At Last: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Anne Morris

  "Yes," she called down.

  "1805," he said, though the inflection in his voice made it both a statement and a question.

  "Yes," and she turned her body to grip the rail with her other hand, but she looked down at him a little more intently.

  "Trafalgar?" There was kindness then in his voice as he asked the single word question, tears came then to her eyes.

  "Yes," she did not wipe at them, but stared down at Mr. Darcy, holding on with both hands as though to let go would mean she would lose complete control of herself.

  "You said 'gone'…and not 'killed,'" he had hesitated with saying that, his voice uncertain, even shy, clarifying his point, but still he spoke.

  "I surely know that he left, and never returned, and no one knows what happened to him." Her tears streamed down her cheeks. "He is dead, but whether he died that day, or was captured and died in a prison later..." she raised a hand to finally wipe at the tears, "no one…"

  His foot came to rest on the first step as he came around the newel post, but he stopped then as a loud sob broke from her.

  "Good night," she called, and loosed her hold of the railing, gathered her skirts in one hand, wiped again at her eyes with the other, and ran up them to her room.

  Darcy could only watch her go in dejected silence.

  Twenty-Four

  —

  London

  Mrs. Bennet's displeasure of travel and inns, and of Mary's failure to secure Mr. Powlett was wiped away on their arrival home with the receipt of such happy news: Catherine was to marry. It was the type of news most joyous to Mrs. Bennet. That it was unexpected made her excessively animated.

  The day after they arrived home, there was a letter that sent Mrs. Bennet in such paroxysms of joy that there was not a single servant in the house who did not know of that joy; Catherine was to be married and to such a groom! He was apparently the son—a younger son—but the son of a Viscount. Kitty, like Jane, had traded on her beauty, and they were to expect a visit from this young man to formally ask Mr. Bennet for Catherine's hand. Mrs. Bennet's heart palpitations, which did increase, and were usually such a distress to her, were not such a worry when she had such an event to look forward to.

  "Catherine St. Claire, how well that sounds, Catherine St. Claire!" Mrs. Bennet had exclaimed all through that afternoon. The carriage had to be ordered, of course, and her news had to be shared. All of Meryton must be told. Once home, she rested in her room, however, and recovered from so much excitement.

  Mr. Crispin St. Claire, Esq. dutifully drove all the way from Brighton to ask Mr. Bennet's permission to marry Catherine Bennet and received it. Elizabeth was surprised by her sister's choice—he was not an officer though he had been in the army, been wounded, and sold out. Mr. St. Claire (formerly Captain St. Claire), had first met Catherine at Mudeford where he had been taking the waters when they met after she had slipped away from Mrs. Perkins' house for exercise. He was a handsome young man though only of average height, perhaps only a few inches taller than his bride-to-be, fair where Kitty was dark. They were a study in contrasts in terms of their looks. Elizabeth wondered what had brought them together, and what interests they shared.

  They had not been formerly introduced in Mudeford so Catherine had never mentioned him to her family either during or after the trip to Christchurch. The two had become reacquainted in Brighton, and continued their acquaintance there. He had proposed to her on her birthday—a point that had Lydia swooning over the entire romance of Kitty's engagement, with many comments about clandestine meetings, a seaside betrothal, and with such a father—a Viscount! That he was the third son of a Viscount was the most talked about fact for an entire week in the whole of Meryton, whatever anyone's station. Jane Bennet's marriage was nothing to that of dark and beautiful Catherine Bennet. He might not be worth as much as Mr. Bingley, his prospects were not as great, perhaps two thousand a year, but what was that to being the son of a peer!

  Rather than a country wedding, Mrs. Bennet wished for a Town wedding, and wrote to her daughter that they would take up residence in London and plan the wedding from there. Town was everything now, after hearing of Mrs. Nash's wedding at St. George's, and though Mr. Bennet objected strongly, his wife brooked no arguments. She packed up her three daughters, insisted—when reminded of her views about London from the previous December—that it was perfectly safe now, and descended on the Gardiners in Gracechurch Street to await the bride-to-be's arrival, and to begin wedding preparations. St. George's—Catherine must be married at St. George's, of course.

  • • •

  The impact of five adults on the Gardiner household was noticeable after only a short number of days, and Elizabeth convinced her mother to move to other accommodations. Mrs. Bennet was reluctant to agree to such a change, as she knew that Mr. Bennet would grumble about the expense, especially as the wedding was not to be until late September or even early October, and they would be in London for almost as long as they had been in Scarborough. One does not get to walk into St. George's and have their pick of days for a wedding as at a parish church; the church was already busy with many other society weddings.

  Mr. Gardiner was able to procure lodgings for them, and Mrs. Bennet and her daughters sallied forth on most days to shop and to prepare for the wedding of Mrs. Bennet's newest, favorite child. Elizabeth, who thought that Lydia and Georgiana Darcy had shopped a great deal, was surprised at how much Mrs. Bennet was able to do so when it came to wedding preparations in such a place as London. Elizabeth and Mary eventually gave over accompanying her and Kitty, and would, instead, go to call on the Gardiners. Mary, because they had a pianoforte and she could practice, and Elizabeth because she enjoyed the company of her aunt and cousins.

  The plans for Elizabeth to come to London to have a Season had been laid aside because of Catherine's wedding. If she was a different person, and of a different temperament, Elizabeth supposed she could insist that she have some sort of Season since it had been promised her. Lydia would have insisted on her just due, but Elizabeth had been reluctant about this newest attempt.

  She realized that part of her was still that fifteen year old who had once curled up with Jane to speak of love as if it were something that would be brought in on the winds, but that it could not to be searched for in London drawing rooms. It might be a soft and gentle summer breeze, or a more forceful autumn wind, or a tempest that came to seize her heart and her mind—wild and angry and exciting—but it was not likely she would discover her life's partner in the crush and noise of ballrooms, and the starkness of large, well-lit, but uninviting drawing rooms as people repeated the same formal, yet insincere conversations. A London Season was not for her.

  As with Jane's wedding, Elizabeth allowed herself to be of use wherever she was needed. When the Gardiner's governess took ill for a number of days the first week in September, she stepped in to help with her little cousins, especially with the little girls. Elizabeth did not attempt such things as lessons, but simply kept them occupied.

  One day, she even managed to take all four children to the park. The Gardiner carriage had taken Uncle Gardiner on an errand and become available. Elizabeth then cajoled him into letting her bustle all four of the children into it, to head for St. James Park to allow the children to run around and to admire any animals on the grounds.

  They walked under its trees and through its open spaces, admiring the animals which were in far greater numbers than people. The boys enjoyed racing around, though the girls had already begun to adopt a serenity of manner and walked at a more sedate pace. Their party eventually ended up heading towards the canal which fascinated all of the children with the prospect of viewing more wildlife, and they stood at its shores for a long time, gazing at wildfowl, while Elizabeth kept a firm grip on both of the little boys' hands.

  "Mr. Darby!" cried Anna, and Elizabeth glanced over at her in confusion.

  "No Anna, it is Darcy, Mr. Darcy," corrected Paulette, who pointed, then waved at th
e man in question. Elizabeth looked down along the edge of the canal's waterline, and saw that indeed, Mr. Darcy was walking towards their group.

  The two boys turned from looking out over the water to look at the man in discussion, but then looked back at the water as they attempted to spy creatures lying underneath its surface—that was a far more interesting object than a silly old gentleman in a brown coat.

  "Hello Miss Gardiner, Miss Paulette," said Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth turned to see him doffing his cap to the two girls, who smiled and curtsied to him in return. She did not dare leave her post next to the little boys so near the edge of the water.

  "Cousin Elizabeth persuaded Papa to let us have the carriage and to take us to the park. We have seen seven deer and so many cows we have lost count," said Paulette.

  "However, no crocodiles," said the smallest boy. He stood up to look at the man his sisters were speaking to, but then seemed to take fright at the very tall gentleman, and reached a muddy hand to cling to Elizabeth's skirts. He did not elaborate more about the crocodiles, and Mr. Darcy looked from the boy to Elizabeth.

  "My uncle told him that King Charles once had a menagerie of exotic animals at the park. I fear he has been expecting there to be crocodiles in the canal," explained Elizabeth.

  "Ah," he replied, then fell silent as he looked from the little boy back up to Elizabeth. "I…I did not know you were in London, Miss Bennet, have you been here long?"

  "I have, we came almost after we left Pemberley," she looked at him, pausing even in her thoughts. She wondered about telling him about her sister. He had not revealed her secret, but would he think it important that her new brother know? Would he use it to ruin Catherine's happiness? She continued, however. "My sister, Catherine is to be married, and we are here preparing for the wedding."

  He was surprised by the news, but then a smile, a warm smile, crossed his face. "I congratulate you. Shall you be here long?"

  "The wedding is on Michaelmas, and we will be in London the entire time," she answered. She found her hand tugged, and the youngest boy looked up at her as if he was still not sure of the gentleman, and she lifted him up into her arms.

  "She is to be married here?" asked Mr. Darcy.

  "Yes, at St. George's," she answered, and looked down to ensure that the other boy was still a safe distance from the water. She looked over at the two girls who stood holding hands before she returned her gaze to Mr. Darcy.

  "I see," he said, looking at her with the small boy, who was about three, in her arms.

  "Cousin Elizabeth, I think that is a crocodile," called the other boy, who stood suddenly and pointed out at some bowing shape in the water. She caught a fleeting glimpse, and smiled at what had obviously been a fish. She smiled both at Mr. Darcy and at the boy.

  "Master Edward, I believe you were correct," she said, and laid a hand on his head.

  "I am ready for tea," said the boy in her arms.

  "I am too," said Anna. Paulette, however, wished to stay, and the four children began squabbling.

  "I fear we shall be heading home," she said nodding to their visitor, who watched as she rounded up the children, with small hands in hers, and herded the bickering voices before her while also catching the eye of the footman who had stood to one side and directed him to fetch the carriage.

  "Good day then to all of you," said Mr. Darcy, and continued on his way.

  • • •

  At last! He felt that his ship had finally come in. At first, life had been against him. His recent string of card playing had not been successful after having had winning hands for quite a number of months. He did not cheat, but he knew how best to play. It just seemed that the fates were against him at times, and August had been a lean month. Georgiana had written a number of times. It seems her friend had left her, and she was a rather bored child, had been ever-indulged, and now she had not much else to do but to write to him and beg him to write her back, to tell her how beautiful she was, to praise her beauty and accomplishments.

  He had not spared her much time or thought, but then she wrote late in August that Darcy was to go to London for most of September for family reasons, and should he not like to come to Pemberley for a visit? Pemberley was almost four days travel from Brighton, and would be quite an expensive undertaking for him. He weighed everything carefully, but it was also three days from London, if he wished to stop there first. He could whisk her from Derbyshire to Gretna Green, and be thirty thousand pounds richer. It was still likely to be four more days of travel to get to Scotland, but for once, an investment that was worth his time. Four days to Derbyshire, then four days to Scotland, and he would have his prize.

  He was not sure that he would return to the Monmouthshire militia afterward. There were issues he would rather not face, debts of honor because of some of those card games that had not gone his way. He wondered if he should officially get out, or if he and his bride should simply disappear—head over to Ireland after Gretna Green. There was the issue of her inheritance, and he would need to—damn Darcy for the dog that he was—present himself before the man to claim his new wife's money. That was why the last two letters lay now in his pocket, transferred from garment to garment.

  The cost of the coach fare was more than he anticipated, but his prize awaited at the end of the first leg, so Wickham thought of leaving Brighton, pleased to be leaving soldiering behind him, pleased to be heading towards more money than he had ever imagined he could earn—as if it was falling from the sky, an abundance of apples falling off of a tree, ripe and ready for him to consume.

  • • •

  Darcy had come to London motivated by a mixture of duty and pleasure. His cousin Radbourne still needed his spirits bolstered, and Darcy had lent him an ear over a succession of many days about the disappointments he and his wife had faced with their inability to produce a child. Relations between the couple had become strained, though Radbourne still hoped for a happier ending. Darcy could do little but to listen and be sympathetic.

  He had also come because he enjoyed Town and society, and he had missed the spring Season for a number of years in a row. But the weeks that Darcy was in Town proved to not bolster his own spirits. He realized, after a fortnight in London, that he felt hollow inside; his usual pursuits did nothing to fill in that space, and though his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam was there to provide him with company, Darcy was not happy.

  Then, after a luncheon with a friend, he had decided to stretch his legs, and ended up walking in the parks despite the odd hour, when most fashionable people were not in attendance and came across Miss Bennet. She had presented him with a rosy domestic picture as she played with her four little cousins by the canal in St. James Park, her arms holding the youngest—had he scared the boy? Darcy recalled how it had been that summer, during her sister's visit, and then with her own family joining them at Pemberley. He had a growing sense of family, and what it would mean to have family again at Pemberley. He wondered if he had ruined it entirely with his actions that one night, that stolen kiss, when she had told him she wished to never see him again.

  But their meeting had been friendly, and he had discovered some news. Her sister Catherine was to be married and all of them were in London. He wondered if Georgiana might like to come to London to see her friend. Might not Elizabeth Bennet think better of him if he brought Georgiana to Town to see Lydia? It was self-serving, to be sure, but if it made both of their sisters happy and, in turn, made Miss Bennet happy, could it be an ill-favored action?

  • • •

  Darcy admitted he had ulterior motives to first stop at Netherfield Hall. He really wished to come to Meryton to speak to the inhabitants, though it was good to see his friend Bingley, who was so incredibly happy that he should be held up as a shining example for the happiness to be found in marriage. But though Darcy had not been invited, and he simply said he was stopping on his way to Pemberley, of course Charles and Jane invited him to rest, to put up his feet for a day or two, which Darcy took adv
antage of.

  He walked into Meryton, when before he had often ridden, conducted his business—such as a visit to the tobacconist's—and then ridden home, a quick and efficient trip. But in order to discern what he needed to discover, he needed to take his time; Darcy needed to walk into Meryton to affect such discoveries as he could, and then to ponder them while he walked back, because once he returned to Netherfield he would be called into the society of Bingley and Jane.

  He started at the tobacconist, and rather than conducting a quick trade, then turning to leave, Darcy broke into conversation, asking the man his name. However, he also realized he could not begin to ask pointed questions without raising suspicion. While he wished to launch into a series of questions about any of the local young men who might have served in the war; he would need to come back at a later time, relationships are ones built on trust and over time. A visit to the haberdasher went the same way.

  He stopped at the Cock and Bottle, and Darcy was hard pressed to discourage the attentions of the barmaid. He ended up at the bar itself, speaking to the owner, a man with the interesting name of Pinnock. He was someone ready to talk so long as Darcy was ready to drink. They spoke over two pints of very good, dark ale about the countryside and about the setback to his business with the loss of the militia, which gave Darcy an opening to discuss the war.

  Darcy was able to talk about the impact of the war on local lads. There had been a number of sons who had gone to serve in the army, and Mr. Pinnock focused on that for a while. For it was, after all, Peninsula news—the army—that had everyone excited. There had been more fighting in Spain, and people were not quite sure if the French were being routed, or if they were, in turn, routing the Coalition soldiers. But Mr. Pinnock had every faith in Wellington, and could well believe that they would all come home. Though there were those who would not. A local son had died recently.

  Darcy asked about any naval men. The locals, said Mr. Pinnock, had been right scared off from trying their hands at becoming sailors, for the only two local lads who had joined the navy, one as an officer, and one as an enlisted man, had both died at Trafalgar. Darcy had tried not to appear too eager, but he had asked about the poor families which had lost their sons. There was Edmund Goulding—he had been an officer—the son of a landed gent here, "but Mr. William Goulding, the father, has three other sons left to keep him company in his old age, but it is Sir John," Darcy had taken his final sip of ale and put the glass down, "that is to be pitied," said Mr. Pinnock.