by Head, Gail
“Perhaps I should meet your protégé. I wager I could help him out of his shyness.”
“He is not your type, my dear. The third son of an Earl, and a lowly lieutenant to boot, does not offer much prospect for an ambitious lady such as yourself. No more than a steward's son,” he added teasingly. Drawing her into a side room, he claimed her hands with a kiss. “Did you miss me?”
“Stop that! I am a respectable landlady, you know. Besides, why would I miss a rake like you? I have plenty of gentlemen to keep me entertained.”
“Perhaps, but none as devoted as I, you must admit.”
“No, none as devoted as you,” she agreed softly.
He pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck. “And I always shall be.”
“Enough of that, dear boy!” Ann gently pushed against him. “You must tell me how you are doing in Hertfordshire. Has that freckle-faced ninny accepted you yet? Molly, was it? I image her ten thousand will go a long way to compensate you for such a plain bride.”
Having been reminded of his latest failure, Wickham dropped his arms with an exasperated sigh.
“It was Mary, not Molly – and no, her watchdog of an uncle whisked her off before I could convince her to run away with me. Another stroke of bad luck. Now, I face all the expense of the wooing without the reward of the dowry; not to mention several debts of honor that must be paid on my return to Hertfordshire.” His countenance darkened. “I never realized military men could be so unyielding.”
“Only for you,” she quipped.
“Yes, well, in any case, I have every expectation of a profitable return on young St. Clair by and by, just not immediate enough for my present difficulty. I was hoping you might be able to –”
“Not me, my love” she kissed his cheek and moved away. “I haven't a schilling to spare. I am barely one step ahead of the runners myself.”
“I am sorry to hear that. You were my last hope,” Wickham sighed thoughtfully. “I shall just have to find another way out of this one, but I haven't much time.”
“Take heart. There is bound to be an unprotected girl with a fortune somewhere in London.”
“Yes, I know; but it all takes so long; and I, for one, am sick to death of this endless grubbing. I want us to be together without the constant worry for our comfort,” he sulked. “And someday – someday soon – I shall find the means to make it happen!”
“Yes, I know,” she squeezed his arm then trailed her fingers down the length of it, “but even if you could, the whole thing would be a little difficult. You need a wife to get the money and you need the money to get me. Three in a bed is a little crowded, my dear, and very few wives would knowingly share you and her money with me. No, we would still be living in the shadows.”
“Well, it would not be for long. Tragic accidents do happen from time to time. Mr. Younge was himself a newly married man when he met his fate, was he not?”
“Indeed he was! I am only sorry we were mistaken as to his wealth,” she sighed a bit wistfully. “And so it falls to you to raise our fortunes, my dear Wickham. You will just have to make your way into society and find a girl ripe for the picking. You must not give up; for if you do, you allow Mr. King to triumph – and even Fitzwilliam Darcy for he foiled us first.”
“Blast Darcy!” The effect of Darcy's name on Wickham was immediate. “Why could he not be more like his father? The old man was always easily persuaded to help me, even if I was the son of his steward. It was fortunate that his friendship for my father ran deep.”
“Yes, I remember. His extraordinary kindness to you was astonishing to the whole neighborhood. Did you ever discover the source of his attachment?”
“No. My father would never answer the question. I often wondered if it had something to do with their time in India. Whatever it was, he took it to the grave.”
Wickham's simmering resentment boiled over with the well-worn thought of life's unfairness, and he wondered anew if either gentleman or steward had ever considered the fate to which they had consigned him – an ethereal half-life in the shadow of Pemberley's heir, tasting but never possessing any of the claims to Darcy's prosperous and privileged world. His hand rose automatically to finger the pale pink crescent on his cheek.
“From the moment of the old man's death, my dealings with Pemberley have been laced with disappointment; though I guess I should not be surprised, given Darcy's resentful nature. I saw it in him even as a boy.”
“I suppose after last summer, there is no hope of a reconciliation,” she said more to herself than Wickham.
“None at all. After Ramsgate, Darcy has refused to even acknowledge my existence. My best chance now is with the St. Clairs; and I have but a fortnight to make the most of it.”
“I have every confidence in you, George,” Ann touched his face encouragingly. “Our plans did not succeed with Georgiana Darcy or Mary King, but there are others. And should you need my assistance with a young lady again, let me know. I am always happy to be of service.”
* * * *
Wickham surveyed the flurry of activity in the theatre seats below his box, seeking relief from the tediousness of the evening. Thomas St. Clair sat nearby, giving dutiful attention to his mother's opinions on Mozart's newest production. Opera was not Wickham's favorite pastime, but he recognized the importance of acquiring some proficiency if he was to find acceptance in society. Suddenly, Lady Gladston's questions called his attention back to the conversation.
“Tell me, Lieutenant Wickham, what is your opinion of Herr Mozart's latest offering? Is it to your liking?”
“It is only the first act, but I find I like it very well, madam,” he replied assiduously.
“I am so glad you do. Thomas has never truly acquired a taste for opera, but I commend him for his effort. He is often…”
Wickham pasted a charming smile on his face as her words faded into the back of his mind. Normally attentive to even the most tiresome company, he now found the conversation overshadowed by his growing discomfort with the seating arrangements. Already he was miserable and there were two more acts yet to sit through. The St. Clairs were not large people and the furnishings of their theatre box did not readily accommodate a frame of his proportions.
He shifted slightly, attempting to find a more tolerable position, and casually leaned forward in his chair. Instantly, he was arrested by a familiar voice drifting in from the adjoining box. Intriguing bits of a conversation pulled him further as he strained to hear more. “…nephew is such a disappointment… should not forget what he owes to his family…”.
Without a doubt, it was the distinctive voice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh; and she was definitely displeased! Since Wickham knew of only one nephew who could provoke such a passionate sentiment, the offending family member had to be Darcy.
Lady Gladston's voice momentarily intruded upon his thoughts. “But I have told him often enough, that he must if he is to find a respectable wife! So many young ladies these days…”
Wickham adjusted his smile and tried not to appear inattentive while he turned his real interest back to the conversation next door.
“…she is an impertinent country nobody….has taken advantage of my kindness…”
Wickham knew Darcy had always maintained a delicate relationship with his aunt, particularly after her sister, Darcy's mother, had died. Lady Catherine's overriding interest in her nephew from Pemberley was the expectation of his marrying her own daughter and his cousin, Anne. Impertinent was definitely not a word to describe Darcy's insipid cousin, so there was obviously someone else upsetting the old dragon's long-held expectations. What an intriguing bit of information!
“…scandalous connections…not to be borne…”
Lady Catherine's words became muffled and incomprehensible at that point, pulling Wickham forward as far as he dared with no success. Lady Catherine had moved out of his hearing completely. Disappointing, but he had heard enough to stir his imagination.
Wickham knew Darcy's annual h
abit of spending a few weeks at his aunt's estate in Kent. Apparently, this year he had also spent time with someone else! Is it possible Darcy developed an interest for a country miss right under Lady Catherine's nose! What a pity for Anne. But I wonder, who could this remarkable lady be?
Wickham's deliberating was abruptly interrupted when Mrs. St. Clair rose from her seat, motioning young Thomas to his feet as well.
“I should like to take in some fresh air before the next act. Thomas, you must come and meet Lady Beatrice's daughter. You will excuse us, Lieutenant?” Wickham happily made way for mother and son, grateful to be released from the pretense of being attentive.
Settling back into the hopelessly uncomfortable chair, he considered his newfound knowledge. It was intriguing, but not quite enough to be useful. He needed to know more. Mentally, he listed those who might be able to give him additional information.
He had been introduced to Lady Catherine's clergyman, his knowledge would be most helpful. And then there was Mrs. Collins, of course – formerly Miss Lucas; but neither acquaintance was so close as to allow him the liberty of addressing the intimate topic of Darcy's romantic affairs.
It was then he recalled the charming Miss Elizabeth Bennet, an intimate friend of Mrs. Collins. She had recently gone to Kent for a visit and doubtless would soon be back in Hertfordshire. Ah, yes! This was even better, for they had already shared several mutually agreeable opinions regarding Darcy's private affairs, not the least of which was his own sad tale of woeful mistreatment.
The delightful Miss Elizabeth had a keen sense of observation, and yet she was still as easily manipulated as any young woman he had encountered. Yes, she would be one who might have some knowledge. It was very likely she had seen him in Kent; and, having been in his company both in Hertfordshire and Kent, she would be in a perfect position to detect any changes in him. In fact, having been a full week in his company at Netherfield when her sister was so ill, she would be just the one.
Wickham rubbed his hands together with growing excitement. There was every chance she would be able to impart something of value! He reviewed the limited information he had collected so far, anticipating what Miss Bennet might have to add, when abruptly he shot upright in his chair – Can it be?
Wickham's mind flew to an astonishing possibility, immediately dismissing it at first and then returning to it again with amazement: could Miss Elizabeth Bennet be the lady in question?
He considered the evidence. Without a doubt, she had been in Darcy's company frequently enough for an attachment to form. By Lady Catherine's standards, Miss Elizabeth was unquestionably a “country nobody” with a family “scandalously connected” to trade. Wickham smiled to himself. And, yes, the unaffected, delightfully engaging manner of Elizabeth Bennet would most definitely be regarded as “impertinent” in Lady Catherine's eyes.
The sudden recollection of some long-forgotten gossip spurred his suspicions on. The day after the ball at Netherfield, Saunderson and Coburn had tried to make him feel some regret for his absence by describing the more interesting highlights of the evening, one being that the famously proud Mr. Darcy had actually deigned to dance with a lady other than his friend's sisters. Coburn had delighted in describing the wave of astonishment that swept the room when Darcy was seen dancing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet!
Intimately acquainted with Darcy's aversion to public dancing, Wickham knew the man's habit of participating only when forced by the dictates of civility. Yet, without any obvious dictates pressing upon him that night, Darcy had freely chosen to dance with Elizabeth Bennet. It seemed that Darcy had been motivated solely by a personal regard for the lady. Wickham's head wagged slowly at his utter failure to understanding the significance of the event until now.
The longer he thought on it, the more credible it seemed. How many times had he heard Darcy denounce insipid, artful women, whose only interests were fashion and gossip. What a contrast he would find in the independent thought and pert opinions of Miss Elizabeth Bennet! Yes, her quick wit and educated mind, her lively eyes and engaging manner, were exactly what Darcy would find irresistible.
Could it possibly be true? He knew Darcy always guarded his privacy with a passion and would never knowingly expose himself to talk of this kind. If his behavior in Kent had been so careless as to incite Lady Catherine's notice, then it must be true! His jaw dropping in amazement, Wickham let out an explosive sigh. The conclusion was undeniable – Fitzwilliam Darcy did indeed have an attraction for Miss Elizabeth Bennet!
Wickham tensed with giddy anticipation, for he also knew Lady Catherine. If she was as unhappy as her tone had suggested, she would willingly pay a high price to prevent such a disgraceful attachment. What a most fortunate turn of events for him!
Wickham hurried out of the St. Clair's box, nearly falling over Thomas and his mother who were at that moment returning. With the briefest of apologies, he dashed off, returning only a short while later. In spite of their obvious curiosity at his sudden departure and now obviously high spirits, Wickham offered no explanation. With the proficiency of a practiced seducer, he skillfully diverted their questions with an engaging comparison of Italian and German operas. Their interest in his affairs was soon forgot and the remainder of the intermission was passed without any fear of the topic returning.
In short order, the curtain rose on the second act, and Wickham found his mind delightfully engaged as he contemplated his impending fortune – one large enough to relieve his present circumstances in Hertfordshire and also allow for a very comfortable living.
Settling back in a chair he no longer found uncomfortable, he smiled broadly in the dark. The events he had just set into motion would not only provide him with a comfortable financial arrangement, they would also bring a particularly delightful opportunity to give Fitzwilliam Darcy the excruciatingly painful disappointment he deserved!
Chapter 1
Feeling a pair of eyes upon her, Elizabeth Bennet looked up from the pages of her book and glanced around the fashionable London bookshop. It was a large establishment and a number of customers were browsing the stacks, but she detected no particular regard from any of them. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she returned to the volume in her hand; yet it was not another minute before her stomach knotted with the same, unmistakable feeling. Remaining very still, her eyes swept the room again, once more finding no cause for the disturbing impression.
Unable to completely dismiss the feeling, she finally approached Jane and suggested they end their shopping excursion. When Jane saw the troubled look on her sister's face, she immediately agreed. Quickly completing their purchases, they turned to leave. At the door, Elizabeth tucked her new book into the crook of her arm and gave the shop one last curious study before stepping out onto the busy street.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Fitzwilliam Darcy came out from behind one of the massive columns near the philosophy stacks. After watching Elizabeth and her sister leave the shop, he waited only a few minutes to be certain they would not meet, then left the bookseller's establishment as well.
“Home please, Harrison,” he called to the coachman sitting atop the carriage as he entered the door held open by his footman. Settling into the soft, leather cushions, Darcy took a few deep breaths to calm the turmoil rising in his chest, and the driver flicked the matching grays into motion.
What is SHE doing in London? He sighed desperately to himself. This is impossible! It is not enough that she troubles my dreams every single night – now she must disturb my waking hours as well?
He looked out at the crowded streets, trying desperately to order his distracted thoughts. His heart skipped a beat when he thought he saw her again and he quickly snapped the curtain shut.
Ridiculous! He grumbled. I try to rid myself of these absurd thoughts with a new book only to have her materialize right in front of me, in the middle of the bookseller's shop! I can only be glad she did not see me! I do not know what I would have said to her. A smile playe
d at his lips as he recalled the sight of her mystified look and the familiar arch of her brow which often appeared when she was piqued. She is as beautiful and enchanting as I remember.
For one brief moment, he allowed himself the luxury of considering the extraordinary woman who had touched him in a way no one ever had. Elizabeth Bennet had been so irresistibly captivating that he, a man well-acquainted with bachelorhood, had wanted her for his wife, and offered himself in marriage.
Suddenly, Darcy bolted upright, trying desperately to push the thoughts back into the darkest corner of his mind; but it was too late! The self-indulgent moment breached the tenuous hold he kept on the painful memories and they came flooding back, bringing the hurt and humiliation of her words in excruciating detail.
“Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner…”
The scathing censure washed over him, and he squeezed his eyes tightly against the image of her rising indignation; but the memory of her stinging words could not be stopped.
“Your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others...”
Every word she had pronounced surged against his heart until the bitter swell of her final, passionate declaration engulfed him entirely, twisting his face in abject misery.
“You are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry!”
Unnerved at the sudden, violent emotions stirred by this chance meeting, Darcy fell back against the soft, yielding leather. What a fool I have been to think I could so easily dismiss Miss Elizabeth Bennet from my life. Her very presence accosted my senses long before my eyes ever beheld her standing there.
A ragged sigh fell from his lips as he pushed back the stark, painful reality threatening to consume his heart. What a fool I am! She is not mine, nor ever shall be. I have been rejected completely, and yet I am drawn to her still! This will not do. I must find a way to reconcile my disappointment.