowing that he was acting in favor of a righteous cause. Now that Wickham was married and Lydia intractable, the greatest actions he could take for the preservation of the Bennet family’s reputation would be to marry Elizabeth and ensure that Wickham would be held accountable for his actions.

  In between the glare of light reflecting off the buildings, he caught a glance of Beechen Cliff. The brief hint of an expanse of green made him think of Elizabeth and their walks. He would write to her tonight and send a servant directly to Hertfordshire to deliver it. He hoped that, before his servant returned with her response, his business with Wickham would be concluded and he would be on his way back to her.

  Camden Place, Bath

  Wednesday, July 22, 8 o’clock in the evening

  My dearest Elizabeth,

  I received your letter at the very moment of my departure from London. I know by its uplifting words that you had not yet been in receipt of my last. By now, you know the sad news that Mr. Wickham has married and I am in Bath in order to speak with him. My sense of what is just can allow me to do no less. I have written to Mr. Gardiner, and I leave it to his careful consideration to relay the news to your sister.

  Here I am in this scene of dissipation and vice. I am in the constant company of passersby who are husband-hunting or hoping to be observed at in-vogue entertainments. You might say I think myself above my company, but I assure you it is not arrogance but single-mindedness that keeps me aloof. I wish to encounter Mr. Wickham, persuade him to do all that he must to ensure the protection and respectability of Lydia’s child, and then return to you. I shall waste no more than a week in Bath.

  I went to the Pump Room, secure within myself of seeing Mr. Wickham before the afternoon was over, but he did not appear. Every creature in Bath, except himself, was seen in the room at different periods of the fashionable hours. Crowds of people were every moment passing in and out, up the steps and down, and only Mr. Wickham was absent. I called on Bingley as a courtesy, but did not stay for the Bingleys and Hursts are people for whom I do not care as I once did.

  I detest this place. Amid the scandals, wagering, posturing, parading, and matchmaking, there is a steady stream of hypochondriacs, Bath chairs, crutches, and canes. The devil himself could not have arranged a worse punishment for my mistaken pride and want of proper consideration. Had I shared what I knew of Mr. Wickham’s character, perhaps I would not be here alone and instead would be with you at Pemberley. Please believe my honest regret in allowing Mr. Wickham to proceed in your family’s company unimpeded.

  I have reread this letter and have determined it is too despondent to send, but its sentiments are too true to deny. I have spent the last quarter hour attempting to think of one sanguine comment. Excellent walker that you are, if you were here in Bath, you might enjoy walking round Beechen Cliff, whose beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an object. But unless you explicitly ask it of me, I would never return here. Would you mind if, after we marry, we adjourn to Derbyshire and spend all of our time in a manner not unlike the morning of my departure?

  Say everything from me to your family that is necessary and proper, and extend my particular concern and regard for Jane. I remain, my dearest and beloved Elizabeth,

  Yours affectionately,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Elizabeth blushed at her own excitement on reading Fitzwilliam’s reference to their last morning together. His messenger remained at Longbourn, and he was waiting for her to pen a response. Thankfully, she could attend to that directly. After the disastrous affair of relating Fitzwilliam’s last letter, her family was not eager for further news from that quarter.

  She had paused over that letter and its news of Wickham’s marriage for some time with indignant astonishment then read it again and again, every perusal serving to increase her abhorrence of the scoundrel. Elizabeth could not long keep the details of Fitzwilliam’s account a secret and read it in its entirety to her family. Mr. Bennet went white and left the room while Mrs. Bennet wailed and cried at Wickham’s breach of promise and his abandonment of any affection for Lydia.

  “Mamma, I think Mr. Wickham had no true fondness for Lydia and never intended to marry her,” Jane had told her mother. But their mother continued to believe that Wickham must have married for money instead of where his heart lay, and that other things being equal, he would have, out of love and affection, returned for Lydia.

  “When a man promises marriage, he has no business to fly off from his word only because a richer girl is ready to have him!”

  “You forget that Mr. Wickham made no promise to Lydia. And he ruined the reputation of this Cathy Hareton solely to make his fortune by forcing her to marry him.”

  “Oh, Lizzy, I cannot bear to hear the name of that woman mentioned. Wickham had such agreeable manners, such a pleasant countenance. Of course, he was so very fond of Lydia.”

  “He is hatefully mercenary!”

  This was not what Mrs. Bennet wanted to hear, and therefore, instead of making any answer, she went on insensibly as before. “I shall only be content when Lydia returns home!”

  Jane could not contain a gasp of shock. Mary rolled her eyes and, with a countenance of grave reflection, recited her moral extractions to a fretful Kitty.

  “If Mr. Wickham, who through his marriage is now a man of fortune, acknowledges his child, its illegitimacy may not always be scandalous,” Elizabeth managed to sputter when she found her voice, “but Lydia’s reputation will never recover! We can only hope that our connection to Darcy’s excellent name may be enough to allow us to move in the company of our neighbors again.”

  “Darcy will see that Wickham acknowledges his connection to the child, and that will help significantly!” Mrs. Bennet sniffed.

  “Even if Darcy does manage to convince Mr. Wickham to claim responsibility, it is too much to believe that Lydia’s reputation will be entirely restored. Lydia will never be received by our friends should she return—indeed, none of us will! So long as you wish to visit with your neighbors and marry off your remaining daughters, Lydia ought never to return to Longbourn!”

  Jane and Elizabeth had attempted to
explain to her the nature of Wickham’s treachery and the consequence to her daughters’ reputations, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason.

  This recent letter had no news to share with the rest of her family, and Elizabeth was about to fold it away when her mother entered. Jane put down her embroidery and lifted her gaze to the window, but even from across the room, Elizabeth knew that Jane’s eyes saw nothing. Her bright eyes were empty, and her face held no expression. She was about to distract Jane from her heartache when Mrs. Bennet reached her eldest. Elizabeth watched in surprise as her mother placed a kiss on Jane’s hair and gently gave her upper arm a reassuring squeeze.

  The pallor of Jane’s face remained unchanged, but the light came back into her eyes as Mrs. Bennet said, “You are a good girl, Janie.” As soon as the tender moment had come, it was gone, and her mother flitted out of the room, calling for Hill.

  Examples of motherly affection were not often seen and rarely offered to Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet had been particularly eager when it was time for Elizabeth to let down her skirts and put up her hair; however, getting her daughters well married was the one thing Mrs. Bennet did understand. It would likely be the only comfort her mother would ever know, and her greatest fear was that her children would have no means of support upon the death of their father.

  Fitzwilliam had learned that aptitude and manners held more inherent value to him than birth and social connection. Could not I then learn to be more gracious towards my own mother? Elizabeth knew her mother would never be sensible and well-mannered, but if Fitzwilliam could engage her mother with improved and inviting manners, then Elizabeth could be more charitable to her.

  Her mother had long lost the esteem of her husband—if she had ever had it—and real affection had been equally lost early in their marriage. Her father thought his wife’s unenlightened mind made it acceptable to make her an object of ridicule. Mr. Bennet was as capable of respecting his wife as any other gentleman, but he chose to find amusement in Mrs. Bennet’s ignorance rather than do what he could to gently improve it. Had he treated her as every wife deserved to be treated by her husband, it might have made her mother less flighty and nervous and more sensible. Sadly, Mrs. Bennet would never have the benefit of a husband who loved and respected her.