A Visit to Scotland

by Meg Osborne

  A Visit to Scotland: A Pride and Prejudice Variaton

  A Convenient Marriage, Volume 4

  Meg Osborne

  Published by Meg Osborne, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  A VISIT TO SCOTLAND: A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATON

  First edition. January 8, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Meg Osborne.

  ISBN: 978-1386245322

  Written by Meg Osborne.

  Also by Meg Osborne

  A Convenient Marriage

  A Convenient Marriage Volume 1

  Longbourn's Lark: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Three Weeks in Kent: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Suitably Wed: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  A Visit to Scotland: A Pride and Prejudice Variaton

  The Consequence of Haste: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  A Surprise Engagement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Fate and Fortune

  Too Fond of Stars: A Persuasion Variation

  A Temporary Peace: A Persuasion Variation

  Three Sisters from Hertfordshire

  A Trip to Pemberley

  An Assembly in Bath

  An Escape from London

  Standalone

  After the Letter: A Persuasion Continuation

  Half the Sum of Attraction: A Persuasion Prequel

  A Very Merry Masquerade: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella

  The Other Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella

  In Netherfield Library and Other Stories

  Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Such Peculiar Providence

  A Chance at Happiness

  The Colonel's Cousin: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Watch for more at Meg Osborne’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Meg Osborne

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Also By Meg Osborne

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “I had to write to them, George.”

  Anne de Bourgh’s voice had taken on a plaintive note which could not be drowned out by the thunder of horses’ hooves or the rumble of the carriage wheels that carried them on their journey northwards.

  “I understand that,” Wickham said, his patience rapidly disappearing and giving his voice a strained edge that his companion was only too aware of. Her face fell, and he instantly redoubled his efforts in placating her. The last thing he needed was for his bride to rethink the entire scheme and abandon him partway through their journey. Then all of this might be for nought.

  “Dear Anne,” he tried again, angling for a smile. He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, and squeezed, gently. At length, she looked at him, and her pale features relaxed into something approaching contentment. “You care too much what others think, particularly your family. It is a commendable attitude, and it pains me greatly that we must have any deceit in pursuing our future together. I only wish you might have waited before writing of our intent. What if Darcy sends ahead of us? What if he follows?” He grimaced, in an affectation of humour. “I have no wish to face him in a duel.”

  The idea of such a spectacle caused what little colour Anne had to drain from her cheeks.

  “A duel? You do not think -”

  “I do not think even Darcy so hot-tempered as to challenge me,” George said, soothingly. The notion had occurred to him, fleetingly, but been dismissed without any real concern. If Darcy had not called him out over the Georgiana affair, why would he choose to do so now? Anne was older than Georgiana, a young woman in her own right, and a relationship removed from Darcy that he might have any claim over her interests. Oh, he would be angry, Wickham did not doubt that. In fact, he rather relished imagining his old friend’s reaction when he had discovered Anne’s note. How shocked he would be, how irritated. How personally he would take it, as if George Wickham possessed no greater impulse in life than to cause problems for Fitzwilliam Darcy to undertake to solve.

  Wickham’s amusement soured. It was mere coincidence that Anne de Bourgh was Darcy’s cousin - although he had certainly used that connection to his advantage when first meeting and wooing said young lady. It was her dowry he was interested in, and the inheritance she stood to gain when Lady Catherine departed this earth. It would not be very long if Anne’s laments were accurate. Her mother had been brought a little low by the news of Darcy’s sudden, impetuous marriage: she would be brought lower still when news of this particular scandal reached her ears. Wickham did not wish ill on the lady, indeed, he had never even met her, but he certainly would not mourn her passing if it meant her wealth would pass to her daughter and then, through marriage, to him.

  “I merely fear him mounting an obstacle to our union.” Wickham sighed. “Do you not think we have already faced enough delay and disruption to our plans? What need have we of more?”

  Anne frowned.

  “Perhaps I ought not to have left a note, in that case. Only, George, I did not want them to worry.”

  Wickham’s smile stretched thin. Hearing that you have absconded to Scotland with one George Wickham is rather more likely to cause rather than prevent worry, my love. If he were not still rather anxious of their success, he would have laughed at Anne’s unwitting actions, fancying fancied Darcy would be considerably less concerned at having no news of Anne’s whereabouts, than to have his worst fears confirmed. Still, ‘tis done and cannot be helped now. We at least secured a head start. And he has no notion of our final destination. He applauded his quick-thinking in not telling Anne any more than the barest outline of their plan. It had been because he had little more formed in his own mind, although he certainly did not intend to illuminate his companion to that fact. It had worked for the best, for the very most she might have confessed in that wretched note was that she and Wickham were bound for Scotland and thence to wed over the anvil, or whatever romantic spin she had put on things. He did not doubt her note full of rejoicing at their great love and imploring her cousin not to judge her too harshly for so scandalous an action. But she could not have given Darcy any more information, which would work in their favour. Even if, by some miracle, he reached Scotland close on their heels, he would not begin to know where to start searching for them. They would wed just as soon as they crossed the border, and then what was done could not be undone, no matter how much money Fitzwilliam Darcy offered him. Wickham’s smile grew. He ought to have had such a notion with Georgiana. He had tarried too long with her without securing a marriage, and thus it was perfectly within Darcy’s powers to bring the entire thing screeching to a halt. He felt a pinprick of guilt. Georgiana was a sweet thing, and he hoped she was not suffering too much at the sudden end to their relationship. He had liked her, and he had liked the fact that she idolised him so. Anne, too, looked on him almost as adoringly as Georgiana had, although her mind was altogether sharper than Darcy’s sister’s. She had asked a question or two already that had taken Wickham a few fancy manoeuvres to avoid answering. He must be careful and stop that behaviour before it became a habit. He certainly did not wish for a wife who could think: or who would attempt to out-think him.

  “I am
sure you did just what was best,” he said, pulling Anne closer to him against the motion of the carriage. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed, contentment reigning once more. “I think it best we write nothing more until we are wed. I want to reassure your cousin that my intent is honourable towards you, even if our methods are a little unorthodox.”

  “Unorthodox?” Anne laughed. “Try shocking. Scandalous.” She shuddered. “I dread to think what would be said in my absence if this were known abroad.”

  “Abroad? Do you have a reputation on the continent that must be protected as well?”

  Anne elbowed him in the side, and he winced, covering it with a laugh.

  “I meant in Kent.” She bit her lip. “I only hope William does not hasten to tell Mama of all that has happened.”

  “I hardly think that his most likely course of action,” George said. “Does not your aunt bear some grudge against him just at present? Why, then, would she give credence to any word that comes out of his mouth?”

  Anne’s features fell, and George wondered if he had overstepped.

  “I merely mean -” he began, hurriedly, to correct his error, but Anne waved away his explanation.

  “You are right.” She smiled, sadly. “I suppose I could not have picked a more providential time to act so rashly. William is as unlikely to rush to tell Mama as he is unlikely to be believed if he tried. We are safe, for now, from her wrath.”

  “You speak as if she will hate the news.”

  “She will not rejoice in it!” Anne shook her head, vehemently. “No, it will take a careful approach in order to be tolerated by her upon our return, let alone welcomed.”

  “But she will relent,” George pressed, seeing the spectre of their inheritance teeter as if on a precipice. “Surely she will wish only to know that you are happy and safe. You are her only daughter, after all.”

  “Yes.” Anne’s voice was quiet, and not at all convincing.

  Well, Wickham thought, I am not going through all of this to risk the very inheritance I wish to secure being snatched away before my eyes. If I must charm the mother as well as the daughter, I am sure I can manage it. He made a note to learn all he could of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, so that he might use it in mounting his charm offensive against her upon their meeting. He had full confidence in his abilities, for he had not yet met a single woman capable of resisting his charms. He frowned. There had been Elizabeth Bennet. She, certainly, had not been so quick to fall for him as he had calculated. Or rather, she would have been, had there not been the interference of Darcy and his wretched cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam had ruined whatever chance he had of staying in Meryton. If anyone was to blame for him throwing all of his energies into the de Bourgh plan, it was Richard Fitzwilliam. Wickham’s frown relaxed into a sly smile. How delighted Colonel Fitzwilliam would be if he knew what pursuits his dismissal from the regiment had led him to!

  “ANNE HAS GONE WHERE? With whom?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s already pale features grew paler still so that Mary was quite concerned. She flew to his side, bidding him sit, which he did, resting only half a moment before leaping once more to his feet and crossing the room to where Elizabeth stood, holding onto the mantel-piece for support.

  “Tell me you are joking. Darcy is behind this, somehow, some strange attempt at humour I am yet to grasp?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, tight-lipped with anxiety. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, and she appeared as if she had not slept above an hour the night before. Mary’s anxiety stretched to include her sister, and she beckoned both her companions to sit, please, and allow her to fetch some refreshments so that they might discuss matters with a clearer head.

  “Darcy is already in pursuit, I presume?” Richard had straightened, his fingers rapping out an anxious melody on the arm of his chair. He wished to be in motion, stilled only by the two women who sat alongside him.

  “He left immediately we found Anne’s note,” Elizabeth said, folding the missive and stowing it safely in her reticule. “He would not allow me to accompany him. That is, he preferred to travel without me.”

  Mary’s eyes widened, momentarily, but Richard dismissed any concern with a swift nod.

  “Sensible fellow. He’ll travel faster alone.”

  Elizabeth nodded, casting her eyes down to the floor, and Mary felt a wave of sympathy for her sister. Something in her expression made Mary if that speed was the sole reason for Darcy’s solitary departure. She would attempt to speak directly to her sister without Richard present, if she could, and deduce the true nature of how things had been left between her sister and her husband.

  “I cannot merely wait for his return,” Elizabeth said, wringing her hands in agitation. She straightened, lifting her chin as if expecting to face some opposition. “I intend to follow him.”

  “Lizzy!” Mary began.

  “Of course,” Richard said. “We shall both go.” He turned to Mary. “My dear, I must g-” he got no further before his voice hitched on the consonant, sending a racking cough through him. At length, he quietened and began again.

  “No,” Mary spoke the word quietly, but not without authority. She met her sister’s gaze with determination, and laid a hand on Richard’s shoulder, stilling him from standing. “You cannot possibly go all the way to Scotland, not with your health in such poor state.”

  Richard opened his mouth to argue, but she silenced him with a look.

  “I know you wish to help Anne and Darcy, and I very much wish to help them too, but you arriving in Scotland and immediately being laid up sick will help nobody: in fact it will hinder their progress, for you know Darcy will not leave your side if he knows you to be unwell.”

  Richard could not argue with this, nor did he wish to. Mary saw his irritation at being prevented subside when he recognised it was out of love for him that she was poised to be so insurmountable an obstacle.

  “Yes, Mary is right,” Elizabeth said, with a sad smile. “I am sorry. I ought never to have come here, knowing you were unwell. I merely wished to speak to - to speak to someone.” She glanced around, restless still and now lacking the support for what would be an impossible journey to undertake alone.

  “Perhaps Father will go with you,” Mary offered. “Or Uncle Gardiner.”

  “Perhaps.” Elizabeth did not seem at all inclined to ask either gentleman to undertake the journey, and Mary well understood her reluctance. Both their father and Mr Gardiner were old enough that comfort, rather than urgency, would dictate the speed they travelled the country, and it was plain to Mary that Elizabeth desired to be on her way soon, far sooner than they would allow.

  “I will think about it,” Elizabeth said. “And now I must leave you to rest, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Forgive me. It was very selfish of me to come.”

  “Not at all!” Richard said, his voice hoarse. He looked at Mary and she offered her own reassurances.

  “Lizzy, dear, you were not selfish. It was important for us to be told. Oh, poor Anne!” She blinked back hot tears at the thought of her cousin and friend being so cruelly used. She recalled this Wickham, vaguely, from Hertfordshire, and she had not been fond of him then. He was showy and flirtatious and everything she did not like. Of course, she had been neither beautiful nor rich, so he had paid her little enough attention, to begin with. She was not sure if they had passed even six words altogether. But Elizabeth had known him a little, a very little.

  “Lizzy,” Mary asked, as she escorted her sister out into the hallway, bidding Richard to stay close to the fire where he might be warm and rest. “Is it so very bad? I thought Wickham a cad, but -”

  “It is far worse,” Lizzy admitted, her features troubled. “There is some long-standing grief between him and Darcy, I fear, and this serves only to worsen matters. I hope, for Anne’s sake, that his feelings are genuine, but I do fear that she has been deceived by his good looks and fine manners. Oh, Mary! It is all my fault!” She hurried out the story of Anne’s letters, of her concluding “G
eorge” to be someone altogether different from George Wickham.

  “Darcy blames me, I know he does.”

  “No! Lizzy, I’m sure you are mistaken,” Mary began, soothingly.

  “He forbade me to go with him,” Lizzy said, bitterly. “He might have argued it was for speed, as dear Colonel Fitzwilliam said, but you did not see the look of utter contempt he offered me before leaving. He despises me! He is sure that I conspired to permit Anne to flee to Scotland in a match that is both hurried and foolish, but, Mary! How could I have told him my suspicions for Anne’s heart? I felt sure he knew it all already!”

  “You did the best you could to be a friend to her, as you are a sister to me,” Mary said, soothingly. She pulled her sister into a warm embrace, whispering comforts into Elizabeth’s dark curls, and rubbed her back warmly. “Now do go home and get some rest, Lizzy dear. Surely Darcy will send word from the road, and you must be there to receive it.”

  Elizabeth nodded, and all of a sudden seemed so tired that Mary feared for her getting safely home. She summoned a servant and bid him to escort her, but Elizabeth refused adamantly assuring her sister that the walk would clear her head and do her good.

  “Do not worry, Mary. I feel better just having spoken to you both. My mind will clear with some fresh air and then I shall decide what to do.”

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth’s words of reassurance had only been partly to placate her sister. They were also an attempt to placate herself, which attempt failed quite unreservedly. She had moved barely a dozen paces from Mary’s front door before she was consumed once again with anxiety.

  It is all my fault, she thought, her footsteps echoing accusations as she walked. Her fault that Anne had kept the relationship a secret, her fault that Darcy had been forced to hurry after them on a fool’s errand. She had not forgotten the way his eyes had flashed with anger at their parting. Anger at the situation, at Wickham’s deception and Anne’s folly, yes, but anger, too, at her, for keeping his cousin’s secret. He blames me, as well he might! If it were possible, this truth hurt her even deeper than the knowledge that Anne might come to harm on account of Elizabeth’s action, or inaction.