Page 15 of Longbourn’s Son (Pride and Prejudice Variation #22)
“That was excellent,” Captain Francis Williamson said cheerfully to Wickham as the twosome exited the Pig in the Poke, where they had occupied a corner table for two hours plotting to rid the neighborhood youth of their money.
“We work very well together, and I foresee a profitable relationship for us in the near future.”
Wickham grinned. “I have no doubt of it; I confess that I have learned more from you in a few hours than I learned about playing cards in all the years of my life.”
“I have a vast amount of experience,” Williamson returned, bowing to the two Lucas daughters as they passed by on the street.
“Knowing how to finagle the cards in one’s favor is half the battle, but the other is to entice your prey into thinking he has a good chance of winning.
Indeed, there is a sort of madness which descends on most young men; they think because they have lost, they are due to win, or if they are winning, they believe that their run of luck must continue.
Absurdity, of course; a good player will, over time, consistently beat a bad player, and in a game like faro, the Bank has an advantage and will win in the long run. ”
Wickham found himself wilting a little at the sarcasm in the older man’s voice.
He had, many a time, convinced himself that he was on the verge of winning a great sum in cards, and was usually disappointed.
In a rare moment of honesty, Wickham admitted to himself that it did not matter whether he won or lost – he was determined to play, and thus had forfeited, in two years, the four thousand pounds from the vast Darcy estates.
Now all that was over. With the brilliant Williamson at his side, he would fleece the local youth and be on the right side of the ledger for the first time in some time.
“Until tonight,” the captain said, breaking into Wickham’s thoughts.
The two men shook hands, and Wickham entered the house where he and the more impecunious officers of the militia were living.
The wealthier men, naturally enough, were able to afford more pleasant quarters.
With any luck at all – no, not luck, skill – with any skill at all, Wickham would soon be sufficiently plump in the pocket to enjoy a more comfortable room with a feather bed instead of a pallet, and a chambermaid shared between only two officers instead of six.
He climbed the stairs to his room, his head in the clouds, opened the door, and wandered through his untidy room to his dilapidated chest of drawers.
With a grimace, he forced the recalcitrant top drawer open and thrust a small bag of coins into the corner, which he covered with a pile of handkerchiefs.
He shoved the drawer shut, turned around, and squawked in surprise.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, tall, handsome, impeccably clad in a green coat and white kerseymere breeches, stood in the far corner of the room, his arms crossed, his brown eyes fixed coldly on the countenance of his father’s godson.
“Darcy!” Wickham snarled, caught between anxiety and embarrassment at his accommodations. “What are you doing here? How dare you enter my room uninvited?”
“I need to speak to you,” Darcy asserted, “and I believe we would both prefer that the conversation be a private one.”
Wickham took a deep breath and straightened to his full height, though he was, regrettably, still several inches shorter than his nemesis. “I have nothing to say to you, Darcy.”
“I do not require you to speak, but only to listen.”
“There is nothing I wish to hear from you, either. Now get out!”
Darcy frowned dangerously and shook his head. “I am sure you remember that I hold the debt receipts for all the bills you left in Lambton. I presume you would prefer to listen to me than to spend the rest of your life in Marshalsea Prison?”
This caused Wickham to quail noticeably, though he quickly recovered and warned, “If you do such a thing, I will tell all of Meryton of Miss Darcy’s unfortunate solecism in Ramsgate only a few months ago. I am quite certain you do not wish for that interesting episode to escape into high society.”
Darcy’s face darkened even more and he took a step forward, causing Wickham to tighten his fists as he retreated a cautious pace. Darcy had never been prone to violence, but based on the fury in those eyes…
“Do not fear, Wickham,” the man said with an unpleasant smile, “I have no intention of pummeling you, though undoubtedly you deserve it. But I suggest you read this letter, which is a copy of one I sent only this morning by express to London.”
Wickham reluctantly took the paper which Darcy was now holding out toward him. He looked down and read it, his heart speeding up as he did so.
November 27 th , 1812
Netherfield Park
Hertfordshire
Richard,
To my considerable surprise, I learned yesterday afternoon that Wickham is now a militia lieutenant in the nearby hamlet of Meryton. Given that my sister is with me visiting my friend Bingley, it seems wise to prepare to check the rogue in the event that he either slanders or accosts Miss Darcy.
Please go to my solicitor in London, Mr. Shipton, who has been instructed to hand over Wickham’s debt receipts to you.
Bingley has told me that you are welcome to visit us here at Netherfield for as long as you like.
I request your presence as quickly as possible; while I confess that my affection for my father has long stayed my hand against Wickham, you have no such compunction.
If Wickham so much as breathes a word about my sister, I know you will cheerfully have him thrown into Marshalsea for unpaid debt.
I look forward to seeing you shortly.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Wickham swallowed hard, trying and failing to suppress a tremor of fear. He forced himself to meet Darcy’s eyes as he said deliberately, “You can write whatever you wish, but you will not see me imprisoned for debt. I was your father’s godson, and a great favorite of his.”
“It is not I you need to concern yourself with, Wickham, but my cousin. Yes, I have long been too soft on you, but Richard Fitzwilliam, who has disliked you since our mutual boyhood, will leap at the chance to see you removed from our lives in a permanent fashion. I promise you that with the colonel’s determination, I will follow through with my threat if you should so much as breathe on Miss Darcy. ”
“But surely Georgiana would not wish for me...”
“That is Miss Darcy to you,” the lady’s brother declared icily, stepping closer still.
“My sister now recognizes you for the consummate villain that you are! Let me make this clear – if you happen to see Miss Darcy, you are permitted a courteous bow, but you will not speak to her, or smile at her. You will ignore her, as she will ignore you. Do you understand?”
Wickham’s pride warred with his fear, and fear won. “I do,” he responded, lowering his eyes.
“Very good. There is one other thing, Wickham; I have every intention of keeping abreast of your indebtedness to the merchants here in Meryton. If you run up bills and disappear, I will assist them in tracking you down, and if you cannot pay – which of course you will not, since you can never keep two coins to rub together – I will assist them in obtaining a writ.”
The steward’s son looked up now and snarled, “You wish to see me starve, Darcy!”
“No, Wickham,” Darcy responded precisely, “I wish you to live the life of an honorable man. You are blessed with a handsome form, pleasant manners, and an expensive education. I suggest that you consider working for your bread instead of stealing from merchants and attempting to seduce young ladies of fortune.”
Wickham opened his mouth in protest, but Darcy was done. With a firm step, the master of Pemberley swept by the lieutenant and out the door.
Wickham drew in a shaky breath and cursed softly under his breath.
He depended on the local merchants’ trust of the militia men and had no intention of settling his debts before the regiment moved on.
On the one hand, perhaps Darcy was merely bluffing – he was, after all, a Darcy of Pemberley, and none of the local tradesman were remotely of his class.
On the other hand, there had been a truly dangerous look in Darcy’s eyes, one which reminded him uncomfortably of their brief meeting at Ramsgate; if Darcy had not been a gentleman with a rigid sense of etiquette, he might well have knocked Wickham into a convenient mud puddle.
Indeed, perhaps only the presence of a sobbing Miss Darcy had prevented her brother from dropping his haughty reserve in favor of beating Wickham soundly.
Georgiana Darcy had been most distressed to learn that Wickham was merely after her money, but really, was it Wickham’s fault that women were such fools?
All women ever wanted was platitudes and compliments, and all they were good for was money and, if no money was available, the pleasures of the flesh.
/
“Kitty! Kitty!” Luke called down the stairs desperately.
“I am coming!” Kitty called back, and a minute later she entered Luke’s room, panting slightly. “What is it?”
“Kitty, can you please help me tie my cravat? I am already late and I have attempted it four times now. I cannot get it right! Look at this!”
Kitty did so, trying and failing to suppress a smirk at the sight of the crumpled cloth tied haphazardly around her twin’s neck.
“Oh dear,” she said with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. “Do sit down, and I will fix it for you.”
Luke obediently sank into the chair next to his desk and sat very still as she took the long, rather creased white cloth in hand, shook it out, folded it, wrapped it expertly around his neck, and tied it simply.
“There,” she said after two minutes of work. “That looks well enough.”
“Thank you, Kitty! I could have asked Hill to help me, but he always looks so sorrowful when I do so; I know a gentleman is supposed to tie his own cravats, but I find it such a bore that I have not applied myself enough.”
“They say that Beau Brummell spends at least an hour a day tying his cravat,” Kitty murmured with a sly smile, which caused Luke to shudder.
“I would die of boredom,” he said dramatically.
She laughed and rose to her feet, planting a loving kiss on the top of his head.
“I love you the way you are, Luke dear. Now, I believe you are ready for your excursion into society tonight. I do hope you enjoy yourself, and do be careful. I expect that most of the officers are decent enough, but you know what Jane and Lizzy said only yesterday.”
Luke stood up as well, causing him to loom above his short sister.
“I am not a young girl to swoon at the sight of a red coat, Kitty. I will be well enough, though I have every intention of watching over you all, my handsome sisters! I hope that Captain Denny and Lieutenant Pratt will be there, as they both have fine steeds in Milton’s stables. ”
/
Luke Bennet was shivering slightly by the time he achieved the nondescript house where the party — no, the gathering — was being held.
He had left Longbourn slightly underclad, as his warmest wool coat was in shabby condition ever since a recalcitrant rooster had leaped upon him and clawed and pecked him.
The blue coat he was wearing now was, he flattered himself, quite fashionable, made as it was of fine cotton, but it did not keep him particularly toasty.
To his relief, the door opened rapidly and Lieutenant Pratt, wearing his ubiquitous red coat, gazed out blankly and asked, “Who are you? Ah, it does not matter! Come in, my friend, come in!”
Luke did so, though with a twinge of concern. It was obvious based on the demeanor and smell of Pratt that the officer had already been imbibing rather heavily; Luke did not expect that. He drank alcohol at home, of course, but he was no great drinker.
He gazed around curiously as Pratt led him toward the drawing room.
The house had belonged to a family named Campbell some years previously, but they had sold the house to a Mrs. Webb, who had turned it into a boarding house which was now filled with militia officers.
The floor was not particularly clean, and his sensitive nose noted the presence of cigar smoke in the air, which displeased him.
When he entered the drawing room, he noted that the air was already slightly hazy and the din was quite incredible, with the various militia men talking loudly and drinking copiously.
For a moment, he knew a desire to flee. He did not like tremendous noise, nor was he interested in drinking brandy in large quantities.
“Luke, there you are!” Samuel Lucas cried out, hurrying toward him with an older man, dressed in a red coat, at his side. “I was afraid you were not able to come!”
“I was held up a little at home,” Luke answered politely. He would not be able to leave now that Samuel had observed him; it would be grossly discourteous.
“Well, I am glad you are here now,” Samuel replied, slapping him cheerfully on the shoulder. “Now Luke, I believe you know Captain Williamson?”
“Yes, we met at my Aunt Philips’s house recently. Good evening, Captain.”
“Good evening, Mr. Bennet,” the captain responded cheerfully. “Mr. Lucas tells me that you are quite an expert on animal husbandry. I grew up on a small estate in Suffolk and have a great fondness for horses in particular.”
Luke’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I do as well, sir! What kind of horses did you own?”
“We bred mostly Suffolk Sorrels for work on the farm, but a family friend raised thoroughbreds. Such fine beasts they were…”