Page 6 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)
The Phillips’s Home
Meryton
The Next Evening
Wickham strolled into the comfortable and slightly cluttered drawing room, glancing around at the heavily stuffed chairs and cushions and trinkets filling the space. Mr. Phillips bounced at his elbow like a rubicund and jocular ball, the other officers trailing behind them like so many ducklings after a parent.
An older woman, who could only be Mrs. Phillips, sat on a couch, as round as her husband and homely, though with a kind expression. The Bennet sisters were scattered decoratively throughout the room, though Wickham focused in on Miss Elizabeth, who was seated beside the fire. He smiled and wended his way through plump stools and overstuffed chairs to the fireplace, disregarding the way his fellows gravitated towards where the lovely Miss Bennet supervised Miss Lydia beside the window.
Wickham knew women. If Miss Bennet was two and twenty and showed little inclination for marriage before this – or even favored another man’s suit – she would look upon the direct approach with indulgence, at best, or contempt, at worst. No, if he intended to win her hand – and he did, for he stood badly in need of an heiress bride, whose money or estate could keep him from penury – a more subtle plan would be needed.
He caught Miss Elizabeth’s eye and smiled at her. Wickham would make himself agreeable to Miss Bennet’s next youngest sister, learning what the family’s situation was from the no doubt often overlooked second daughter of the house. He would discover what Miss Bennet liked and did not like and the best times to meet her by chance and how he might most effectively ingratiate himself with her.
And he would do it by flattering Miss Elizabeth. It would not be onerous, not at all, for while her elder sister was more beautiful and the recipient of considerably more attention, Miss Elizabeth was quite lovely. Wickham did not discriminate between blondes and brunettes, and Miss Elizabeth’s sparkling brown eyes were quite some of the finest he had ever seen. Her mien was joyful and vibrant, and she was altogether an appealing girl.
Wickham sat down across from her and favored her with his most charming smile.
“Miss Elizabeth, good evening. I am certainly grateful for this opportunity to spend time with you and your esteemed family…”
The ensuing conversation proceeded as expected, with Elizabeth Bennet growing ever more animated as they spoke. When the pair rose for supper, the newly minted lieutenant was conscious of a great deal of satisfaction. Miss Elizabeth was not only remarkably attractive, she had provided all sorts of interesting tidbits of information about her family in general and her elder sister in particular. Even better, Wickham had managed to introduce the topic of Darcy and had learned that the lady despised the master of Pemberley for some slight or other. No surprise there, but Wickham was pleased to fan the flames of her derision by imparting a carefully calculated tale of the lost Kympton living.
By the end of the evening, which had proven most enjoyable, Wickham was certain that he was well on his way to becoming a trusted friend of the Bennet family. Even if he failed in his pursuit of Miss Bennet, he would take great pleasure in blackening Darcy’s name to all those around him.
***
Jane’s Bedchamber
Midnight
Jane was curled on her bed, with her blonde hair tucked carefully up into her flannel nightcap and her heavy robe drawn close about her shoulders. She sighed a little as she watched Elizabeth striding back and forth on the short circuit of the room. No nightgown and cap for the incensed second Bennet sister, who still wore her dress from earlier in the evening. Elizabeth’s eyes glittered with wrath as she marched down the room and turned on the rug, the candles throwing her face into sharp relief and heightening her expression of anger.
“And then, when it was time for Mr. Wickham to be awarded the church living, Mr. Darcy gave it to someone else!” Elizabeth ranted.
“Lizzy…”
“I knew he was a dreadful person, Mr. Darcy, but to deny his own father’s godson! It is so … so cruel. So vindictive! To force his childhood friend into poverty? I cannot imagine such behavior from a gentleman!”
“Lizzy, my dear,” Jane said pleadingly, “I think it unlikely that the situation is exactly as Mr. Wickham has described it. Does it not seem far more probable that there was some misunderstanding? Perhaps a letter went astray or something?”
Elizabeth was, not for the first time, mildly exasperated with her sister, who only looked at the good in others, when so many people, like Mr. Darcy, were villains. On the other hand…
“It is dreadfully late,” she said contritely, “and I am certain you wish to sleep. I am sorry for bothering you.”
“You know I am always happy to speak with you,” Jane replied and then yawned enormously. “But yes, I am tired.”
Elizabeth swooped forward to plant a kiss on her head, and then she made her way to her bedchamber, where she hastily changed into her nightclothes and climbed into bed, which was delightfully comfortable thanks to the maid who had recently warmed the sheets with heating pans.
In spite of the fatigue of the day, her mind was too alert to permit her to fall asleep quickly. She had disliked Darcy of Pemberley ever since the evening he insulted her beauty, but now, with the additional knowledge of his perfidy towards the intriguing Mr. Wickham? Now she absolutely despised the man. How could Mr. Darcy justify behaving in such a way toward his own father’s godson? It was beyond understanding.
***
Longbourn
21 st November, 1811
The drawing room felt rather crowded, Elizabeth thought restlessly, filled as it was with all the Bennet women, plus the additions of Miss Bingley, her brother, and Mr. Darcy. She was not, truth be told, overly pleased with the visitors, though she cast an approving eye over Bingley, who sat giving Jane his full attention. On the settee beside him, Miss Bingley looked rather pinched in the eyes and mouth, unable – or perhaps unwilling – to keep the disapproval from her expression at her brother’s blatant interest and admiration for the lovely Miss Bennet.
Having delivered herself of the invitation to the ball Netherfield was hosting next week, which was the professed purpose for the visit, Miss Bingley now sat making supercilious and haughty sort of comments. As grating as her company was, however, most of Elizabeth’s ire was reserved for the man sitting aloof and silent in a nearby chair, who had not stopped staring at her from the moment he entered the room. She cared not a whit for Mr. Darcy’s disapprobation – for doubtless he was finding an endless litany of faults with her person and her manners and her conversation. She sat clothed in righteous fury, her anger fanning hot anew every time she thought of Mr. Darcy’s betrayal of poor Mr. Wickham. Arrogant, intolerable man! She wished that he had not come on the visit, but she knew well that he had little consideration for the desires of others.
“I do hope, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said, drawing her attention, “that you will stand up with me for the first set?”
“I would be honored, Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“That is very kind of you, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet said, “very kind of you indeed. Jane is a fine dancer, though to my mind, and I hope you do not mind me saying this, my dear, Elizabeth is even lighter on her feet.”
Elizabeth felt her own cheeks flush, not from delight but embarrassment. Bingley, to his great credit, turned immediately and said, “I am well aware, Madame, of all your daughters excellence on the floor, and wonder if I might have the honor of dancing with each of your fair daughters during the ball, though perhaps Miss Bennet might be willing to promise me the supper dance as well?”
Elizabeth watched with some anxiety as Jane glanced at her mother, and then, to her relief, sat up straight up and said, “Thank you, Mr. Bingley, I would be pleased to dance the supper set as well.”
Elizabeth, glancing back at her mother, observed that lady’s irritated scowl, and she could only be thankful for Mr. Bennet’s directive that Jane put her own happiness over that of her mother’s. Elizabeth was not certain that Bingley and Jane would make a match of it, but she did not want Mrs. Bennet to selfishly prevent such a union.
“Well, I believe we have stayed long enough,” Miss Bingley said, standing suddenly, which provoked Darcy and Bingley to stand as well, the latter looking a little bewildered. Elizabeth, who flattered herself on her understanding of others, was certain that Caroline Bingley did not wish for Jane to wed her brother and would do her best to separate the couple. Not due to anything regarding Jane, of course, who was refined and elegant and kind, but because Miss Bingley was a social climbing harpy who wanted Mr. Bingley to marry a rich woman with better connections than those of the Bennets.
It was astounding that Mr. Bingley, surrounded as he was by arrogant sisters and the disagreeable Mr. Darcy, was such a benevolent and gracious gentleman.
***
In the Bingley Carriage
On the Road to Netherfield Hall
A Few Minutes Later
“Charles, I do wish that you had not asked Miss Bennet for both the opening and supper sets,” Miss Bingley said. “You will be giving her such ideas!”
Bingley, who had been staring out the window with a beatific smile on his lips, turned a frowning look on his sister. “If you mean that I am indicating my interest in Miss Bennet, well, I can only hope so. The more time I spend with the lady, the more I admire her!”
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline Bingley said, turning toward the other male passenger in the carriage. “You agree with me, do you not, that Miss Bennet is not at all an appropriate bride for my brother?”
Darcy, who had been silently wrestling his thoughts into submission, jolted in surprise and, after a moment of cogitation, said, “I do not agree at all, Miss Bingley. Miss Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman, an heiress, and a charming and well-bred woman. Indeed, we had a similar conversation some days ago; given that your own fortune is from trade, Miss Bennet is an entirely appropriate bride for you brother.”
“But her mother is the daughter of a mere solicitor!” Miss Bingley cried out in anguish.
“But as Darcy just said, our own father earned his fortune from trade,” Bingley shot back and then turned a grinning look on his friend. “Darcy, I am most appreciative of your support. Perhaps I will offer for her at the ball!”
This provoked another jolt, a larger one, and Darcy shook his head and said, “I did not mean … Bingley, you have only known Miss Bennet for a little more than a month. Are you quite certain you know her well enough to marry her?”
“Exactly, Charles,” Miss Bingley chimed in anxiously. “Jane Bennet is handsome and well bred, but to offer upon only a few weeks' engagement? It seems very unwise!”
Bingley’s brow furrowed, and he said, “But in London, is it not quite common to offer based on nothing more than connections and wealth? I daresay many of the high-born men of the haut ton barely know their brides at all before marriage.”
“That is true enough,” Darcy admitted. “My own parents did not know one another well before they wed, though they were entirely compatible. But would you be happy in a marriage where you discover you do not like, or have much in common, with your wife?”
“You know you would not,” Miss Bingley declared. “Now, do promise me that you will not do anything hasty. There is no great hurry, after all; Miss Bennet is not going away, and it would be greatly to your benefit, and hers, to be certain of your admiration before you offer for her.”
Darcy knew, of course, that Miss Bingley was hoping that her brother’s interest in the heiress of Longbourn would fade away. She wished for her brother to wed a lady with far better connections than the Bennets, which she thought would benefit her own goal of climbing higher into society. However, in this case, Darcy was in agreement that Bingley ought to wait at least a few weeks to be certain of his love for Miss Bennet.
He was aware, suddenly, of a peculiar feeling of envy in his chest. His attraction toward Miss Elizabeth continued to grow with unabated fervor, and it was rather hard that he could not even consider marrying the lady. Her regrettable station in life prevented her from being a worthy bride for a Darcy.
The carriage was passing through Meryton now, and he looked about the simple little town with vague interest, which sharpened into horror at the sight of…
Surely it could not be. It could not. Not here, not in Meryton!
The carriage came to a halt, probably due to some congestion, which allowed Darcy to focus intently on the red-coated man standing only fifteen feet away, speaking cheerfully with other redcoats.
As appalling as it was, there was no doubt about the identification of the officer in question. George Wickham, his father’s godson. George Wickham, who had nearly run off with Georgiana Darcy a few months previously.
What cursed chance had brought Wickham to this little town?