His Uncle's Favorite

by Lilian, Lory

  Mr. Wickham’s death affected the entire Pemberley staff as most of them were acquainted with him. It was the general opinion that Mr. Wickham’s behaviour had always been reckless and frequently dishonourable—and turned even wilder in the last years. But the memories of a child with a bright smile and blonde hair, running along Pemberley’s paths, were still vivid in the minds of the eldest, and they could not remain untouched by his fate, so Mrs. Reynolds said, her eyes tearful.

  Though the precise time was still uncertain, Darcy had decided that George Wickham would be buried at Pemberley, so Elizabeth took it as her duty to have all the arrangements made. With the precious help of Mrs. Reynolds and Miles, the parson was invited to discuss the sad event, and everything was settled properly.

  It was the most painful coincidence that, during the days when Pemberley was prepared to receive all Mr. Darcy’s extended family, George Wickham would leave it forever.

  By the second evening of Darcy’s departure, Elizabeth’s distress overcame all her other feelings as well as her common sense. Sleeping was impossible even to consider and so was eating. She walked around the drawing room, moved to the library, to her rooms, then to the library again, her restless steps breaking the silence of the house. Then finally, she asked for Molly to help her prepare for the night. The next afternoon, her family was expected, and what was happily anticipated was now a reason for worry and deep distress. She could only imagine and fear her mother’s reaction at such dreadful news. She must handle such a difficult situation properly, so she must try to rest, at least a little.

  The night was dark and warm, the stars shadowed by heavy clouds. A gentle breeze blew through the curtain, disturbing Elizabeth’s restless sleep. She turned from one side to another and the sheets tightened around her, her mind twisted by frightening thoughts; light, followed by deafening thunder, awoke Elizabeth while a shiver froze her spine. She looked around disconcerted, and her heart skipped a beat—first of dread then of happiness. Kneeling at the edge of the bed, her husband was watching her protectively, tenderly. She threw herself into his arms, and he gently caressed her hair.

  “I am so happy you are back! How are you? Where is Lydia—is she well? And the earl? How are you, my love?”

  “Dearest, you should not get too close to me; I am filthy. A maid is already taking care of Lydia; she was offered a room in the guest wing. She must bathe and eat something; Mrs. Reynolds is in charge of everything.”

  “Oh, I will go to her. And Lord Matlock? And…Mr. Wickham?” she inquired tentatively.

  “The coffin was placed in the chapel. We will have the funeral tomorrow morning; it will be dawn soon. Mrs. Reynolds told me you already had everything settled; I thank you. And she told me you have not slept in two nights. You must be exhausted.”

  “My love, it seems quite unfair to worry about my fatigue…and please do not thank me. Mrs. Reynolds and Miles deserve all the credit. I will go to Lydia now… But, William…where is Lord Matlock?”

  He hesitated a moment, his countenance dark. “He is in the chapel. He said he could not leave George alone. I tried to convince him otherwise, but I doubt he even heard me.”

  She caressed his face with both hands. “My love, you did everything you could. You should bathe and eat something while I take care of Lydia. Then we will go to the chapel…to pray together. We cannot leave Lord Matlock alone.”

  He put his arms around her and kissed her forehead in approval, and she lingered in his arms a little then reluctantly left. She entered her sister’s room, worried about her present state, and a moment later, she was startled by Lydia’s loud wails.

  “Oh, Lizzy, I am so glad to see you! Did you hear my dear George was killed? I am going to lose my mind; what should I do now? How can I be a widow at fifteen? Oh, you have such a beautiful house—you were so clever to marry Mr. Darcy, though George was your favourite first! Look at this expensive furniture—I never saw anything like that. Poor George always said how beautiful Pemberley is. How could Mr. Darcy have been so cruel, so mean to him? If Mr. Darcy had given him the living, my dear George would not be dead now! What should I do now, Lizzy? I will have to wear black forever!”

  Elizabeth turned pale, glancing at the maid and Mrs. Reynolds who were busy preparing Lydia’s bath. She gently embraced her sister, trying to excuse her unfair accusations.

  “Lydia, you must take a warm bath and eat something then rest a little. Mr. Darcy and I will go to the chapel; Lord Matlock is already there. Do you wish to come with us?”

  “Oh, I could not possibly do that, Lizzy. I must sleep—the journey was horrible! I could not rest since I found what happened to my poor George!”

  “Mrs. Darcy, I prepared a special tea for Mrs. Wickham; it will help calm her. I think she should not leave her bed for the time being,” Mrs. Reynolds said gently.

  Elizabeth nodded in approval, her head spinning from ire and distress at her sister’s thoughtless words; she struggled to comfort and calm Lydia, who was savouring her tea and food and continued to wail about how her George was harshly treated by Mr. Darcy and Lord Matlock—who forced him to move to Newcastle—then repeated three times that she would be forced to wear black, which was very unbecoming to her complexion, and that she would miss all the balls for the rest of the year.

  When dawn broke, Lydia finally fell asleep; Elizabeth and Darcy, hearts and arms entwined, went towards Pemberley’s small chapel to join Lord Matlock in prayers and sorrow. The earl glanced briefly at them and forced a sad smile then gently embraced Elizabeth. Neither of them said a word for a long time as there were no proper words for such an occasion. It was George Wickham’s last night at Pemberley…

  In the morning, the rain stopped briefly then started again just before the funeral.

  Unlike his life—where he liked to be the centre of everyone’s attention and surrounded by as many people as possible—only a small procession followed George Wickham on his last way. The funeral service was only interrupted from time to time by the sound of the rain, and it ended rather soon.

  In the carriage on their way back to the house, Lord Matlock informed them he would return to Matlock Manor, but Elizabeth and Darcy strongly opposed him. They insisted that the earl could not possibly leave since his entire family would arrive at Pemberley later that day. Eventually, he admitted he would stay for another week.

  After a hasty and mostly silent breakfast, Lydia returned to her room, accompanied by the maid. Lord Matlock retired to his apartment, and Elizabeth and Darcy finally had some time alone to rest and comfort each other.

  “It must have been very difficult,” Elizabeth finally whispered.

  He hesitated a moment before answering. “It was very difficult…and disappointing. He… After only a month, he had lost all the money he was given…and he already had debts. It appears he attempted to cheat during a card game. Later, when he left, the other player shot him in the back. They were both drunk. The other is already in gaol, but…”

  “This is so hard to believe, to understand… Everything you did for him was for naught… “

  “From the beginning, we feared this would happen. It saddens me to say that I did not trust his promises for a moment. But my uncle wished and hoped for a change…” He stopped for a moment and looked at Elizabeth, their hands held together, then kissed her temple. “When you wish, I shall tell you a story…my uncle and George’s story. I know you have always wondered as we all had… Uncle said I should tell you.”

  “Please tell me now… I mean, if you wish…and if you are not too tired.”

  “I am never too tired when you ask something of me.” He forced a small smile, briefly kissing her lips. Then, with a low, hesitant voice and heavy heart, Darcy began his narration. Elizabeth listened in complete silence, only the alternate rhythm of her breathing and her beating heart betraying her emotions. When he ended his heart-wrenching story, Elizabeth needed a long time to recollect enough to speak.

  “It explains so many thi
ngs…” she whispered. “Poor Lord Matlock…first impressions and appearances can be so misleading. Considering his easy manners, his tendency to joke all the time, his forwardness and straightness—I never would have imagined all the struggles he had to bear.”

  “Poor men who do not choose wisely whom to marry…” Darcy replied. “And yes, first impressions can be very misleading,” he agreed, kissing her hands. “I love you so much, my darling Elizabeth.” She cuddled to his chest and, his arms wrapped around her, they finally fell asleep, embraced in love and comfort, exhausted by fatigue and emotions.

  Darcy was the first to wake, carefully rising so as not to disturb Elizabeth. It was already afternoon, and a glance through the window showed him the rain had long stopped, vanquished by a bright sun. He prepared himself and went downstairs to be certain everything was prepared to receive their expected guests. He inquired after Lord Matlock, and was informed that the earl had not yet left his apartment.

  At four o’clock in the afternoon, Elizabeth joined him in the library. She seemed rested, and despite a trace of visible pallor, her countenance was bright. She greeted him with a small smile, and he tipped her chin and claimed her lips tenderly.

  “I went to see Lydia,” she whispered. “She is still asleep; I hope she remains upstairs until we speak to my family. I do not expect my mother will take the news well and—”

  A determined knock at the door interrupted them, and a footman brought the news that the carriages had been spotted entering the park. As the servant left, Darcy stole a few more moments to claim another kiss. “Do not worry; the park is quite large,” he said while his patience seemed to vanish and the kiss turned more passionate.

  Eventually, arm in arm, they exited in front of the main entrance, waiting. Six large carriages stopped in a row, allowing a wave of exuberance and joy to spread. Four small children impatiently ran from one carriage, closely followed by the governess. Four stern gentlemen—Lord Brightmore, the colonel, the viscount and Mr. Bennet stretched their legs after the long journey. Mrs. Gardiner, Lady Selina and Georgiana, followed by a shy Anne de Bourgh, stepped down, smiling with beautiful elegance while Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, together with Miss Bingley, impassively looked at the noisy gathering. Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, arm in arm and gazing at each other, exited their carriage, and immediately after them, Mrs. Bennet, with Mary and Kitty, made no effort to hide their enthusiastic appreciation.

  “Oh, this is absolutely astonishing! Dear Lord, I never imagined that one of my daughters would live in such a house! Surely, there are not many earls who have such splendid houses. My poor nerves cannot bear so much excitement, but upon my word, I would not mind if I died this very minute,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed while her husband expressed his hope that her nerves would resist at least until after dinner as he was very hungry.

  Mr. and Mrs. Darcy greeted their guests with much joy and love. Elizabeth embraced and kissed the ladies—except Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, who curtseyed to their hosts with cold politeness—while the gentlemen complimented Elizabeth on her appearance. Mr. Bennet embraced his favourite daughter, kissing her cheeks, and he was rewarded with the warmest embrace, but not longer than a moment as he was pushed by Mrs. Bennet, who claimed the full attention of her “favourite” daughter.

  With a great din of voices, the guests finally entered, and this time, the grandeur of the interior silenced Mrs. Bennet. The children were first directed to their rooms, then servants were assigned to help the guests; the first who were directed to their apartments were Miss Bingley and the Hursts, an honour that both ladies noticed and appreciated. Then Miss Kitty and Miss Mary were showed to their rooms as well as Miss Anne de Bourgh. Surprisingly, Darcy invited the rest of the guests into the main drawing room, offered them some refreshments and drinks, and then dismissed the servants.

  “Forgive me for delaying you. Unfortunately, I must share news that is equally unpleasant and painful” His grave voice wiped the smiles off their faces.

  “I do not know another way of saying this, so I shall be direct: three days ago, Mr. George Wickham tragically died. He was buried here at Pemberley earlier this morning. Mrs. Lydia Wickham is upstairs, resting in her own apartment.”

  A deep, heavy silence gripped each of the guests, their expressions frozen in stunned disbelief. The tension was unbearable, yet nobody dared to break it with a single word. Eventually, Mrs. Bennet’s voice cried her despair while she deplored the loss suffered by her youngest and most beloved daughter. With great difficulty, Elizabeth and Jane managed to speak to her rationally and take her to her rooms, supported on their arms. With a brief glance, Elizabeth noticed her husband’s dark expression and, in a corner, Georgiana’s white face and tearful eyes as she bit her trembling lips.

  One by one, silenced and troubled, the ladies left the drawing room while the gentlemen remained still, staring at each other, unsure what to do next. The colonel filled a glass with brandy and emptied it with one gulp, his gesture instantly mirrored by the others. After a second round of brandy, the colonel and the viscount inquired after their father. They were informed that the earl had not left his rooms since the funeral and had asked to be allowed to rest. A new round of brandy was the start of discussion and speculation about the astonishing event, asking Darcy for all the details.

  “We all knew this would happen sooner rather than later,” the colonel burst out. “God have mercy on his soul, but he was always mindless and careless, looking for trouble and surrounded by the most worthless people. We are all sad and shocked, certainly, but this could have been easily anticipated and not prevented.”

  “I know you are correct,” Darcy replied. “God knows that more than once I said I would kill him with my bare hands. But now I cannot help but feel sad and somehow guilty. It might be because my life is so happy, so complete in the most beautiful way. I have been so fortunate while he had such bad luck…”

  “That is nonsense, Darcy,” Lord Brightmore intervened. “Your present happiness is not a matter of luck but of wise choice, hard work and struggle. Wickham’s tragedy was also a matter of choice—of different choices.”

  “I agree,” said Mr. Bennet. “We should pray for him; there is nothing else to do…”

  Elizabeth’s appearance in the doorway turned the gentlemen’s full attention towards her. She stepped to her husband, who hurried to take her hand and offer her a chair.

  “I only came to inform you that everything has been settled; everyone is resting in their rooms and dinner will be ready in an hour,” she said gently then glanced at her husband and whispered, “I will go to Georgiana now; I think she needs me.” Darcy only approved silently and then kissed her hand with gratitude. With a small, warm smile, she left the library, followed by the gentlemen’s gazes.

  “Mrs. Darcy seems to fit perfectly at Pemberley,” Lord Brightmore said kindly.

  “She does,” Darcy replied. “Elizabeth is the most astonishing woman. She has brought so much joy, warmth and liveliness to Pemberley…and she has already become accustomed to all her duties. And Mr. Bennet—I can only say how amazed I am at how quickly Elizabeth learns everything related to business. In truth, I feel blessed and fortunate; there cannot be a better wife nor a better mistress than Elizabeth—as my housekeeper insists.” His enthusiasm was boundless as he spoke of his wife. He noticed Mr. Bennet’s moist eyes and contented smile, then he suddenly met Bingley and Lord Brightmore’s gazes and wisely added, “All three of us have been extraordinarily fortunate in choosing our wives.”

  “So you have been,” a voice said from the doorway, and everyone turned to greet Lord Mattock’s unexpected presence. “Darcy, would you care to share that brandy, or do you keep it for yourself?” the earl inquired then turned to Bingley. “How are you, boy? I hope you are making Jane happy; I will ask her—depend upon it.”

  Bingley, unexpectedly at the centre of attention, almost choked on his drink while Mr. Bennet and the younger gentlemen began to laugh.

  S
ometime later, everyone retired to prepare for dinner—except Mr. Bennet, who remained a little behind. Darcy offered him another drink, but Mr. Bennet refused.

  “Darcy, I only wished to tell you how impressed I am with everything I have seen so far…and to thank you for your care. Our family has much to be grateful to you for.”

  “Please do not speak of that, sir. I am pleased you approve of Pemberley. I hope you know you may consider it your home and do anything that pleases you. Tomorrow I have planned a full tour of the house. Also, we will take a ride around the park; we have horses and phaetons prepared for everyone if the weather permits.”

  “That sounds an excellent plan. Please reserve me a seat in the phaeton with Lizzy.”

  “Actually, sir, I think Elizabeth would rather ride.”

  “Lizzy is riding? On a horse?” Mr. Bennet inquired with disbelief, and Darcy laughed.

  “Indeed she is; in fact, she is an excellent rider—and a very competitive one.”

  “That is quite astonishing. I cannot even imagine what other things she has learned since she married,” Mr. Bennet said, and Darcy turned towards the window to hide his suddenly red face.

  After that exchange, Mr. Bennet went to his room and Darcy in search of his wife. She was not in their rooms, so he knocked on Georgiana’s door and found them together, speaking on the settee, holding hands. He embraced his sister, asking how she was.

  “I am fine, Brother, thank you. I was telling Elizabeth how happy I am to be home.”

  “We are happy, too; we missed you dearly.”

  They spoke for some time then separated to change for dinner and reunited later in the large dining room, more crowded than it had been in many years.

  The dinner went as perfectly as expected, and the exquisite courses were associated with—mostly—pleasant conversation. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley expressed their opinion about recent events, and they did not forget to point out that Mr. Wickham had been a favourite of the entire Bennet family, who surely must suffer the loss.