Page 5 of Blessed Interference (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

Netherfield Park

Two Days Later

Darcy looked out the carriage window at the rolling pastures and brown fields lying fallow for the winter.

It was odd to think that it had been but two months since he had left Netherfield Hall.

So much had happened in that time, not least of which was that Bingley was now engaged to be married to Miss Jane Bennet.

Darcy was happy for his friend, truly and sincerely happy.

Bingley was overjoyed at his upcoming nuptials, and Darcy did not begrudge him that in the slightest. As for himself, any time he thought of Miss Bennet, he experienced another surge of relief, not unmixed with guilt and surreal uncertainty.

How badly he had misread that soft-spoken, serene-natured lady!

Darcy had long prided himself on being able to discern the hearts of others, their characters and motivations.

Yet he had almost ruined Bingley's happiness, fully confident that Miss Bennet did not hold his friend in any particular regard. It still shocked him how badly wrong he had been. Miss Bennet adored Bingley with her whole being, but was such a calm and serene lady that Darcy had missed it entirely.

His incorrect assessment of Miss Bennet's heart was not the only prospect that was unsettling him.

Soon, he would be seeing her next younger sister, Miss Elizabeth, and the thought of that meeting caused a tingling in his chest that was both exciting and worrisome.

Miss Elizabeth intrigued him as no other lady ever had, beguiled him – allured him, even.

Such a match was impossible, of course. A Bennet might be a fine bride for Bingley, a son of trade, but in no way could such a woman ever be worthy to bear the proud name of Darcy.

The truth was, though, that Darcy was nervous about seeing Miss Elizabeth again.

Time and distance had not cooled the flames of his attraction, and close proximity would risk substantial heartache for himself.

Avoiding her entirely was completely out of the question, as there was no doubt at all that Miss Elizabeth would be her sister's bridesmaid, and he would be standing up for Bingley.

They would be quite near each other for at least half an hour…

Of course, Darcy was probably worrying for nothing. He had long prided himself on his mental discipline, and with good reason. He doubted that Miss Elizabeth had the power to overset him as badly as all that.

The carriage glided around a final curve, and Netherfield Hall was before them at last. It was only a few minutes more before the carriage came to a gentle halt, and a footman sprang ahead to open the carriage door.

Darcy gathered himself, threw off the rug across his lap, stepped out, and hurried up the stairs to the front door.

It opened as he set foot on the broad stone at the top of the steps, and Bingley beamed out at him.

“Welcome, Darcy,” Bingley said, reaching forward to shake the hand of his closest friend. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is my pleasure, Bingley,” he replied, any anxiety over his reception dissipated by his friend’s obvious satisfaction in his company.

“Would you care to join me in my office?” the master of Netherfield asked. “I have not had the fires lit in most of the rooms since I am spending an admirable amount of time going through ledgers and the like in my office.”

“That is admirable indeed,” Darcy said cheerfully. “Lead the way!”

Bingley did so, and Darcy was pleased to observe that there were messy piles of papers stacked on the desk, and that the bookcase in the room was similarly in disarray.

He was a very neat man, and his desk and shelves were always tidy, but the only time Bingley’s study was neat was when he was not doing any work.

“I know it is a mess,” his host remarked, gesturing toward two chairs near the fire, “but I work best this way.”

“I am aware, Bingley,” Darcy said with a chuckle, as he lowered himself onto a chair while Bingley bustled around pouring Madeira wine for the pair of gentlemen.

When the younger man sat down, Darcy asked him about Miss Bennet and her family, and Bingley explained at length, and the pair enjoyed their wine, and all was sweetness and light until Bingley suddenly frowned and said, “Darcy, I have something I need to speak of which is, I know, a difficult subject, but it is important.”

Darcy gazed at his friend in surprise and set his now empty glass on a small table by his side.

“What is it, Bingley?”

***

Main Street

Meryton

Three Days Later

George Wickham took his time strolling down the main street of Meryton, nodding and sometimes tipping his hat or making slight bows to acquaintances.

It was a chilly day, typical for winter, with piles of dirty slush in the shade of shop porches and steps and alleys, but without any wind to freeze one’s bones.

The cold air nipped at Wickham’s nose and ears, but the rest of him was delightfully warm in the red woolen coat and militia-issued hat, as well as a long wool scarf he had wrapped about his neck and chin.

He would not have chosen to come out today if it were entirely up to him, but Colonel Forster had summoned him.

A bit odd, that, but perhaps he wished to speak to Wickham about taking front and center at the next dinner party to which the officers were invited.

Wickham was, after all, quite the most charming of the group, and all the local ladies were enamored of him already.

One such lady, young Miss Maria Lucas, was walking towards him now, her hands in a muff and a tall and sturdy maid at her side.

The girl smiled at him, and he returned it, along with a slight bow.

Her cheeks pinked up and she giggled, but neither she nor her attendant stopped as they passed him on their way to the library and the shops at the other end of the street.

Wickham was not disappointed. Sir William and Lady Lucas kept a strict eye on their daughters, rather pointlessly, in Wickham’s opinion.

Why bother, given that the much prettier and livelier Lydia Bennet wandered mostly unsupervised into and out of Meryton at will?

When she did have a companion, it was usually her sister Kitty, who was not quite as boisterous, almost as pretty, nearly as flirtatious, and just as stupid.

Miss Kitty was well enough, but it was Miss Lydia who had caught his eye.

She flirted incorrigibly, threw herself at every red-coated officer she saw, and was entirely bowled over by Wickham’s charm.

She was not wise or well looked after, and he thought with pleasure that it would be a simple enough matter to lure her into his bed for an evening or perhaps two.

He would, he mused, have to seduce her. She was the daughter of a gentleman and a noisy lady.

If he were to force her, she would tell her father at once, and that could make circumstances unpleasant for him.

It was quite possible that Bennet would not bestir himself for the daughter he openly disdained, but Miss Bennet’s good-natured and honorable betrothed, Mr. Bingley, might find it incumbent upon himself to defend the honor of his new sister by marriage, and that would certainly be inconvenient.

Wickham would have been content to amuse himself awhile longer with Susannah Cartier, who had been quite pretty for a mere tenant girl.

Unfortunately, she had vanished two or three weeks ago, so doubtless her father had discovered her disgrace and sent her away to Scotland or somewhere she could not besmirch the family name, such as it was.

With her gone, he found himself in need of a new companion, and Miss Lydia, if he played his cards correctly, would be all too willing.

He came to a stop at the brick house that Colonel Forster had rented for the duration of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, and he carefully examined his reflection in a window with dark drapes drawn behind it.

As the most handsome man in the regiment, it was his duty to always look the part, neat in dress and appearance, charming in manner and bearing.

He gave himself a critical once-over and straightened his hat, slightly askew from his many greetings in the street, and tugged his coat into perfect lines.

A crisp nod to himself in the window and a flash of a smile, and he mounted the steps to the door and knocked briskly.

He was not kept waiting long. The colonel’s personal servant answered the door, taking Wickham’s hat and passing it to a maid before turning and leading Wickham down the hall. He paused at a closed door, simple and unadorned, and knocked twice before opening it.

Wickham presumed that the room that lay behind the door must be the colonel’s office, and he was proven right a moment later as he stepped inside.

A half-empty bookcase on the far wall drew the eye, then the heavy, plain oak desk, with several chairs drawn up before it.

Forster was sitting behind the desk, hands clasped on top of it and a deep frown on his features.

It was not an expression appropriate for wanting to discuss parties, and unease drifted through Wickham’s mind like a breath of smoke.

He rearranged his face into a mask of grave calm, clasping his hands sharply behind his back and bowing respectfully.

“You may go, Simkins,” Colonel Forster ordered, and the servant retreated out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him with a firm click.

“You called for me, sir?” Lieutenant Wickham asked in his most respectful tone.

Colonel Forster rose from his chair and said, “I did, yes, Wickham. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy, you wish to speak to the lieutenant?”

Wickham spun around and felt the blood drain from his body at the sight of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, resplendently dressed in his Regulars uniform, with his old enemy, Fitzwilliam Darcy, at his side.

“Good morning, Wickham,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a dangerous smile. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.”

Wickham unconsciously took a step back until the backs of his legs hit his commander’s desk.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam ... Darcy,” he choked out, and swallowed convulsively, “what do you want?”

“It is not a question of what we want , Wickham,” Darcy said, his handsome face twisted into a scowl.

“It is what we are going to do. You are being escorted to Marshalsea, where you will be imprisoned until you can pay off your debt to me. Given that you owe me hundreds of pounds and are doubtless in debt here in Meryton, I do not expect you to leave that prison for the rest of your life.”

Wickham swayed in horror at these words and shook his head. “No, no, you cannot do that, Darcy!”

“Why can he not?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired, taking two steps forward and inspecting him with interest. “You left large debts in Lambton, which my cousin paid off, and you know the law of the land – those who are indebted can be imprisoned until they repay the debt.”

Wickham pressed back against the desk more and shook his head wildly. “I am the godson of George Darcy. That is why. You cannot … old Mr. Darcy loved me, and I cannot believe that you would disdain his memory in such a way!”

“My father never knew your vicious propensities,” Darcy said, his narrowed eyes cold with anger. “If he had known that you are the type of man to attack and ruin a tenant girl, he would be as furious as I am.”

Fear gave way to incredulity.

“You cannot,” Wickham began and then raised his eyes heavenward before continuing, “You cannot be serious, Darcy! You are threatening me with prison over that wench, Susannah Cartier? She is nothing! Nothing at all! She is...”

To his profound astonishment, he was punched in the jaw at this point, and not by Fitzwilliam Darcy, or Colonel Fitzwilliam, but by Colonel Forster, who had rounded the desk, hit him hard enough to knock him into the desk, and now stood over his semi prone body, which was partially on the floor and partially leaning against the desk.

“You vile worm!” Forster snarled. “If there is one thing I never accept, it is a man who takes advantage of maidens, whether gentle women or not. And here you are, not even bothering to pretend that you are innocent of this charge! Gentlemen, I suggest you remove this disgusting excuse for a man from my office before I do more damage still.”

Wickham stared up into his commanding officer’s face, which was red with fury, and did not protest when Darcy and Fitzwilliam stepped forward, grabbed him by the arms, and dragged him out the door to a waiting carriage behind the house.