Chapter 2

"I told Lady Georgiana, I swear, I told her, My Lord, not to do it. I told her it was just a book," Wickham whined.

Darcy's anger was white hot and primal. "Where is she?"

"With the sheep!"

Darcy flung the Wickham boy into the stream, his sobs gurgling in the water, and Darcy made his way further into the woods. He charged forward, each breath brandishing another cruel lashing on his heart. The green field where the sheep resided came into vision, pastoral and beautiful amongst his fury and distress. The bodies of the animals were bright in the morning sun.

"Georgiana!" He was met with the Babs and coos of the creatures. He swore he'd have them slaughtered for whatever they'd done, for not alerting him sooner, for watching this horror unfold and doing nothing. The sun seemed to shine down on where his sister lay, like the star of Bethlehem leading the wise men and shepherds to Christ.

"Georgiana!" There she lay, pale. as still as he had ever seen her, arms aimed at the east, as beautiful and tragic as a Hogarth's painting. Darcy cradled and shook her, her soft arms pale and slight in the sun. She looked and felt like a lamb.

"Georgiana! Georgiana, please, my darling sister, get up, please." He shook her, and to his relief, some life animated back into her arms and legs, and she awoke, groggy as if she were just waking from an afternoon rest.

"What have you done?" Darcy demanded as softly as he could. "Dear sister, let me help you. I am here now."

"You've ruined everything," She groaned and rolled over. Darcy was one part relieved and enraged with her usual attitude. "This was my greatest testament to love, and you've ruined the entire thing, Brother."

"What? I demand to know what you've done. We've had the entire estate looking for you!"

"The cheese!" She wailed as if she might vomit the contents of her stomach there on the spot. She draped her hand against her temples dramatically. Sure enough, she pointed to the yellow and white stuff wrapped in paper, flies and maggots poking out.

"Poison was too permanent. But I wanted my heroic act of love to be as real as it could be," Georgiana started to sob, holding her stomach. "It's a week and a day old, Brother.'

"This was your poison? You're as pale as marble."

"George knows me! He understands. George loves me, Brother, although I know you've never uttered those words. And he's a good Christian man. He's blessed me with a love only Shakespeare could have dreamed of -"

Darcy stopped her before she could continue. He lifted her over his shoulder. She kicked, and she screamed. Each protest was another thrashing to remind him of his failure in duty, and he was more determined than ever. He wondered if someone who understood Georgiana was there to guide her. She might have done something differently - a woman perhaps. He could have prevented this if he hadn't been so overcome with pride and stubbornness. She'd walked the tightrope beyond what he could have ever expected from her. All over cheese. His anger subdued and concern surged forward. He lowered her to his arm instead, as gently as he could and guided her through the forest. She made coos and hiccups and groaned rather dramatically. Darcy knew his sister was a dramatic young girl, but he still hoped she wasn't terribly ill.

"You silly girl," Darcy said.

"I know, silly, silly," Georgiana said gently. Darcy's heart melted as he felt he was carrying his younger sister again for the first time in his life.

Inside, Winston had called the family physician as a precaution. It was a good thing that he did. Darcy gently placed her in her bed – she was as pale as an old doll. Hannah hurried in, fussing over her before dabbing her head repeatedly with a damp cloth.

"She'll be ill for a few days but should recover fully." The doctor said.

"Thank you, Doctor."

The physician gave Mr. Darcy an odd look. "Although I must say, I don't know why on earth you don't get rid of your rotten cheese. Of course, it can lead to ailments like this, which can be dangerous for a frail young lady such as Her Ladyship."

Darcy didn't know what to say. He was relieved Georgiana was alive and well, but her foolishness made it so he could barely look at her. She groaned dramatically.

"George, I want George."

Hannah's maternal instincts were exquisite, but to cope with Georgiana's tantrums, she's become accustomed to complying with her wishes for everyone's sanity and livelihood. Pale as a Greek marble statue, Georgiana reached out her hand as if she were about to draw her last breath.

"Brother," Darcy dutifully took her hand. "Tell my beloved George I am alive and well."

Darcy bit his tongue and nodded, thankful that Georgiana's improper behaviour was only witnessed by their trusted family doctor and maid. Making his leave, as he turned, he could hear his sister vomit the last remaining parts of rotting cheese still left in her body. In some dark and twisted way, Darcy hoped the ailment would prevent her from acting out with such stupidity again.

~0~

Reverend Wickham's home was modest, with evergreen infecting every inch of the grey walls. The wooden planks from the empty stable, decorated at Christmas time, had hens instead of wise men and shepherds. Darcy took a moment to compose himself before knocking on the front door harder than he had intended. Reverend Wickham's had the presence of a phantom - grey attire, grey skin, a white top of unruly hair. His creased face beamed as he must have assumed Darcy had had a calling from the Holy Spirit. He had not. Quite the opposite, in fact. Mr. Wickham's face beamed, delighted in holy glory.

"Lord Ripley! How may I be of assistance? Is it a matter of the parish or a personal matter?" His shiny face beamed beyond what was imaginable with heavenly pride, delighted he'd have the pleasure of conversing with his patron.

"May I have a moment to speak with you, Reverend?"

"Of course! I'll have our servants prepare tea."

"There is no need."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Darcy shuffled on the spot uncomfortably, pressing his hands firmly against his waistcoat. He did not make eye contact, which seemed to alarm the good Reverend, and he moved in front of his view.

"Are you quite alright, Sir?" Darcy looked down and took one look at his holy face. His decision had been made. The Reverend was a man of God, and perhaps this was blasphemy. Darcy leaned in politely at first, but all of the pent-up rage held behind his polite gaze unleashed itself into something else. The thought of his sister left destitute, her reputation scorned. His fists found their way against the Reverend's collar, threatening their places in polite society if anyone witnessed.

"If I see your boy near my sister again, I'll have him shorn of everything for defiling-"

"I beg your pardon!" The man's words gargled in shock and fear. Red-faced, he struggled against Darcy's iron-clad, duty-bound fist.

"For defiling a young lady's good reputation with silly notions of God - "

"George preaches the Lord's love as I have taught - "

"I am not speaking of that, you imbecile." Darcy relaxed his grip, flattened his front vest and said, very gently -

"If I see your son near my sister again, alone, I'll have him stripped of everything and shown for what he really is. Good day." Darcy could hear coughing and spluttering behind him as he made his leave.

"Lord Ripley, I understand that you have had a hard life, along with your sister. If there is any sort of enlightenment that you might need, you are always welcome into my home," Reverend Wickham was able to keep his polite tone with a hint of outrage in his voice.

Darcy's hands clenched. He was about to turn around, but the 'hem' and 'ahem' he could hear from the Reverend was pleasing enough for him to finally leave.

~0~

The Bennet townhouse in London was colourful, modest, chaotic, and above all - crowded. The Bennet children, Lydia, Mary, Elizabeth and Jane had never known silence in their lives. Longbourn, their estate in Hertfordshire, was constantly visited by an aunt or great uncle, a cousin twice removed, or the occasional animal. Their mother and father lived in genteel disarray, the picture of marital bliss - until, that is, one of their children had jeopardised their status in good society. Elizabeth arched her back straighter than ever at the breakfast table, careful not to disgrace her family further.

"Mamma, would you pass me the honey cake?" Looking straight ahead, Mrs. Fanny Bennet did just that with no other sense of emotion present on her face. Elizabeth's father pushed up his spectacles, nodding as if he applauded her perfect politeness. Her father always congratulated her on the small things - with gentle nods or gestured. It's one of the reasons she adored her father.

"It seems the evening went well. You even had Mr. Thorpe ask for a dance last night, Elizabeth."

"Well, Mamma, it was the only dance partner she was offered." Lydia snickered. Lydia, the oldest, had blonde hair and blue eyes, perfect in every sense of the word. She indulged in rubbing salt into her little sisters' wounds and imperfections. Newly engaged to a wealthy Robert Ferrars, her ego was inflated. She took pointing out her sisters' flaws not only as her favourite pastime but has recently taken it as her duty. She never received a reprimand for constantly criticising her sisters. So it was taken as something to be encouraged by her mother.

"Although I dare say she seemed enthralled by your conversation, Sister, did you bore him with all the talk of your charity work with Aunt Magdalene?" She snicked.

"That is enough, Lydia," Their father piped up, sharp brown eyes pointing above the newspaper. "You are only four and twenty and just newly engaged. Elizabeth has more than enough time to fill her days with worthwhile efforts and goodness in the meantime, unlike yourself, dear daughter, who nearly had my funds run dry with dress shopping." Lydia shut her mouth up with a cake. She huffed and chewed loudly.

"Acts of goodness are all well and good, Mr. Bennet. But once a reputation is ruined, these acts are pointless for a lady in good standing. You'd have a better chance of making a hen fly than finding a husband now, my dear." Her mother's shrill voice and sharp words cut like a knife. It was enough to have your efforts go unnoticed, let alone do everything you could and had it still not been enough. Often Elizabeth wished she had her sisters' and mother's blonde hair and blue eyes; and to be a stinging star for her mother to be proud of. But it seemed she would never be enough no matter what she did.

"Mamma, may I ask what the newspaper said exactly?" Elizabeth picked at her blue cotton dress. Without looking up from her plate, Mrs Bennet spoke with quick militance, "It stated that you had fallen ill unexpectedly, a faint spell, which caused you to fall out of the carriage." The newspaper was interested in the Bennets because of their connection to General Tilney.

"And fall into horse dung." Lydia snorted.

"I told you it was the driver's fault, Mrs. Bennet." Her father interjected to her rescue.

"Alright then, Mamma, I did feel faint in the carriage." Said Elizabeth.

"Yes, Lizzy, that is what you will tell people." Her mother sang, her plump cheeks beaming eerily.

"I thought you looked beautiful," Mary spoke, her voice as gentle as the breeze. Jane smiled serenely and nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Mimi and Janey." Mrs Bennet raised an eyebrow. She detested pet names and only used it to express her annoyance.

Mary was a year married to Captain Frederick Tilney, and unhappily so, her husband often travelled for his army business. Hence, she often dined with her family. Mary wore spectacles the same as her father and spent most of her time reading. Elizabeth thought Mary secretly didn't mind how long her husband spent away, given how much she detested him, and it left more time for reading, of course. They had rarely uttered a word before they were wed.

The marriage came about as a result of an unfortunate incident engineered by Tilney's father. General Tilney originally targeted Lydia, believing that she was the eldest and sole heiress of an imagined Bennet fortune. Mrs. Bennet started the rumour, and the Bennet townhouse at Berkeley Square, London added to its credits. But acquaintances did not know that the townhouse belonged to Mr. Bennet's elder sister. Mrs. Bennet and her family only stayed there for the London seasons.

"Yes, Mimi, and you would look beautiful too, were you growing. Perhaps you'll surprise your father and I with a grandchild soon." Mary buried her head back down. She was a year married without a child. People talk.

Mrs Bennet wept when she got more plump, she wept when Lydia flirted too little, she wept when Mary secured Captain Tilney. There was no one she wept more for than her brown-haired, disobedient third daughter, Elizabeth, who failed to make a successful social debut; all because she had stumbled from her carriage, one of the many mistakes she had made recently.

~0~

Elizabeth saw nothing when she looked at her reflection. Oak brown hair with a white oval for a face - no cheeks, no noise, no eyes, no mouth to truly speak. Nothing but disappointment. Her maid, Maggie, had laid out her attire for the day, all handpicked by her mother. She rubbed her blank face.

"I'd like some colour on my face, Maggie."

"Your mother has insisted against that, Mam. She wants you to look pale to keep up appearances."

"Appearances?" Elizabeth asked, perplexed.

"The newspaper stated that you were unwell. You will have to look unwell to look the part when you are seen in public.

"So I have to lie to people?" Maggie said nothing to this. Elizabeth's throat tightened. Not only does she have to keep up the usual ladylike pretentiousness, which she tried so hard to do, but she now has to keep up a lie.

"Very well." She sat on her dresser. Maggie applied the white paste to Elizabeth's face. As rough and precise as a renaissance painter, Maggie patted her face down and looked back at her, proud of what she had accomplished. She looked back upon Elizabeth's face as if she were Michelangelo looking at his work on the Sistine Chapel. The excess of product made her face burn. Elizabeth could see nothing but a white mask in her reflection. No ears, no eyes, no nose - nothing except the front of being a lady in this society.

"I suppose I might join the circus, Maggie," she said bitterly.

~0~

The warmth outside threatened to make Elizabeth's made-up visage melt off. Lydia practised dull scales on the piano, inspecting her nails in between. Something her mother hated her doing. Elizabeth bit at her nails, which was even worse. She read Twelfth Night, her favourite of Shakespeare. She kept her favourite books to herself. She also held the parts that made her laugh and cry with joy to herself; her sister would no doubt report this back to her mother.

"Perfect, Sister," said Elizabeth, strolling by the piano. "Perhaps one day you'll be good at it?"

"Perhaps one day you'll practice your scales, Eliza."

"Perhaps your new husband may become accustomed to his ears bleeding, Sister?"

Lydia slammed on one of the keys in such a fury she thought the piano might break. She stomped out to the garden muttering a long list of her displeasure. Elizabeth thought Lydia's ears may have blown steam. Despite the beautiful weather outside, her mother had instructed Elizabeth to stay inside to save her pale complexion. It was either that or Elizabeth sat with a ridiculously large parasol that prevented her from enjoying the afternoon sun. She thought to let her makeup melt and show the world who she really was. Becoming a spinster was not such a prison sentence to her as Lydia or mother might think.

The garden beckoned her. She took the parasol out to please her mother but got rid of it when the sun hit her pale skin. She took her usual place in the garden, her blue cotton dress meeting with the cold slab of the marble seat. A statue of Athena gazed down at her. Birdsongs rang in her ear. A few precious moments of bliss to enjoy her favourite piece of literature.

"Elizabeth! Inside at once!" Her mother's voice pierced the serene picture. She shut her book so tightly she worried it would damage the pages. It was a treasured gift from her dear aunt. She took a deep breath. No sooner had she stood up was her mother calling after her again. Her voice was as high-pitched and shrill as an animal dying a horribly gruesome death.

"Is it my betrothed, Mamma?" Lydia shoved past her sister.

"No, darling, it is your aunt. She's come to visit, do come and greet her."

Elizabeth leapt to her feet. Lydia slowed her pace.

Her aunt, Magdalene's heart blossomed with love the moment she saw her nieces, though Magdalene didn't like to show it, to keep up her cold persona to her mother. She kissed Elizabeth lovingly and pecked Lydia's cheek lightly, wiping the spot of contact after.

"Elizabeth, darling, you look quite pale? Are you well?"

"Oh yes, I can explain. It's all silly, really,'

Her mother interrupted sharply, "Elizabeth has not been well as of late! The poor dear has been as pale as anything."

"Should she not be resting? My goodness, child, why are you up?"

"Oh no, the doctor insisted she is up and active! It's good for her health." The more her mother panicked, the more shrill her voice got. It was insufferable, and her aunt felt it too.

"She did have an unfortunate mishap the other night," her mother continued.

"Mishap? The dear child fell because she was unwell. You should be grateful it was nothing more and not something serious, Sister?" Aunt Magdalene said. Speechless, Mrs Bennet offered for the maid to make tea.

"I've had my tea. It's a beautiful blend from India. You should really try it next time you come to Russell Square." Mrs. Bennet scrunched her nose. Magdalene preferred to stay in a smaller townhouse at Russell Square to be closer to the British Museum. Mrs. Bennet found the area not prosperous enough to be worth her visiting.

Magdalene Bennet was Mr. Bennet's elder sister by over fifteen years. Mrs. Bennet had a love-hate relationship with her. With the help of a tradesman friend, Magdalene had grown the tiny sum of money left by her grandaunt substantially. She now owned a few townhouses in different parts of London and some other investments. Mrs. Bennet loved the benefit of Magdalene's wealth. It gave her daughters and family a picture of wealth among neighbours in Hertfordshire and London. Magdalene never got married. Mrs. Bennet bet that all of her sister-in-law's fortune would be left to her daughters one day. But Mrs. Bennet also hated Magdalene for influencing her daughters. None of them, except Lydia, listened to her advice anymore. Mary, Elizabeth and Jane all seemed more interested in books than catching a rich husband!

Magdalene took off her coat and graciously thanked the maid, much to Mrs Bennet's distaste. Elizabeth could see the maid smiling but quickly slumped away so no one could see.

"I am here to speak with my dearest, Elizabeth."

"Aunt, did you hear the good news that I am engaged to be wed?" Lydia stood beaming. As if she were the only woman in the world to get married.

"Ah yes, and I hear your soon-to-be husband is about as interesting as a clam, do excuse me, my dear. I must speak with your sister." Deflated, Lydia stormed off again.

Her aunt took Elizabeth's arm in hers. Her mother narrowed her eyes suspiciously at them as they made their way out into the garden. Elizabeth knew her aunt was strolling slowly on purpose, just to annoy her mother. They had never gotten along.

A.N. I hope you like my variation regarding the Darcy and Bennet family dynamics. Do give me some encouragement by leaving reviews. Thank you! Warm hugs from Sydney, Enid

Reply to last week comments – Winston being very disrespectful. I agree. Wanted Darcy to fire him too. But this Darcy was too soft-hearted. He wouldn't do it because he gave too much deference to his late father's wish.

The story title – It was inspired by "Farmers wants a wife" and the Little Prince, haha. I think it is a bit too long though.

Darcy's title – he is the second Earl. His father received the title. I don't think I've covered the backstory in the story draft. I can definitely look into it.