Page 26 of Fitzwilliam Darcy An Honourable Man
Netherfield
The Drawing Room
As Charles Bingley arrived in the room, he immediately sat on the sofa next to his wife, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Jane was knitting something for their son and he waited until he had her full attention before he spoke. As she turned trusting violet eyes to him, Charles swallowed hard. How he hated to inform her of this news!
“I have something to tell you, sweetheart. I would have done anything to spare you this worry, especially in your delicate condition, but I know you would want to know.” She nodded her agreement and he was encouraged to continue. “You remember the letter that came this morning as you were going upstairs to feed Peter?” Jane eyes widened, but she did not reply. “It was from Darcy.”
His voice was strained as he began to tell her everything regarding the letter and the fact that it pointed to Caroline’s involvement in trying to elicit an invitation to Pemberley. “It is a good thing that Darcy was not fooled and realised almost instantly that it was not from me. But Caroline did mention the cousin staying at Pemberley, Elise Lawrence, so she has evidently read our correspondence.”
Jane sat stunned for several moments before saying softly, “Caroline knows.” She shook her head side to side—as if by denying the words she could keep them from being true. “This cannot be. We were so careful. How could she—”
Charles interrupted. “I have no idea. I suppose she gained access to my study somehow and read my letters from Darcy, or she could even have eavesdropped while we were talking. Either way, she has proven once again that we cannot trust her. She does not care for our family or wish to be a part of it. If she had not left for London, I fear I would strangle her with my bare hands!”
“Heavens! Does she suspect that Elise is Lizzy? If she does, she will do whatever she can to harm her! She has always hated Lizzy!”
Charles sighed, taking her hand and squeezing it. “It is obvious that she wrote that letter to Darcy, but sometime between sending the letter and leaving for London, she must have ascertained that Lizzy and Elise are one and the same. When the letter was sent, she was merely begging an invitation to Pemberley. But I have just today been informed that she is spreading vicious rumours in London that Lizzy is the cousin staying at Pemberley.”
At Jane’s shocked look, he explained. “My friend, Jonathan Mattson, wrote me a letter which I received by special express just moments ago.” Reaching inside his coat pocket, he retrieved the missive and unfolded it, beginning to summarize the contents.
“He says his sister—you remember Margaret?” Jane nodded absently. “Margaret told him that Caroline has, in her words, been telling everyone that will listen that she has to warn Mr. Darcy of a woman who is trying to take advantage of him. Caroline indicated that the woman was already at Pemberley, pretending to be a long, lost cousin .”
Jane began crying. “Why? Why would she do this, Charles? If she has read our letters to William, then she must realise that Elizabeth is not well, and that we are hiding her from...from him . Has she no compassion?”
“I can say with all confidence that she does not! She cares only for herself, sweetheart, and it looks as though she still will do anything to separate Lizzy from Darcy.” He hugged Jane, rubbing her back solicitously as she wept. “It will not help tremendously, I fear, but I shall go directly to London to attempt to undo some of the damage.”
“What can you do? The news has likely been spread far and wide by now. You know she is a part of that vindictive band of schoolmates who dearly love to tear people to shreds with their gossip.”
Charles stood and advanced to a small writing desk, throwing the note from Mattson angrily upon it. “I have already informed Darcy of the situation in a letter, which will go out in the morning by express. The day after tomorrow I intend to travel to London to notify Caroline that her allowance has been cut off completely. She will be moving to York, as soon as I can make the arrangements to live with our aunt, Bertha Caulfield. There she shall perform in whatever capacity our aunt desires—even as a maid, for all I care. I shall give Caroline’s allowance to Aunt Caulfield for her maintenance. And, as my aunt is always in need of monetary assistance, I am certain she will be happy to oblige me by taking in Caroline.”
“You would cut off her allowance and give it to your aunt?”
“I shall explain to my sister that in order for her to regain her allowance, she must call on all of her friends and acquaintances before she leaves London and confess that her own jealously caused her to spread the lies regarding Darcy. She shall affirm that the woman at Pemberley is truly Mr. Darcy’s cousin, Elise Lawrence, who is staying there to recover her health. If she does a credible job of making a laughing stock of herself and teaching others never to trust her again, then at the end of one full year, not one day less, I shall restore her allowance, and she can do with it as she pleases. In any event, she shall never get one penny more than the allowance from me or be welcome in my homes ever again.”
“How will you know if she complies—if she confesses or even changes the confession to favour her?”
“I will make it clear that she has to confess exactly as I stated and I shall find out the truth of it. She knows that I have trusted friends in London, who have sisters that are her acquaintances. I shall be able to gauge the genuineness of it.”
“And if she refuses? Caroline treasures her self-importance, after all.”
“If that is the case, I will tell her that I shall inform my friends that she is very jealous of Darcy, and that accounts for why she made up this lie about his cousin, and I shall ask them to pass that information along to their families and friends. Caroline knows she can put a better light on it, perhaps even be pitied for her jealousy, whereas I do not care how she is perceived. Whatever the source, the end result will be the same—she will be ridiculed. However, if I am left to handle the situation, she will not have the opportunity to redeem her allowance.”
“But what of Louisa? Will she not just take Caroline in?”
“Louisa shall be made to know that if she takes Caroline in, she will be aligning herself with someone who is no longer welcome in my homes, and therefore, she will not be welcome either. I daresay, Bertram will not be happy to have Caroline in residence, especially with no allowance, nor will he be happy to forgo my stock of imported brandy that he enjoys imbibing so freely. I do not think Louisa will be imprudent enough to choose her sister over me.”
“Oh, Charles, are you positive you want to take this course of action?”
“Darcy is like my brother, and Lizzy is dearer to me than my own sisters. It will be no sacrifice never to see Caroline again. And, if Louisa wishes to align herself with her, then so be it. I shall be the richer for not having to restock my brandy so often.”
London
Preston House
Wickham waited while two men backed out the front door, carrying a large settee, following their progress as they carefully made their way down the steps to deposit it in a large wagon. Shaking his head in wonder, he hurried up the steps behind them and into the foyer. There he stood for a moment, looking about, but Mr. Potts was nowhere to be seen. No one else appeared either to take his coat and hat. Hearing voices in the parlour, he quietly walked in that direction, taking pains not to make any noise with his heavy boots. In his line of work, keeping his presence a secret often came in handy. He had learned a good deal of useful information in that manner.
“I realise you have not been paid for three months, Clara. I am not a halfwit! I do intend to pay you—pay all the servants—just as soon as I receive the funds that I have invested. I have informed my banker, and I should have a draft this week. Please tell the others that they shall be paid by Friday, even if I have to get a loan from my uncle until I have my money.”
Wickham could see the maid’s face through the partially open door and she did not seem to be appeased. Striding into the room as though he were just arriving and had not overheard their conversation, he declared loudly, “Mrs. Preston, I hope I am not interrupting, but there was no one in the foyer to announce me.”
“Yes, well—” Cecile began, but Wickham continued undaunted.
“I stopped to see Mr. Stratton at the bank, and when he learned I was to meet with you today, he asked if I would mind delivering this.” With those words, Wickham pulled an actual bank envelope from the inside pocket of his coat. “He prays you will forgive him for not bringing it in person, as he would have been delayed until tomorrow.”
Clara’s eyes lit up upon recognising the envelope that Wickham handed to Cecile, who seized the opportunity. “You may go now, Clara. Please inform the others of our discussion.”
“Yes, Mrs. Preston,” the heavy woman replied, dropping a curtsey and nodding pleasantly towards Wickham as she turned to leave.
“Oh, and Clara?” The maid stopped and turned again. “Would you please ask Ives to take Mr. Potts’ place at the door and then bring us some tea?” The woman bobbed again before swiftly leaving the room.
“You could not have come at a better time!” Cecile sighed, dropping into one of only a few chairs remaining in the large room. She held up the envelope in question. “I do not suppose this is actually mine?”
Wickham shook his head and reached for the object he had used to his advantage on many an occasion. Then, looking about at the nearly empty room, he inquired. “What in the name of God are you doing? There are only half the furnishings in this room since last I visited. Are you selling your furniture to pay the bills?”
Cecile shrugged. “I never liked most of it anyway. The pieces were inherited from Mr. Preston’s family and were not my taste. It is too bad the Prestons own this townhouse, or I could sell it as well.”
“You have certainly made enough money procuring your friend’s jewellery to be solvent. Instead, your wagers on the horses have you in dire straits. You should give up gambling, my dear, as you have not the head for determining winners.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “And that from the man who gladly accepts my wagers!”
Wickham tried unsuccessfully to smile and it seemed more of a glower. “My associate would be quite cross with me if he found that I had refused a wager. However, as a fellow business associate, I hate to see you struggling when you have made quite a good income with our other little endeavour. Besides, it is essential that you keep up appearances, or you will be of no use to me in that enterprise. No one wishes to associate with someone who is on the brink of ruin, and selling your furnishings speaks of that. Can you imagine what the ton would think if they saw this room? And servants talk!”
Cecile dismissed his assertions with a wave of her hand. “When I marry Farthington, I shall have license to buy anything I want.”
“Farthington? Lord Harold Farthington?”
“Yes, why?”
Wickham held back a laugh. “Well, I presume you have not read the society pages this morning.”
Cecile’s face first turned pale before beginning to redden in anger as he continued to stare at her. “Are you going to tell me what you are crowing about, or do I have to send for a paper?”
Giving up all pretence, Wickham’s laughter rang out. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Lord Farthington has announced his engagement to Lady Bumgardiner—you know the rather ugly woman who inherited sixty thousand pounds, not to mention three estates, when her husband died a year ago.”
Cecile screamed, “How can he do this to me? He practically promised to marry me! Me! Not that unsightly, humourless chit!”
Wickham gestured. “Calm yourself, madam. You will alert the whole neighbourhood to your misfortune if you keep this up. Do you wish everyone to know of your humiliation?”
At just that moment, Clara arrived with the tea but stopped in the doorway, apparently wary of coming inside after hearing the mistress’s outburst. She relented when Wickham gestured her forward. Gingerly moving into the room, she set the tea and biscuits on the liquor cabinet—the only place available in the nearly empty room. Wordlessly, she bobbed another curtsey, before practically running from the room. Wickham laughed, following her to shut the door, and after locking it, he turned to see that Cecile was still seething.
“My dear Mrs. Preston, do not pine for that old codger. I have a proposition that may very well make you a fortune. If you agree to help me, we shall both have enough money to live well—howbeit, we may need to move to another country.”
Cecile’s eyebrows rose in question, but she said nothing. Instead, she walked over to the liquor cabinet and proceeded to pour two cups of tea. Then she opened the doors below and removed a half-empty bottle of brandy which she used to lace her cup. Turning she held up the bottle.
“Only tea for me, with a little cream and sugar. I have a lot of work to accomplish, and I have need of a clear head.”
Handing Wickham his cup, she assumed her former position, slipping into the upholstered chair and sipping the hot liquid as though deep in thought. Wickham was not pleased. Here he was offering her a way out, a way to keep her present standard of living, and yet she hesitated.
“Whether you decide to help me or not, you are never to tell anyone about this conversation. If I learn that you have told anyone, I will have you eliminated . Is that understood?”
Cecile swallowed hard, her mien reflecting her newfound anxiety. This must be very serious indeed. Not doubting that Wickham would do as he said if he suspected she had informed anyone, she was well aware that he had ample friends at his disposal to accomplish the task. “I swear I will not say anything to anyone.”
“Good! In the past, you have taken things , jewellery and such, but this scheme involves taking a person—a woman. She will not be harmed—only held for ransom. A very handsome ransom, if you will. But if you do not want to be involved, tell me now, and there will be no repercussions, no hard feelings. However, should you agree to join me in this venture, there will be no changing your mind later. Is that understood?”
“I have your solemn promise that this person will not be harmed?”
“My solemn promise?” Wickham snickered at the thought of his promises being something of worth. “Of course!”
At Cecile’s look of dismay, he tried to be more convincing. “I am a gentleman and not a ruffian. I do not relish harming anyone, especially as that entails much greater punishment if one is caught in the act.”
Cecile frowned at the mention of punishment, making him chuckle. “Rest assured, I have an excellent plan and do not intend to get caught. Mind you, I will do whatever I must to protect myself. However, I feel certain all can be accomplished without any violence whatsoever.”
Realising that there appeared to be no other solution to her predicament and with so little money that she would likely have to sell her estate next in order to satisfy her creditors, Cecile acquiesced. After all, should Marvin learn that I have been selling the furnishings from this townhouse, I shall have no choice but to move back to my estate. “I agree. What does this plan entail?”
“If my information proves true, I will have the exact location of a very wealthy man’s wife. She ran away from him some months ago, and he wants to learn where she has been hiding. The woman could easily be worth a twenty thousand pounds reward, and if you agree to help me, half is yours.”
“Why would she be hiding? Does he wish to harm her?”
“What he does or does not wish to do is none of our concern. Our only worry should be what this exchange means for us.”
“Who is she?”
“You do need to know until the information is verified, and the time to take action draws near. The less you know until then, the better. If you have no knowledge of the details, then if something happens to thwart our plans, I will know for certain that you were not the one who betrayed me.”
Cecile nodded. Ten thousand pounds would put her back on her feet quite nicely. “You know that I have no choice. Count me in.”
Wickham smirked. “I knew I could depend on you. Let us hope the source proves accurate.”
Pemberley
The Library
Lady Waltham was beside herself as Fitzwilliam Darcy completely ignored her, escorting his supposed cousin into the library, hand-in-hand. As Mrs. Reynolds began to lead her up the stairs, Gwendolyn turned and ran back down them, heading directly to the library as though she had not been rebuked. When William looked up at her entrance to the room, she declared, “What I have to say to you is private!”
Drawing himself up to his full height, William never flinched. “I told you that I have nothing to say to you, madam, nor do I wish to listen to your drivel.”
Gwendolyn stood motionless for some time, her fiery eyes flickering between William and Elizabeth. She craved to hurl the gossip learned in London at her rival, but knew it would be more effective if she used it against Fitzwilliam...alone. Huffing, she headed towards the door.
“This is not over, Fitzwilliam. You will face me sooner or later!” With that pronouncement, she was out the door and a livid housekeeper escorted to her to the smallest, least comfortable guest room at the end of the hallway.
“What was that all about?” Elizabeth asked. Clearly the woman was acting the part of a jealous lover. At William’s look of dismay, she laid a hand on his arm. “I am sorry. I should not have asked. If you do not wish to tell me—”
“I wish you to know everything, though I fear you will care less for me afterward.”
Elizabeth cupped his face and brushed a light kiss across his lips, causing him to ache for more. “Nothing ... absolutely nothing could induce me to care less. Since we have found each other again, you have been all that is good and kind towards me, and that is as far in the past as I care to delve.”
“A very wise person once said, ‘If we are to be together, I must tell you. Otherwise, there will be a gulf between us, and I could not bear it.’”
Elizabeth smiled, though tears threatened as they filled her eyes. “As another wise person replied, ‘Then tell me everything.’”
William smiled wanly, pulling her into his arms as if to keep her from escaping. He kept his head lying atop hers, fearing to look into her beautiful face as he explained his relationship with Gwendolyn Waltham. It took several minutes and, afterward, Elizabeth was deathly silent as neither moved. When he could bear it no more, William pushed her to arm’s length, though he still clutched her forearms. “Please say you do not hate me.”
Wiping the remnants of tears from her cheeks, Elizabeth tried to smile. “What happened to you was an injustice, just as surely as the one perpetrated against me. Lady Waltham took advantage of a good-hearted young boy, who has grown into the good-hearted man I love. That you turned your back on that type activity, when so many of your sphere would have embraced it without conscience, speaks well of your character.”
William kissed her deeply then murmured, “Oh, my sweet Elizabeth. Hearing you speak well of me is all I ever desired. Thank you for being so understanding.”
“I could also thank you for your understanding heart, but we would be all night singing each other’s praises.” She kissed him lightly again. “Now, if I remember correctly, you wanted to take a hot bath to soak your poor, aching back. Being on horseback most of the day must have been excruciating. Come, let us retire, so you may get some relief.”
“I look forward to the respite of soaking in my tub, but knowing that you know everything and love me still is worth more than all the hot water in Derbyshire in allowing me to sleep.”
Peals of delicious laughter filled the room, bringing a smile to his face. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, how do you always know just what to say to make me love you more?”
~~~*~~~
Once in her room, Gwendolyn had donned her most revealing nightgown, though she had no intention of sleeping. She sat down and waited for what she concluded was a sufficient amount of time for the household to settle down. Upon determining that everyone was probably abed, she donned a robe, blew out the candle on her dresser and opened the door barely wide enough to peer into the hall. It was pitch black save for the occasional lit candle in the sconces along the wall. As she moved down the corridor hoping to locate William’s quarters, she heard footsteps coming and quickly tried a nearby doorknob. Finding it unlocked, she slipped inside an empty bedchamber and placed her ear against the door. Not hearing anything more, she opened the door slightly and was startled as William walked past in the dark. Not seeing her, he turned and greeted Adams, who was coming along behind him. They carried on a whispered conversation well within hearing distance of her hiding place.
“Sir, I have come from the kitchen. I am having more water heated for your bath, as what I brought up earlier has cooled. It is still warm, but not as hot as you like it.”
“Thank you, Adams. It is entirely my fault for taking so long downstairs. I shall begin my bath with what you have here. Just bring more hot water up when you can.”
“Very well, sir. I shall return just as soon as it heats.” With those words, the servant retreated the way he had come, and William entered his dressing room, leaving the door unlocked for his valet.
Gwendolyn could not wipe the smile from her face. She could not have planned a better seduction. She would wait until William was in his bath to slip inside his room, and this time, he would not be able to resist her. Congratulating herself on her ingenuity, Gwendolyn looked about the room for a chair and finding one, sat down to wait. Fitzwilliam would have time to undress and enter his bath, and then she would appear.
~~~*~~~
Lord Greenwich was already in bed when his wife opened the door between their rooms and appeared at his bedside, candle in hand.
“Martha, my dear, what are you about? I thought you would be asleep by now.”
“I cannot rest. There is something about Gwendolyn’s behaviour that does not seem right to me. Though she said she and Mr. Darcy were old friends, he did not seem happy to see her in the least. And did you see how she snubbed his cousin’s greeting, almost as if she were jealous? I tell you, Harrison, there is more to this than meets the eye. I pray that we have not been ill used to upset Mr. Darcy.”
“One could not help but notice the snub of Mr. Darcy’s cousin or Gwendolyn’s jealous behaviour, and the tension between her and Fitzwilliam was palpable. I, too, fear there might be a reason, other than the weather, that we were diverted to Pemberley.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“But we cannot sort them out tonight, sweetheart. Please return to your bed; we shall make sense of this tomorrow. There is one thing for certain, weather permitting, we shall leave as early as possible.”
“Of course, you are right. Forgive me for bothering you with my fears at this inopportune time, Husband.”
Lord Greenwich reached to take his wife’s hand and kissed it. “You are never a bother, love.” A very close bolt of lightning lit up the room, as the rumble of thunder shook the windows. “On second thought, would you like to share my bed tonight? After all, it is storming, and you have never liked to sleep alone during storms.”
Lady Greenwich blushed, though it was too dark to be seen. “Oh, Harrison, you are still the romantic, are you not?” With that, she set her candle down on the table, blew out the flame and crawled under the covers being held open by her mate of forty years.
Snuggling against his warmth, she sighed. “It is so sad that most young people never know the kind of love we have shared, sweetheart.”
Lord Greenwich could not help smiling widely as he pulled his wife closer. “Yes, very sad. Now, go to sleep. I shall keep you safe, love.”
Lady Greenwich instantly sank into a deep sleep, secure in the arms of her husband, while Lord Greenwich lay awake unable to do the same. His mind was occupied by thoughts of the rumours he had heard recently at his club. Oh, there had always been insinuations about women in general, and Gwendolyn Waltham in particular, but he had always chosen to ignore them. Most of the stories, he was sure, were invented in the imaginations of men who had no such liaisons but were eager for others to think they had.
However, recently there had been talk of some kind of confrontation between Gwendolyn and Mr. Darcy at the Matlock’s ball held in honour of Leighton’s birthday—talk that Fitzwilliam Darcy was not happy to be the object of Lady Waltham’s interest. Apparently, in the tale going around White’s, Darcy had told her so quite emphatically. After seeing Darcy’s face when he realised that Gwendolyn was in his house, Greenwich now had no doubt that this was one rumour that was true.
His Martha had always dearly loved Lady Waltham’s company, so he had chosen to ignore the woman’s irritating ways. But convincing them to drive on to Pemberley when Mr. Darcy clearly was displeased with her presence was insufferable. Darcy had always been a good neighbour, and though Greenwich had been more comfortable with George Darcy than his son, he did not wish to injure that relationship by indulging Gwendolyn Waltham’s whims.
With a heavy sigh, he concluded he needed something to help him sleep.
Making sure that his wife was still sound asleep, he gave her a peck on the cheek and then slid out of the bed. Surely, Darcy would not begrudge him a glass of brandy to calm his nerves. He was sure that George Darcy kept a liquor cabinet in the library, and Fitzwilliam had changed hardly a thing since his father had passed away. So once in the dark hallway, he headed in that direction.
~~~*~~~