Chapter 5
~ Like boats tossed by waves, their journey started on rocky waters, but as the winds softened, they set out for the shores of friendship.
In the drawing room the next day, the afternoon sun streamed through the large windows. Lady Anne sat gracefully in an armchair as she regarded her nephew, Wickham, who slumped across the opposite settee, a picture of youthful discontent. Her husband, Mr. Darcy, stood by the mantelpiece, a concerned expression etched across his features. "George, my dear boy," he began, "it is high time we spoke of your future."
Wickham glanced up, the corners of his mouth twitching in a disdainful grimace. "What future is there for me, Uncle? My parents have squandered their fortune, and the estate is no longer ours. I have no desire to be a clergyman, nor do I wish to take up arms in the military. There is little for a man of my station." He sighed heavily, leaning back against the cushions as if the weight of the world rested upon him.
"Why are you so against being ordained?" Mr. Darcy asked.
"I cannot abide the thought of becoming a clergyman," Wickham declared, shaking his head vehemently. "The idea of spending my days reading scripture and reciting passages from the Bible bores me to tears."
Lady Anne regarded him with an understanding gaze. "And why do you find it so dull?" she asked gently, probing for the deeper reasons behind his aversion. "Is it the subject matter itself that fails to captivate you, or is it something more?"
Wickham's brow furrowed as he contemplated his answer. "It is not merely the Bible's content," he admitted reluctantly. "It is the repetitive nature of it all. The sermons, the hymns—everything feels like a ritual, devoid of excitement or challenge. I crave something more dynamic, something that stirs the blood and engages the mind." He leaned back, crossing his arms defiantly as if to shield himself from their scrutiny.
Mr. Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "So it is the monotony of the clerical life that troubles you," he mused, his tone inviting further exploration. "But tell me, do you not believe that there is value in devotion and faith? In guiding others on their spiritual journeys?"
"Perhaps," Wickham's voice was laced with impatience. "Yet I see clergymen who seem utterly content to remain in their comfortable little worlds, reciting the same prayers and preaching the same messages week after week. There is little adventure, little room for growth. I cannot imagine living my life in such a manner." The frustration in his voice betrayed his longing for something beyond the confines of predictable routines.
"And what does adventure look like to you?" Lady Anne asked, her tone gentle. "What do you yearn for beyond the walls of a church? What is it that ignites your spirit?"
He paused, considering her question. "Adventure, Aunt! Exploring the world, experiencing new cultures, and encountering people from all walks of life. It is about challenge and discovery, not standing behind a pulpit and delivering the same sermon week after week. I want to make a mark on the world, not fade into the background as a mere bystander."
"Surely, there are those who travel to distant lands for missionary work or serve communities in need. Isn't there a sense of adventure in that?" Mr. Darcy asked.
Wickham shook his head vigorously. "Not for me. The thought of preaching to savages in a far-off land holds no allure. I do not wish to sacrifice my desires for the sake of obligation or duty. It is suffocating! There is too much expectation wrapped around a clergyman's life. I want to pursue my interests, to follow my passions—whatever they may be."
"It is admirable to seek a path that resonates with one's spirit," Lady Anne said. "But I encourage you to consider the breadth of life experiences available in every profession. Even a clergyman can find adventure, but it seems you seek something distinctly different. What about entering the army?"
"I cannot fathom the idea of joining the military either," he declared, his voice brimming with frustration. "The very thought of marching in formation, following orders, and enduring endless drills fills me with dread."
Lady Anne observed her nephew closely, sensing the depth of his aversion. "And what is it about military life that you find so unappealing?" she asked. "Is it the discipline required or the prospect of battle that troubles you?"
Wickham sighed heavily, turning back to face his aunt. "It is both, I suppose. The notion of discipline feels so… confining. Soldiers are stripped of their individuality, moulded into a collective that must obey without question. Being reduced to a mere cog in a machine, following commands without thought is not what I want!" His frustration bubbled to the surface.
"But what about the honour and camaraderie that comes with serving one's country? There is a great sense of purpose in fighting for something greater than oneself." Mr. Darcy's words hung in the air, a gentle challenge to Wickham's idea of military service.
"Honour?" Wickham scoffed, shaking his head. "What honour is there in sacrificing oneself for a cause one may not believe in? The blind fervour with which men follow orders, charging into battle without a second thought, is madness, and I refuse to be a part of it. I do not wish to risk my life in some grand scheme dictated by others."
"Do you fear for your life, George?" Lady Anne asked. "Is that the core of your reluctance?" Her keen gaze remained fixed on him.
Wickham hesitated. "It is not merely a fear for my life, Aunt," he admitted slowly. "It is the fear of being trapped in a life I do not choose. We can see men return from war, broken and haunted by their experiences every day. I cannot imagine enduring such trauma, nor can I bear the thought of being forced to take a life." His voice trembled slightly.
"Your concerns are valid." Mr. Darcy said. "War can indeed leave lasting scars, and it is a choice that should not be taken lightly. But George, you must understand that life offers many paths, even if they are not the ones you had once envisioned."
"Every career I consider feels beneath me," Wickham retorted, his voice again laced with irritation. "I do not wish to spend my days toiling away in some mundane occupation. I yearn for adventure and excitement!"
Mr. Darcy, ever the pragmatist, interjected, "Adventure can take many forms. Consider the lives of those who create rather than destroy. There is dignity in craftsmanship. You might find fulfillment in a trade that allows you to express your creativity." He gestured toward the books lining the shelves.
"I hardly wish to become a common tradesman," Wickham replied, crossing his arms defiantly. "What respect is there in such a life? Gentlemen look down upon those who labour with their hands."
"Respect is earned through one's actions and character, not merely through social status," Lady Anne countered gently. "Have you ever considered the art of jewellery-making? It combines both skill and creativity, and there is great demand for skilled artisans in the London market. It could be an exciting path for you."
Wickham raised an eyebrow with contempt. "Jewellery? You cannot be serious, Aunt. It is a trifling pursuit! I would rather starve than be known as a jeweller." He felt a knot of embarrassment form in his stomach at the very thought, picturing himself surrounded by gems and baubles, toiling away like a mere shopkeeper.
"Ah, but think of the beauty that comes with it," Mr. Darcy chimed in. "Creating something exquisite, something that brings joy to others—there is a certain nobility in that. You could design pieces for the finest of society. Jewels that grace the necks and hands of the noble women!"
"And think, George, of the freedom it might bring," Lady Anne said." You would not be confined to the limits of a mere estate or social standing. You could travel, source materials, and learn from the masters of the craft."
Wickham sat in silence, imagining himself far from the shop—traveling, finding, and assessing gems. The notion stirred something within him—a whisper of adventure. "But training as a jeweller would mean apprenticing, wouldn't it? I would be at the mercy of a master craftsman, subject to their whims."
"Indeed, you would start as an apprentice," Mr. Darcy replied, her tone encouraging. "Yet every great jeweller began in that very position. You would learn the intricacies of your craft, and in time, you would gain the respect of your peers and customers alike. Imagine crafting exquisite pieces that tell a story—pieces that will carry your name one day."
"Yes, with the right dedication," Lady Anne added. "you could eventually open your own establishment, make a name for yourself. Think of the legacy you could create, one that stands apart from the shadow of your family's misfortunes. You could be known as a master of your craft."
Wickham's aversion began to waver. The thought of establishing his name was a tantalising prospect. "But what if I fail? What if I am not cut out for it?"
"Failure is a part of life, dear boy," Mr. Darcy replied. "Every success is built upon the lessons learned from failures. If you do not try, you will never know what you are capable of achieving."
Lady Anne added, "And remember, you are not alone. You have the support of the Darcy family. Consider this: every piece of jewellery has its imperfections, yet it can still be breathtakingly charming. Just like you."
"Perhaps… perhaps I could give it a try," Wickham murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lady Anne smiled warmly. "That is the spirit, George!"
"Then it is settled!" Mr. Darcy exclaimed. "I shall help you find an apprenticeship and introduce you to the right people."
Lady Anne sensed an opportunity to guide Wickham in another matter. "You have spoken of your desires and ambitions, George," she began. "But I wonder if you have taken a moment to reflect on how you treat those around you, particularly your cousins. They are young, impressionable, and look up to you, yet I have seen you mock and taunt them in ways that seem quite unbecoming."
Wickham shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his defensiveness bubbling to the surface. "They are just children," he replied. "It is hardly surprising that I find their antics tiresome. I merely jest with them."
Mr. Darcy frowned. He did not think Wickham was mean to Fitzwilliam and Georgiana. He thought about jumping in but his wife shook her head subtly.
"Yet, what impact do you think your words will have on them?" Lady Anne continued. "Laughter can be a powerful tool, but so can ridicule. You have the chance to be a role model, especially now that you are seeking a more meaningful path in your own life. Would this not be the right time to rethink how you treat others?"
Wickham frowned. "But they can be so infuriating."
"Consider this: the qualities that define a true gentleman extend beyond ambition and career choices. They encompass kindness, integrity, and the ability to uplift those around you."
"But I am no longer a gentleman," he said, a bitter edge to his voice. "My mother's actions have stripped me of that title. We have lost our estate, our fortune, and now I am meant to become a tradesman. The very thought of it is degrading." His frustration resurfaced.
"Why did you let your mother's action defines you?" she asked. "You can still be a gentleman at heart, regardless of your circumstances." Her tone was steady and firm.
Wickham scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. "What does it matter, Aunt? When I am forced to work for a living, how can I claim to be anything but a tradesman? Society will view me as lesser, and no amount of good intention will change that."
"But society is changing," Mr. Darcy jumped in, encouraging Wickham to see other facts of the matter. "Tradesmen who work hard often accumulate a fortune, just like the Bingleys whom your parents now work for."
"But how can I inspire Fitz and Georgie when I feel so lost myself?" Wickham said, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
"When you choose kindness over contempt, you elevate yourself and those around you. I dare you to try one act of kindness each day," Lady Anne said with a small smile.
"But how?" Wickham exclaimed.
"You can start by joining us in reading," Lady Anne said. "Show your cousins that you can be amiable to them and that you are willing to learn, rather than live in idle pursuits."
"I know the perfect book to start with!" Mr. Darcy said enthusiastically. "Historiae Naturalis has a section about mineralogy. Fitzwilliam and Georgiana can learn with you about various gemstones, their nature, and intricacies together."
"But it's in Latin," Wickham said with a touch of apprehension.
"Fitzwilliam and I can help you," Mr. Darcy replied.
"And Georgiana is learning the language," Lady Anne added. "It will be good for her too."
Finally, Wickham's defences began to crack. "Perhaps we could try that together. I will try to be less mean," he murmured.
"Indeed," Lady Anne replied. "Even small gestures can foster kindness and understanding."
Wickham felt a flicker of longing stir within him. Reading with his aunt, uncle, and cousins felt like belonging to a family again. He hadn't felt that way in years—long before his parents lost their estate. His mother had only presented him at her lavish parties to show off his handsomeness, and his father had been too lazy to see to his education, so Wickham and his tutors had done the bare minimum. When their fortune started to crumble, Wickham heard and saw his parents argue daily.
That evening, the family settled in the parlour after dinner. Wickham perched on the edge of his chair, arms crossed and a sceptical frown. His cousins, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, exchanged a wary glance. Yet, with Lady Anne's gentle encouragement and Mr. Darcy's enthusiasm, the group made an amiable, if tentative, start.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and openedHistoriae Naturalisto the mineralogy section. "Now, let's begin with the first gemstone in our little study tonight: the amethyst," he announced. He leaned in and started reading aloud, sharing the author Pliny the Elder's thoughts on the amethyst's supposed power to prevent intoxication.
Wickham felt a chuckle bubbling up—he almost remarked that some of his old friends could use such a gemstone. But he caught himself, stifling the urge with a small cough instead.
Fitzwilliam gave Wickham a sideways look, as if bracing himself for an inevitable jibe, but when none came, he shifted his focus back to his father. "I suppose they actually believed that," he murmured, half to himself.
"Indeed they did," Lady Anne replied. "And you might imagine how important a stone like this would be to those who wanted a clear mind in society."
Georgiana, her attention piqued, leaned forward. "What do you think, cousin George?" she asked, her voice curious rather than critical. Her mother had asked Fitzwilliam and her to be gentle with their cousin during the reading. "Would you find it useful?"
Wickham hesitated. "Perhaps," he replied slowly, feeling the unfamiliar weight of sincerity on his tongue. "Though I suspect if it truly worked, society might have looked very different." His words lacked his usual barbed edge, and Georgiana gave him a small smile.
As they continued, Mr. Darcy turned the page and began reading about the emerald, which Pliny believed improved the eyesight of those who gazed upon it.
"Now that's just absurd," Fitzwilliam muttered. Wickham almost laughed out loud but managed to turn it into a quiet chuckle.
"Oh, but think of the doctors of the time," Lady Anne interjected with a knowing look. "For them, the connection between colour and sight was quite logical."
"A logical sort of nonsense," Georgiana giggled.
"I suppose we would all have better eyesight with a few emeralds in our pockets." Wickham said before he could help himself. But instead of an admonishment, Lady Anne simply smiled.
Mr. Darcy laughed, the sound rich and encouraging. "Perhaps we might, my dear Georgie. Though I imagine such a remedy would be quite beyond many people's means!" He glanced at Wickham with an approving nod.
A curious warmth spread through Wickham at the thought. It was unlike any family experience he'd known before. Instead, he felt a surprising solidarity with his cousins, all sharing in the absurdity of an age-old belief together.
Georgiana's curiosity led her to request a closer look at the illustrated drawings, and Mr. Darcy held the book open for all of them to see. "Here," he said, pointing to a crude illustration of an opal, "Pliny claims that opals hold all the colours of the rainbow."
"Or perhaps he needed a new pair of spectacles," Wickham quipped. This time, no one flinched. Even Fitzwilliam grinned.
"Indeed, George." Lady Anne smiled and said. "Your wit seems particularly well-suited to these old tales." Wickham felt an unexpected flush of pride.
As the reading continued, each family member took turns expressing thoughts, sometimes humorous, sometimes curious, about the strange beliefs Pliny and his contemporaries had held.
When they came upon the entry for the sardonyx, believed to inspire courage in battle, Fitzwilliam let out a hearty laugh. "Perhaps George ought to carry one of those," he jested, his tone less wary than it had been at the start of the evening.
To his own surprise, Wickham laughed, too. "And here I thought courage came from something a bit more substantial," he replied, unable to resist a smirk.
Then they arrived at a passage describing lapis lazuli, believed to bring harmony. Mr. Darcy invited Wickham to try his hand at reading a bit of the Latin. Wickham sat up straighter, giving an exaggerated display of effort as he attempted to decipher the unfamiliar text. "Lapis…lazuli…uh…" He paused, squinting at a word he hadn't seen before. "Lapis—no, wait, *lapidem caelum sumere*? 'The stone will devour the sky'?"
Lady Anne let out a surprised laugh. "Oh no, George—it means the stone takes on the colour of the sky, not devours it!" The whole room burst into laughter, Wickham included, as he realized his mistake. The laughter lightened the air, as if lifting the last remnants of Wickham's self-consciousness away.
"A shared laugh is often more potent than a scornful word," Mr. Darcy commented with a smile, looking at Wickham. "And perhaps more memorable."
Wickham nodded, an uncharacteristic spark of warmth glowing in his chest. As the night wore on, even Fitzwilliam and Georgiana seemed to forget they needed to act nice to their cousin. By the time they reached the section on the sardonyx, they were all sharing stories of the strangest beliefs they'd heard in passing. When Mr. Darcy finally closed the book, they all shared a lingering moment of silence, as though none of them quite wanted to leave the warmth of the evening's discoveries.
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