Page 86 of A Life Diverted

If there was one thing George Wickham was sure of, it was that after more than three years, he did not want to be a carpenter. Recently turned eighteen, George was certain he was meant for greater things, regardless of the truth about his mother.

For the first few months of his apprenticeship George had applied himself, as he had decided he needed to strive to be a better man, one more like his father, and to forget the lies his mother had told him.

His new attitude survived about six months.

The hard work was not something he enjoyed so George tried to charm his father into taking him back into his home so at least he could be at his leisure.

However, his father had pointed to the unwise agreement his son had made before he departed Pemberley for York.

Still reeling from all of the information he was trying to absorb, his father had proposed, and George had agreed, to give it until at least his eighteenth birthday.

His wish had been for his father to have forgotten about his acquiescence to the agreement and welcome him home. In that he had been disappointed.

It was unfair that his father intended to hold him to what he had said, just because he promised to abide by his word. Were promises not made to be broken? Every day as he toiled, his resentment against his father for holding him to his agreement had grown exponentially.

Ignoring the concept of being responsible for his own actions, George also blamed Robert Darcy for his lot in life and, by extension, his family. He gambled with the little money he earned and, not being very good at it, lost more than he earned.

This meant that he had no money for anything else, excepting the pittance of an allowance his father sent him each quarter.

Unfortunately for him, he was known in the area so none of the merchants, shopkeepers, or brothel owners would extend credit to anyone below his majority who was unable to pay his debts.

In the back of his mind, George remembered his father pontificating on good and bad consequences, but he ignored the warning in his head.

It was most inconvenient that he often heard in his father’s voice in his dreams but he was determined to chart his own course.

After being badly beaten for not being able to pay a relatively small gambling debt, none of the hells allowed him to play unless he had ready funds to cover his losses.

To supplement his meagre income, George had taken to biting the hand that fed him—stealing small amounts from the carpenter’s cashbox from time to time.

Unbeknownst to him, his employer and supposed-to-be teacher was aware of the thefts and had written to Mr. Wickham before he called the magistrate.

The day after his eighteenth birthday, George was dressing with glee as it was the day he intended to leave the hell he had been living since he arrived in York.

The door to his small chamber was pushed open and, to his horror, standing in the portal was his father, who looked none too pleased with his son.

“D-did you c-come to wish me well on my birthday?” George managed unsteadily.

“Have you forgotten what I told you about consequences before you departed my house, George?” Lucas Wickham asked with asperity. “Do you imagine me ignorant of your behaviour—the gambling, drinking, and theft! How could you?”

“I know not what you mean; I am not a common thief,” George tried to bluster.

It was then George noticed his employer standing just behind his father. His face lost its colour as he only then realised he had not been as stealthy as he believed when lifting the money from the cashbox.

“Ya’ ‘ave stolen from me three times! It is just over ten pounds now!” the carpenter stated angrily.

“Do you know for an amount such as that, if Mr. Jones called the magistrate, you would hang, George? What were you thinking?” Mr. Wickham turned to the carpenter. “Mr. Jones, I will pay you fifteen pounds; will that suffice?”

“Aye, it will. But ‘ave that thief out’a me ‘ouse today!” Jones demanded.

“Thank you, Father,” George started to say.

“Do not thank me yet, George. The money will come out of the legacy I was saving to will to you on my death. In the three years since your departure, I managed to save one hundred and fifty pounds for your future. I will give it to you now, minus the fifteen pounds to Mr. Jones, and you will shift for yourself.” Mr. Wickham held up his hand as his son started to complain.

“I spoke to Mr. Darcy before I came here, he has decreed he will not allow you on any of his properties, and I understand that.”

“How can you stand by and allow me to be treated thusly?” George spat out.

“You are the one who determined your course. I know it all, George. I do not know why, but even after you found out the truth of your mother’s character, rather than try to amend yours, you have adopted the worst elements of hers,” Mr. Wickham stated resignedly.

“ If you are able to change your ways, and I do not mean for days but for a good length of time, then we may revisit things. Only then will I reconsider, so until then I will not assist you again.”

“How am I to live?” George demanded fearfully.

“You will need to find honest work. Hopefully when you understand how hard the world is and that no one will hand you what you want just because you desire it, you will learn to behave in a more honourable fashion.” Mr. Wickham handed his son the funds, and, with a heavy heart, departed York after his son vacated the Jones’s premises.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

At sixteen—in about three months—Jane Bennet would be allowed to be out in a limited way, only locally. Jane had grown into what—according to the Ton —was a classical beauty. She was tall, willowy, blond, and had the deepest cerulean eyes.

Elizabeth, at thirteen, was a striking beauty as well, but being petite with wavy mahogany tresses and green eyes, she would not have been classed at the same level of beauty as Jane by the denizens of the Ton .

Mary, at eleven, was taller than Elizabeth, but not as tall as Jane.

Mary was extremely pretty but, like Elizabeth, she would have been discounted by the arbiters of beauty in the Ton , who self-anointed themselves as the deciders of fashion because she had a fuller figure and was not a blue-eyed blond.

Kitty, who would be ten in a fortnight, looked just like Jane had at the same age.

She was as tall as Elizabeth, despite the almost four-year age difference.

Lydia, like Tommy, had dirty blond hair with green-brown eyes.

The former would be nine in October, while the latter had attained the ripe old age of seven.

Seventeen-year-old Anne de Bourg and Jane were as close as sisters. Anne was close with all of the Bennet siblings, but the bond she shared with Jane was special, which explained her desire to come out with Jane, not caring she would be almost twenty.

Anne was anything but uneducated as her mother had intended her to be.

She had learnt to play the pianoforte well, so no one would again be able to say if she had learned, she would have been a proficient—which had been her mother’s favourite refrain about herself to explain her lack of accomplishments.

Anne also had an aptitude for drawing, one she shared with both Kitty and Gigi.

She had not missed her mother in the eight years since her uncle had rescued her from that lady’s lack of care. Where her mother had used intimidation and kept her sickly, she was surrounded by love and was as healthy of any of the children in her extended family—blood or adopted.

The Bennets were at Pemberley for the month of June, then would move to Snowhaven for July, and finally spend part of August at Holder Heights.

Uncle Freddy intended to be with them while they were at Pemberley, and for a fortnight with the Fitzwilliams before his duties would necessitate his departure.

William Darcy would be starting his final year at Cambridge when he returned to the university at the end of August. At almost twenty, he was two to three inches taller than his father, and due to the physical labour he chose to assist with at Pemberley, he had grown into a fine specimen of a man.

He had always been handsome; now he had a fit body to go with his handsome face and rider’s legs.

At eight—having celebrated her birthday in April past, Gigi, as tall as Kitty, was a younger copy of her beloved mother, with the blue eyes common to the Fitzwilliams. Everyone hoped she had a stronger constitution than Lady Anne, who was suffering from an undiagnosed malady which had weakened her considerably during the last year.

If Fanny and Ladies Edith and Elaine were worried about their friend Anne, her husband who loved her to distraction was at his wit’s end.

Robert Darcy brought in some of the most prominent doctors in the land to no avail, for after much prodding and poking none could tell him what ailed his wife; one even nonsensically claimed she was with child.

When the Bennets and the Prince arrived from the south with Doctor Taylor in tow, Darcy asked if the physician would examine his wife.

Dr. Taylor had taken his time, asking many questions of Lady Anne while he conducted his comprehensive examination.

Unlike the men who had done so before him, he actually listened to the answers she proffered.