AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am still figuring out , and it has not been fun. Okay, to start-if you go to my profile, you'll see the entire summary for A Respectable Man, and you'll get a sense of what the story is. The first two chapters do reenact Ramsgate, which I am interpreting to happen a year or so before the start of canon Pride and Prejudice, and afterwards we will move on to the Bennet side of things, etc.

This story IS completed and it is 21 chapters long. Based on some of my reviews on amazon, etc, I may write more chapters, etc...to fill in some stuff. But you will get the full story (as it is written originally). I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to leave it up (for forever), or what, but we'll see.

Thanks for reading and the follows-wosedwew, Sariness, royal-cobalt, jfss99, LiteraryFantasy, KerryClaire, debu, noradolly, Slytherson, Flame-sama, elag, shailjajoshi37, and Psewknit


The early death of Lady Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy had left both Fitzwilliam and Georgiana bereft of normal, familial companionship. His father had left the raising of Georgiana to Fitzwilliam's former nursemaid. While she was more than competent at the task of taking care of Georgiana, she had been getting on in years, and obedience, rather than the normal mischief of a child, were the order of the day. She had turned into a stern taskmaster, than the motherly figure of Fitzwilliam's childhood.

While Fitzwilliam had gotten into the normal mischief a child concocted on a daily basis, answering to his nurse and mother was something to look forward to. He and Richard, his favorite cousin, had spent the majority of their boyhood waiting for the shrieks and stern warnings from his pliable nursemaid, the disappointed looks that melded into a giggle and a small smile from his mother as she half halfheartedly lectured them on their behavior, and then sent them into the nursery for tea and scones.

That idyllic childhood, full of scrapes and sweets, had not occurred for Georgiana. With their father buried in his work, all that was left for Georgiana was to be an obedient, still child. Such a thing did not come naturally, as with any other youth. As a tender footed young child, Georgiana had been an inquisitive, somewhat meddlesome charge. His father never addressed Georgiana's existence in his letters, except to note her general health, and their lady mother's room. As his father's health worsened, his letters became shorter and shorter, until all correspondence from Pemberley was eventually written in the hand of its steward-Old Mr. Wickham.

After their father had died, Fitzwilliam had come home from university, to take his place as the master of Pemberley. The portrait of an mischievous imp had dominated his thoughts of his sister-an image he welcomed. However, when he first laid eyes upon her, he knew he and cousin Richard had quite an endeavor before them. Georgiana had been altered, in the severest fashion. In all respects, she was a properly attired and well behaved young lady, as befitting her stature and rank.

Shortly before the church service that would lay their father next to their mother, Fitzwilliam had taken the time to study his sister. As she quietly sipped her tea, while giving him a small, obliging smile, he saw in her eyes not just his lady mother, but a stillness, a silence. She had retreated into herself, and Fitzwilliam vowed then and there that she would never need to do so ever again.

As much as it had pained him, the only way he knew to give his sister genuine companionship, was to send her away to school. As much as he had disliked it, in order for her to move within their society as a young lady, she would need to learn how to interact with others. Fitzwilliam was not surprised, when Georgiana made only sycophantic acquaintances, which was his experience until he found a true friend in Charles Bingley.

So much so, while he had stressed the importance of the applicant's references and work history, he had ultimately chosen a young widow, who was only a year or so younger than he, to be Georgiana's companion while on this holiday from school. He had hoped that it would bring Georgiana out of her shell somewhat-to be close to someone who was young, although not her own age, who would not only help her build her own self confidence, but also be a dependable ally, until such a time came that he took a wife.

Fitzwilliam leaned his head back with a sigh, slowly, in the heavy armchair found in the cottage's small library and study. It was not to be. It was wrong. Foolish. He knew it then, before the insipid woman had ever even opened her mouth to speak. Mrs. Younge, whom he was quite sure was not even a "Mrs." Younge, no matter what she said to the contrary, was in league with Wickham.

Any speculations on the contrary were erased from his consciousness from the minute he marched into the drawing room and saw her face, before she had registered that it was him. When she had thought that it was an overexcited Georgiana barrelling into the room. It was a gleeful, anticipatory look, a look that told him that she had expected to receive a considerable portion of his sister's dowry. Georgiana thought that she had made friends, had made a second home for herself in George Wickham and Alma Younge. She had not, and as soon as he dispatched Wickham and that wretched woman, he would tell her.

Fitzwilliam settled more uprightly into his chair. Shortly after directing Mrs. Younge to pack her things, he sent his driver into the small town of Ramsgate to fetch the magistrate. Thankfully, after a few minutes of a terse, discreet conversation, the magistrate had agreed to bring Wickham in to him. Not surprisingly, the magistrate was a sympathetic ally when Fitzwilliam had spoken to him, being that Wickham owed all of the vendors in town a sum of over five hundred pounds, and he had scarcely been in Ramsgate a solid month! After assuring the magistrate that he would settle Wickham's debts, the man was much more obliging, and set off, to oversee the matter personally.

Fitzwilliam walked to the window. The sky was a clear, boundless blue. The color of his mother's eyes. It had been a beautiful day. Perfect for a picnic. He crossed over to the small desk that contained port and brandy, his hand lightly trembling after pouring a small quantity. He was well aware that he was after the conversation he would have to have with Wickham, and then with Georgiana, he would be decimating the only happiness she had felt since leaving school. He would write to Richard to come immediately.

Family obligations had prevented Richard from surprising Georgiana, as Fitzwilliam had, and it was only God's grace that Fitzwilliam had finished his business early, and had come.

George had been taking a load off at Swinton's Pub when the blasted magistrate himself came to pay him a visit. Of course, that nancy, uptight arse Darcy had called the magistrate, and, like a leaderless tin soldier, the fool had obliged. Flashing his most charming smile, he tucked back the rest of his drink and said lightly, "Lead the way, boys."

Unsurprisingly, he was treated in a rather rough manner. George scoffed. It was not as though he was a murderer. So he owed a little bit of money to people here in town. It was not any of Darcy's business, and if the shop owners had a problem with someone owing them money, then maybe they should not be so free with their credit.

The men dragged him to the now familiar cottage, and practically threw him into the little library, where Darcy waited for him. George sneered at the cold look on Darcy's face-a look he was well familiar with, due to the fact that they had both attended the same university. Darcy had done his best, in those days, to impede his fun, either by refusing to lend him more money, or by warning his newly made friends that he sometimes had some complications in squaring away his debts. Honor debts, they were called, and yet none of those blackguards seemed to have any. They had all been born with silver spoons in their mouths, while he had to work for what he was given. Being the favorite of old Mr. Darcy was not as easy as it seemed.

George straightened himself. "What do you want, Darcy?" he asked.

Darcy had been surveying him with the same cold look, not saying a word. After a moment, Darcy gave him his answer.

"I do not wish to hear a single word from you, Wickham, other than the word, 'yes'." I have made arrangements for your debts to be paid off, in this town. Undoubtedly you have other debts, elsewhere. I will seek them out, and pay them."

George felt his grin return, as he licked over his top lip. He glanced over at Darcy, whose gaze was studiously fixed on the wall behind him.

"And what have I done, to merit such…..generosity?" he asked with a teasing lilt to his voice. Before he knew it, a burst of pain filled his vision. Darcy had hit him so hard, he fell to the ground.

"What is wrong with you?!" he shouted indignantly, holding his jaw. His mouth was starting to bleed.

"You think me a fool?" Darcy hissed, as he hauled George up by his lapels, pressing his face very close to George's.

"I know your game, Wickham. I know you. I know that you are not as big a fool as you pretended when you cooked up this scheme with that woman! So I will tell you now. You will leave my sister be. If you think you are getting your hands on my sister's fortune, think again. I will not allow it. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?"

Wickham returned Darcy's glare with a teasing smile, but inside his mind was racing. He was no fool. Even if he convinced Georgiana to run away with him to Scotland tonight, after witnessing her blasted brother's ire at him, it would be all for naught if Darcy was not going to release her dowry to him. Sure, he could go to the courts, but he did not fancy his name being bandied about in the London papers for that length of time. Too many….unsavory characters would come looking for him, far beyond the scope of what he was comfortable with. But he had to get his crack in.

"Perhaps you will learn not to be so free with your sister, eh Darcy?"

Darcy's grip on his lapels tightened, warningly. George ignored it, as his face was so white he looked as though he was about to faint. Darcy knew he was correct.

"I did you a favor. That is what High Society will do to your fool of a sister. Handsome, titled young men will bow over her hand and laugh at her insipid games, her dull conversations. They will spend the entirety of their courtship reminding themselves of what she is worth, in an effort to-."

A sharp, feminine gasp was heard. It was Georgiana. She was trembling, her sky blue eyes welling with unshed tears. He looked at her wanly, with none of the warmth she was used to. Georgiana Anne Darcy was a pathetic, plain little girl who thought she was a woman. George pushed a shocked Darcy away from him and scoffed, brushing past Georgiana without even a backwards glance. He would have his money, his debts paid off, and an exciting new prospect in the Army. Perhaps he would met a lovely widow or heiress, tempted by his striking new uniform, to share his bed and her coffers.

She couldn't breathe. A tightness spreads to her chest and belly, and she couldn't breathe. She is not sure that she wants to breathe at all. Her brother's face, with George a visage of wrath and anger, has now transformed into a portrait of understanding, love, and guilt. Georgiana's chin quivers minutely as she considers the ramifications of what she had nearly done. A lone tear slides down her cheek before she can help it, and she stops thinking.

There was nothing else for Fitzwilliam to do, but to talk. It was not a conversation that he had ever intended to have with his sister, especially not in this circumstance, and he now regretted the necessity that precluded it. Regretted that he had not adequately protected her from the adversity she now faced, simply because he did not wish to taint the only object of happiness and affection she had from her younger years, while he was away at university. He could see that he had been wrong. Georgiana was not yet ready to be wed, especially to a man such as George Wickham, but she was not a child. His continual treatment of her in that area, as though he were her father, had contributed greatly to their current situation. Fitzwilliam silently vowed to himself that he would never again keep something of such importance away from Georgiana again. They were all they had of each other, and divided their house would fall.

He started hesitantly.

"I did not wish to taint your memories of George Wickham, Georgiana. I am well aware that he was the source of all your happiness during your childhood. I-I know that Father was not present, not in the way that he had been for my childhood and youth, due to Mother's death coinciding with your birth. It took you and I quite a period of time to get this place in our relationship-as brother and sister-although I fear that I behave more like your father in some areas."

Georgiana started to protest. Fitzwilliam held a hand to calm her softly. "No, sister, the fault lies solely within myself, and I need to explain. I wanted to protect you, and in protecting you in this way, I held open the gates for men like George Wickham to ruin you."

Drawing in a ragged breath, Fitzwilliam started again. "As you are aware, Wickham and I were childhood friends-his father being the steward of Pemberley-and our own excellent father being his godfather. As children, we were forever getting into scrapes with each other-stealing apples from the orchard, a scone or two from the kitchens…. Wickham, Cousin Richard, and I were the best of friends. All of that changed once Wickham and I left Pemberley for university."

Fitzwilliam stopped to study his sister's face. Her face was ruddy and streaked from crying, her eyes red and heavy from the short nap she had taken after running to her room, after overhearing, at least part, of the conversation and bribery between himself and Wickham. After today, she would no longer be a child. She was a woman grown.

"While Wickham and I had both been mischievous young boys, constantly getting into trouble with Mother, our nursemaid, and occasionally, Father, we were very different. Had very different upbringings. Father put aside a few hours a day, once I had reached the age of ten years, to teach me some aspect of managing the estate. By the time we had gone away for university, I was quite studious in a way that very few students were, especially ones of my position. And I was quite shocked to discover that Wickham and I were not to be as brothers, let alone friends, once I had refused to become his personal banker."

Darcy paused here, not simply for Georgiana's benefit, but for his own. He and George had been all but blood brothers. Indeed, when they had been children and young men, he had been convinced that it did not matter. George may not have been his brother by blood, but he had chosen him as his family, as had his father, and would treat him as such. It had….been quite a shock for him to discover what George had really wanted from him. Not his company or friendship, but his money and name. Besides Richard, George had been his closest companion, one he had expected to keep close until death parted them.

"Unknown to myself, Wickham had used my name to get close to the sons of some of the London's wealthiest and titled scions-mainly for gambling and other activities." Fitzwilliam finished lightly, trying to treat carefully. Another one of George's outside activities had been consorting with prostitutes.

"Once I had refused, and warned the others that Wickham had no money, relations between us soured to the point to where we would not speak or look at each other. I heard sometime later that Wickham had quit his studies,and had left London. I did not wish to find him until Father became quite ill, this last time, and wanted to see him before death claimed him."

Georgiana's face began to take on a sense of foreboding dread. It was as though she knew what he was about to tell her, and Fitzwilliam then wondered what George had told her. What excuse had he given, as to why there was a rift between himself and Fitzwilliam? He could only surmise it to be a twisted version of the truth, as George had been fond of sprinkling small lies over the truth.

"I used an agency to track down Wickham-sent word that Father was dying and wished to see him. I thought that even if Wickham had hated me, he would go and see Father. But he would not come. Not even after I offered to pay for his travel and lodging. Father died without seeing him. And then, when news of Father's death had been published throughout the papers, Wickham came to Pemberley, and announced that he would not suit the Church, and wished to have the equivalent of the living bestowed upon him, right now, so that he could go and study the law. I admit, Georgiana, I was angry. So angry. But I wanted him gone and out of our lives, so I gave him the three thousand pounds, and told him that I never wanted to see him again. That he was not to come near myself, you, or Pemberley, so long as he lived. And until yesterday, I had not seen him in five years."

Tears welling within her eyes again, Georgiana opened her mouth to explain how George had tricked her-Fitzwilliam stopped her. He did not need to know-it did not matter to him. It was over and done with, and his sister would never again be tricked like that again from a dissolute man.

"Darling sister, I will write to Richard. We shall go to our townhouse, he will meet us there, and we will take in a few plays. Go to the park. We will be fine. You will be fine. No one else will ever know, and Wickham will not bother you again."

Fitzwilliam took her face within his hands, and looked into her eyes. Georgiana was still pained. She was slowly reverting back to how he had found her-a shrinking little girl, only known to herself.

"You will get married, one day, sister. And it will be to a man who will court you as you deserve to be."

Georgiana closed her eyes, and leaned into her brother. She did not believe him, but she had no wish to make him ill because of her. So she could do nothing but be agreeable to all that he said. And that is all she did, hoping it would be enough.

That he would not see.