Meryton
Two Days Later
Wickham smiled and bowed automatically to the acquaintances he passed – appearing pleasant while in a foul mood had been an art he had perfected long ago. He was wending his way now to the King residence in the heart of Meryton to resume his interrupted courtship of the homely Mary King and her ten thousand pounds; a mere pittance, now, next to the fabulous wealth of Elizabeth Bennet.
He had, he admitted to himself, misjudged the lady. He had assumed that she would fall easily under his spell again, but it seemed that she had a jealous streak. She was obviously angry that he had abandoned her for Mary King. It could not be that she actually pitied Mary King, the girl was not beautiful, and deserved no special attention from him. Surely Miss Elizabeth was intelligent enough to realize that a poor man must seek a fortune however he could find it, regardless of any genuine attachment to a woman. And Miss King was a nasty little freckled thing, whose only advantage was her ten thousand pound fortune!
In any case, Miss Elizabeth was now well out of his reach, having departed to London. He thought every day of his failed proposal on Longbourn's path, of the burly and deeply inconvenient servant boy Tom, and of what Wickham himself might have done had the retainer not been there. He preferred his women willing, but seventy thousand pounds was not a prize to let easily slip away.
He pondered as he strolled. Would he have been able to do it? Would he have been able to bring himself to kiss Elizabeth Bennet unwilling? Or even force himself on her? The thought or forcing his attentions on her was repugnant to him – such a fine looking gentleman as he, any woman should readily accept him. His pride would not allow him to do such a thing, but for seventy thousand pounds…
It mattered not, now. Elizabeth Bennet and her fortune had departed and it was time to renew his attentions to the less respectably rich Mary King. He hoped Miss King was well today. He had come to see her yesterday and the day before, and he had been turned away brusquely at the door with the information that she was unwell.
Truth be told, he cared little for her health or well-being, but his own debts were starting to loom, and he was in sore need of some ready money.
Wickham turned the corner onto the side street which held the King residence and came to a sudden, startled halt. A carriage was drawn up to the front of the King residence, with four fine horses in the harnesses, and servants were rushing to and fro with trunks. Obviously someone was preparing for a journey, and a long one by the looks of it.
Wickham walked around to the front of the carriage, giving the horses a wide berth, and slowly climbed the shallow steps which led to the front door of the house.
He knocked, and the butler opened it and stared at him silently.
"Are Mrs. and Miss King available?" Wickham asked with his most charming smile.
"The ladies are not available, sir," the butler responded promptly, and then turned as his mistress, the elderly Mrs. King, dressed in a gray pelisse and traveling boots, appeared out of a side hall and took her position next to the butler.
"Mrs. King, I hope you are well?" Wickham asked, lifting his foot and planting it on the polished wood of the entry way.
"I am not particularly well, no," the lady replied coldly. "I am preparing for a long journey to Liverpool with my granddaughter today, and I do not enjoy traveling, especially in early spring when the weather is so taciturn. It is necessary, however, given Mary's heartbreak at your cruel behavior, Mr. Wickham."
Wickham's eyes flared wide with confusion and dismay. "I do not understand, Mrs. King."
"Did you really think that we would not hear of your offer to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Lieutenant?" Mrs. King demanded, her blue eyes sparking with outrage. "You spent days haunting this door and wooing my dear granddaughter, and then you promptly turned and offered for Miss Elizabeth when she came into a great fortune. How dare you, sir!"
"I assure you...," Wickham began feebly and then lapsed into silence as Mrs. King turned on her heel and marched out of the foyer. The butler, a surprisingly burly man, took a step forward and said, "You are not welcome here, Mr. Wickham. I suggest you pull your foot back before I slam it in the door."
Wickham did so, turning like an automaton to walk down the stairs and slowly back towards the barracks.
His mind reeled in shock and bewilderment and no small amount of dismay. In less than a week, two excellent chances at wedding an heiress had slipped through his fingers. But how had the Kings found out about his offer for Miss Elizabeth?
She must have told them, he realized in slowly gathering anger. Besides himself, she and the yokel servant boy had been the only ones present. But her high-minded prating about breaking hearts – yes, she would feel quite noble warning Mary King of his designs.
He stepped into his room, hot with rage, and closed the door very carefully. Oh how he wished he could punish the pert Elizabeth Bennet! How dare she ruin his chances to make a good marriage?! But she was inaccessible now, the clever, viperish female.
Wickham crossed to his window and stared sullenly out of it at the busy street below. Anna Long and Maria Lucas passed, and he glared at them – Anna, a friend of Mary Bennet's, and Maria, who was often to be seen with … Lydia and Kitty Bennet.
A slow smile spread across his face. Elizabeth herself might be unreachable now, but her foolish, headstrong, flirtatious sisters were still very much present. Both were ripe for the plucking; Lydia, willing to let her head be turned by a handful of fulsome compliments and a charming smile, Kitty, perpetually in her younger sister's shadow and hungry for affection. Either of them would do nicely, or even both. If they were to be ruined, it would taint the entire family, and it would bring him great pleasure and, perhaps, some fortune if he played his cards correctly.
/
The Streets of London
En Route to Matlock House
One Week Later
"I am so looking forward to seeing Cousin Richard!" Georgiana Darcy exclaimed, leaning closer to her brother and smiling up at him. "It has been a full two years since I have seen him, you know!"
"I do know, my dear," Darcy replied, wrapping an arm around his much younger sister. "I know we are all very thankful to have him safely back on English soil."
"And his wound is truly minor?" the girl asked, her blue eyes dark with concern.
"I believe so. Just a flesh wound from a bullet, and it is healing well."
"Do you think that he will need to return to the Wars in the near future?"
"He has, at least, promised to accompany me to Rosings, so he will be in England for a few months."
He felt her wince, and she said, "He may find that more challenging than battling Napoleon himself."
Darcy could not help but laugh at this, and pressed a kiss on his sister's capped head. Rosings, home of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sister of the Darcys' deceased mother, was a handsome and impressive estate, but her mistress was dictatorial and obnoxious. Darcy disliked his visits to Rosings very much, but regrettably, duty required him to attend to his aunt every year or two.
"I do not need to go to Rosings, do I?" Georgiana asked timidly.
"No, no, of course not," Darcy said hastily. "No, you will stay with our Uncle and Aunt Matlock starting next week after our cousin's wedding, with Mrs. Annesley to bear you company when the Matlocks are otherwise engaged."
"Thank you," the girl replied immediately. "Lady Catherine frightens me."
Darcy opened his mouth in protest and then closed it. He was not afraid of his aunt, but then he was not of a timid disposition, whereas Georgiana was.
He tightened his arm around his sister and turned toward the window. Several minutes passed in comfortable silence until Darcy's wandering eye caught sight of two women exiting a well-known dressmaker's shop, and he jerked in surprise.
"What is it, Brother?" Georgiana demanded in a concerned tone, and Darcy, whose head was now twisted to look over his shoulder, shook his head and turned to look at her. "It is nothing, my dear. I thought I saw someone I recognized."
"Who?"
"Erm, two ladies from Hertfordshire, though I must be mistaken. They could not possibly be coming out of Madame Fanchon's establishment."
"The Misses Bennet?" his sister asked shrewdly, which provoked a surprised exclamation from the master of Pemberley.
"How did you know that, my dear?" he demanded.
"Oh, you spoke of them in your letters last autumn, especially Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Georgiana said. "She sounds like a very interesting lady."
Darcy, thinking of the bright-eyed woman who had captivated him a few months earlier, and even now haunted his dreams, could only agree. "Yes, she is a most fascinating young lady, Georgiana."
/
Matlock House
Two Hours Later
It was a cozy intimate group gathered around the Matlock's informal dining table. Lord Matlock sat at the head of the table, his wife opposite him at the foot. To his right sat his second daughter Rebekah, and beyond her, her little sister Rachel, and just beyond Rachel, nearest his mother, sat Richard. To the earl's left sat Darcy, and Georgiana between her brother and her aunt, Lady Matlock.
The earl smiled at Rebekah, who would not grace his table much longer. She would be married within a week to a wealthy baron's eldest son. Lady Matlock had wished her long-absent younger son to sit near to her tonight, and her husband had conceded; he would speak with Richard later on.
The fare itself was considerably more lavish than would be usual for a simple family dinner party. Lady Matlock's joy in her son's return was plainly visible in the ample spread placed across the white linen-and-lace tablecloth tonight and in the affectionate looks and solicitous attention with which she plied the patient Richard. The silverware sparkled in the abundant candlelight, as did the gilded edges of the finest china.
Darcy ate steadily and silently, listening to his cousin. Richard was, between bites taken from the fork in his left hand, delighting his sisters and mother and little cousin with tales from the camp. Already they had heard of several mules being let loose by a careless guard, running amuck and knocking over a dozen tents before being caught; the shenanigans of the junior officers, bored in their downtime; of strange and exotic and peculiar meals of necessity cooked over a campfire.
Darcy appreciated that Richard was holding to lighter topics. Sensitive Georgiana would be deeply upset by recountings of battle, but hearing the amusing anecdotes had her eyes sparkling. Darcy himself took the opportunity to study his military cousin.
Richard's skin had bronzed deeply in the Continental sun, his brow grown craggy and his eyes keen. He held his wounded right arm as still as he could, adept at substituting with his left hand.
"Do you intend to return to the Peninsula when you are fully healed, Cousin?" Georgiana asked timidly.
"Well, as to that, my dear, I do not know," Richard said, casting a humorous look toward his mother. "It depends on the upcoming Season."
"Oh Richard, are you finally intending to take a wife?" Rebekah cried out excitedly.
"Well, if I can find her, certainly," her brother said. "The question is whether I can find an appropriate woman who wishes to marry an ugly, injured, swarthy officer like myself."
There was a general outcry at this remark from the ladies, and Darcy, though he kept his mouth closed, shook his head reprovingly when he managed to catch Richard's eye. Colonel Fitzwilliam was not conventionally handsome, but his face was pleasing, as were his demeanor and conversation. He was also the second son of an earl, which was enticing to many a gentleman's daughter.
"I am certain that Rebekah and I can develop a list of likely ladies for you," Rachel said, her blue eyes dancing merrily.
"Thank you, dear sister," Richard replied with a humorous bow of his head. "That would be most helpful. I believe that a lady with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds would be sufficient."
"That rules out of Miss Cates," Rebekah said thoughtfully, "but I believe Miss Stephenson has a substantial dowry."
"Bekah!" her younger sister suddenly exclaimed. "Richard should attempt to win the mystery heiress!"
"The mystery heiress?" Lord Matlock repeated, speaking for the first time in some minutes. "What are you speaking of?" he asked in a rough tone.
"Oh, there are rumors floating around that a new heiress has arrived in Town, Father," Rebekah said eagerly. "She is supposed to be incredibly rich, with a fortune of seventy thousand pounds!"
"Where did you hear this?" Lady Matlock demanded and took a sip of wine.
"It was Patricia Coventry who told us, and she heard it from her cousin Sarah, who met Mrs. Blacklock at Gunter's, and she said that her elder sister told her that the woman is staying with Lady Appleby in a house on Half Moon Street!"
"Stuff and nonsense," Lord Matlock growled. "You cannot trust rumors. There are very few women in the kingdom with such a fat dowry, and all of them are known to your mother and me."
"Oh, but Papa!" Rachel said, turning a saucy look on him. She was, as the youngest Fitzwilliam, the apple of her father's eye, and she did not hesitate to argue with him, though always in a charming way. "Truly, I do think there is some truth to it, though as you said, the amount has likely been inflated dreadfully. But if she is worth forty thousand pounds, well, she might be the perfect wife for my dear brother!"
"By all means, track down this lady of mystery and tell me her name," Richard said with a laugh. "Who knows, perhaps I will ride into battle and win her favor!"