George Wickham
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
The girl, Elizabeth Bennet, was no fool, although she was altogether persuadable, and Mr. Wickham hoped dearly that biddability would translate itself not just in his household and marriage, but in the marriage-bed as well. As soon as he planted the idea that Mr. Bingley would perhaps need some prodding in taking further interest and action with regards to Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth had scurried to Netherfield to implement the strategy.
She was no fool, and yet he, Mr. Wickham, was playing her as if she were a fiddle. His sources within the Netherfield Park house had advised him that Mr. Bingley had visited Longbourn not once, but thrice in the following fortnight, and that the elder Mr. Darcy had noticed him as a challenger for Jane Bennet's hand. Soon the elder Mr. Darcy would force Fitzwilliam to make a stronger pursuit of the eldest Bennet girl, but it would be too late. Wooed by Mr. Bingley's sweet (simple, Mr. Wickham scoffed, so very very simple) nature, Miss Jane Bennet would find nothing appetizing in Fitzwilliam's dour demeanor.
Wickham could barely contain his glee at the thought, of the younger Mr. Darcy approaching Jane Bennet, asking for her hand and being summarily shown the door in favor for a monetarily poorer but emotionally richer marital prospect in Mr. Bingley.
The pressure upon younger Mr. Darcy to marry a Bennet would increase, and he would hold animosity against his good friend, Mr. Bingley, for securing the most beautiful of the Bennet maidens. Then he would turn to Elizabeth Bennet, a pretty enough girl in her own right, and with a fine figure that Mr. Wickham had oft thought about getting his hands upon in the last few days, only to find her as well about to be married off… to he, himself, Mr. Wickham.
It was ultimately too delightful, and all of it going perfectly according to his every plan and desire. The thought of it was truly keeping him afloat as he drove a fine pony and cart towards the Longbourn lands. He had rented it for the afternoon, and hoped to coax Miss Elizabeth out for a ride, hopefully he could secret her away from her horrid mother for a small tete a tete in private although he doubted his wish would come to fruition. It was one thing to encounter a young lady, out for a bout of fresh air and a small amount of reading, it was to be expected she might not be accompanied by a chaperone if she was within the boundaries of her father's lands and presumably under his protection and watchful eye, but it was another thing entirely to invite a young lady out for a cart and pony ride. No, he had no expectations that she would be allowed out without chaperone, nor that she would even consent to such a thing. The risk of being thought as compromised was too great, and if anything, Elizabeth Bennet was perhaps the shrewdest of her sisters and wise to the necessity of not even allowing a slight shadow to darken her reputation.
Perhaps that was what partially drove his desire for her, and not one of the younger Bennet sisters… Elizabeth was free-spirited, well-read, well-spoken, articulate, and as well possessed a sparkling nature that had not been squelched by the London ton nor local society. And yet, the very bonds by which she was tied down in society, she carried as if she herself had written them and could bend the rules at will. She ambled the countryside on walks, as free as any lowborn country maiden, and yet he knew if he reached out to touch her milky skin he would acquire a red hand-print upon his face for his trouble.
Elizabeth Bennet was singularly unique in that he felt she would challenge his authority as husband and ultimate ruler in their relationship every day of their marriage. He would have the pleasure of bending her, and breaking her to his will, seeing that bright spark in her eyes dull and die out as she learned through his fist and the weapons of the marriage-bed, that he alone could make her life a misery or a dreamland. She would be like a fine horse, brought to bear under whip and tight bit until she obeyed. He craved to master her wild spirit, to tame her and make her his creature entirely.
The thought brought a firmness between his thighs, and a hunger that would not be satisfied until he'd had her.
And so with those thoughts to keep his loins warm, he pulled into Longbourn and was received, with great fanfare, by the lady of the house, if not Mr. Bennet as he was not in, and Elizabeth turned to him with a warm, but hesitant smile. He looked forward to the day when she smiled at him with no hesitation, as to do otherwise would invite misery and pain into her life. She would soon learn that he was not her father, George Wickham was no lackadaisical man, and he would demand proper obedience and deference from wife to husband from her.
"Miss Elizabeth," he murmured, bowing over her hand with a sly smile at her that only she could see. Her cheeks were blushing as he held onto her fingers for just a moment too long.
Mrs. Bennet had thought it was a fine day for him to take Elizabeth to Meryton, but instead of inviting herself along as chaperone, she suggested the newly married Mrs. Charlotte Watson, formerly Lucas, a friend of Elizabeth's and a more age-appropriate person to accompany the young couple. She was also visiting, and a plainer woman Mr. Wickham had never seen, but she seemed weak-willed and unlikely to speak up if he were to take certain liberties upon Miss Elizabeth during their little sojourn.
Mr. Wickham left with Miss Elizabeth on his arm and Mrs. Watson in tow behind him, feeling absolutely delighted with himself and assured of the victory that was surely coming to him.
"Mr. Wickham," Miss Elizabeth started as they sat in the little gig. The pony was a fine creature, with a grey coat that shone from a good currycomb brushing. The cheerful little beast flicked his ears back as Miss Elizabeth spoke.
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked, turning a smile upon her as they drove down the country lane. He could just imagine himself at her side, enjoying the envious looks that would be cast his way. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was no great beauty like her sister, Jane Bennet, but she had a distinct charm and a liveliness that most women did not possess. Wickham looked forward to making that charm, that vivacity, his, and extracting it from her whenever he so desired.
"I had rather thought by now that you would have sought out my father… to discuss… well, perhaps, to discuss your intentions," Elizabeth paused and looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Watson, who was doing an exceptional job of studying the embroidery on her fan and paid them very little, if any, attention. Mr. Wickham had been under the impression that Mrs. Watson was a good, close friend to Miss Elizabeth, but perhaps the way that he had summarily deposited Mrs. Watson into the back of the little cart, and given her a stern stare was encouraging her to maintain her silence while he romanced Miss Elizabeth. Whatever it was, the older, married woman was remaining quiet, taking her job of chaperone with no particular degree of seriousness.
Mr. Wickham felt summarily grateful for the lapse in the attention she paid them.
"Your comfort is of the utmost importance to me, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Wickham said lightly as the little pony's head bobbed along in time with the jerk and rattle of the cart. "But, in turn, I had rather wished to not be in the same position as Mr. Bingley, in want a wife, desiring of a certain woman to be his partner for the rest of his life, and to be unsure of her feelings for him." He felt, rather than saw, Elizabeth stiffen beside him, and he held back a nasty chuckle. That was the crux of it, he thought. Miss Elizabeth certainly kept her emotions close to her bosom, more along the lines of her older sister, than the younger ones. He had no desire to be played, as he was playing her and her little family. She was prideful, the woman he intended to make his future wife, and she seemed to wish to be chased after.
Well, he had it in his mind to only take her once she was begging to become his bride, and not the other way around. She would come to him, pleading for the relief and shelter only a husband could provide a woman, or he would not have her.
"I… see…" Elizabeth said after several moments of quietness enveloped them, Mrs. Watson behind them staying absolutely silent despite the stilted atmosphere.
"Ah, Meryton, in all its glory, it kneels before you, its queen, Miss Elizabeth," Wickham said, nodding at as the pretty little town revealed itself when they rounded a bend in the road. The pony pricked up it's ears, sensing that its little turn out paddock where it normally lived was close by, and its delicate feet clipped along the road at a faster pace. When Wickham looked over at Elizabeth he could see a blush tinging her cheeks from beneath her bonnet, and he felt he had adequately distracted her from his sharp words. Not that he wished her to forget exactly who was in control in their burgeoning relationship, but he had no desire to completely flatten the maiden with his blunt talk. While he suspected the woman he wished to make into his wife was no delicate flower, she was still a woman, and care had to be taken not to upset her delicate countenance.
"I am no queen," Elizabeth said with a note of amusement in her voice, and the refusal of his compliment cut him for a moment. He withheld the glare he would have preferred to level at her for her sass, and instead clucked to the pony. The creature jolted them forward, and Elizabeth cried out, needing to grab at the side of the little gig. Behind them, Mrs. Watson made the first noise of their jaunt, also giving a shrieking cry.
Women, Wickham thought, were positively too simple and inane, good only for the creation of children and the pleasure of the bed. Still, Elizabeth was summarily silenced, and even slightly docile as he helped her down from the little cart, Mrs. Watson following closely behind her.
"Shall we walk through the town? Are there any sights you insist upon for a newcomer to the area?" He looked about and offered Elizabeth his arm again so she might hold it and stay close to him. He saw a few of his fellow campaign members and nodded to them briefly. Their eyes lingered on Elizabeth's frame and he smirked to himself. Yes, she did cut a fine figure, with her noble bearing that was so far removed from the station of her birth.
She is a proud one, isn't she? he thought to himself. A woman who acted as if she came from societies highest rungs would never come begging to be his wife, he realized as their shoes rang out on the long wooden boardwalk that graced the storefronts of the town.
It was then that he conspired with himself to bring Elizabeth off to one side, in some private corner of Meryton, and have Mrs. Watson distracted so that he might have a short, brief assignation with Elizabeth.
Enough that if discovered, she would be compromised, and have need to wed him or risk being cast to the dregs of society forever. Enough that she would be his, no matter what the outcome of the afternoon.
I want to hug all of you for the kind words and lovely comments. I read every single one and they make me so very happy.
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