The Goodness of Men

by Anngela Schroeder

  The Goodness of Men

  Anngela Schroeder

  The Goodness of Men

  ISBN-13-978-1976140761

  ISBN-10: 1976140765

  Copyright 2017 by Anngela Schroeder

  All rights reserved. No Part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, digital or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval device without the written permission from the author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the sauthor’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Christina Boyd, The Quill Ink, LLC

  Cover Design by Susan Adriani at CloudCat Design

  Formatting by Shari Ryan at Mad Hat Covers

  Cover Images by Paige Lampson Photography

  Hair byVictoria Boxley

  Clothes byAnna Morton at ThitherJaneAusten.com

  ModelPeyton Sorosinski

  Contents

  Other books available by the author on Amazon:

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Other books available by the author on Amazon:

  “The Quest for Camelot”

  “Affections and Wishes”

  “Then Comes Winter”

  “A Lie Universally Hidden”

  Acknowledgments

  A book isn’t just a grouping of words written on pages. It’s feelings and emotions poured out from a person’s soul. Dramatic? Yes, but so true! My soul has poured so much these last few months and it couldn’t have without the support of special people in my life.

  Thank you first and foremost to the genius behind my writing, my editor Christina Boyd. I am so grateful for your patience and positive feedback and your deep knowledge of all things Regency appropriate. The ‘lots of red’ doesn’t really scare me anymore, and “limning” is a beautiful word!

  Thank you to my cover designer, Susan Adriani, who took my vision and made it more beautiful than I could have imagined!

  Thank you to my friend, Author Joy King, whose guidance has helped me tremendously.

  Thank you to my Beta readers, Lisa Ann, Teresa, Kristin, and Sandra. Without your thoughts, and enthusiasm, I might still be on chapter two!

  Thank you to Paige Lampson at Paige Lampson Photography for the GORGEOUS cover photos! It was difficult to choose just one! Love you, friend!

  Thank you to my cover model, my senior class president, Peyton, who was such a good sport traipsing barefoot through the winery, and listening to my exuberant shouts of “The Ribbons, the ribbons, the ribbons,” and “I LOVE THAT BONNET!”

  Thank you to Victoria Boxley for saving the day with amazing Regency hair! I love you!

  Thank you to Anna Morton and ThitherJaneAusten.com for allowing me the use of all the gowns and bonnets for the photo shoot. I’m sure a random email from a desperate author was a little unnerving, but I’m grateful for your trust and willingness to help me.

  Thank you to Shari Ryan for your awesome formatting and putting up with my incessant emails!

  Thank you to my Daddy for always believing in me and telling me there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do, and my sweet angel mother, who still guides me and inspires me, even beyond the veil.

  Thank you to my sweet sons, Timmy, Mikey and Christopher, for loving Mommy enough to let her write when she needs to escape.

  For Miss Tay. You’re still making a difference, and your beautiful smile will live indefinitely.

  http://www.strong-as-steele.org

  For my Timmy. Your strength the last two years is astounding to me. Mommy loves you! #TimmyStrong

  Finally, to the man I was blessed to marry For-Ev-Er, seventeen years ago-My Schro. He who puts up with my Jane Austen obsession, Disney trips, additional ingredients in recipes, incessant vacation planning, and all my other shenanigans. I love you, E.W.

  And now…let the reading commence!

  This book is dedicated to my Daddy, my sons, my Schro, my brothers, uncles and cousins— all the men in my life who have all the goodness and not just the appearance of it! I love you!

  In Memory of my cousin David and my Uncle Freddy, two of the best men I had the opportunity to know.

  Prologue

  November 27, 1811

  Day after the Netherfield ball

  “Lizzy? Lizzy, are you awake?” Jane Bennet leaned over her sister’s bed and shook her gently. “Lizzy, it is unlike you to sleep past the rooster’s call, even if you were dancing all night.”

  Elizabeth Bennet rolled over and covered her head with her pillow. “Jane, allow me to sleep for ten more minutes, if for no other reason than to avoid our cousin Mr. Collins. He was too attentive for my comfort last evening, and I do not wish to allow speculation to rise.”

  “Oh, Lizzy. He is a good sort of man.” Elizabeth moved the pillow and shot her sister a look, making Jane stammer. “True, he is not as…handsome as others, I concede. But, his character is that of a respectable man…”

  Elizabeth smirked before covering her head again. “And I am sure you will insist Mr. Wickham’s not being at the ball last night had nothing to do with Mr. Darcy’s interference? No, Jane,” she continued, “your kind heart does you credit, but on both accounts, you are mistaken. You will next tell me Mr. Darcy is the best of the lot.”

  Jane shrugged her shoulders. “It is not my place to judge. I presume each man has their deficiencies, but I have always thought you were too hard on Mr. Darcy. I believe he and I are similar in character, and if you were not so prejudiced against him, you might arrive at a friendship. You are, after all, both intelligent and well-read—”

  “Enough,” she said laughing. “You will never make me believe Mr. Darcy is a good sort of man.”

  “All men have a goodness in them, Lizzy, of that I am certain, whether it be Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham, or even Mr. Bingley.”

  “I agree, that there is a goodness in all men, dear Jane, but who is to judge the level of goodness? If Mr. Darcy, I can assure you he would not agree with my interpretation.”

  “You will not be moved, so I will move on to another subject. Captain Carter informed me that Mr. Wickham was sent to Cornwall for training two days ago. So, you see, Mr. Darcy is not to blame after all.”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “Maybe not directly, but I would conjecture that Mr. Wickham would much rather have enjoyed the livelihood of the Netherfield ball than military drills in a cold seaside town. But, enough of Mr. Wickham. I am certain he is too busy to concern himself with us. And you, my sister, need to make ready for when Mr. Bingley calls today.”

  “Oh, Lizzy. He will not call. His sister Caroline informed me he has business in London and will be gone.”

  His sister is not your friend, my dear Jane. She is only after Mr. Darcy and his great estate. And she can have him! Elizabeth smiled an impish grin. “I do not wish to sound like Mama, but mark my words. There will be a wedding within a month’s time. Of that, I am certain!”

  Same day, Cornwall

  Miss Margaret Anderson looked at her reflection in the mirror and feigned a quietude she did not feel upon the retirement of her oldest friend, Mrs. Sharpe. Orphaned now, her father gone these two year
s and losing her mother but a fortnight before, her only bright spot seemed Mrs. Sharpe. Had not her father’s business partner found her such a wise and loving new companion, she would have had to live with a distant cousin—whom she had never met.

  “I am sure the Andersons are good people, miss. But, to live so far from all you hold dear…all that has given you comfort.”

  The young girl wiped away her tears and nodded her agreement. “It is not that. I am grateful for your guidance. It is only Mrs. Shape’s sudden retirement to Bath. I have known her all my life, and for these sixteen years, there has been no one else who has been a better nanny, governess, or friend to me. I shall be lost without her and am now all alone,” she said through tears.

  Her companion had laid a firm hand on her arm. “That is not true, Miss Margaret dear. You have me, and I am certain you shall meet someone who will replace all your sorrow. A man whose goodness will ensure your happiness. You were not born so beautiful to be solitary forever. Mark my words. Providence will be shining on you soon.”

  The young lady wiped away her tears and adjusted her black frock. Looking up into the compassionate eyes of the woman she had known less than a fortnight, she asked, “Are you certain, Mrs. Younge?”

  “I have never been more certain of anything in all of my life.”

  The Next Day

  The wind whipped across the tall grasses as Margaret gazed over the hills of Cornwall onto the beaches below. In the distance, she could see the archipelago of Scilly, her home island of St. Mary’s, furthest out in the distance. She would often think of her father and happier times, when he would bring her to the shore and point to Cornwall. “Margaret, your future is not here on this island. It is there in Cornwall and in London. You will be a great lady someday. I have ensured it.”

  She blew out a long breath and looked up to the heavens, lamenting his absence. It was only by her father’s fortuitous investments in the West Indies that she was not penniless.

  She tossed a stick over the cliffs and onto the beach below, staring at the waves crashing into the rocks, tumultuous as her own emotions. But dear Mama. Margaret had not expected her untimely death and was still reeling when her father’s associate, who received a large dividend upon the death of both parents, quickly retired, placing the young orphan’s care in that of Mrs. Sharpe and the newly hired Mrs. Younge. If not for father’s barrister, I would be all but abandoned. I am now a fatherless, motherless girl, with all the wealth one could want. Yet, alone and unhappy. She broke off a blade of grass and let it fly away in the breeze, floating out to sea.

  She pulled out her watch and was surprised at how much time had passed. She expected Mrs. Younge would not be pleased that she left the inn without her. But, she needed time to reflect. She was uncertain she wished to attend dinner that night in the common rooms and was delaying her return to not allow a choice. It seemed respectable, but her mother had only been gone a fortnight. And with Mrs. Younge’s brother expected to arrive soon before heading to battle Napoleon for King and Crown, they would have the company her new companion seemed to desire.

  The crack of the branch behind her made her spin around. Standing there was the handsomest man she had seen in her sixteen years. Tall, with wavy, black hair and icy blue eyes, he was every hero she had ever imagined in romance novels. Her heart beat wildly.

  November 30, 1811

  Looking back to the week before, she reflected on how her lot had changed! The loss of Mrs. Sharpe was a small price to pay for her current happiness. God changes our circumstances for reasons we cannot foresee. Mrs. Younge made to pin the sprig of narcissus in her red ringlets, but Margaret stilled her hand. Thinking of her beloved mother, she reached for a small posy on the table and said, “These will be enough.” She lifted the flowers to her face and breathed in the sweet scent and smiled at her companion, who in a few short minutes would also become her sister, and silently blessed the day she came into her life.

  I will be protected and safe. I have a man who loves me above all others. Mrs. Younge opened the door, and Margaret walked to the carriage, looking up to see her beloved standing before her in his red coat, a charming smile spreading from ear to ear. Mrs. George Wickham. How well that sounds!

  Chapter 1

  March 30, 1812

  Elizabeth Bennet reclined on a small bench against a tree in Longbourn’s gardens. The opened letter on her lap revealed the concerns her dear aunt Madeline had for Lizzy’s older sister, Jane, who still resided with her aunt and uncle in London.

  Since the Netherfield ball, and Mr. Bingley’s immediate departure, Jane’s heart breaks. Aunt Madeline gives no indication that my sister has seen Mr. Bingley and says Jane has only left the house when my young cousins wish to play at the park or when my aunt takes her to Covent Gardens.

  Her concern for her sister was temporarily forgotten, though, as her aunt outlined the plans for their travels in the upcoming summer months. Reveling in their impending journey to the Lake District, she was startled by the interruption of a familiar voice.

  “Miss Elizabeth. I had expected you to be in Kent by now, not whiling your time away in Meryton. Did you not find Mrs. Collins well?”

  Squinting from the sun, she shaded her eyes with her hand to better see her visitor. “Mr. Wickham, you have returned from the North. How fortunate you are to have traveled for the militia in these last months to both Cornwall and Manchester. And how is Miss King? Is she preparing for your upcoming nuptials?”

  An awkward silence briefly followed but then: “Alas, Miss King and I determined we did not suit, and I released her from the engagement. To save her reputation,” he continued, “I will let it be known publicly that her uncle removed her to Liverpool, so she is not rejected. As you know, women are judged much more critically when engagements are dissolved.”

  “Your manners have always struck me as those of a gentleman. Since our first meeting, I have felt a connection of friendship which I am certain is the result of two like minds. I am certain Miss King will lament your loss.”

  He gave her a quick smile and said, “Thank you. You are too kind. Now how is it you are not in Kent? May I sit?”

  “Of course.” She moved over to make room for him and folded her letter, tucking it into her pocket. “Mrs. Collins became ill and wrote that Lady Catherine de Bourgh, her husband’s patroness, advised it would be best to minimize her contact with others in case it was contagious.” With a raised brow, she asked, “Do you not believe that to be a generous benefactress?”

  Mr. Wickham cackled. “If Lady Catherine is the same woman I remember, it merely indicates she manages things as she likes.”

  “That is what I presumed from Charlotte’s letter as well,” she said, clearly amused.

  Mr. Wickham cautiously continued, “I was thinking, how lucky you are to have not been at Rosings for Easter.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, go every year at this time.”

  A foul taste invaded Lizzy’s mouth as she attempted to order her features. “Truly?”

  “Yes. As you know, Lady Catherine is Darcy’s aunt. He reviews her books and oversees the fundamental management of the estate. I presume it is to prepare him for his wedding with Miss de Bourgh.”

  “Well, I pity the woman. Never have I met such a disagreeable man. So full of contempt for those he deems beneath him—and entirely too officious. If my dislike was not set before we met, Mr. Wickham, the tale of his treatment towards you would have been all the inducement I needed.”

  Wickham laughed. “Remember, not all would agree with you. However, I am grateful you were not taken in by his wealth or appearance. I would not have you so misused as I have been.”

  “Sir, I try not to fall prey to avarice or vain enticements. I take pains to surround myself with people of character and ensure all my associates have the same moral code as I.”

  “Would you say your good opinion once lost is lost forever?”
<
br />   She laughed despite herself, remembering a conversation from months before at Netherfield Park when her sister had taken ill at Mr. Bingley’s estate. “Not lost forever. But, the person must be worthy of the effort to forgive them.”

  “And how does one judge?”

  Elizabeth started, and looked at him. “Pardon?”

  “Do you believe all men deserve the same consideration? Rich or poor? As you know, there are those who use their position in life to thwart the future of others. Should they be forgiven?” He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead. “Still, there are those who see an opportunity at increased happiness through a possible marriage and…abandon one whose affection they would rather hold.”

  He turned and studied her face as an awkward feeling roiled through her. “Mr. Wickham,” she stammered before regaining her composure, “unlike others in my household, I am aware handsome young men need something to live on as well as the plain ones. I assure you, no injury was done.”

  “Even if partiality was at one point perceived?”

  Elizabeth fiddled with the lace on her dress, exhausted with the veiled conversation. “One’s heart would have to be touched for an injury to be felt. I assure you that was not the case.”

  He lowered his gaze. “I do not deserve your kindness.”

  “But, nevertheless, you have it.”