Yes, I am back. I had thought I would be able to post a chapter before leaving on a trip but simply didn't have enough time. Then when I was on my trip, it was easier to work on something else that was entirely online, so I started working on a chapter for Lady Catherine's Condescension (LCC). The next thing I knew, I was writing another chapter for that and then finishing it up with an epilogue. If you like my writing, haven't checked it out and are willing to read "M" stories, I hope you will give it a try. It is one of my personal favorites.
Now that I have finished up LCC, my goal is to focus just on finishing up VMC II. However, I would like to know which "in progress" work that I have left hanging you would like me to take back up when I am finished with this story. Tell me which story and why.
Chapter Warning: George Wickham's inner thoughts are very demeaning towards women in graphic detail with "M" type content. They are not necessary to understanding the plot although it might shade your understanding of certain events. He is what is known as an unreliable narrator (the classic example being Humbert Humbert in Nabokov's Lolita) so if you do not wish to swim in this particular cesspool, you have been warned. The comparison to the cuckoo bird is that they are a "brood parasite"; the females of that species are known to lay their eggs in other birds' nests after ejecting those birds' eggs so the hapless bird parents rear baby cuckoos instead.
Interlude 4: Mr. George Wickham: I Will Triumph Yet
After the sheer stinging, blinding pain of my whipping was over, and my wrists and neck were locked in the rough wooden stock, forcing me to stand with my back bent at an odd angle, a duller, throbbing pain took its place. It felt as if my back was burning, and still there was the tickle of drips of blood, and then when that was gone, I could feel the fabric of my shirt drying into the welts. There was also the aching of my nose and to a lesser extent the pain of my swollen face, especially about the eyes, and a deep throbbing in my gingambobs.
When I learned what was awaiting me as I was taken away from Longbourn, I will admit I considered trying to jump from the coachman's seat and flee even as Colonel Forster was warning me against it. I tried my best to appear compliant, and indeed I required help to reach that seat.
As the horses ran, I examined where might be an opportune place to leap off. As a promising location approached, I said things to myself like this spot has the cover of trees, but a better place is coming soon. This spot has a clear path (which I knew ran toward a stream). Get ready, in three, two, one, now! Now, I should jump now! but my legs remained as jelly. As the horses ran on, I knew my last best opportunity for escape was now behind me, for after that point there was no place to hide and we would also be too close to the camp,
Even while before I imagined landing smoothly, on my feet like a cat, and running with the speed of a deer, I knew I would be much more likely to hurt myself in the fall, perhaps even have an ankle crushed under the carriage wheel. Or perhaps if I landed alright, it would take several breaths to stand and then I might only be able to trot slowly away, to be knocked to the ground within a dozen paces. For what man can run with the maximum speed and agility while his manly parts are hurt, and he has suffered a harsh beating?
Too, even if I could get away, how could I charm my would-be helpers when my handsome face was so marred? I imagined knocking on a tenant's cottage door and having it slammed in my face, a scared woman fearing I was a villain with bad intentions.
I also imagined what it would be like to be whipped and then hung. I had no wish to be dead, for if hell and eternal punishment might be real (I do not think hell is anything more than a story meant to chasten men from acting in the manner that will bring them the most success and enjoyment in life, but of course I cannot truly be certain of that), I shall put that off as long as possible. Once the opportunity for escape was well and truly gone, I congratulated myself. I justified that I was too rational to risk my life in such circumstances with so little chance for success. If I was to desert, it would be with a plan and funds in place, rather than acting like a fool now.
And perhaps it was not too late to charm myself out of any real punishment, for much might be said before Mr. Bennet and Bitsy, to satisfy them, which might not yet come to fruition. Of course, it was not a good sign that I sat outside, and my wounded nose had not been tended in any respect, but that did not mean that aid might not be forthcoming when we arrived. I contented myself for then with these lies. But truly I knew I would face the full punishment they had outlined, but perhaps afterwards I could charm everyone again. Still, I had grand plans for Brighton.
I resolved, then, I would maintain that I was blameless but excuse their ignorance and take my punishment like a man. It should not be hard to, soon enough, regain their good graces and if I could not manage my schemes in Brighton, well then there was always the silver candlestick that could be sold and then I could lose myself in London. Mrs. Younge should be good for a few days of lodging and be willing to indulge my appetites. And perhaps there might be some way to see my darling Georgiana, keep her thinking of me for when she should gain her majority.
I recalled how recently it seemed that everything that could have improved my lot kept slipping through my fingers. Oh, how happy I had been when contacted by the Earl of Matlock's man, hired to make sure Bitsy never married the luscious Miss Elizabeth.
Mr. Ralph Wilmington found me having a drink at the inn and, being that I recognized him (having done a job for the Earl before, a time or two), I was wary at first. After all, had I not crossed the Earl by attempting to get his niece to elope? And was not my virtuous and virginal Georgiana staying with her brother at Netherfield?
Our eyes caught one another, and Mr. Wilmington beckoned me hither with the crook of one finger. I noticed that he had two ales in front of him but was drinking neither. However, I did not go over to him just then. Instead, I surveilled my surroundings, looked for anyone who did not belong there. But everything seemed to be just as it ever was and being as there were other soldiers drinking with me, I felt rather safe right then.
After a while, I got up and sat by him. We acknowledged each other by name and then Mr. Wilmington slid one of the ales toward me. Naturally, I was suspicious, so took no drink then, but I was curious, too.
He told me "I have some work for you if you are of a mind to take it."
"What do you want?" I did my best to look disinterested, bored, contemptuous.
"It is an easy job, but the pay will depend on the results. Nothing too difficult to start with, we just need someone to keep an eye on Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, someone to make reports and tell us if her father keeps her away from him. While you cannot watch him all the time, nothing happens in a town this small without someone knowing about it. And then, later, perhaps you can use your charm to turn her away from him, make sure she is never a problem again."
Mr. Wilmington did not need to tell me there was something between the two of them. Although I had been in town during the Netherfield Ball, I had heard all about it from Denny and the rest. The following day he told me, "It is unfortunate you were away, for Miss Lydia particularly inquired after you, and oh how downcast, perhaps even angry, Miss Elizabeth seemed when I told her 'I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.'"
Denny had related that later, he saw Darcy and Miss Elizabeth dancing, and commented "When I danced the next with Miss Lucas, I asked her about it. While she had no real intelligence to relate, she told me 'I cannot help but think there must be meaning in him singling her out, given that besides the Bingley sisters he danced with no others at the last assembly and tonight besides Eliza and them has not deigned to dance with any other.' Being as you wanted me to keep an eye on him, I noted that he sat rather near Miss Elizabeth during supper. While he kept looking at her (with that odd dull expression he has), she avoided his gaze. Of course, her mother and sisters were putting on quite the show, so I do not blame her modesty. What do you suppose Mr. Darcy could want with her?'"
"Nothing," I told Denny. "He is far too proud to ever marry so low, too rigid to even tip the velvet with her, let alone try to get at her kettledrums or introduce her commodity to his poker (should he even know how). When we were at university, besides having to write all of his papers (indeed even with my help he barely passed the necessary terms), I was instructed by his father and uncle, the Earl of Matlock, to give him help of a different sort. You see, they feared he was too ignorant to ever even know how to get his future bride with child, so I was instructed to make sure he learned. But do you know, he is such a chicken-hearted fellow that I had to trick him into a nunnery, and then though I had paid, he was such a fool as to flee rather than try it out."
"You did not let a paid woman go to waste, did you?" Denny's eyes gleamed.
"Certainly not."
So naturally, I was one of the soonest to hear how Darcy returned to town and even without attending church heard all about Mrs. Bennet speaking with Mr. Darcy and my darling, darling Georgiana (oh if I had known she would be at church, I certainly would have gone if only to glimpse her). It was no surprise to me then that Darcy had an interest in Miss Elizabeth, but what was a tad surprising was that she now apparently returned his interest. Of course, I should not have been surprised about that, for it simply confirmed my basic philosophy about women.
When Mr. Wilmington offered me money to spy and for the rest, I knew I had the advantage. I told him "I am already in Darcy's brown books. Why should I do your dirty work for you? Does not the Earl have men a plenty to do his bidding? I am trying to make an honest living now."
It never pays to give in too easily. I know how deep the Earl's pockets are and I wanted to make sure I was paid what I deserve.
"Come now, it is an easy job, one particularly suited for a man of your talents. I have it on good authority that you have made plenty of friends here. It should hardly be any trouble at all." Mr. Wilmington took a sip of his ale. "You can charm anyone, and I am told Miss Elizabeth Bennet likes you." He said, "It should not be too hard to win her away from Mr. Darcy. You have charm and know how to flatter. Mr. Darcy has about as much charm as a dead toad."
We negotiated back and forth for a while. Eventually, as I knew I would, I agreed. Mostly I wrote letters to the Earl via Mr. Wilmington. I informed him when Bitsy left and then pursue the lovely Miss Bennet. Once Darcy left, I was determined to win her favor (both as instructed and because it is always a delight to take things away from Bitsy), but Miss Elizabeth seemed to have cooled toward me after her trip. However, her youngest sister was as enamored of me as ever, perhaps more so after Miss King left.
While Miss Lydia was too poor to be worth courting, I had another position in mind for her. So, to have the Miss Bennets suddenly always be escorted everywhere by their elder sisters, and to then see that Mr. Bennet had hired them a companion, well that made my task more of a challenge, but not impossible.
Their new companion caught my eye. I was almost certain that I had met Mrs. Pope before, though I did not recognize her by that name. Still, I have met so many women over the years that it is impossible to me to keep track of all of them. She is a lovely woman, and merry widows can be fun to tame, but she did not seem to be a woman who would be easily charmed.
Stuck as I was in the stocks, I had time reflect upon my life and those that had done me wrong. Naturally enough, this list started with my mother. As a young boy, I dearly loved her. What boy in his infancy does not love his mother?
When I was young, I was as a doll for my mother to dress up in fancy clothes, to earn her compliments from the villagers in Lambton. She could be the proud mother with the winsome child (I understand that I had blond hair with an abundance of curls that my mother would let no one cut). She was always making sure my clothes were as good if not better than Fitzwilliam's. However, as I grew older and more awkward, as my hair darkened and straightened, I became a discarded plaything. I learned then that I had not a mother's love and that her love was fickle.
As my father had not the funds to hire a tutor for me, he did lessons with me early in the mornings before beginning work each day. He always intended to work with me further in the evenings but inevitably arrived home past the time when I was already asleep. I was not his priority, instead Pemberley and Mr. Darcy senior were always foremost in his thoughts.
In many ways I was living a double life, dutiful son when my father was home and hellion during the days. From an early age, probably from about the time I was seven or eight years old, I had the freedom to conduct myself in any manner that pleased me after my father left each morning. I would usually walk to the village and find other idle boys (usually much older and rougher than me) to find trouble with. I remember learning from them to pilfer small items, throw rocks at stray dogs and scare matrons by jumping out from behind bushes. I remember also learning to keep my mouth shut about anything we did, and how to act innocent if our wrongful actions were rightfully attributed to us.
You might think that my mother would care where I was going or what I was doing but I think she preferred me gone as it made it easier to act as she wished to. Thus if I was not out of our house early enough she might say, "George be a good boy and get yourself gone, I am expecting a caller" or "Georgie if you cannot make yourself scarce, I can find some employment for you, I hear Mr. Darcy needs some manure hauled" (or chamber pots cleaned, or whatever awful task she could imagine) or "Lord, why did I ever have a child, having you hanging about makes me seem so old, ask cook for bite and then be off with you."
I imagine that I was finally taken in hand to be tutored with Fitzwilliam because either my father or Mr. Darcy heard about my wild ways and sought to reform me. I quickly learned to conform outwardly to all that was expected to me. It was easy to shine when the only person to compare me with was that dolt Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He was forever running his mouth about some odd thing of no interest to anyone but himself. I enjoyed pretending to be his friend and then stabbing him in the back, and the most amusing part is that I could use his weaknesses against him. His father held me up at a model for him; what a lark it was to gain his father's approval! If only I could have been George Darcy's son, all of Pemberley could have been mine. But alas, it was not to be.
I take after my mother overmuch. She, too, can charm anyone. Just like her, I want what I want and pursue it. Her wants were for fancy clothes, enough shoes to shoe an army (if they wore ladies shoes), beautiful jewelry, and enough servants that there was nothing she need do herself (not even wipe her own arse I expect, at least that is what it seemed like at times). She accustomed me to having the best of everything.
I, too, always want the finer things that money can buy, though my wants are different than hers were. Above all else, I desire women and their favors. They are as much for purchase as anything else. Most women (whether they will admit it or not), are no better than Drury Lane vestals. Oh woman, your name should instead be whore.
Some women (the more honest of them), are paid to let men go up cock alley. They freely trade the pleasure their bodies can give men for coin. I have known plenty of that sort and paid for their favors. They all act like whatever man they have brought to their bed at that moment is the most well-endowed and amazing of lovers, until he is finished. Then it is time to get him to move on so they can welcome the next man to their beds. I do not mind their playacting as it does help me to enjoy myself.
Others are the same, except they share their commodity for free. Well, perhaps it is not truly free, for if I wish to knock such a woman, her currency is little flattery and attention, instead of money.
Some, and these are a particular favorite type of whore to me, are so young and naive that no one has yet sampled their wares and I can be the one to crack their pitchers. This is advantageous to me for avoiding the token, and I certainly have no wish to be a buttered bun, laying in the leavings of another man.
I have learned to tell great whiskers to get young women to give themselves over into my power. Oh, how I love you, oh yes, I want to marry you, I cannot live without you! If I do not have you now, my cods will explode!
Oh, how foolish some young ladies are, and while their mothers may think they are helping keep them from temptation by telling them nothing of what their bodies can feel, I like ignorant ones the best. Sometimes they do not even know what exactly they are giving to me and give it over so easily when I show them what desire feels like. I am not adverse to giving pleasure if I get my due reward (for it is convenient to have a convenient wherever I may be for a time).
I feel no guilt over any of this. If it were not me, it would be someone else who would debase them and ruin them for marriage and perhaps speed their entrance toward their ultimate destiny of being paid for their favors in a buttocking shop. I have, perhaps, only uncovered their true nature sooner than otherwise would be.
There is another group that pretends to be above all debauchery, the devoted lady of easy virtue. They are known to be virtuous women of fine breeding. They are still laced muttons, but they whore their bodies out on a longer basis, trading a lifetime of the base desires of a particular man for the security of marriage. Of that second group, they come in two varieties: those who seek to entrap men into marriage by tempting them with their wares and perhaps letting them sample a few to lead them to the parson's noose; and those that tempt men but make them wait until the wedding has taken place.
My mother must have been a part of this group, though of which subpart I have never determined. She had no real regard for my father. He was simply a means toward an end. After she married, I am certain it was not overly long until she joined another group of which many women are members, the married laycocks.
Married laycocks have no real respect for their husbands and do not remain bought by the act of marrying. Married laycocks will still freely give their favors to others, though now their coin of favor may be faked love, simply an acknowledgment of their desirability through extensive flattery, or a skilled touch that gives them the pleasure they have never received through their husbands.
When I was a child if I returned home too soon from cavorting in Lambton with my chums, it was not unusual for me to see men leaving our house, still retying their cravats, or buttoning their waistcoats. I do not even know if my father was truly mine or only mine in the eyes of the law because I was born of his wife. I wished for a time that Mr. Darcy might be my father, but I never saw him view my mother with any pleasure and he seemed too devoted to his wife to have been one of my mother's many lovers.
As for myself, with this shining example from my parents of how little most marriages are worth, I decided early on that I would have no problem with cuckolding men who do not have a firm enough leash on their wives to prevent it. And if I should happen to create a cuckoo there, no one will be the wiser but the mother.
My first lover was woman in Lambton who was married to a well-to-do merchant who had survived his previous wives. One summer when I was home from Eton, she invited me in for some mulled wine. As I sipped, she began touching my young body. Within moments I had risen to the occasion, and she praised me mightily and then told me quite clearly what she wanted me to do. And as I did it, she flattered me. Oh, what an education I received from her, and how pleasant such lessons were, too! I was a quick study and the skills I learned from her have served me well in the art of seduction.
I feel no guilt for doing whatever I wish with receiver generals of any variety. It is the way of the world. If not me, someone else will do it. When I was younger, I thought I was more unique in my proclivities than I later learned I was while at school and university. The only difference between me and the others is that I did not have money to cover my sins more amply, had not the money to permanently obtain the comfort of a left-handed wife, the best kind of paid woman (and indeed the only sort of "wife" worth having in most situations) as she can truly be kept much better than a wife and there is honesty in the exchange.
While most women are women of the town, for all that they do not reside on Drury Lane, there is a small group that is not (I am not certain of the numbers of them, though this is by far the rarest of all women). I call them the true ladies. The true ladies marry a man not for security but for love. Not love of what he can give her, but love for him; her passion is fully satisfied by her husband and she never seeks to take a lover.
Such a woman is a treasure beyond measure, but I have only known one, Mrs. Darcy, mother of Fitzwilliam and Georgiana. As long as I have known her, she only had eyes for her husband.
Usually, I can tell within minutes of meeting a woman which variety of vestal she is. The Bennet sisters were easy to categorize. Miss Bennet, I identified as being a devoted lady of easy virtue (or at least she would be once she married); it was obvious she wanted to entrap Mr. Bingley with her offerings; Miss Mary was clearly the same though she had less to tempt a suitor she would have taken her cousin in exchange for security.
Miss Elizabeth also seemed likely to be a devoted lady of easy virtue, but I had the thought that it might be fun if I could tempt her into giving her favors for free. I could tell she liked the attention I gave her, and she had nothing to tempt me into marriage.
As for Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia, they were clearly ripe for the taking with no necessity for the parson's noose, ready for seduction. I could tell they would give me everything with only a little bit of work on my part, but other than a quick tumble they did not interest me overmuch. In Miss Lydia I sensed that she might quickly move from giving her virtue to being paid for her favors in a nanny house as she seemed the sort, with her high animal spirits, who would enjoy being sought after by many men once she had a proper taste (and instead of simply delighting in flirting would delight in lifting her skirts for many instead).
Now Georgiana Darcy is, I hope, a true lady, but as of this I cannot be certain yet. I remember when she was but five, my mother first suggested, "Mr. Darcy is most fond of you, perhaps when she is a woman, you might make a match with Miss Darcy. Now if only his idiot son could be got out of the way, you could then be as Mr. Darcy's son. If she is anything like her mother, you should begin currying her favor and she will become devoted to you."
As my mother rarely gave me advice, I listened to her and began to spend time with the little miss. Georgiana was a sweet child who adored me and almost from the first began calling me "my George." If I happened upon her when she was eating biscuits, she always gave me one (or if she was on her final biscuit, would tear off the larger share for me). She would gaze up at me as if I hung the moon and stars. In that adoration, I wondered if my mother was correct, and Miss Darcy might prove to be like her mother and be a true lady.
At first, I treated her like a sister and in such a role she wormed her way into my heart. But as Georgiana grew older and began to develop womanly curves, I felt my interest in her alter and I was glad she was no sister of mine.
However, given how good both her parents were to me I was not as free with her as I might have been with another. As a sort of experiment, I tried to see if I could make her love me. This was difficult to do within the confines of the supervision of her governess, though as a favorite of hers she turned more of a blind eye to me than might otherwise have been the case, but I had hope I might eventually succeed. I will admit it was a bit of an inducement to hurt Fitzwilliam. I wanted to prove Georgiana cared for me more than him. However, if anyone could have reformed me it would have been her.
Of course, any hope I had of eventually making a match with her (or at least prior to her majority, when I could expect her to be more biddable) vanished when Mr. Darcy died and left Georgiana in the guardianship of her mother, brother and cousin. I had no doubt that Fitz would never grant me his sister's hand and given time enough would make her question what she (I believe) felt for me.
There was only one thing to do, I needed to stack the deck in my favor, find a way to secure her in a way that Fitz could not put aside. I hit upon the scheme of recommending that a former lover, Mrs. Younge (she was never married, of course) seek employment as Georgiana's companion. I needed an ally to encourage any interest Georgiana had in me and did my best to fool her into thinking that with my wife's ready funds I would support her in the manner she deserved. I knew which lords' names I could use to forge her letters of reference and, if I do say so myself, did a masterful job with them.
Yet even though Georgiana welcomed my company at Ramsgate, she held back. I could tell even as she tried to convince herself that she was in love and consented to elope, that she had doubts. Perhaps her grief over her mother instead of propelling her toward me, kept her from remembering how dearly she cared for me.
I wanted Georgiana's genuine regard and adoration. I believe if I used all my powers of persuasion, I could have moved things along faster, but I wanted to earn her love, to be everything to her, to be all she desired, to mean more to her than her brother, to be worthy of her turning her back on her family. If I had gained her love and if she had proved to be a true lady, I would have attempted to be worthy of her, to keep my passions for her alone. Of course, it would not have been easy to change my ways and perhaps I would have disappointed her horribly, but I had aimed to try (and she was the only one who could have made me try, if only she proved to be a true lady).
No one could have been angrier than me when Bitsy ruined everything, when I was on the cusp of eloping with her (if only we had left for Scotland the previous day). I do not know what he told her, but I suspect it was something to the effect that I only wanted to marry her for her dowry. However, nothing could be further from the truth. I was looking for love and devotion, wanted the hand of a true lady (and if perchance this tormented Bitsy that I took his sister away from him and if my luck held and something unfortunate befell him, the fact that I might then become Master of Pemberley, well that would simply be fate rewarding me for my reformation).
Afterwards, I waited a good six weeks before I had a letter smuggled into Pemberley for Georgiana, had an upstairs maid, Maggie, who I had known since I was a young boy sneak my letter under Georgiana's pillow and steal Georgiana's miniature for me. And how did I get that maid to do it? I paid her with an elaborate story of romance and true love thwarted by her master, concluding with, "How could someone like him understand about love? For he is a cold man with unnatural desires. Have you ever even heard tell of him paying court to anyone?" She shook her head, her eyes wide and I added, "I know I should not say this, but I can trust you, can I not Maggie? I think him likely a backdoor man."
Naturally, Maggie was most eager to help me under those circumstances, told me "Miss Darcy is so sweet and kind, it does not surprise me in the least that she might fall for a man who has shown her affection her whole life. I always knew there was something wrong with the Master, but we are not to talk about it."
I had carefully drafted my letter and was almost certain it would bear fruit. How could it not? I wrote:
My Dearest Miss D.,
Please forgive me for not opposing your brother when he came to take you away. I wished to challenge him to a duel over the things he said about how I had sullied your virtue, when you and I know that I always sought your hand in marriage, never overstepped the bounds of friendship until you consented to marry me. But he is blinded by hatred toward me, me who was always his father's favorite. You well know that I tried my best to help him in school, to teach him how to be like other men, would be trying still if the Colonel had not assumed such a role.
However, knowing that you care for him (for he is your brother and your loyalty to him does you credit) and how reduced your family has become with the deaths of your dear parents, I could not chance somehow depriving you of him. For while I would die to defend your honor or vanish from the face of the earth if you should desire that instead, I would never want to do naught that might make you cry.
My love for you is deeper than the ocean, wider than the sky and spans beyond the ends of the world. It will bear the disappointment in the delay of our marriage. For I refuse to believe that your love for me could vanish as easily as a candle being snuffed. I am certain the day will come when we can marry; true love can wait until then. I know we will not have a chance to elope again until you are a woman in truth, so wait I shall, until you have reached your majority. But so that I might never forget your dear face, I have borrowed your miniature (I do not think your sainted father would begrudge me that); perhaps you shall wish to borrow mine as well (before your brother decides to burn it instead).
Please reassure me that you shall be anticipating my return, by writing to me at this direction –. Until then, I shall take up an honorable profession and wait for you.
Yours always,
G.W.
I never heard back, however. Silence was the only thing to greet me. I do not know if the letter was, perchance, intercepted or if Georgiana was simply too scared or too well guarded to act against her brother. I did try to speak to Maggie in Lambton just one time after that, but she was in the company of another maid and Maggie shook her head at me. I do not know if she was warning me off or telling me she had not been successful. But as far as I know, she is still in the employ of Mr. Darcy.
As for Georgiana, I fear she does not love me. But if she does not love me now, the lion's share of the fault lies with her brother. Still, I have not given up all hope. When I learned she was staying with her brother at Netherfield, I endeavored to put another letter into her hands. However, that house was well guarded, and I knew no one inside who could help, so in the end I burned the letter which urged her to meet me at the milliners in Meryton.
Miss Lydia was to be nothing. As I could not entice her older sister, I worked on charming the younger ones as 'twas far easier to do that. But Miss Catherine was never as bold as Miss Lydia. I had needs as every man does, and if in gaining Miss Lydia's approbation (and eventually confirming that she would give me her maidenhead at the cost of just a little flattery) my interests aligned with the Earl's, well that was all to the good. I had planned my seduction well, but this was thrown off of course when Mr. Wilmington (via a liveried servant of the Earl) delivered onto me a generous purse and a missive that threw all of my plans into disarray.
I had been resolved to obey, but then at the dinner at the Bennets, when I heard that they were engaged, I knew I could not simply walk away, be content as a mere lieutenant in the militia when Bitsy would have all that he wanted (and did not deserve). It simply was not fair that when I was on the cusp of ruining his life, meting out punishment for him cheating me out of my once chance to win a true lady, that I should have to abandon all my plans. But then I pondered during the dinner, Can the shot from a rifle be recalled; can a man catch a rock he has already thrown? Why should I not proceed on my course, advance it even? I decided I could always claim the messenger never delivered me the funds, or that I never received the letter.
Still, I had not had enough time to move Miss Lydia along far enough, and I had heard she had been denied the opportunity to go with the Forsters to Brighton. How much more I could have done with only her guarded only by Mrs. Forster, she of the empty garret, with Miss Lydia's upper story also being unfurnished!
I decided to offer a test, to see what could be done on that very night, and when Miss Lydia agreed to kiss me, I was sure I had won. My goal was simple at first, simply touch her and let the other officers sniff my fingers afterwards, let the tale spread across Meryton and ruin the reputation of the Bennets after I was gone. But for all that she was willing to kiss me, she did not want to let me do anything else and I will admit this made me want everything all the more, and I let my poker do the thinking.
Even now I cannot regret that. If only Mrs. Pope had not caught us, I should have given that little cockish wench exactly what she needed, would have Rogered her quite thoroughly. Yes, George Wickham, she would have not soon forgotten. She would have cried her eyes out every night wishing she could have me again and again, but then settle for some local blacksmith or farmer.
I could never have anticipated that those women would overcome me, that Darcy would box me while I was helplessly restrained. I may be down for now, but later when I tell this tale to dear Georgiana, I shall be as innocent as a newborn lamb and her brother shall be the brutish wolf. While her brother's fists may have marred my looks, I imagine I shall gain her sympathy when I tell her how he wronged me, but in any event, I shall take what was promised to me. And if, in the end, the new Mrs. Wickham proves to be nothing but a devoted lady of easy virtue, well her funds shall be ample compensation I suppose, and there is no reason in such event that I should not enjoy myself as much as ever.
I suffered in the stocks all that night and a good portion of the morning besides. But while I ached, I was not without hope for I still had friends a plenty. For had not Captain Carter visited and brought another man with a bottle so that I could relieve myself, and had not Chamberlain promised to hide my strongbox and other important possessions before they could be searched? While Denny had stayed away, I was certain with a little humility and explaining how Mr. Bennet and Bitsy had contrived to cover up Bitsy's despicable actions with the meanest sort of lie (for Mr. Bennet did not want his daughter to lose out on becoming the Mistress of Pemberley), all would be well between us.
It was then quite distressing when finally let out, given just a few minutes to gather my belongings (under the supervision of Denny), to discover that save for my clothing and a few necessities there was nothing left that I treasured. For the handkerchiefs from the various women of easy virtue that I had played at rantum scantum with (or planned to have) were gone, along with the items which reminded me of Georgiana, the miniature, the letter, and the candlestick which I had once used with a beeswax taper (for only the best candles were used at Pemberley) to light my way to gaze upon her sleeping form and imagine what one day might be when she came into her womanhood.
Naturally, it was clear who was responsible, and as I marched to Brighton (for despite my injuries I was not accorded a space in a wagon), it was only my anger that kept me going. One way or another, sooner or later, I would triumph over that blasted Fitzwilliam Darcy, either by getting his sister or his wife for myself.
