Page 71 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

“Pratt, good morning!” George Wickham said jovially, lowering himself onto a bench at one of the tables at the Pig in the Poke. It was nearly eleven in the morning, but given that he had not found his bed until three hours past midnight, he considered himself up and about in good time.

“Wickham,” the other man replied with a sly smile, “I hope you had a pleasant time at Netherfield last night?”

“Yes, it was most entertaining,” Wickham responded with satisfaction. In truth, it had been more than entertaining; he had spent most of the evening squiring Miss de Bourgh, and while the lady had cited fatigue and overwarmth in refusing to dance more than once, she had seemed entirely pleased with his attentions. Nor had Darcy given him any trouble, to his mingled surprise and relief. Pemberley’s master had largely ignored him except for a few angry glances, but apparently Darcy had no interest in interfering with his attentions to Miss de Bourgh.

In some respects, that was a trifle odd; Darcy was such a respectable fellow, and Wickham’s attempt to elope with Miss Georgiana Darcy had provoked the taller gentlemen into outraged fury. He knew his godfather’s son despised him. On the other hand…

Wickham grinned to himself. On the other hand, Darcy knew that any open attack against his old playmate would result in the publication of Georgiana’s love letters. That, no doubt, was staying his hand in warning Miss de Bourgh of Wickham’s fortune hunting tendencies.

Perhaps Darcy had tried to warn the heiress to Rosings and been rebuffed. After all, if Pemberley’s master could pursue the poorly dowered daughter of a country gentleman, surely Miss de Bourgh was free to marry the son of a steward if she so desired.

He realized that Pratt had been speaking to him for at least a minute, and he had missed it all, but he emerged from his reverie to hear his fellow officer say, “It is quite a pity for you, Wickham. She is pretty.”

Wickham shook his head to clear it and confessed, “My apologies, Pratt, I fear I drifted off. It was a late night. What were you saying?”

Pratt rolled his eyes in exasperation but obligingly repeated himself. “You missed Susanna Hartford, who was obviously desirous of spending some … intimate time with you. She is quite attractive.”

Wickham blinked and lowered his tankard of ale forcefully to the roughhewn table. “Susanna Hartford? Who is she?”

Pratt frowned and shrugged. “I have never seen her before, but I assumed she was one of your conquests. Pretty, not very tall, dark haired with blue eyes, probably close to thirty years of age? She was dressed like a tradesman’s daughter or the like, and said she intended to meet you the night before last, but was prevented by her father.”

Wickham stared at his companion and his heart thumped faster, his mind struggling to make sense of these words. He knew no Susanna Hartford, and while he had seduced more than one young woman during his sojourn to Meryton, this woman did not fit the description of any of his conquests. So why…?

He leaped to his feet and rushed out of the tavern, ignoring the puzzled queries of Pratt. Three minutes later, he was at the door of his barracks, a minute later he was in his room, and thirty seconds after that, he was frantically turning over his mattress in search of … in search of…

He sank onto a nearby chair and dropped his head into his hands with a loud groan. Georgiana’s letters were gone. Somehow, someone … no, somehow Darcy had retrieved them. That was the only explanation.

He cursed aloud, furious with himself. Of course! While he had been busy at the ball at Netherfield, Darcy had arranged for this unknown woman … wait! The description that Pratt had given him matched that of Miss Colby, Anne de Bourgh’s companion!

He swore again, even more loudly. They had played him for a fool, all of them! Darcy, Anne de Bourgh, Miss Colby…

But no, not Anne de Bourgh – it seemed quite impossible that the woman was at all aware of the activity of her companion. He flattered himself that he understood women very well; it seemed most unlikely that the meek, unsophisticated heiress of Rosings was part of this plot against him. No, Darcy had no doubt recruited Miss Colby to search Wickham’s quarters, and she had, most regrettably, stumbled across the letters despite his clever hiding spot.

For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm him. Those letters were – had been – his most powerful defense against Darcy. Now that they were gone...

Except that Darcy had not retrieved all the letters, but only half! Wickham congratulated himself again on his farsightedness; he had deposited two letters with Mrs. Younge, and once he had retrieved them...

His eyes narrowed dangerously. He had been content to leave the Darcys be, but this was war. No longer would he skulk and hide; now, Darcy would discover that George Wickham was not a man with whom it was safe to trifle. If the master of Pemberley wished to obtain all of Miss Darcy’s letters, he would pay, and pay well.

Wickham rose to his feet with determination. A moment later, his all too light purse was in his hand. He was sadly short on ready funds, but he had enough to hire a horse. He would ask Colonel Forster for a short leave and be off to London within the hour.

***

“Mr. Bennet, I have the honor of requesting the hand of your daughter, Miss Elizabeth, in marriage,” Darcy said formally.

Bennet smiled, though a little sadly, and said, “Of course, Mr. Darcy, you have both my blessing and my congratulations. I believe you and my little Lizzy will deal very well together, though I will miss her dearly.”

“Elizabeth has suggested you might be willing to visit us on occasion, if not to spend time with us, to enjoy the library at Pemberley.”

Bennet’s lips curled slightly upward. “That is likely true enough, if your library is worth the journey.”

“It has been the work of many generations, and I own literally thousands of books, many of them rare.”

Now his future father’s eyes were sparkling in delight. “If that is so, Mr. Darcy, I daresay you will find me under your roof all too often!”

***

“I intend to visit Mrs. Curtis today,” Mary commented. “The hens are laying well, and I will bring her two dozen eggs, and Marianna can boil them up. Mrs. Curtis says that eggs seem to agree with her.”

“I will come with you,” Jane declared. “It is been far too long since I have called on her, and I would enjoy playing with the Curtis children for an hour, which will give their mother time to rest.”

“Oh but Jane, what if Mr. Bingley should come to see you?” Mrs. Bennet demanded worriedly. “He must find you here!”

Jane Bennet turned her clear-eyed gaze on her mother. “Mr. Bingley understands the situation, Mama. He knows that I will fulfill my duties at home regardless of his schedule. Indeed, given the events of last autumn, he is quite aware that any expectations on his part about how I choose to spend my time are premature and, indeed, presumptuous.”

Mrs. Bennet wilted at these fiery words. She was not a quick witted woman, and kept forgetting that her eldest was no longer the serene, peaceful, placid girl who had brought joy to her life for twenty odd years. Indeed, in her own way, Jane was proving more difficult than Elizabeth these days!

The door to the parlor opened and Mr. Bennet stepped into the room with Mr. Darcy behind him.

“Mrs. Bennet, Daughters,” Bennet proclaimed dramatically, “Mr. Darcy has asked for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage, and I have given him my blessing.”

There was a chorus of shrieks and cries of joy, and Mr. Darcy found himself, to his embarrassment, with his large hands clasped tightly in those of his future wife’s mother in front of him, her face wreathed in smiles. “Oh, Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy! What an honor, what a ... oh, I am so happy for you and Lizzy!”

“We are happy too, Mama,” Elizabeth said, gently drawing her mother away and embracing her. “Fitzwilliam and I are very well suited, I believe.”

“Of course you are, of course! Oh, Lizzy, such carriages, such pin money! Mr. Darcy, can you stay for dinner tonight? Please do say you will! I am not sure if we can get any turbot today, on such short notice...”

“I believe Mr. Darcy has some business to attend to today, Mama,” Elizabeth interposed, “but I am certain he will join us for a family dinner one day soon.”

“I would be honored,” Darcy replied, bowing stiffly toward his future mother by marriage.

“Elizabeth, perhaps you would care to show Mr. Darcy the irises in the flower bed?” Mary suggested diplomatically. “They are very lovely at the moment.”

Darcy found himself, to his profound relief, swept out of the house and into the back garden by his love, who managed to hold in her mirth until they were some fifty feet from the house.

She then gave way to hopeless laughter which Darcy found himself joining, not because he understood her amusement, but because he loved her.

“Your expression, my dear Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth finally crowed once she had recovered sufficiently. “I do apologize for my mother; she has been longing for a daughter engaged for more than five years, and you are receiving the brunt of her enthusiasm.”

“I assure you that I am equally enthusiastic, Elizabeth,” Darcy murmured, his eyes suddenly hungry. “Enthusiastic and overjoyed and, I confess, awed. Given my vile words at Hunsford, I am...”

He stopped talking as Elizabeth placed one delicate hand over his mouth. “Hush, my dear Fitzwilliam, please. Both of us behaved rather badly, but I have no desire to relive the past when we have both learned from our previous errors. Now, as much as I long to discuss wedding plans, I must ask – was Miss Colby successful?”

Darcy felt a twinge of compunction at the anxiety on Elizabeth’s face and spoke rapidly, “Yes, she was, praise God. She retrieved not just my sister’s letters, but several others that Wickham received in the past from besotted young women. I burned my sister’s letters and handed over the rest to Anne, who will return them to their rightful owners.”

Elizabeth blew out a long, deep breath of relief. “I am so very glad, my darling. Now what do you think Wickham will do next? I suppose he may not realize that the papers have been lost to him for some time, unless he checks them daily.”

Darcy grimaced. “Anne tells me that Miss Colby was observed by Lieutenant Pratt when she was leaving the barracks, and Wickham was no doubt told of her incursion. No, I think it all too likely that he will soon discover that he has lost the letters.”

Now Elizabeth’s eyes were dark with concern. “What do you think he will do?”

“I do not know what he intends,” Darcy admitted, “but I will have him thrown into Marshalsea for unpaid debts this very day. He no longer has any hold over us, and I will not permit him to harm others with his vicious propensities.”

“I am glad,” his love replied fervently.

***

“George!” Mrs. Younge uttered in astonishment at the sight of her old partner in crime, “What are you doing here?”

George Wickham cast a hasty glance around him, but the kitchen was empty and the house largely silent. It was the time of day when most men and women who lived in boarding houses were working, and he was thankful for a moment of privacy with his former colleague.

“I need Miss Darcy’s letters,” he explained abruptly.

Dorothea Younge scowled. She was behind on preparations for the boarders’ dinner, and Wickham was trouble. All the same, and in spite of her innate common sense, she felt a magnetic pull toward the handsome man before her. Wickham was remarkably good looking, but his appeal to the ladies was based on more than his fine features. His expressions, the tone of his voice, the very way he held himself, drew women in, and Mrs. Younge knew that unless she was careful, Wickham would pull her into some idiotic scheme again.

“Why do you need her letters?” she demanded, though softly. The house was empty save for Mrs. Jamison and the charwoman who helped with some of the rough work, both of whom were upstairs, but it was still wise to be quiet.

Wickham blew out a rueful breath of air. “I fear I made a mistake, my dear Dorothea. I have been pursuing an heiress, and last night I attended a ball to better court her. During that time, Darcy sent a woman to search my quarters for Miss Darcy’s letters, which she found and took away.”

Mrs. Younge was startled into hissing out a most unladylike curse. Darcy! Why could the man not leave Wickham alone? Was it not enough that the master of Pemberley was rich, powerful and well-connected? Must he persecute his father’s godson so vindictively?

“You did not hide them well, it seems,” she reproved her former colleague, moving briskly over to a wet rag and wiping off her floury hands. She would need to finish the bread for dinner later, but for now, she wanted Wickham satisfied and gone. She had spent enough time in his arms to know that if he turned his charm on her again, she might well get involved in his latest schemes. She sympathized with him, most certainly, but she also had her own life and livelihood to consider.

Her hands clean, she marched out into the parlor and lifted down the clock from the mantelpiece. “You should have found a place to better hide your papers,” she informed Wickham calmly, reaching for the cord around her neck to find the appropriate key.

Wickham scowled and managed a condescending look at Mrs. Younge. “I lack the funds for such a thing as a clock with a hidden compartment, dear one. My place of concealment was excellent, but the seeker had a moment of luck during what must have been a long search. I am most grateful that you suggested that the letters be divided.”

“Yes, it is good that one of us has sense,” his companion retorted, turning the key in the lock and pulling open the drawer.

The next moment, her head swam, and she actually swayed in place. The drawer was empty.