Page 24 of Attempted Compromises (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations)
D arcy had never thought himself a man prone to indulging in idle fantasies, yet this morning, as sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, he found himself wishing for nothing more than to remain in bed with Elizabeth. The memory of her warmth, her hesitant but courageous trust, lingered vividly in his mind, making it all the more difficult to face the outside world.
He had sensed she was awake before he opened his eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he said softly, his voice still husky from sleep.
He opened his eyes to take her in. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in loose waves, and her profile, serene and thoughtful, was silhouetted against the light from the window. It was a sight so lovely, so achingly perfect, that he simply lay there, content to watch her for a moment longer.
Elizabeth smiled shyly. “Good morning,” she replied, her cheeks tinged faintly pink. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” he assured her, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “I doubt I could sleep much longer, even if I wanted to.” He hesitated, then added, “And, truthfully, I would rather not waste a moment of this morning.”
She dropped her eyes and plucked idly at the blanket. “Me either.”
He opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to suggest they share a quiet breakfast together, when the distant sound of Andrew’s voice carried up the stairs.
“Papa? Papa, where are you?” The boy’s enthusiastic calls for his father broke the moment, and Darcy sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Darcy’s lips quirked in a smile, though he sighed ruefully. “It seems Andrew is not inclined to waste the morning, either.”
Elizabeth looked at him with a teasing smile on her lips. “It seems your presence is in high demand this morning.”
“As it should be,” Darcy replied, though his tone was warm rather than prideful. He rose from the bed and Elizabeth averted her eyes instinctively. “I will see what Andrew requires, he said, pulling on his dressing gown. “Perhaps you might join us in the nursery afterward?”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement, her expression soft. “I would like that. I’ll join you as soon as I’m dressed.” He gazed at her bare shoulders appreciatively, and she blushed, spotting her nightdress in a heap on the floor.
A soft knock at the door saved Elizabeth’s blushes, but she pulled the blankets up to her chin. “My nightdress!” she hissed. Darcy grinned roguishly and threw it to her before he opened the door. A maid stood in the hall with a neatly folded note. “A message from Mrs. Bingley, madam,” the maid said. Darcy accepted the missive, and the maid left with a knowing smile.
“You can dress, now,” Darcy said. Elizabeth stared at him with wide eyes, biting her lip in hesitation. Darcy laughed and turned his back, holding the note up.
Elizabeth threw the nightgown over her head and slipped out of bed. “Thank you,” she said, taking the note. She scanned the words quickly, her brow furrowing in thought.
“From your sister?” Darcy inquired, turning back to her. “Is everything well?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, her gaze lifting from the note to meet his eyes. “She’s requested my assistance with meeting the housekeeper this morning. It seems she would like my support managing the household.” Her voice held a touch of uncertainty, though it was clear she wished to oblige her sister.
Darcy’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “Courage is not something you lack.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, but she nodded. “It will be good to keep busy. Though…” She hesitated, her fingers toying with the edge of the note. “I wonder if Georgiana might benefit from attending, along with Mrs. Annesley. If Jane has no objection, of course.”
Her request startled him, though not unpleasantly. It was an unexpected consideration, one that showed not only her thoughtfulness but her understanding of Georgiana’s shyness and need for guidance. He felt a surge of gratitude and something deeper as he regarded her.
“You would include Georgiana?” he asked softly.
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed under his scrutiny, but her voice was steady. “She is my sister now,” she said simply. “If Jane has no objection, I believe Georgiana might benefit from learning such matters. And Mrs. Annesley’s experience could only be of benefit to us all.”
Darcy’s heart swelled at her words. That she would so naturally embrace Georgiana and seek to involve her in meaningful ways was more than he could have hoped for. He nodded, his voice warm. “If Mrs. Bingley is agreeable, I think it an excellent idea. And as for Georgiana and Andrew, you may do whatever you feel is best for them, so long as we first discuss any major changes you wish to make. I trust your judgment entirely, Elizabeth.”
Her eyes widened, her surprise evident, and for a fleeting moment, Darcy thought he saw something deeper in her expression—something that gave him hope, though he knew it was too soon to dwell on such notions. Still, he couldn’t resist the impulse to lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed at the contact, and when she looked up at him again, his heart was nearly undone.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity.
“It is I who should thank you,” he replied, his voice low. “You have already done more for my family than I could have asked.”
She smiled, and the sight of it sent his heart into a quiet turmoil. “They are my family now, too,” she repeated.
“Shall we meet after our tasks are finished?” he asked softly.
Elizabeth nodded and began to make her way towards her dressing room. Darcy watched her retreating figure, his chest tight with emotions he could scarcely name. Leaving his room in search of Andrew, his young son’s face blurred in front of him as thoughts of Elizabeth consumed him. How was he to accomplish anything when her presence lingered so vividly in his mind? He sighed, picking up his pen with a rueful smile.
She had, unknowingly, made a hopeless fool of him already.
∞∞∞
The steady jostle of the carriage and the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the road jarred Caroline Bingley into consciousness. Her head throbbed, a dull ache radiating from her temples, and her vision blurred as she blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings.
The coarse blanket draped over her lap scratched at her skin, its scent of horse and sweat making her stomach churn. The dim light filtering through the small carriage window did little to ease her confusion, though it thankfully did not aggravate the hammer pounding in her skull.
Where am I? What is happening?
She pressed a hand to her forehead, struggling to make sense of her surroundings. The plush cushions of the carriage seat felt unfamiliar, and the coarse wool blanket draped haphazardly across her lap reeked of horses. She blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust, when a figure seated across from her came into focus. Her mind felt sluggish, disoriented, but she clung to the last thing she remembered—the drawing room at Netherfield. Darcy’s jacket…
Mr. Darcy!
Panic struck like a lightning bolt. Her head shot up, her eyes darting around the dim interior of the carriage. Across from her sat a man—dark-haired, his mouth twisted in a smug smile.
“Mr. Wickham?” she croaked, her voice raspy and uncertain.
“Ah, you’re awake,” George Wickham said smoothly, His voice was smooth, as though they were sharing a casual conversation over tea rather than riding in a secluded carriage together.
Her confusion quickly turned to panic as reality came crashing down. She sat up straighter, clutching the scratchy blanket to her chest like armor, as if it could offer protection from the situation in which she found herself.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice rising with every word, her words trembling with both fury and fear. “Why am I here? Where is Mr. Darcy? Why am I not—”
Wickham’s mouth curled into a smug grin. “You’re here because I saved you from making a dreadful mistake, Miss Bingley. You made a mess of things, and I had to… redirect events. But think of this as just fate, my dear.”
“Fate?” she asked in bewilderment.
“Why yes,” he drawled, lifting a hand to casually inspect his fingernails. “You’re now exactly where you’re meant to be…”— his eyes looked up, directly into hers— “…on your way to becoming Mrs. Wickham.”
Her mouth dropped open, the words crashing over her like a tidal wave. She clutched at the edge of the carriage seat, her knuckles whitening. “I’m… I’m what ?”
“I’ve saved you,” he replied nonchalantly, as if the situation were entirely rational.
Her mind raced, fragments of memory surfacing—the tea, the laudanum, her plan to ensnare Darcy. And then nothing. A cold dread settled in her chest. “You… you saved me?” she whispered, disbelief mingling with fury. “No, you took me!” she shouted.
He nodded, unrepentant. “Indeed. And we’re on our way to Gretna Green. It’s all arranged.”
Caroline’s shock gave way to a tidal wave of rage. She launched herself across the carriage, fists flying as she screamed, “You fool! Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve ruined me, you vile creature! I’ll have you arrested—no, hanged—for this!”
Wickham raised his arms to block her blows, but her nails raked across his sleeve. The carriage rocked violently as she lunged at him, her voice a shrill crescendo of anger.
“How dare you! How dare you!” she screamed, her fists pounding against his chest. “Do you know who I am? Take me back this instant, or I swear I will have you arrested at the next stop!”
His smile vanished as he endured the onslaught. Finally, he grabbed her wrists, forcing her back into her seat. She struggled, thrashing against his iron grip, but he pinned her arms firmly at her sides.
“Enough!” he barked. His voice was low and cold, each word carrying an edge of steel. Caroline froze, her chest heaving as she glared at him. “Compose yourself, Miss Bingley, or you’ll only make this worse.”
“Worse?” she hissed. “How could it possibly be worse than this? You’ve destroyed me—my reputation! My life!”
“Listen to me,” he said, his tone cold. “Even if I were to turn this carriage around right now and return you to Netherfield, it would change nothing. You are ruined, Miss Bingley. Everyone saw you leave with me. Your reputation is destroyed, and no one—not even your precious Darcy—will take you now.”
His words struck her like a slap, and her breath hitched. Her thoughts raced as she tried to make sense of his accusations. He couldn’t be right, could he? Surely, she could explain, insist it was all a misunderstanding. Surely Darcy would—
“Do you think I took you without considering the consequences?” he continued in a growl, his grip firm but no longer painful. “Do you think you can march back into Netherfield after leaving with me, and everything will go back to how it was, Caroline?”
“I did not give you permission to use my given name,” she snapped at him, her lip curling in disdain. “This is your doing! I had a plan, and you—”
“You are ruined, Caroline . Whether you like it or not, the world will believe the worst. Darcy will believe the worst.”
Darcy. The thought of him sent a pang of both hope and despair through her. Would he come to her aid? Would he even want to after what she had done? But how would he know it was she who put the laudanum in the tea?
Her throat tightened, a flicker of fear creeping into her fury. “I’ll deny it,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll say you abducted me against my will.”
“And I’ll be hanged for desertion,” Wickham said, bitterness lacing every word. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? My death?”
“Better your death than my disgrace!” she retorted hotly.
Wickham clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain control. Slowly, he released her wrists and leaned back against the carriage wall.
“But here’s the thing, Miss Bingley,” he said, his anger replaced by calculated calm. “Even if I were to turn this carriage around right now and beg forgiveness, your reputation would still be in tatters. You were seen leaving with me. The whispers will have already begun.”
Caroline’s nails dug into her palms. She hated that he was right. Hated the smug satisfaction in his voice. “No one will know,” she tried again. “My plan ensured everyone—”
“You were a fool,” he interrupted, his grip loosening even more. “Elizabeth Bennet was still awake when I entered the house. We had to run.”
“ What? ” Caroline let out a howl of frustration, and his fingers tightened on her arms once again. “I cannot believe this happening to me. My life is over!”
“Not all is lost. You have still have a way— the only way— out of this mess. Marry me, and we salvage what we can. You’ll have a husband, and together we can weather the storm. People will forget, eventually.”
The words hung in the air, absurd and offensive. For a moment, she could only stare at him, her disbelief giving way to derisive laughter. “Marry you?” she spat, her voice dripping with scorn. “I would sooner rot in a convent than marry the son of a steward.”
Wickham’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t strike back at her insult. Instead, he leaned closer, his eyes dark and glittering. “A steward’s son? Is that what you think I am?” He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers. “What if I told you I’m more than that?”
“More?” she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism.
Wickham’s lips twitched, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “I have a secret, Caroline. One that changes everything.”
Caroline stiffened, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “What secret?”
Wickham’s expression darkened, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am the illegitimate son of George Darcy, the late master of Pemberley.”
Caroline blinked, the words failing to register at first. “You’re lying,” she said flatly.
“It’s true,” he retorted, seizing the moment. “My mother, a servant at Pemberley, told me everything. I was meant to inherit.”
“You would have claimed your birthright before now,” she scoffed.
“There is a unique clause in the will— I must marry before Darcy does,” Wickham said, his expression growing serious. “If I wed first, Pemberley becomes mine. The Darcys always honor their promises, even to illegitimate heirs.”
Her breath caught, her mind racing to process his words. “Why should I believe you?”
“Why would I lie?” he countered smoothly. “Think about it, Caroline. Have I not always been close to the Darcy family? Do I not resemble George Darcy in certain ways? My mother swore it was true, and I’ve no reason to doubt her. With you as my wife, we would claim Pemberley together.”
She eyed him warily, her sharp mind sifting through his words for any sign of falsehood. Could it be true? A flicker of doubt was immediately followed by a surge of hope. “Why haven’t you married before now, then? If what you say is true, you could have claimed Pemberley years ago.”
Wickham’s expression softened, and he released her arms to reach down and take her hand, his touch gentle. “Because I hadn’t met anyone worth settling down for. I wanted love, Caroline.” His blue eyes met hers, and for the first time, she thought she saw something genuine in his expression. “Pemberley means nothing without someone to share it with, but it needed to be the right person.”
Her breath caught, and she looked away, trying to suppress the warmth his words stirred in her, her disbelief warring with the heat of his caresses, which were now creeping up past her wrist. “And yet you were willing to help me compromise Darcy. Was that your idea of love?”
His face darkened with what appeared to be genuine emotion. “Because I loved you. I thought you wanted Darcy, and I was willing to step aside if it meant your happiness. But when I saw how he treated you, how he dismissed you as if you were nothing while he sniffed around that annoying Bennet girl… I couldn’t let it happen.”
Her throat tightened, the raw emotion in his voice unsettling her. For the first time, she hesitated long enough to take him seriously. Could he be telling the truth? Heart racing, she was torn between disbelief and something so dangerously close to seduction. His words, his touch—everything about him was so carefully calculated, so perfectly attuned to her vulnerabilities. But she wanted to believe him, desperately.
As she debated within herself, Wickham’s hands found her upper arms again, but this time his touch was light instead of bruising, almost soothing. His thumbs traced gentle circles against her skin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Caroline, we can still have everything. Pemberley, a future together. Say yes, and I’ll take you to Scotland. In just a day’s time, we’ll be married, and no one will dare question our claim. And when we return, we’ll be unstoppable.”
She looked up at him, her chest tightening. Could this really be her salvation? Could she still have everything she had ever wanted? His words wove a seductive web around the murky clouds in her mind, still foggy from the laudanum-laced tea she’d imbibed. His fingers brushed against her neck, his thumbs tracing light circles that sent a shiver down her spine.
“How far is it to Gretna Green?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
“About two more days,” he said, his lips curving into a triumphant smile. “By the time we return to Meryton as husband and wife, we’ll have only been gone a week. You’ll be my bride, and Pemberley will be ours.”
He leaned closer, his hand sliding to cup her cheek. “Say yes, Caroline.”
Her walls crumbled, the weight of her ruin pressing down on her. She nodded, her voice trembling. “Yes.”
Wickham’s smile widened as he cupped her face, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. When she didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around her in a way that made her forget her anger, her doubts, even her dignity.
For now, all that mattered was the promise of Pemberley. Perhaps , she thought hazily as she melted into his embrace, this is my once chance at happiness. Perhaps ruin can be turned into triumph after all.