by Anne Morris
"Sir John?" Darcy had asked.
"Yes sir, Sir John Mandeville that owns Netherfield Hall, his grandson Henry it was, that died. They quarreled, Sir John was always a heavy-handed sort of gent, and the young man ran away to join, because they did not see eye-to-eye, but they never found him."
The ship he had been on, the HMS Revenge, had suffered heavy casualties—even the captain had died—so they had supposed that with such an incident, it had been difficult to have noted the passing of all of the ship's crew. Because Henry Mandeville had enlisted and was not an officer, no one bothered to look for his body. Henry had joined up because Sir John and he had fought so much, but no wonder, Sir John and his son, that William Mandeville, had fought tooth and nail too.
William had married and moved to London to get away. He wanted to raise his son far from Sir John but had died an early death—heart trouble—but that Sir John was old and mean, and no one ever thought that he would die. The man had, at least, taken himself off to London, and now they had that nice Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Hall, who had married that sweet Miss Jane, and everyone liked him. He was what they wanted to see in the neighborhood, and they wished more like him would come and settle in the manor houses.
Why Mr. Key, who owned Purvis Lodge would let his house, and once he got renters in, would raise the rates then people would naturally leave, he did not understand. Mr. Pinnock shook his head over that. Mr. Key never understood if there were empty houses in other villages, people would not stand for it, so Mr. Key was forever looking for tenants.
• • •
Elizabeth tried not to consider Mr. Darcy in the days after their encounter at the Park, but she found that he was uppermost in her mind. She had no other employment. She was confined to the house for the most part; even she knew not to walk in Town without a servant in tow, and the city streets were not to her liking. She was a woman who needed an occupation even if it was for her mind, so she found herself considering Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth expanded upon what she had begun that night out on the terrace at Pemberley; the entirety of their interactions.
She wondered that he still spoke to her. He had discovered her secret, yet in the same voice had said 'I do not believe I wish to deny me your company.' He had not cut all ties with her and her family, but had invited Lydia for an extended stay to his home, to be the companion and friend to his sister when he had said to her, back in Scarborough that he regulated all of Georgiana's acquaintance. He did not find fault then, with her family if he would invite Lydia, and her entire family to his estate.
Had that been for her? Had it been, as she had considered, to show her in his rather prideful way what she had given up by refusing him back in Scarborough? But she thought about what a warm and gracious host he had been during that stay, even drawing her father out—and to get her mother to dance! Mrs. Bennet had enjoyed that last evening above all the others at Pemberley. Elizabeth could not ascribe her family's enjoyment of the trip and their being invited solely to his wishing to show her what she had scorned; she saw that he took pleasure in being a host, in crafting those days of amusement.
He had changed, or his manners had grown, and his outlook changed since Scarborough, and certainly since their first meeting in Meryton a year ago. Was it simply because he was moving on familiar territory at his estate? Or had he done it for her? She had no way to judge the measure of his affection for her. He had been so furiously angry that day he had discovered her secret, yet he had said he had no wish to discontinue their acquaintance. He could be affectionate and indulgent with Simon, but he had come over so jealous out there in the dark on the terrace. He was still a man whom she imperfectly understood.
She had stopped his kiss with a brutal mark of affection in return. Had he meant to declare himself again, and how did she feel about him now? He was still a prideful man, and was proud of Pemberley as he escorted all of them around, but may not a man be proud of his estate? She had not ever thought to fault Mr. Wolton-Fane for taking pride in his own holdings. Why could she not extend the same courtesy to Mr. Darcy?
He was a man of intelligence; she had always valued that. He could be kind—that she had seen even in the very first days of their acquaintance, that first long day at Netherfield when she had stolen out to the gardens to weep because being back at Netherfield had reminded her of Henry and of their final goodbye. Mr. Darcy had come upon her then, and been so concerned and guessed, incorrectly as it happened, that she had been excessively worried about Jane, but he had been sweet to have been concerned for her, and Elizabeth smiled as she recalled his not wishing to leave her alone.
His curiosity might affect his judgment, and she had spoken to him about his questions, seemingly random ones, about Charlotte Lucas. Elizabeth wondered what other little conundrums had he noticed, questioned, and then set out to 'solve,' which might have been best left alone. His curiosity had led him to figure out that Simon was her son, though had it solved nothing more than to satisfy his curiosity?
He certainly had a greater knowledge of the world than she did. She had seen little of the world, read not nearly as much as she had wished, and such a man could provide her with an education, and open the doors to entire new worlds and opportunities. Was she considering him in a fairer light now? She realized that she allowed him merit.
Their temperaments were quite different, and Elizabeth reflected on that for a long time. He was cool and reserved—'aloof' had been her favorite word to describe Mr. Darcy. She might be practical, but Elizabeth felt she was a person who was always engaged with her fellow creatures. She had lived four and twenty years in the world and had, like her mother, enjoyed society, saw its benefits, appreciated where the fabric of it was thin, endeavored to work hard at her charity work, and was a creature who was engaged with the people around her. A fact she often questioned about Mr. Darcy. She thought, though, that he was interested in his fellow creatures, simply interested in a different way.
Elizabeth realized, as she sat in the Gardiner's parlor listening to Mary play, that her estimation of him had changed quite a bit since his proposal and her refusal of him back in Scarborough. She had begun to appreciate him more, their acquaintance had grown—had he not claimed it was a friendship? But he knew her secret, and that weighed on her mind. She knew not how to feel that he carried her secret around. She knew not what she wished from him; was it possible to be friends with a gentleman? She considered that her past experiences with gentlemen had not been the most exemplary; perhaps she had not made the best choices when it came to the way she had interacted with gentleman.
Elizabeth thought over Aunt Gardiner's advice that she should be honest about not being a maid with a potential husband. Her aunt said a husband, a loving understanding man would not mind, but to not share about Simon. She had come to understand that her aunt was correct in this instance—it would be a terrible injustice to her father to ever have him realize what she and her mother had done. But more than that, could any man she might marry handle looking at the face of Simon and know he was her son? Could that husband ever see Simon, knowing the truth, and accept him as her brother? What if she married and her secret became known afterward, what would happen to her, what would happen to her marriage? All sense of trust in such a marriage would be lost. She realized that she could never marry, just as she was beginning to think that she could love again. While she could disclose not being a maid, she would ever fear the other part of her secret coming to light.
Twenty-Five
—
A Surprise
He gave his notice to Colonel Forster. Wickham had the entire month of September to get to Pemberley; Georgiana and her money were waiting for him at the end, were they not? He had invented a tale of a relative dying and leaving him money. He had to go and get it, which explained his sudden change of plans from everything he had said before.
North, he had to travel far north, to Westmorland to see to solicitors about this inheritance, was his tale. It was all rather tedious,
Wickham had proclaimed and sighed, and it would take him forever. He joked and played off how long it would take him—days, if not a week to get there. His fellow officers were kind and pitched in a couple shillings or a pound—those he did not owe money to—to help with his coach fare and sent him off with a rollicking good time at a pub first.
• • •
Georgiana leaned forward, urged her horse to a run, and cared not if the groom kept up. She was bored and frustrated and riding was her one release each day from the otherwise sameness of her current routine. She had written to Wickham four times, four times, since Fitzwilliam had left for London and not heard a word. Perhaps Wickham had found another young lady whose attentions he liked better—whose form, no doubt, was more curvaceous than her own which still, as her aunts had said, tended to be willowy. She thought she might have grown a little more as her gowns all appeared a wee bit shorter.
That idea, at least, gave her pleasure, as she thought she had an excuse for ordering new ones. No doubt, Mrs. Younge would suggest that she simply have the hems let down, but they would be out of style now and who wishes to be seen in gowns with let-down hems? Lydia had one gown which she wore because it her favorite color—a sunny yellow—but which had a hem that had obviously been mended—though Lydia was so tall, and she was her friend. Perhaps Georgiana ought to have bought Lydia some trim to cover up the stitches where it had been mended. That might have been a more charitable thing to do than to just note the rather poor job Lydia had done on the hem herself.
Georgiana pulled her mare back to a canter as she rounded the little grove of trees that edged the lake, then slowed even more as she rode up towards the house which was still off in the distance. A carriage stood in front, and Georgiana frowned as she had no idea of visitors being expected. Any visitor to the house would be a welcome relief. She kicked her heels, and raced to the house to see who had come to call.
• • •
As Darcy traveled towards Pemberley he considered that this was the off-spring of a baronet; Simon was the great-grandson of a baronet: did the man have a right to know about his great-grandchild?
He thought about Simon's life, and what it would have been like had Henry Mandeville lived. Darcy and Mandeville had been approximately the same age. They probably had similar childhoods—would their adulthoods have been parallel as well? Simon would have lived at Netherfield Hall, most likely. He probably would have had brothers and sisters, and he would have had a loving mother, instead of a loving sister. Darcy assumed Simon would have had a doting father in the form of Henry Mandeville of Netherfield, instead of a doting father in the form of Mr. Bennet of Longbourn. As a side note, his friend Bingley would never have leased the property, and would never have met Miss Jane which was a grim thought for many reasons, one of which was that Darcy would never have meet Elizabeth.
At the picnic luncheon, when Darcy and Mr. Nash had sat with Simon, he had seen how the boy had such an ardent manner about him as he talked about his time at Pemberley, walking and playing in the woods every day; and how Mr. Darcy had given him new ideas about King Arthur and King Richard the Lionheart. Simon had been bursting with happiness and excitement about the possibilities of play afforded to him with these new ideas. Darcy had looked over at the longing and fondness in Mr. Nash's eyes. Mr. Nash spoke warmly of his daughter, but he had married Miss Bingley because he wished for a son. Darcy realized it had kindled a small flame inside of him, that same longing he saw in Mr. Nash, for a son of his own.
Darcy thought then about what Elizabeth had said to him about its having been a good thing for her family that small boy child. He could see the vulgarity of her mother's manners, and while Lydia was similarly spirited, her upbringing and education must have considerably tamed Lydia. Elizabeth said it was because of Simon, an off-shoot to be sure, because that governess had come, but a positive one. 'Encouraged' had been the term she used as far as her father. Darcy had noticed how often Mr. Bennet was in the library, yet he still had participated in the activities during his visit to Pemberley. Having his son around him had encouraged Mr. Bennet to leave his books and to join more in society. Darcy thought, as he considered the entire scenario, that he could see her point now.
He thought of all of the feelings of jealousy that he had expressed towards all the gentlemen that Elizabeth had danced with, or spoken with, or ridden with. Darcy even had to admit to jealousy about that clergyman who had showed up at her doorstep just as he was leaving Meryton. He had felt like he wanted to run from her, and yet was jealous at the same time. He had wondered then if he should warn that gentleman off. But just as he had realized that what he had done to Mary King had been wrong, he realized that he could not reveal this secret and ruin the lives of those who were attached to it. He realized Simon Bennet was the child, truly the child of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth had said that evening on the terrace that she had wanted them to part ways and to never see him again, yet he had found her in the park, which had encouraged him on this trip to fetch his sister. She indicated that she had not known Henry Mandeville's fate. Darcy knew it had been over seven years since Trafalgar, but he thought, that if there was anybody who could figure out what had happened to Mandeville, it would be him. Perhaps if he could give her some comfort and some closure in knowing what had happened to Mandeville, perhaps he could give her a little happiness. He was determined to look up Sir John Mandeville when he returned to London with Georgiana.
• • •
Wickham supposed he should have taken the mail coach as it was direct and fast, but the unending pace of it, with those short breaks, and the smell of being stuffed in a carriage with unwashed people for days on end was not to his liking. So he had booked a coach trip, and broke his trip at cheap inns, to drink and to sleep at night, as a decent person does, and not to be sleeping cramped inside the carriage with some ugly, toothless old crone next to him on the mail coach, with nowhere to put his legs. The cost of the inn was well worth stretching his legs out to sleep.
In Blythe, he hired a small equipage to take him to Pemberley, and though he was not the sort given to high spirits, Wickham could not help himself, thirty thousand pounds awaited him, and he was anxious and excited the entire ride. He supposed he should have written the child back to tell her he was, for sure, coming, but each letter he received had been almost an ordeal to read. He had, at least, tucked away the last two as some insurance should Darcy balk at handing over all of Georgiana's fortune when they returned from Gretna Green.
It was late morning when he arrived at Pemberley, and he rode along its winding pathway that had been so familiar to him. He hated that there was some small spark inside of him that recognized it as home; it was where his childhood had been spent. The lake shimmered before him as the road wound down, and the light changed its angle, changing color, and he looked up at the stone building.
It was old gray stone which might look imposing to some, but it had once been a rather happy place for him when old Mr. Darcy had been so doting—and so gullible—that he indulged most of Wickham's whims as a youth. But there had been another young master who was to inherit, and it was not Wickham, for all that old Mr. Darcy had loved and indulged him. So he had been sent away to school, given some money as though he could be paid off, as though his love and loyalty to the old man could be bought. The old man's dismissal had been sorely disappointing which was how he had ended up in the navy. That had been disastrous, to end up being involved in the Trafalgar action, but the bonus had been enough that he had slipped away with intentions to never be part of the armed forces again. Yet, years later, the militia had been his only option, and Wickham was thankful for gullible widows to help him along. Perhaps they hoped to see him again—he had moved on.
The carriage arrived at the entrance, and he threw open the door and looked at Pemberley House as if he had come home to be its master, strode up to the main door and knocked.
"Miss Darcy!" he called to the butler.
&nb
sp; "Miss Darcy is not at home," the butler was all that was correct. Darcy hired the best.
"No, that is not possible," said Wickham, and he stepped past the threshold, happy that the butler was not known to him. The man made a motion, and he noticed that there was a footman at the end of the hallway, and he spared a thought that Darcy seemed to employ men equally as tall as him. "Do not say she is not at home, when she is simply not receiving, for she will see me. Go and fetch her," and he gestured up the grand staircase.
"I assure you, sir, that she is not at home. The master and Miss Darcy left for London yesterday."
"That is not possible," Wickham pressed, "Mr. Darcy left for London weeks ago. How is it possible that they only left yesterday?" He looked at the butler who struggled attempting to be discreet about the family's business, but here was a man who stood not waiting on the outside steps, but who stood in the hall, and despite that footman who walked closer, he felt incumbent to not make a scene if he could but explain.
"The master came back with an invitation for Miss Darcy, and took her away to London," said the butler. "And now sir, if you please, you will leave."
Wickham watched that tall groom approach, turned on his heels, and left.
• • •
Elizabeth was sitting in their rented house, working on a baby garment for her aunt. Lydia sat with her feet curled up, her eyes on a novel. The rest of their family was gone; Mary was at the Gardiners' practicing the pianoforte, and Mrs. Bennet and Catherine were, of course, shopping. The two sisters were interrupted by a noise, and they turned to see Hill had opened the door to introduce, "Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy."