hello regular readers, yes this is not what you are accustomed to
My mom, fanfiction user LPK9, has been writing P&P fanfiction since 2020 and has been encouraging me to try it for nearly as long. So... this is me giving it a shot! I typically write fantasy so uhm. If I get stuff wrong please do not crucify me. Regular readers, this may be slightly more Adult content than you're used to, pls keep that in mind
Tuesday, 26th November, 1811
Netherfield Hall, evening
Elizabeth Bennet was handed out of her carriage by Mr. Collins, but her attention was immediately captured from her charmless cousin by the grandeur of Netherfield Hall. The stately building glowed from every door and window with light and color, and strains of music and laughter floated from within. Elizabeth was only too glad to leave her cousin behind, hurrying ahead up the steps with her sister Jane at her side.
They handed their outer garments to servants at the door, and even as she did so Elizabeth could not help but glance around the entrance hall in search of a certain face. She could see several of the red-coated officers, but none of them were the charming gentleman whom she sought. A sliver of disappointment went through her, but Elizabeth assured herself that he was most likely farther within.
"My dear Jane, how delightful to see you!" Caroline Bingley greeted them as Elizabeth and her sister approached their hosts. "And so well recovered!" She leaned forward to give the eldest Miss Bennet a kiss on the cheek, but Elizabeth could not help but notice the saccharine quality to her words. "Louisa and I have been quite desolate without you, haven't we?"
Louisa Hurst gave Jane a practiced smile, which was returned, before Jane turned to Mr. Bingley who had been looking at her since she had come into view. Jane had fallen ill while calling at Netherfield about two weeks prior, and had spent several days under the hospitality of the Bingley family. During that time she was able to grow better acquainted with the master of the Hall, whose face lit up in a sunny smile as her eyes met his.
Elizabeth smirked at them, nodded politely to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, then continued scanning the room for Lieutenant George Wickham.
Elizabeth had encountered the man several days ago on a walk into Meryton, and had been taken immediately by his handsome face and charming manner. He was the very picture of a gentleman, with his fine face and speech, yes, but also in his humility. He performed every social etiquette with ease, had escorted Elizabeth and her sisters around town with a smile, and had promised to attend tonight's ball if nothing should come up to hinder him. She dearly hoped that he would.
Across the room, her gaze fell inadvertently upon another familiar face, and her lips turned in a frown as she looked upon Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Proud, unfriendly, and not fond of balls or dancing, Elizabeth had disliked Mr. Darcy even before she had learned of how he had sinned against Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy had cheated him out of a valuable living promised to Wickham by his Godfather, the now deceased Mr. George Darcy, rendering Wickham destitute and forced to join the militia to survive. Given that Darcy was a rich and powerful man, Wickham was unable to fight for his rightful property, and thus forced to work for his own bread.
Wickham was a fine man, Elizabeth reflected, but he looked even better when compared to a man like Darcy.
"Miss Elizabeth," the sound of her name made her turn, and she looked over to where Mr. Bingley stood with Jane at his side. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.
"Oh, no." Elizabeth lied, forcing a smile. Unlike Mr. Darcy, the master of Netherfield Hall was quite amicable. It was beyond her how the two of them seemed to get along. "Not at all. I was just… admiring the general splendor."
"It is breath-taking, Mr. Bingley," Jane agreed from his side.
"Good," Bingley said, his attention captivated by his partner once again. Elizabeth smiled at them both, then slipped away in order to join the festivities.
A full orchestra was stationed at one end of the grand ballroom, filling it with sweet music that floated above the hubbub of voices. Dozens of well-dressed men and women were in attendance, no small number of them being the red-coated officers who had garnered so much attention from her young sisters. Already, Elizabeth could see her youngest two sisters, Kitty and Lydia Bennet, standing in the midst of a gaggle of young women who were admiring an officer's pressed, crimson uniform.
Elizabeth was, she mused ruefully, somewhat of a hypocrite to think of her younger sisters in such a way when she was so enamored by a man in a red coat herself. At least in her case it was not only his looks, but his fine character as well.
As she gazed about the ballroom, she caught a glimpse of red in the corner of her eye, and her heart leaped before she turned and found Captain Denny approaching her.
"Miss Elizabeth," he bowed to her, and she curtsied back to him, trying not to show her disappointment. "You look quite remarkably well this evening."
"Thank you, she replied, beaming at him.
"I'm instructed to convey my good friend Wickham's most particular regrets," Captain Denny told her, "that he has been prevented from attending the ball." Elizabeth blinked, and her face fell.
"He's been obliged to go to Town, on a matter of urgent business," Denny went on. "though I do not imagine it would have been so urgent if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman." Elizabeth's brows went up, and her gaze flicked once more across the room to where Mr. Darcy stood. Mr. Wickham had assured her that he had no fear of the man, but it seemed his presence still had some bearing on where Wickham chose to spend his evenings.
Before Elizabeth could say anything, they were interrupted by the abrupt appearance of Lydia Bennet, dressed in her fanciest gown, which was cut low to show off her ample decolletage. It was not, Elizabeth thought, entirely appropriate for a girl of only fifteen, but Mrs. Bennet, anxious as she was to find husbands for her daughters, encouraged even Lydia to be as flirtatious as possible.
"Denny!" she squealed. "I hope you've come prepared to dance with us tonight."
"Forgive the intrusion, ma'am." A second officer, Lieutenant Chamberlayne, was hot on her heels with Kitty on his arm. "I would dance with both your sisters at once if I could, but as it is-"
"Never mind that," Lydia interrupted. "Come on, Denny!" With that, she seized him by the arm, and he shot Elizabeth a helpless smile before he was dragged off towards the dancing couples.
Elizabeth smiled ruefully after them, trying not to let the news of Wickham's absence dash her spirits too greatly. She had been forced into promising her first two dances to her cousin, Mr. Collins… but perhaps, after those, she would be free to enjoy herself.
Across the room, Elizabeth spied her dear friend Charlotte Lucius entering the ballroom, and she could not help but smile as she began to work her way through the crowd towards her. She had not seen Charlotte in several days, and they had much to speak of.
Tuesday, 26th November, 1811
The Yellow Badger Inn, evening
Jenny Harper tugged up the worn sheets over her shift, sighing as she tucked several strands of unruly hair behind her ears. "My, my, Mr. Wickham," she purred over her shoulder to her bedfellow. "You were not lying when you promised me the best night of my life."
"Of course not, my dear," Wickham murmured absently from where he sat on the edge of the mattress with his back to her. "Why ever would I lie to you?" His red coat lay abandoned on the floor beside Jenny's dress, and he was dressed only in his trousers, leaning down to rummage through his bags.
Jenny Harper was a dairy maid whom Wickham had encountered in the Barnetton market several days prior. She had a fair face and a winning smile, and few enough connections that Wickham knew she would not be missed when he stole her away to an inn for an evening alone. His head was heavy, and he could feel a buzz from the several glasses of alcohol he had consumed, but his mind was clear as he pulled a cloth-wrapped object from his bag.
"George," Jenny whined from behind him. "Come to bed with me."
"In a moment, my darling." Again he reached into his bag, this time coming out with a pair of black gloves. It took him a moment to get them on, his coordination suffering slightly from his intoxication, but presently they were tight against his skin.
"What are you doing there?" Jenny sat up, craning her neck to get a better look at the bundle that rested in his lap. "George?"
"In a moment, I said." Wickham flicked off the top layer of fabric to reveal a butcher knife, shining dully in the candlelight, that he had pilfered from the kitchens downstairs before going to rendezvous with his companion. By tomorrow morning, he would be miles away, and having given a fake name to the innkeeper he knew that finding him would be an all but impossible task.
Wickham tossed the cloth aside and stood, turning around and watching the blood drain from his victim's face.