Page 12 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
“No, Lydia, no,” Elizabeth replied, leaning forward.
“In our society, you must know that for a woman to be tied to a man by an engagement has a strong effect on her reputation, especially when the two individuals are of very different ranks. Mr. Wickham is indeed handsome, but he is the son of a steward whereas Miss Darcy is a daughter of a highly ranked land owner in Derbyshire.”
Lydia opened her mouth in protest, but to everyone’s surprise, Kitty spoke out more quickly.
“But why would she not wish to marry Mr. Wickham?” she demanded. “He is all that is handsome and charming, even if he is poor. Miss Darcy is wealthy and they could live on her money. It should not matter if he is a steward’s son. He is so clearly a gentleman in his manners and countenance.”
“How would you feel if Lieutenant Pratt suddenly announced you and he were engaged, Kitty?” Elizabeth inquired in a patient tone.
Lydia made a face, “Well, I would be furious. Mr. Pratt isn’t handsome, nor does he dance well!”
“Would you like it if he tried to pressure you into marrying him in spite of your distaste for him?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, then, Lydia, my dear,” Jane continued gently, “we must extend the same courtesy to Miss Darcy. She is still very young. She should not be forced to marry Mr. Wickham, nor should her reputation be destroyed by false rumors.”
“How do you know it was false?” Kitty asked. “If it is not true, why did Aunt Phillips speak of it as fact?”
“I suspect that Mr. Wickham is spreading the rumor, with the help of his fellow officers and yes, Aunt Phillips. Miss Darcy cannot be engaged to him because as we said, she is very young and not of age. Without the express permission of her guardian, it is impossible that she was ever engaged to Mr. Wickham. Please, do not continue to spread this rumor. Indeed, if anyone speaks of it, I urge you to state that this gossip about Miss Darcy is false.”
Lydia and Kitty exchanged glances and both nodded, though reluctantly.
/
George Wickham loosened his cravat and opened the door into his room. The quarters for the militia were well enough, he supposed, but not what he deserved as the godson of George Darcy. At least it would not take long for him to strike up the fire laid by a servant and warm his chilled bones.
The door swung wide to reveal the standing figures of two unpleasantly familiar men and Wickham let out a curse.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam pushed the door shut firmly and turned to gaze steadily into the face of his nemesis, “Wickham, I would say that it is a pleasure to see you, but I am not the liar that you are.”
“If you do not wish to see me, then I suggest you leave immediately,” Wickham said with a glower.
“Regrettably, you are forcing us to once again interfere with your pathetic life, though our interference will soon be at an end.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” Wickham snapped back sullenly, though he felt a stir of concern. Fitzwilliam had a thoroughly unpleasant look on his face and Darcy looked positively murderous.
“You are spreading a foul story about my sister,” Darcy snarled suddenly, stepping forward and pushing Wickham against the wall. “How dare you?”
Wickham bit his lip, anger warring with self-preservation. Darcy was a strong man.
Anger won.
“I merely told the truth,” he snapped back. “I loved your sister, she loved me, and we were engaged ...”
Darcy responded by smashing a fist into the other man’s jaw, “You lie! You conspired with my sister’s own companion to entice my sweet sister to elope with you! You loved her money, not Georgiana herself!”
Wickham, reeling from the blow, staggered over to the bed as he heard the Colonel remonstrating with Darcy, “Darcy. Calm yourself. Fisticuffs are all well and good, but we need to explain the situation in detail to our friend.”
Wickham sat down and cautiously ran a hand down his aching jaw. There was no blood, but it was going to hurt for some time. Who knew that under that rigid exterior, Darcy had so much spirit? It was, frankly, rather unnerving.
“Yes, let us discuss the situation,” Wickham replied, gazing mulishly at the two cousins. “I am willing to admit to the local gentry and militia that the rumors of my engagement to Miss Darcy are false, in exchange for a substantial offering towards my monetary needs.”
Darcy took an ominous step forward but the Colonel put a steadying hand on Darcy’s arm, halting him.
“No, Wickham,” the Colonel replied, a thoroughly unpleasant smirk appearing on his face.
“No. Darcy will no longer pay you off. Indeed, as we speak, a messenger is at Pemberley collecting the receipts of all your bills from Lambton which Darcy paid on your behalf. When the messenger returns, Darcy and I will take the receipts to the magistrate and you will be arrested and taken to Marshalsea, where you will remain until you have paid back Darcy all that you owe.”
Wickham started, then smiled feebly, “There is no need to utter threats, Colonel. I am Darcy’s father’s godson. I cannot imagine that Darcy would cast me into Marshalsea given that I was a favorite of his father.”
“That is precisely what stayed my hand all these years, Wickham,” Darcy replied, his eyes as cold as ice. “But no more. You betrayed me at Ramsgate and now you seek to destroy my sister’s reputation. I am finished with you.”
Wickham took a deep breath, “If you do this, then Georgiana’s reputation will be ruined. I have told everyone in Meryton and the militia that she was engaged to me.”
“Few will believe it when we reveal your massive debts, Wickham,” Darcy stated. “However, I do have an offer.”
“Yes?” Wickham demanded warily.
“As you are no doubt aware, there are two sections of Marshalsea. The first is for wealthier prisoners, who have outside sources of income. The other section is for the poorer inmates. The wealthier occupants have more freedom of movement and better food. If you behave yourself, if you admit that you lied about Georgiana, I will provide the funds for the wealthier wing of the prison. If not, I will cast you in with the poor. If so, I doubt you will manage to survive a year.”
Wickham gulped incredulously, his eyes dilated in disbelief. This could not be happening!
“Your father,” he began feebly.
“Do not speak of my father again,” Darcy interrupted with disdain.
A moment later, the tall gentleman from Derbyshire swept out of the room with Colonel Fitzwilliam in his wake, leaving a thoroughly shaken George Wickham behind.