Hi! I know this has taken waaaay too long to put up and I apologize. It's been a crazy couple of weeks with job interviews and such - but finally this chapter is here. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted my story!

I want to thank Ayannamoonmaiden for her marvelous help beta-reading this chapter. Thank you thank you!

You will notice a scene in this chapter from the 1995 movie. As I can hardly read the book without that movie playing in my mind...it's pretty much canon to me :)

Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice or any of its characters. They are the creation of Jane Austen.


Two gentlemen of the highest circles in London society were spending a properly idle afternoon in the billiard room at the esteemed Darcy House in the most affluent part of London. The two met at Cambridge and had remained close ever since.

The younger of the two, Charles Bingley, had been a capital Cambridge student: amiable and conversational, he always gave an air of a studious pupil. Though his marks did not reflect any particular genius, Mr. Bingley's professors always took pleasure in his presence and declared him a remarkably smart-seeming fellow.

The same could not be said for Mr. Bingley's companion. Fitzwilliam Darcy was unaware - though it might be safe to say that he was rather unaffected by the reality - that the chief goal in attending university was to form a network of worthy companions and to have the status of an educated gentleman. Always interested in more scholarly pursuits - for a book or a chart was easier to understand than another man - Mr. Darcy took a serious interest in the advancement of his education. That he had made a friend at all was surprising, even more surprising is that this friend should be Mr. Bingley. They were, however, very good friends to one another - though one's disposition did not seem to influence the other's.

"Darcy, it nearly slipped my mind!" Mr. Bingley said with an air that the news he was about to relate was monumental. Mr. Darcy's concentration did not leave his cue at his friend's excited intrigue, for he knew that most of the monumental news Mr. Bingley had to offer was rarely something over which to scratch at billiards.

Mr. Bingley, his blue eyes dancing with the excitement of his following statement, did not wait long for his friend to acknowledge him before he continued anyway, "I have just received a letter from Caroline this morning, and she says that the Hursts are most eager to join us for the London season. Add these new additions to your sister, Ramsay, and the very lovely Miss Worthings..." Darcy's stern expression broke into a slight smirk at this last remark, which his friend did not notice, "Georgiana will have a splendid first season, I should think."

"Bingley, while I appreciate your enthusiasm on my sister's season in London, I believe you mistake matters. Georgiana would welcome a large party of foolish girls and dandies as easily as I do now or ever have."

"Good God, Darcy! What a snob you are. How will Miss Darcy gain popularity with such a brother?"

"She needn't be a favorite, Bingley. It's a wonder I'm still going through with this scheme at all." Not for the first time, Mr. Darcy felt the shadow of doubt regarding his judgements as Georgiana's guardian. Though she was sweet, obedient, and easy to dote upon, Fitzwilliam Darcy had never accepted himself as fully suitable for the responsibility of such an important task. His beloved parents had shaped his principles, his concept of honor and duty, and his idea of love. He could not believe that he possessed, in any adequate proportion, these values which he wished to bestow on his young sister.

Mr. Bingley approached his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, "You have done a remarkable job in your father's stead, Darcy. I have spent these 5 years watching your struggles as guardian to Georgiana and as master of Pemberley, and remaining one of the finest men I have ever known. There are not many men, and I include myself here, who would have amounted to half of what you are."

Mr. Darcy nodded his head in acknowledgement of this sentiment, "Thank you, Charles. You praise me more than I deserve, but I confess it is not unwelcome."

In companionable silence the two friends continued their game. Later that afternoon Mr. Darcy was reading the last letter he'd received from his sister; it had been written four weeks prior and he had responded promptly. Georgiana was an admirable correspondent and her delay in replying to him what most uncharacteristic. Worried that her nerves were finally beginning to take over her studies, Fitzwilliam Darcy decided to cancel his plans for the next weeks and instead head north to see his sister and reassure her that she need not come to London that winter if she did not want to. Indeed, most seasons Mr. Darcy preferred anything but London and its society so much that - were Georgiana to share his sentiments - it would not surprise nor disappoint him in the least.


Miss Younge was certain that she was wholly indifferent. That her stomach ached - each time she saw a blush on Georgiana's cheek or heard Mr. Wickham's voice lower flirtatiously - was entirely a coincidence; she believed the feeling to be akin, perhaps, to indigestion - but certainly not jealousy. Mr. Wickham's declaration two weeks since that he enjoyed the time he spent with Miss Darcy was still (as Miss Younge believed and intended to continue to believe) just as much a part of his plot as ever, and it did not signify that his face genuinely lit up when the young lady was present. Indeed, Mr. Wickham was always favored where he went; he had a talent, Miss Younge knew, in giving pleasure where it benefited him. Certainly, in this circumstance, giving pleasure was beneficial - and being pleased was in no way disagreeable. It was with these types of thoughts that Miss Younge determined not to over-think the topic of Mr. Wickham, and she reminded herself of this each time he begged to hear Miss Georgiana play, or to watch Miss Georgiana paint, or to fawn over Miss Georgiana's floral arrangements. Yes, Miss Younge was absolutely certain that on these things her indifference could not be more absolute.

Apart from her new found delight in courtship, Miss Darcy was passionately fond of playing her pianoforte. Her gift allowed her to play with feeling, giving her the ability to pass through her other activities in perfect serenity. Miss Younge had not thought it necessary to truly worry for Miss Darcy's safety so long as she continued to improve and maintain focus in this favorite object.

On a particularly quiet evening, for Mr. Wickham had gone into the village to enjoy the company to be had in the pubs, Georgiana and Miss Younge were playing a duet. The former found focusing on the sheet of music particularly difficult and often found her attention sharply drawn back to her task by performing errors. Once a particularly crucial movement had been misplayed, Miss Younge removed her hands from the instrument and looked at her pupil in exasperation.

"Miss Darcy, you have played this piece remarkably countless times!"

Miss Darcy looked down with a blush, "I am sorry for it. I cannot seem to concentrate lately!"

"Perhaps you have not been spending enough time practicing. It is not much longer now until your brother arrives and you go back to London. He will want to see some progress, Miss Darcy."

"Yes, I will be leaving soon…and I do not wish to displease him," Georgiana had said these words with more contemplation and sadness than the situation required, and Miss Younge could guess why.

"But this is not only for Mr. Darcy. Do not you wish to excel; to be pleasing company among the ton?"

"Oh I must be pleasing among the ton, certainly. It is what I have been bred to do and it is what is expected," she sighed, "but Miss Younge, lately I have felt nothing for the prospect of society. I feel as though I could be perfectly happy in a quiet situation, without needing to display all of these silly accomplishments."

"Are they so? My dear I think…I believe, that you are being poisoned by Mr. Wickham's flattery. His tastes, though I am sure admirable, are not so refined as the gentleman with whom you will be acquainted."

Miss Darcy looked at her governess, eyes wide half with romance and half with sadness, and almost whispered, "and what of those gentlemen? Perhaps I do not have any need to secure their admiration, their love?"

"Have you any reason to believe that you have secured someone else's heart, then?"

"Oh, Miss Younge, he loves me! He declared it so only last night!"

Miss Younge's face paled as she felt her worst fears were beginning to be realized, "Miss Darcy do be serious, you know your brother would not approve. You are far too young to be in love."

"I know Fitzwilliam would not approve," said Georgiana of her brother, "not at first, but I am sure he would after he saw how loved I am...oh Miss Younge, how much George loves me!"

"And so, when does Mr. Wickham plan to speak to Mr. Darcy of his intentions?"

Georgiana did not answer immediately, and moved to straighten the music. She managed to school her expression and smiled a comforting smile, "Oh I am only speaking of romantic notions right now. Mr. Wickham has not made any offers. I shall practice harder, I am sorry for my slip in concentration."

Romantic, indeed. Miss Younge could feel her pulse as it beat strongly in her head, certain that her pupil was hiding a plan of something extremely detrimental. Seeing that Miss Darcy was determined not to speak on the topic anymore, but was instead focused on practice, Miss Younge moved towards the window and looked out to the road. Miss Darcy glanced after her governess nervously, playing her song with growing speed.


29 July 1811

Dear Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy,

I must beg of you to come to Ellesmere Port as soon as you might be able. Miss Darcy and I have had as our guest Mr. Wickham these eight weeks and I begin to fear the likelihood of imprudent events.

Without any wish to damage you or Miss Darcy, I cannot say more. I await your arrival as soon as you are able.

Sincerely,
Martha Younge

Oftentimes one experiences unfortunate events in what seems a disjointed manner and never questions the coincidental nature of said events - for, after all, life itself is ridden with trials and luck is made, not given. It is only on the rare occurrence that an unfortunate event is thrown off its course by seeming serendipity that a person begins to wonder at things such as divine intervention. Surely certain happenings could not be merely coincidental, and the angels must have orchestrated the time lines.

For example, Miss Younge - upon hastily writing the above letter the morning after her interview with Miss Darcy - looked up to the heavens expecting to see God himself when she ran outside to express said letter and instead found her employer, Mr. Darcy, the man she had desperately written to come to them, dismounting his horse. Now what could she say for herself when he witnessed a scene in the garden of his little sister gazing out to the sea with Mr. Wickham in a stance suggesting something much more than friendship?

She needn't have bothered wondering what excuses she should make, for the stoicism on Mr. Darcy's visage that usually intimidated her was now replaced with something much more terrifying: something like rage and despair. Mr. Wickham, still unaware of his audience, placed his hand on Miss Darcy's arm in an intimate manner and she, also unaware, turned to smile at him. This movement put her in position to see her brother and, never having assumed a negative reception of her intended, she smiled and excitedly called out, "William!" before running up to greet him.

Mr. Darcy's unenthusiastic response to her greeting, his fixed glare upon Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Wickham's darkened smirk in return, brought all of Miss Darcy's mistaken forecasts of a happy family reunion into perspective. She looked up desperately to her governess, who had every wish of running far off but no command over her physical capacities.

The reckless summer in Cheshire had been brought to a very sudden halt.


Mr. Darcy noticed an ache in his brow from having held a scowl there for a prolonged period. Though the man had graduated from Cambridge in the same year as he, Mr. Wickham looked at Mr. Darcy from the other side of the gentleman's desk with the self-assured smirk of a school boy. Neither of the men had uttered a word to each other as of yet; it was with silent authority that Mr. Darcy demanded Mr. Wickham follow him into his study. For three quarters of an hour, Mr. Darcy only stared at his childhood friend and hardly knew what question to begin with - let alone what satisfactory answer he could possibly receive.

He decided to begin with particulars of what he already knew, "when were you planning on leaving with her?"

Mr. Wickham had been sitting in a relaxed pose with his left heel resting upon his right knee while picking at his fingernails - a bad habit of his, "it is decided then that my intentions are dishonorable?"

"Do not trifle with me, Wickham, we both know what you are after. Be a man and tell me honestly when you were going to leave with my fifteen year old sister."

"Alright, Darcy, you are correct in assuming that we were going to elope - but wrong about my intentions. The girl practically threw herself at me."

"My sister hardly lets down her reserve around me. You can hardly think I would believe such a ludicrous statement." Mr. Darcy stood and moved around the desk, straightened to his full height (an intimidating prospect), and crossed his arms, "this union will not happen. I absolutely forbid it."

Mr. Wickham smiled in a way that showed he was not discouraged, "but Darcy, we love each other. Is not your sister's happiness of the greatest importance to you?"

"You insist on mocking me? I will suspend disbelief long enough to pose a question to you. I have no doubt that you have made her fall genuinely in love with you - now let us pretend you genuinely love her. Had you any intentions of asking for my consent?"

"She insisted you would not consent until she turned nineteen and that she could not wait so long."

"My disbelief remains suspended, Wickham, but I admit I am astonished that a girl of her disposition would be so bold as you claim. Surely a man in love such as yourself had the good sense to persuade her otherwise?" Mr. Darcy did not wait to hear Mr. Wickham's response to that question, "I have the authority to disinherit her and refuse her dowry."

Mr. Wickham was a deceptive sort of person, but keen on the deceit of others he was not. It took only a moment for him to realize that a man of Mr. Darcy's character would never follow through on such actions, but his face betrayed for those brief moments the exact response that Mr. Darcy was searching for. When he heard of the loss of Miss Darcy's dowry, he sat upright and cursed under his breath. At the end of Darcy's speech, Mr. Wickham was too late in regaining his composure of constancy.

"George Wickham, my sister's happiness and safety is of the greatest importance to me, and for that reason I will demand you leave this place within the hour and endeavor to never cross paths with my family again." Had you succeeded in this elopement I would have slain you upon the first ill treatment of my sister - and for that I know I would not have had to wait long, he thought to himself. "I have no further business with you, sir," and at that Mr. Darcy opened his door, allowing an all too eager Mr. Wickham to exit. He collided with Miss Darcy, who had been standing only far enough off from the door so as to not seem like too much of an eaves-dropper, and merely glanced at her with full indifference as a gesture that he had noticed her at all before quickly exiting the hall.


Mr. Wickham had nothing to do but leave, and quickly. Mrs. Smith had been informed by the master of the house that she should have the man's horse ready, and so Mr. Wickham had only to mount and flee. As he moved to do so, the small and silent silhouette of some creature caught his eye in the garden.

She had not moved since her employer had arrived hours before, and her mind had experienced terror, desperation, recognition, and acceptance of what she had done and what it would cost her. Seeing the man - the love for whom had ruined her - as he meant to quickly quit the house (quit her) without even a word, she finally crumpled to the ground.

Her accomplice did not quit as thoughtlessly as she had assumed he would, but rushed to her, knelt, and demanded her gaze by taking her face between his hands and removing it from her own (where she had buried it for crying). She kept her eyes closed and refused to meet his. His mind raced for a way to tell her he would take her away now and somehow they could manage without destitution - but all that he could manage to produce were curses to Darcy for denying him a living; curse Darcy for foiling him at every turn.

"You damn Mr. Darcy his denying you the church - yes, damn him! But damn you the most, George Wickham. Damn your dreams, your schemes, and your games, and every moment you thought I could bear to see you with her!"

Mr. Wickham shook her, almost violently, still unable to bring her to opening her eyes, "for you! I never wish to see you destitute, and through foolishness and plots I have tried to make a life worthy enough for you!"

"Yes, you've been so very selfless in your quest for my happiness," she spat, "it has thrilled me to see your best efforts laid upon Georgiana Darcy, and even more thrilled am I - beyond belief - that you have gambled away what could have been a perfectly acceptable life for us. You could have had me with your four thousand - I never asked you for more. I was ready to follow you anywhere and into any level of destitution. Now I care not what you have to offer, you may go to hell."

Perhaps he hadn't heard her, because George Wickham had a talent for ignoring items which were disagreeable to his purpose, or possibly he was aware of something in her manner of speaking which informed him that his lover meant the opposite of what she had declare.

He stood and tried to tempt her to stand by pulling at her arms, which she refused. Knowing that staying much longer might lead to unpleasant scenes, he begged her to come with him to London that moment, but the plea was futile. She would not accompany him to any place, and insisted that she had a relative in town with whom she could stay.

Understanding that, even if he did convince her to come away with him, they would have nowhere to go - Mr. Wickham let her stay on the ground as he rode away.

She watched him leave not with sadness; she fancied that she watched him leave with hatred. She had received her salary up to that point in the year and it was enough to travel by post to London. By the time Mr. Darcy had finished consoling his sister for the time and was ready to interview Miss Younge for an explanation of her actions, the woman in question had left.


Coming up:

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy discuss Georgiana's future

We meet some truly charming people: Miss Bingley and the Hursts...

Dandying (a word I've just made up) about London, as fine gentle-people are fond of doing...

As always, I welcome your feedback and/or compliments! Thank you!