Later that day
"It really is very kind of you of both," Elizabeth said fervently, pouring tea for the two gentlemen and Jane. It took a great deal of effort to keep her hand steady, but she managed it. Her father was upstairs now with Lydia, as Lady Appleby's physician, a most discreet individual, had arrived to examine the youngest Miss Bennet.
"It is not," Darcy said bitterly, taking the cup from her hand. He took a slight sip and continued, "I fear he has done this sort of thing before, and I ought to have warned you, but I was too proud, and too…"
He broke off, full of self-loathing, and Richard, who was sitting next to Jane, with her hand in his, said, "There was more to it than that, and I believe we ought to tell the ladies the truth of the matter."
"Yes," Darcy agreed, "yes we should. Please explain, Richard."
The two ladies turned anxious looks on the colonel, who said, "Last summer, my cousin Georgiana Darcy went to Ramsgate on the sea for a holiday, along with her companion, a Mrs. Younge. We did not know this, but Mrs. Younge was closely acquainted with George Wickham, who followed Georgiana there. With the help of Mrs. Younge, he met Georgiana 'by chance'. Within two weeks, my young cousin was convinced by the pair that she was in love with Wickham."
"Oh dear God," Elizabeth cried out, turning a sympathetic gaze on Darcy, who was looking wretched.
"Did he and she…?," Jane asked in a trembling voice.
"No, he did not take her virtue," Darcy said, struggling, and failing, to keep his voice steady. "But he did convince her to hurry to Gretna Greene for a marriage over the anvil; by the grace of God, I arrived earlier than expected to visit Georgiana, and she told me the plan to elope. Naturally, I removed my sister from Mrs. Younge's charge and sent an angry letter to Wickham, who left immediately. I feared any further retribution against the scoundrel because of my sister's reputation but … I should have done more. I do apologize, profusely."
"It is not your fault, sir," Elizabeth said sadly. "Not in the least."
"Regardless of whose fault it is, it is time to deal with George Wickham, once and for all," Colonel Fitzwilliam told them, "and Darcy has a plan."
Darcy, in the midst of his sorrow and anguish over the situation, could not help but feel his heart lift as his beloved turned a hopeful gaze on him.
"How, Mr. Darcy?" she asked simply.
/
Mary's Bedchamber
Longbourn
An Hour Before Midnight
The flames leapt and danced along the log with a mesmerizing flicker, wavering and growing and shrinking with delicate beauty. Mary watched it absently, brow wrinkled in pensive thought.
Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Her father's note, discovered upon the return from visiting Aunt Phillips, declaring that he had taken Lydia to London to see a physician, simply did not make sense. Lydia had not been so terribly ill, and why would he not summon the apothecary to see her first? Her father detested going to Town and would usually do anything to avoid it! For that matter, what had changed to make him even notice, much less care about, Lydia's sickness? Had she become more severely ill? Had one of the servants approached their master with urgent concerns? But why leave without at least letting her bid farewell to her mother and sisters?
None of it made sense.
A light tap at her door broke through her thoughts, startling her slightly. She glanced over, unconsciously ran a hand over her dress, and called, "Come in."
The door opened, and Sophia Adler entered the room, her countenance composed.
"Good evening, Miss Mary," she said softly. "I do apologize for interrupting, but I must speak with you."
Mary huffed, irritated with herself. Somehow it had not occurred to her that Miss Adler doubtless knew what was truly happening with Lydia; after all, she was twin to Miss Phoebe!
"Please do come in, Miss Adler," she said, gesturing toward the chair adjacent her own.
The governess did so, reaching out her hands to warm her fingers, and then she turned an intent look on the young lady. "Miss Mary, I am certain you are confused by your father's decision to whisk Miss Lydia to London this morning?"
"Very much so," Mary agreed promptly. "I am, in fact, completely baffled. I know she has been ill, but why not have Mr. Jones see her first? I am certain that something else is happening, something serious!"
Sophia glanced toward the door, which was reassuringly closed, leaned forward, and said softly, "Miss Mary, the situation is very serious indeed, and you must keep this entire affair a secret from your mother and younger sister. I would not ordinarily suggest keeping confidences in such circumstances, but I fear neither lady can be trusted not to speak, whereas you are an intelligent, level-headed young woman who can be trusted to keep her lips closed."
Mary could not help but flush in surprise at these words of praise, though at the same time, she felt her stomach twist oddly.
"I will keep it a secret, I promise," she murmured.
Sophia blew out a breath, glanced at the door once again for good measure, and said very quietly, "I grieve the necessity of telling you this, because you will find it most disturbing, but Miss Lydia has confessed to allowing Lieutenant Wickham to take … liberties, and there is a good chance she is now carrying Wickham's child."
Mary had been prepared for something dreadful, but this was so horrendous, so shocking, so appalling, that she found herself suddenly faint, to the point that she swayed in her chair.
Sophia hastily left her own chair and knelt down to place reassuring hands on the girl's arms.
"I do apologize for the necessity of telling you, but I have done so because I need your help to ward off queries and curiosity regarding Lydia's sudden departure. The only hope for your family is to turn away questions with something at least moderately reasonable. It would be catastrophic if anyone suspected the true meaning of your sister's sudden journey to Town. Can you help me?"
Mary gulped, drew in a deep breath, and forced herself to straighten her back as the mists fled from her vision.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I will help."
/
Elizabeth's Bedchamber
Midnight
Elizabeth snuggled down under the fresh sheets, let her head melt into the pillow, and finally loosened the tight bonds of her composure. She had held herself closely in check throughout the day, forcefully restraining every sign and betrayal of her distress that she could. But now there was none to see, and no need to hold herself together any longer.
The day had started so promisingly; a planned ride in the park with the second son of Lord Wimbledon, who was one of her more engaging suitors and an interesting companion. But a few minutes before noon, a little over an hour before Mr. Roscombe was planned to arrive, a post carriage had rolled up to the door and disgorged Mr. Bennet, Lydia, and Phoebe Adler. Elizabeth had greeted them with joy more than a little tinted with confusion, but her welcoming happiness had swiftly turned to horror.
Miss Phoebe had escorted Lydia to the sitting room, as Mr. Bennet, looking many years older, had stepped into the drawing room. "I am so sorry, Lizzy," he had said hoarsely.
She had shaken her head in confusion, but before she could query as to his meaning, he had continued heavily, "I fear that Lydia has fallen pregnant by Mr. Wickham."
Now Elizabeth ground her face into the pillow, reeling anew with shock and dismay. She had not allowed herself more than a few seconds of stunned disbelief upon first hearing the news, but she had rushed from the drawing room and down to the sitting room, bursting in the door in a most unladylike fashion to demand if it was true. Lydia had been distraught, furious and wet-eyed and damp-cheeked, angrily protesting that it was not, it was not!
But one look at Phoebe's tight lips and burning eyes had convinced Elizabeth. She trusted the sensible governess far more than her clodpoll of a little sister. Furious in turn and working hard to contain herself, Elizabeth and Phoebe together had bundled Lydia hastily up the stairs, while the youngest Bennet shrieked outraged protests and disbelief of her own condition.
Elizabeth's face burned all over again. The butler, at least two footmen, and one maid had heard Lydia's outburst. After the fiasco with Gertrude at Longbourn, Elizabeth was deeply aware of how servants were liable to talk; the housekeeper had assured discretion on the part of the staff, but Lydia's foolishness was still shamefully embarrassing. Mr. Bennet had stood in the hall below and watched miserably as Elizabeth and Phoebe had born away his youngest daughter, not stirring himself to help.
Just as he had not stirred himself at Longbourn. He had agreed to engage governesses for his younger daughters – with Elizabeth paying, of course – but he had not bothered to oversee Lydia and Kitty, even as waited for the Adler twins to arrive. He had not put himself out either to see to their well-being nor to rein them in, and in those last few weeks of liberty, Lydia had given up her virtue to the scurrilous Wickham.
Idiot girl! She was permitted entirely too much freedom. She was not taught well, it was true, but she knew well the consequences for a ruined young lady! Miss Brampton, the daughter of a local merchant, had departed from town rather hastily some three years ago, returning only a year later as a listless shadow of her former cheerful self, and departed again quite shortly to live with some distant cousin. And everyone, everyone knew why; it had certainly been talked of in the Bennet sitting room, with many half-finished sentences and knowing looks between Mrs. Bennet and her cronies.
It was a terrible mess, all of it, and her father would be of little help cleaning it up. Elizabeth could, she thought reluctantly, pay Wickham off, but he would no doubt demand an exorbitant sum, and she found herself revolted at the idea of giving him so much as a pence. Perhaps, she thought with dim hope, perhaps Mr. Darcy's idea would work. It could save her family and fortune alike…
But the thought of Mr. Darcy squeezed painfully at her heart, and her eyes burned as they welled with tears. She had discovered, too late, that she was in love with that gentleman. Of all the men with whom she had spent time in London, of all those desirous of winning her hand and those who kept her company, she had formed a genuine attachment to only one, Mr. Darcy. During their days spent together, she had come to admire very much his firm principles, his unswerving devotion to his duty, and his quick intelligent mind and dry wit.
But he had never given any sign of regarding her as anything more than a friend, and now ... now it was hopeless. Lydia had ruined them all, and by Wickham no less; Darcy's sworn enemy. He would want nothing to do with their family after this, and Elizabeth could not blame him.
She buried her face in her pillow to muffle her hitching sobs, the damp spot widening across the cotton slip. Her body jerked with her sorrow, shoulders heaving with the force of her emotion.
But eventually she cried herself out, drawing up the edge of her sheet to wipe her face clean. Her heart and mind yearned towards God, an ever-present comfort.
"Please," she whispered into the silence of her room. "Oh Lord, please. You are great and can do anything. Please, guide everyone involved in this situation. Help us resolve it without total ruination of our family, please." She took a moment and another hitching breath. "And, come what may, please grant me – grant all of us – the grace and strength to live our new lives with bravery and equanimity." Another deep shuddering breath. "In your holy and precious name, amen."
She turned over onto a dry portion of the pillow and pulled the blankets up to her chin, suddenly utterly weary. Her eyes tracked over to the moonlight slanting across the floor before drifting shut, and she slipped off to sleep.
/
Drawing Room
Longbourn
Mrs. Bennet set down the teapot on the tray on the coffee table and handed the cup over to Mrs. Phillips, as Lady Lucas took a sip of her own. Kitty sat beside her mother on the couch, while Mary and Sophia Adler sat a little ways away. Branches tapped at the window, bobbing and blowing in a brisk breeze that likewise sent dust swirling across the ground and rabbit-tail clouds across the blue sky.
"My poor Lydia!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. "I am so worried about her, and I cannot understand why Mr. Bennet rushed off with her while I was in Meryton, Sister! She needs a mother's care during such a time!"
"Did Mr. Jones see her?" Lady Lucas demanded and took a sip of well sweetened tea.
"No, and that is another thing! Why would Mr. Bennet put the poor girl on a carriage without having Mr. Jones see her first? I do not understand any of it!"
"Elizabeth wrote to me recently saying that she is being ardently courted by Lord Talbot," Mary remarked in a nonchalant tone. "Perhaps Father decided that he had best speak the young noble himself, and as long as he was journeying to Town, he should bring Lydia to be seen by a physician."
This had the pleasant, desired, instant effect of turning Mrs. Bennet's attention away from Lydia and onto Elizabeth.
"Lord Talbot? Who is he?" the matriarch of Longbourn demanded.
"Oh, I am not certain, Mamma," Mary said casually and then turned her attention on Sophia Adler, who was knitting industriously. "Do you know about Lord Talbot, Miss Adler?"
"Oh yes," Sophia said, casting an approving glance toward Mary before turning her attention on the visitors. "I do not know him personally, but my last family but one is a distant connection to the Earl of Alverstone. Lord Talbot, Viscount Talbot, is heir to the family estate. Quite a charming and good looking young man, I understand."
"Oh!" Mrs. Bennet shrieked. "Oh, my Lizzy might be a viscountess and then a countess! Oh, how absolutely delightful!"
"Indeed, it is marvelous," Lady Lucas agreed, though her expression was a trifle sour. She had been very pleased when Charlotte, her eldest daughter, had married Mr. Collins, heir to the estate of Longbourn. Without a doubt, it was an excellent match, as Charlotte would one day be mistress of Longbourn. But that was nothing compared to a daughter marrying a Viscount!
"It makes me want to drive to London myself!" Mrs. Bennet declared, "though with Mr. Bennet taking the carriage, it is quite impossible, I fear."
"Jane and Elizabeth have been writing often," Mary said reassuringly. "I am certain they will tell us of any progress in their courtships as soon as they possibly can."
"I am certain they will," Mrs. Bennet agreed, beaming. "Lady Talbot. How wonderful it sounds!"
"If Lizzy marries a Lord, will I perhaps be permitted to have a Season in London?" Kitty asked.
"Oh, of course my love, of course, and Lydia too! And Mary, so long as you keep working on your playing and the like, I daresay you have a reasonable chance of capturing a husband as well."
"Speaking of music," Sophia said, setting aside her work, "would you care to play a duet with me in the music room, Miss Mary?"
"I would," the girl responded, rising along with her governess. "Lady Lucas, Aunt Phillips, it was wonderful seeing you today."
There were a few muttered farewells from the older women as the two women departed, and as Mary closed the door to the drawing room behind her, she heard her mother say, "Oh, I am so very proud of my Elizabeth. She was so wise not to marry Mr. Collins!"
Mary winced and turned an agitated look on her companion, who lifted a finger encouraging silence. Mary obeyed until the twosome had achieved the music room where, to Mary's great surprise, Sophia sat down on the bench in front of the pianoforte and began playing a Scottish aria.
"I did not know you played!" Mary said, taking a seat next to her companion.
"I do not play as well as Phoebe, and I am sadly out of practice, as the last family I served did not have an instrument. But yes, I do play. Miss Mary, you did a truly excellent job in there."
Mary flushed in pleasure, though her brow was wrinkled in worry. "I feel as if I am being dishonest, though. Do you think there is any chance that Lord Talbot will actually marry Lizzy?"
"I believe that depends on your sister's wants and desires. The Alverstone fortune has been waning for the last two generations thanks to the extravagance of the families, and thus Lord Talbot needs a wealthy bride. Based on my limited knowledge of your sister, I think it quite unlikely that she will accept an offer from a man largely desiring her riches. But perhaps she will become genuinely attached to the viscount."
"You are correct about Elizabeth. She turned down Mr. Collins, as you doubtless know. Mother was furious with her at the time, and now she is pleased. It does not make any sense."
"Miss Mary, you are far more sensible than your mother which is a very good thing for the family."
Mary again felt her cheeks warm, but she could not but feel grateful for Miss Adler's reassuring words.
/
The Pig in the Poke
Meryton
Noon
Two days later
The rains yesterday had washed clean the windows of the pub, and now Wickham sat in the middle of the group of officers, looking appreciatively out at the blue sky and cotton-puff clouds drifting across the heavens. The leaves of the trees were green and bright, though the ground beneath was churned-up mud that spattered beneath shoes and paws and hooves and cart wheels. A handful of intrepid blossoms were starting to peek up out of window boxes and gardens, pleasing to the eye and some visible from the Pig in the Poke.
A cup of coffee and a plate of ham and eggs and sausage steamed before Wickham. He was devouring his breakfast happily, the food a convenient excuse to avoid conversation. He was feeling a trifle anxious. His debts were continuing to mount, and he was eager to depart for Brighton. He was still managing to put off the shopkeepers with his charm and manner; the women were especially susceptible, he thought, derisive and unsurprised. But that left, still, his debts of honor to his fellow-officers. He could give his debts in Meryton the slip when the regiment moved on, but he was badly in need of a run of luck to clear away his gaming debts.
He glanced over idly as the door opened before picking up his coffee and taking a deep draught, ignoring the murmuring of the newcomer.
"He is over there, Mr. Nelson," Captain Carter said jovially, pointing in the direction of the table.
The man, dressed soberly in a black suit and gray topcoat, his boots liberally splashed with mud, walked up to the group of officers and glanced around.
"Mr. Wickham?" he asked, "Mr. George Wickham?"
Wickham immediately felt his throat close up with anxiety. He had, after all, left many a debt in both villages and Town. Was some angry shopkeeper pursuing him with a writ? Worse yet, was an angry father chasing after him for ruining his daughter?
His fellow officers were all looking at him, and Mr. Nelson was looking at him, so he forced himself to smile and say casually, "I am Mr. Wickham."
"Thank God for that," the man replied, wiping his brow with one weary hand. "It was quite a bit of trouble finding you, sir."
The individual handed over a sealed piece of paper and then turned on his heels and marched out of the pub, leaving Wickham staring nervously at the document in his hands.
"Well, are you going to open it?" Pratt asked, and Carter said, "He probably would rather be back in his barracks room, hey Wickham? No doubt it is a letter from one of your conquests?"
Wickham laughed weakly at this, quickly broke the wax, and spread it open to read.
18th April, 1812
Seymour and Coxe, Solicitors
London
Mr. Wickham,
I am the solicitor responsible for disbursing monies from the estate of a certain lady who has remembered you in her will. If you will call upon my office during normal business hours, I will be pleased to arrange for you to receive your inheritance.
You will find our offices on 15 Lombard Street in the City.
Respectfully,
Aaron Seymour, Solicitor
Wickham smiled with relief and anticipation. A bequest in a will? It almost seemed too good to be true, but only almost. He was a very handsome man, after all, and had brought pleasure to more than one woman.
He wondered, briefly, if Mrs. Younge had died. She was the latest of his paramours, and while not particularly wealthy, she was not impoverished either. If she had died, he would not have heard of it, necessarily. After the disaster at Ramsgate, when he had failed to run off to Gretna Greene with Georgiana Darcy, they had agreed to stay away from one another for at least some months.
In any case, he could not afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. It would be no trouble at all to hurry up to London on the morrow, as Colonel Forster was always generous with his leave. Perhaps it was a large sum! This thought made him smile broadly. Even if the bequest was as small as twenty pounds, it would be a great boon during this troubled financial time. He seems his luck had indeed turned.
He threw down the last of his ale, slapped the backs of a few of his fellow officers, and swaggered out of the pub and toward Colonel Forster's office in search of his requested leave.
He did not notice the two men, dressed like tenant farmers, standing in the street in front of the bookstore, their attention on him even as they spoke languidly of the weather.