Chapter 4

~ How much more damage anger inflicts than the storms that stir our seas, threatening the very friendships we seek to anchor.

Fitzwilliam returned to the house just as the sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of pink and gold. He strolled through the front door with sand still clinging to his boots and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. His mother, Lady Anne, was seated in the drawing-room, delicately stitching a bit of embroidery, while his sister, Georgiana, sat nearby, reading a book on the art of flower arrangement, though her gaze seemed to wander frequently to the window.

"Where have you been, Brother?" Georgiana asked the moment he appeared in the doorway, her curiosity piqued by his cheerful demeanour. "You look less gloomy today."

"Am I?" Fitzwilliam replied, sinking into a chair with an exaggerated sigh. "I met the most unusual little girl at the beach—Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Lizzy, as her family calls her, is the same age as you and already quite convinced she is a philosopher. Or perhaps a naturalist. I am not entirely sure."

Lady Anne glanced up from her needlework, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "A philosopher, you say? At that age?" she remarked with a chuckle. "And what exactly did this little philosopher have to say?"

Fitzwilliam launched into the story, recounting the entire adventure, except without mentioning the treasure Lizzy and he found, with all its absurd details—Lizzy's quotes from Aristotle and Socrates, her experiment with crabs, and her inventive use of seaweed to make a necklace for her sister. Georgiana's eyes widened as he described Lizzy sorting the shells with all the seriousness of a jeweller appraising fine gems.

"So, she really made a necklace out of seaweed and seashells?" Georgiana exclaimed, setting down her book. "For her sister's tenth birthday? That's… wonderfully peculiar. Did she think it was actually a suitable gift?"

"Indeed, she did," Fitzwilliam nodded. "In fact, she was quite certain that it would make her sister the most fashionable young lady in all of Hertfordshire. She seemed to think that natural beauty is far more important than all the lace and ribbons in the world."

Lady Anne shook her head with a smile. "She sounds like a charming little girl," she said. "I wonder where she gets such ideas. From her parents?"

"Lizzy told me about several incidences," Fitzwilliam began. "I gather her father, Mr. Bennet, is a curious figure indeed. He seems to have read every book from here to Constantinople, yet for all his knowledge, he is a most indolent landlord. It is said he has not stepped foot on half his fields in months. He is more apt to jest about his wife's fondness for theatrics than concern himself with matters of estate. In truth, I cannot decide whether he considers himself too clever to be burdened with responsibility or simply lacks the inclination."

His mother's brow held a faint arch of disapproval. "And what of Mrs. Bennet?"

"She is very…expressive, although Lizzy didn't use this word," Fitzwilliam said. "Mrs. Bennet is forever sighing over the entail, as Lizzy only has four sisters, no brother, and some imagined slight or calamity. I wonder if Mrs. Bennet's speeches are intended to entertain or to move one to pity. Lizzy said it is often quite the performance, really. From what Lizzy told me, I marvel at how she could spring from such a pair of parents. She has none of her father's lethargy, nor her mother's extravagance. She is bright—so full of life and wit. One would scarcely believe she belongs to that household at all."

His mother said, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "Perhaps it is precisely because of them that she turned out so," she said softly. "It would take a good deal of sense to find one's own way amidst such folly." Lady Anne was happy that her normally serious and broody son had become so animated.

"But I can't imagine Mother letting me run wild on the beach, let alone concocting experiments with crabs." Georgiana pouted.

"Lizzy does seem to have a rather independent spirit," Fitzwilliam admitted, leaning back in his chair. "She spoke of her family as though arranging them in a coral reef—her elder sister was a handsome mermaid, her little sisters were bothersome fish, and her mother was a sea anemone waving about her arms. She even asked if Father was more like a wandering whale or a pirate when I told her that our father goes away on business a lot!"

Georgiana burst out laughing. "What an imagination! I should very much like to meet her," she said. "She sounds like a real character."

Before Fitzwilliam could reply, the door to the drawing-room swung open, and in strode his cousin, George Wickham, with his usual air of superior disdain whenever Mr. Darcy was not present. Wickham was sixteen, tall, handsome and lanky, with an expression that always seemed to imply he was privately amused at everyone else's expense. He looked at Fitzwilliam with a raised eyebrow, as if sizing up an opponent in a duel.

"So, you've returned from your frolic with the local riffraff, have you?" Wickham drawled, his tone dripping with condescension. "I suppose you spent the day chasing crabs and pretending to be a noble savage."

Fitzwilliam's amusement faded into a sigh of exasperation. He wondered how George knew about the crab. Could he have followed Lizzy and he? "I was not frolicking," he said, giving Wickham a look of mild annoyance. "I happened to make the acquaintance of a rather clever young lady—much more interesting company than some I could name."

"Really, Fitzwilliam, consorting with children on the beach?" Wickham scoffed. "It's hardly the way for a young gentleman to conduct himself. You might at least pretend to have some dignity."

Lady Anne's expression grew stern. "That is enough, George," she said firmly. George had grown quite bold since the Darcys came to Ramsgate for the sea air. He took to sneering at Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, even in front of their mother. Only when Mr. Darcy was present would George behave like an amiable teenage boy.

Lady Anne continued. "Fitzwilliam has every right to enjoy his time as he pleases. It is far better than wasting it in idle mockery."

Georgiana drew a deep breath and added, "And this little girl seems to have had more sense and cleverness than some people we know, despite being only eight."

Wickham smirked, undeterred. "Well, if Fitzwilliam prefers to entertain himself with children's games, I shan't begrudge him," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "But perhaps he should not brag about it. People might get the wrong idea."

Fitzwilliam's temper flared, though he tried to maintain his composure. "I wasn't playing games," he replied sharply. "We had a very interesting conversation, one that you might not be capable of understanding, Wickham, since it involved topics such as Aristotle and the nature of curiosity."

Wickham let out a scoff, his smirk deepening. "Oh, I see," he said. "You've become a great philosopher now, discussing deep matters with little girls on the beach. What's next? Shall you lecture the seagulls on moral virtue?"

Fitzwilliam opened his mouth to retort, but Lady Anne intervened with a firm voice. "That is enough, George," she said. "If you cannot speak with kindness, then perhaps it is best you say nothing at all."

"And if you are looking for a conversation about philosophy, Wickham, perhaps you should seek out Miss Lizzy. She would certainly give you something to think about—provided you don't mind being outwitted by a eight-year-old." Fitzwilliam added.

Wickham's expression soured slightly at the remark, though he attempted to conceal it behind a lazy shrug. "Well, far be it from me to deny Fitzwilliam his new friend," he said, turning on his heel to leave the room. "I'm sure they shall have many more delightful discussions about crabs and Aristotle."

As he left, Georgiana rolled her eyes, and Fitzwilliam let out a long breath. "He is insufferable," he muttered. "I sometimes think Wickham fancies himself as Apollo."

Lady Anne patted his hand reassuringly. "Pay him no mind, dear," she said. "I will talk to your father about George's attitude. There is no shame in making friends, whatever their age. It sounds as though you met a truly remarkable little girl today."

"Indeed," Georgiana said. "And I should like to meet her, if only to hear more about how families are like coral reefs."

Fitzwilliam sat for a moment, staring after Wickham's retreating form, then heaved a resigned sigh. "You know," he began thoughtfully, "Lizzy and I talked about George and how to deal with his mockery and taunts. But I forgot all about the strategy we discussed when George was standing there. Lizzy even said he sounds rather like a prickly sea urchin."

A bemused smile crept onto Lady Anne's face. "A sea urchin?" she asked, as though intrigued by what might follow.

"Yes, precisely," Fitzwilliam continued with a spark of renewed amusement in his eye. "You see, Mother, sea urchins are covered in sharp spines, aren't they? They bristle at everything that comes near, even when there's no real threat. It's their way of keeping others at a distance, though I doubt they're as prickly on the inside as they appear."

Georgiana tilted her head curiously. "Are you suggesting that George is all spines on the outside to keep people away, but might be soft and harmless inside?" she asked.

"Well," Fitzwilliam said, considering it, "perhaps not harmless—more like, there's something inside him that isn't quite so spiky. Maybe he's afraid someone might get too close and see that he's not really as clever or confident as he pretends to be. He could also be ashamed of his mother, who gambled their small estate away."

Lady Anne glanced at Fitzwilliam with an expression of surprise and a hint of satisfaction. "That's a rather astute observation," she said. "Miss Lizzy must have made quite an impression for you to think more about this."

"Oh, she did," Fitzwilliam replied, nodding earnestly.

"So, by Miss Lizzy's logic," Georgiana asked, "if George is a sea urchin, does that make you… what? A curious fish swimming around trying to understand him?"

"I suppose so," Fitzwilliam said with a grin. "I would rather be a curious fish than a sea urchin. It seems a happier existence. But Lizzy say I'm more like a hermit crab, scuttling from one idea to the next and only poking my head out when necessary to see what's going on."

His mother smiled. "It seems that Miss Lizzy's peculiar ideas have given you quite a bit to think about," she remarked.

"She told me that some creatures hide not because they're dangerous, but because they're frightened. And I thought, well, maybe that applies to people too."

Georgiana asked. "Of what, exactly?"

"Perhaps of being seen as not quite good enough," Fitzwilliam said. "After all, he's always trying to prove himself better than everyone else."

George's parents had once enjoyed a position of privilege, the proud owners of a modest estate of two thousand pounds that had been in the family for generations. However, as time passed, Mrs. Wickham's insatiable appetite for lavish entertainment began to eclipse their financial prudence. Her penchant for grand soirées and extravagant gatherings grew unchecked, each event a spectacle that drew in the finest of society while straining the family coffers.

At first, the excitement of hosting such affairs delighted the local gentry, and whispers of the Wickham parties reached even the farthest corners of the county. Yet, with each passing season, the pressure to outdo herself became unbearable. Mrs. Wickham was then drawn into the dizzying world of high-stakes gambling, believing her luck would always see her through. When she lost heavily and desperate to maintain appearances, Mrs. Wickham resorted to borrowing money from increasingly unsavoury characters. Each loan only deepened the pit of financial despair, as she unwittingly entangled the family in a web of debt that would prove impossible to escape. Meanwhile, Mr. Wickham, more concerned with his own comfort and oblivious to the unfolding disaster, turned a blind eye, convincing himself that the estate would provide the family with continued prosperity without any need to work on it.

As the debts mounted, whispers of their plight spread through the society they once dazzled, tarnishing the Wickham name. The creditors, sensing vulnerability, closed in like wolves, demanding repayment. It was not long before the estate was lost, auctioned off to cover the debts amassed by Mrs. Wickham. The reality of their situation crashed down upon them like a storm, and George, still a boy, could only watch as the world he had known crumbled around him, leaving his family stripped of their former wealth.

After the loss of their estate, George's father found himself in an unfamiliar position, humbled by the necessity of securing a stable income. He accepted a position in London as the secretary to Mr. Bingley, a wealthy merchant with a reputation for both shrewd business practices. Meanwhile, Mrs. Wickham found some usefulness in Mrs. Bingley's household, the world of the nouveau riche, whose recent fortunes had created a demand for social events that could match their newfound wealth. Drawing on her experience as a hostess, she began organising gatherings for Mrs. Bingley, whether it was a modest tea party or a ball.

As George watched his parents adjust to their new roles, he felt angry. Both parents were discontent with their new situation in life, often blaming each other loudly. Their quarters were so small that they soon sent George to live with the Darcys, not long after securing the position in London. George grew bitter and often railed silently against everyone. He yearned for a way to return to the time before their "fall" from grace.

Lady Anne's brow furrowed in contemplation. "You may have a point, Fitzwilliam," she said quietly. "It is often the case that those who boast the loudest are the most uncertain of their own worth."

"I suppose that's true," Georgiana said. "But it's difficult to feel much sympathy for someone who constantly mocks or taunts me. Even if George is like a sea urchin, he still pricks you whenever you get too close."

Fitzwilliam nodded. "Lizzy would probably say that's exactly the point," he explained. "He pricks others so they'll stay away."

Fitzwilliam watched the flames in the fireplace danced as if they might offer some clarity. "I have been wondering," he began slowly, "if perhaps George's sharp tongue might be softened if he had something meaningful to occupy his time. It seems to me that his mockery is a way of compensating for some deeper dissatisfaction."

"You may be right," Lady Anne replied, looking up with a thoughtful expression. "But what, pray, do you suggest? George has shown little inclination for any particular study, nor has he exhibited the patience required for any gentlemanly pursuit. The boy is all restlessness."

Fitzwilliam nodded. "It is true; he seems to lack direction. But I wonder if Father could guide him toward a vocation. Something that could provide him with a purpose, and perhaps even pride. His parents' misfortune may weigh heavily on him, and perhaps that is why he lashes out. If he had a goal—a profession of some sort—it might help him to feel less aimless."

"But what could George do?" Georgiana asked. "He is clever enough, but he has no discipline! If he were to pursue something like law or medicine, would he not soon tire of it?"

"That is the challenge," Fitzwilliam admitted. "It must be something that can hold his interest. I wonder if he might have some talent for the military. There is a certain discipline to it, yes, but it might suit his restless spirit better than a life of books or business. And there is an element of honour there—a chance for him to prove himself, not only to others but to himself as well."

Lady Anne resumed her stitching, her brow furrowed in thought. "The military would provide him with structure, and the camaraderie might curb some of his sharpness. But it is a life of risk. I'm not sure George has the temperament for it."

Fitzwilliam hesitated. "I cannot be sure either," he confessed. "But what alternative is there? If George is left to his own devices, he will continue as he has—mocking and scorning because he feels he has little else to do. Even if the military does not suit him, the attempt might at least humble him enough to take other pursuits more seriously."

"What if he were to learn a trade instead?" Georgiana suggested.

Fitzwilliam startled. " Something less grand than law or medicine, but with more practical skill than risky soldiering. There is honour in craftsmanship, and he might find a purpose in creating rather than merely criticising. Ah, Lizzy's seashell necklace gave me an idea! How about asking Father to sponsor George to learn to become a jeweller?"

Lady Anne smiled. "That could work! You know the Hamlet of London— Their jewellery has a certain quiet charm about it, refined yet unobtrusive. They specialize in brooches, lockets, and those modest bracelets that suit the tastes of ladies of a certain class."

"I remember you have a locket by them," Georgiana said.

"Yes, a gift from your father. Hamlet pieces are subtle yet sophisticated, often inspired by classical motifs. Cameos, of course, are ever so popular. And their bracelets! Filigree and enamel in shades to flatter every lady's complexion. Hamlet's clientele includes some of London's most respected ladies and even a few foreign aristocrats who value their taste."

She paused and added thoughtfully. "Then there is Phillips of Bond Street. A bit more accessible to the well-off middle classes, you could say, but make no mistake, their jewellery is every bit as fashionable. Their shops on Bond Street buzz with young men searching for engagement tokens and doting fathers eager to adorn their daughters. They are a bit bolder in their designs—Phillips loves a touch of sparkle. You are more likely to see topazes and garnets set proudly in their pieces, crafted to catch the eye with a bit more dazzle."

"But can we imagine George apprentice at these places?" Fitzwilliam murmured.

Lady Anne leaned in and said, "These artisans work under intense pressure, I have heard. The wealthiest patrons expect nothing less than perfection, and there is often a rush to finish a piece for a ball or presentation. They work with expensive materials, gems worth hundreds of pounds, knowing that the slightest misstep could ruin a piece meant for a duchess or a countess. But, what satisfaction they must feel to see their work admired, envied even, by all of London. Those who apprentice at Hamlet or Phillips may well find themselves in high demand indeed."

"And once his name is established, a jeweller could work independently, for a patron, or in partnership with other craftsmen, combining their skills to create exquisite pieces." Fitzwilliam nodded. "George does have a keen eye for colour and fashion, judging by the clothes he wears, even in his reduced circumstances."

His mother looked at Fitzwilliam approvingly. "I only hope George himself might be persuaded to listen. I shall speak to your father when he returns." She paused, and a faint smile played at her lips. "If George proves difficult, perhaps Miss Lizzy would have some thoughts on the matter. She seems to inspire much reflection from you."

"She has," Fitzwilliam admitted. "It was rather like listening to someone who saw the whole world as a very peculiar garden, filled with strange plants and creatures, all doing curious things for reasons of their own."

Lady Anne looked at Fitzwilliam with an affectionate gaze. "It seems to me," she said warmly, "that Miss Lizzy is teaching you the value of kindness, even towards those who do not always deserve it. To see past the thorns and prickles to what lies beneath… that is a lesson worth learning."

Fitzwilliam agreed. "If Lizzy can look at a crab and see more than just its pincers, then perhaps I can look at George and see more than just his prickly remarks."

Georgiana's eyes twinkled with humour. "Well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with seeing George as a sea urchin or a crab," she said, "as long as you don't go trying to cook him for supper."

Fitzwilliam laughed, a lightness settling in his chest. "No, I'll leave that to someone else," he said. "But I think I'll try to be a bit more patient with him. If nothing else, it'll make for an interesting experiment."

Dear readers, would you polish my chapter like a fine diamond or suggest a few cuts and settings to make it truly sparkle? Please leave me some reviews. I also wrote a shortie on my Facebook (Enid Wilson) about why Lizzy loves the ocean so much. You can read it over there.