Mrs. Younge's Bedchamber
Midnight
Dorothea Younge, who had been carefully mending a torn glove in the light of the two wax candles on her work table, looked up in relief as George Wickham stepped through the door which led to an outer stairwell. It had been one of the primary advantages of this rental house, that Wickham could enter and leave her bedchamber without anyone within the house being any the wiser.
"Dorothea, my love," Wickham murmured, and a moment later she was in his arms, his lips on her hair, his strong arms around her.
"George," she said, and forced herself to step back. "We have a problem. Sit down and do remember to speak quietly."
"You worry too much," Wickham replied, taking his place on the couch and drawing her down beside him. "Georgiana is fast asleep, and the servants are housed in the attic on the other side of the house. What is the problem?"
Mrs. Younge huffed indignantly. "It is that Bennet girl. She talked at some length down at the beach today, and her words could prove troublesome indeed. She has four sisters, and the youngest is fifteen years of age. Apparently Miss Bennet thought it necessary to lecture Miss Darcy on the dangers of early marriage!"
Wickham sat up in his chair and cursed fluently, though softly, which provoked a hiss of indignation from his hostess. "My apologies, my dear, but that is exasperating! You were a fool to let them speak at such length!"
"How was I to know? I thought if anything, Miss Bennet would encourage Miss Darcy; she obviously admires your appearance!"
"I do not suppose Miss Bennet is an heiress?" Wickham asked in a teasing voice, which provoked Mrs. Younge to slap him gently and exclaim, "Do be serious, George!"
"Well, what did you say to Georgiana?"
"I think I managed it well enough. I told Miss Darcy that country folk are often backwards regarding such things, while hinting that Miss Bennet is likely jealous of her new acquaintance. My charge seemed convinced, but I am still concerned about future interactions between the two."
Wickham sighed inwardly and forced himself to think. He had a great deal of confidence in his own powers of persuasion and thought it most unlikely that a newly met acquaintance would influence Miss Darcy. However, Mrs. Younge's concern could be turned to good account. He was eager to run off with Georgiana as soon as possible and was thus pleased enough to move up the timeline of his seduction.
"We should keep them apart, but more than that, we should move up the elopement, my dear. This is what we are going to do…"
/
Formal Dining Room
Rosings
Kent
Fine china and elegant silver clinked atop a white linen cloth, edged with expensive lace, a mahogany table peeking from beneath. The food was deserving of its surroundings, rich and well-cooked and well-seasoned and vast in variety.
Darcy thought it all quite ridiculous – the heavy gold-brocaded curtains hung over the windows, the lengthy dining table for a family dinner party of four, the ostentatious furniture just on the edge of good taste. His aunt's fancies did not run to the simple or practical; her entire house was designed to showcase her considerable wealth and high status. Darcy preferred his own house furnished to be sturdy and sensible, without the frills and furbelows and embellishments that Lady Catherine so gloried in.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Anne, were dressed to fit their surroundings, in gowns that would not be out of place at a London Society party. Mrs. Jenkinson, Miss de Bourgh's attentive, fluttery companion, was dressed far more plainly in a gray frock with little adornment; Darcy had no doubt that this was in deference to his aunt's wish for societal status to be closely observed at all times. He took a moment to watch the older woman, adjuring the listless Miss de Bourgh in anxious whispers to eat more.
He looked back down at his plate, selecting a fragment of very fine beef roast to spear with his fork. He supposed he should simply be grateful that his aunt had deigned to seat all members of the party at the head of the table so that they could speak together, though with the current conversation, he was finding that his gratitude was wearing rather thin.
"I flatter myself that I have chosen a very fine clergyman for the Hunsford parish, a young man by the name of Mr. Collins," Lady Catherine said from her position at the head of the table. She was a tall woman, quite unlike her frail daughter, and had been handsome in her youth. She retained her elegant countenance, though Darcy thought that her perpetually superior expression diminished her remaining beauty.
Fitzwilliam Darcy took a sip of truly excellent dinner wine and firmly arranged his expression into one of interest, then allowed his mind to wander as his aunt continued to pontificate. Lady Catherine, mistress of the vast estate of Rosings, sister of the late Lady Anne Darcy, was an inveterate talker. That, and her complacent confidence in her own intelligence and munificent wisdom, made her a tedious conversationalist, but at least Darcy could merely murmur occasionally and retreat into his own thoughts.
He was annoyed at being here in Kent, though he supposed he had only himself to blame. Business had kept him tied to London for some weeks, and then he had been summoned in haste by Lady Catherine, who had insisted that he journey to her estate of Rosings to help her with a significant issue regarding the estate.
When he had arrived at Rosings the day before, he had discovered that the issue in question was a minor one. Lady Catherine's true purpose had been to harangue him on the subject of his supposed engagement to his Cousin Anne, the heiress of Rosings.
Darcy cared for Anne as a cousin, but she was a frail, tired, timid, quiet lady, and he felt no attraction toward her. Moreover, he was not at all certain that she would be able to bear a child. Lady Catherine was not the sort of woman to accept defeat, however, and Darcy knew from bitter experience that there was no point in arguing with her because she would not listen to him. No, he would stay tonight and leave on the morrow, and since he was already thirty miles south of London, he would journey onward to Ramsgate to see Georgiana.
His eyes drifted from his aunt, who was now speaking of her recent scolding of a tenant wife who had dared to plant the wrong kind of melon in her garden, to Anne, who had set down her fork and was listlessly playing with her napkin. He sighed softly to himself. He did not want to marry his cousin, but again, he found himself wondering if he was being too choosy. Anne was, at least, a great heiress, along with being, like himself, the niece of an earl. She was an appropriate bride.
But he wanted more than a woman of wealth and connections. His own father and mother had been genuinely in love, and while he knew devotion between husband and wife was unusual among the members of high society, he wanted the same kind of marriage for himself, wanted it desperately.
But where was he to find such a woman when thus far he had found no woman who sparked even the slightest fervor in his heart?
/
Georgiana's Bedchamber
Miss Darcy's Rented House
Ramsgate
Three Days Later
The light poured in through the many-paned window, casting Georgiana in bright relief. She studied herself in the scroll-worked mirror, pleased with what she saw. She had chosen her most sophisticated gown and directed her maid to put her hair up in a more mature manner today. Now her eyes shone brightly above a delicate blue dress, just on the edge of too bright for a young unmarried lady. Several curls framed her face charmingly, while at the back of her head a confection of braids and curls rose in an elaborate bun, held in place with jeweled pins.
"You look beautiful, Miss Darcy," the young maid assisting her said, and Georgiana smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Hannah. Do you know what the weather is like today?"
"It is sunny and entirely clear," the girl answered with a pleased smile, scurrying around to tidy up the room.
"I am glad."
"I am too, Miss. All that rain was very tedious!"
Georgiana did not agree, but there was no point in saying so. She was thankful for a break from the rain, but she also had thoroughly enjoyed the last three days, with the skies weeping for hours on end, with the drops pattering softly against the windows, with a welcome fire crackling in the fireplace due to the cooler temperatures. She and Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham had spent such happy hours together, playing music, and cards, and talking about the past and the future…
The future which, she thought, included Mr. Wickham. In the last days, his attentions had only become more marked, and she was certain of it now; he loved her, and she loved him. He had not yet declared himself, but it would, she thought, only be a matter of time.
Of course, she was quite young, but not too young. Indeed, as Miss Bennet said, she was tall for her age, and that counted for something, did it not? And Mr. Wickham was so handsome, so wonderful. Any woman would be privileged to stand at his side as his wife!
The exit of the maid caused Georgiana to glance at the clock, which pulled her out of her daydream. It was nine o'clock, and Mr. Wickham would probably arrive by ten. Given that the day was fine, she was hopeful that they would be able to enjoy a walk together. Ramgate was a charming town, after all, especially in company with the man she loved.
/
The Dining Parlor
"Good morning, Miss Darcy," Mrs. Younge said.
"Good morning, Mrs. Younge. I hope you slept well?"
"Very well, thank you. You have two letters which are sitting by your plate."
"Oh, how wonderful!" Georgiana exclaimed and hurried over to pick up her letters. One was from her cousin Anne de Bourgh, who lived in Kent, but the other was from her dear brother. She smiled and, after hastily collecting food and drink from the buffet, sat down, took a sip of her tea with milk, and opened the letter from her brother.
/
Darcy House
My dear Georgiana,
It is wonderful to hear that you are enjoying Ramsgate so much. I have heard it is a charming town, and it is certainly far healthier than the city at this time.
I wish that I could join you on the seashore, but my business is tying me firmly to Town. The steward at Pemberley is a fine fellow, but he is not as experienced as Aaron Wickham and requires more direction.
Speaking of old Mr. Wickham, I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are enjoying young Mr. Wickham's presence at Ramsgate. I doubt that you remember him well, as he left Derbyshire shortly after Father died, and you were still a young girl, still I will always look back with great fondness on my friendship with George. Indeed, I feel guilty that I have not made it my business to spend more time with him these last years, but Pemberley has required so much of my time and attention.
I know that you will continue to enjoy the company of our old friend. Indeed, while he is at Ramsgate, I am confident that you are well and need have no concern over your safety and well-being. In truth, I find that a relief, as the burdens of the estate are weighing me down. But I do not mean to complain, my dear.
I apologize that this is such a short letter, but I have an appointment with Mr. Stokes in an hour – I am most grateful for his long service to our family – and then I must call on the Matlocks.
With much love,
Fitzwilliam
Georgiana's eyes glowed at these words, and she turned her attention to her eggs and toast. Mrs. Younge, who had been watching her carefully, concealed her delight. She had been a trifle anxious that Wickham's forgery would be uncovered immediately, but it appeared that she need not have concerned herself.
Georgiana, while intelligent, was credulous and trusting, and Wickham was gifted in a great many ways. Dorothea turned her head to look outside, thus concealing her smile. Soon enough, Georgiana Darcy would be Mrs. Wickham, and all that lovely money would be available to George and, by extension, herself.
/
Later
Georgiana's white-gloved hand lay lightly on Wickham's arm, her rosy countenance protected from the sun beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed skillfully with a small spray of silk flowers. Beside her, Wickham cut a dashing figure in contrast to her demure prettiness. The bright forest green of his coat set off to great advantage the brown of his hair and handsome eyes. Modest buckskin breeches formed tightly to his well-shaped legs, his boots polished almost to a mirror shine, each with a swinging gallant tassel.
Mrs. Younge, behind them, looked quite bland in comparison, her tawny walking dress and simple bonnet a poor contrast to the splendid sight before her. But she seemed in no way bothered, content to walk behind her charge and the strikingly handsome gentleman.
Georgiana glanced up at the sign of the store they were passing and through the bank of clean windows. She gave a little cry of delight and suddenly stopped.
"Oh, do you think we could go inside this bookstore?" she asked, looking up adoringly at the gentleman on her arm. "I always enjoy searching for novels of interest."
Wickham, who had been looking for an opportunity to speak to Mrs. Younge alone, smiled and said, "I will be completely honest, my dear Miss Darcy, and confess that bookstores always remind me of the more tedious aspects of my time at Cambridge. But if you would like to go in, pray do so. I will enjoy my time out here in the sunshine after several dark days."
"Do you mind if I stay out as well?" Mrs. Younge asked. "It is very pleasant, and I definitely feel the need for fresh air, though if you truly need me…"
"No, no, of course not!" Georgiana said and then added shyly, "Is there anything you would like for me to purchase, Mr. Wickham?"
"Something that makes you happy," he said with his charming grin, and she blushed rosily before stepping into the shop.
The two conspirators waited until the door had closed behind their quarry, and then Dorothea turned eagerly and said, "The letter worked beautifully, George; she believed every word of it."
"Of course she did," Wickham said with an arrogant lift of his eyebrows. "I learned how to copy Darcy's fist many years ago, and it has proven a most useful ability on more than one occasion. Now, of course, you are intercepting and destroying Darcy's letters, but I still think we should depart for Scotland as soon as possible."
"Quite," Mrs. Younge replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "Darcy is such a tiresome fellow that he might take it into his head to come here. Perhaps you could propose tonight?"
"I would be delighted," Wickham said with a grin, and after glancing inside the store to insure that Georgiana was not in sight, took his companion's hand and pressed a kiss on it. "We have almost done it, dear Dorothea. Within the week, I will have taken my revenge on Darcy for denying me the living in Kympton."
"And we will have thirty thousand pounds to do with what we please," Mrs. Younge said with smug satisfaction.