Page 29 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Elizabeth

T he familiar streets of Cheapside had never felt more welcoming than they did this afternoon as Elizabeth walked home from her meeting with Darcy.

A smile played about her lips as she recalled their conversation in Hyde Park, the easy companionship that had developed between them, the way he had looked at her when he thought she was not watching.

Time had moved quickly since their evening at Vauxhall Gardens, and each day had brought them closer together.

What had begun as a convenient deception had transformed into something precious and real.

Though they had not spoken explicitly of the future, Elizabeth felt certain that their arrangement would blossom into something lasting.

The tenderness in Darcy’s eyes, the way he could gentle place his hand on the small of her back at times—these were not the actions of a man merely playing a part.

She thought back to the dance at Lord Matlock’s London home. How odd it was that she had felt like an intruder there only to now perhaps become a true part of this family.

Everything seemed to be settling into place at last. The household at Gracechurch Street had become a haven.

Lydia and Mr Darcy had reconciled completely, their friendship restored to what it had been at Netherfield.

He had even resumed battling her in games of chess, much to her delight.

Georgiana, whether she had ever suspected Lydia’s role in revealing her letter-writing activities or not, bore no grudges.

The two young ladies had become inseparable, their laughter often echoing through the drawing room.

Even Kitty and Mary had warmed to the arrangements.

Kitty found Georgiana’s gentle manner soothing, whilst Mary approved of the elevated conversation that Mr Darcy’s presence brought to their gatherings.

The entire party—the Gardiners, Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy, and even Mr Morton—had spent several pleasant evenings together.

Uncle Morton proved himself a thoughtful conversationalist and engaging conversationalist once freed from his nephew’s manipulative influence.

He had not said much about James beyond that their relationship was strained.

James’ reaction at having been told the union with Jane would not happen had shown Uncle Morton the man he truly was.

In the interest of saving him further pain, they had not told him about the encounter at Vauxhall Gardens.

Mrs Bennet, meanwhile, could scarcely contain her joy at the turn of events.

Two daughters engaged to wealthy gentlemen exceeded even her most ambitious dreams. Though they all still felt the sharp absence of Mr Bennet—his wit and calmness irreplaceable—there was healing in their happiness.

Elizabeth often caught her mother gazing wistfully out the window, but increasingly, these moments were followed by smiles rather than tears.

As Elizabeth turned into the garden gate, her contentment evaporated instantly.

Two figures stood near the rose bushes, deep in conversation with an air of conspiracy that made her stomach clench with unease.

James Morton she recognised immediately, his posture rigid with suppressed anger.

The other man was a stranger—tall, handsome in a conventional way, with dark hair and an easy smile that somehow failed to reach his eyes.

“Miss Elizabeth,” James called out as she approached, his voice carrying false cheer. “How fortuitous. I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Mr Morton.” She inclined her head politely whilst maintaining her distance. “I was not aware you were calling today. I did not think there was much left to say after our last meeting.”

“That is where you are quite wrong. Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr George Wickham,” James continued, gesturing to his companion. “Mr Wickham, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The stranger stepped forward with a bow that was perfectly correct yet somehow insolent. “Miss Bennet, the pleasure is entirely mine. I have heard so much about you.”

“Indeed?” Elizabeth’s tone remained neutral. “And from whom might that be?”

“Why, from our mutual acquaintance, Mr Morton, of course.” Wickham’s smile widened, but there was something predatory in his face.

“He sought me out a fortnight ago at my accommodation here in Town and told me all about the delightful family he associated with. And the unfortunate acquaintances you have made with a certain Mr Darcy.”

His manner immediately set Elizabeth on edge, and the mention of Mr Darcy did not make it any better. “Mr Darcy is my fiancé,” she said in as collected a manner as she could. “And I see nothing unfortunate in our connection. Now, pray. Why are the both of you here?”

“You may not see it as unfortunate, but I do. I understand of course why you feel as you do. I once considered him a dear friend. A brother, almost. But that was before he wronged me. You see, your cousin is concerned about your future and after hearing of your intentions to marry Mr Darcy, so am I. He is not the sort of man one can trust. Believe me.”

Elizabeth stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“You see, I have known Fitzwilliam Darcy since we were children. Our fathers were the closest of friends—my father served as steward to the Darcy estate for many years. After he died, Mr Darcy’s father took me in.

I was raised almost as a brother to Darcy, treated with every kindness by his dear father.

” Wickham’s mien grew sombre, though his eyes remained calculating.

“I therefore know his character well. Too well. And it seems you do not know him at all.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elizabeth demanded, though part of her desperately wished to walk away from whatever poison this man was preparing to pour into her ears.

“It is delicate matter,” Wickham said with apparent reluctance. “One hesitates to speak ill of an old friend, particularly when that friend is engaged to such a charming lady. But perhaps… perhaps you deserve to know the truth about the man you intend to marry.”

James stepped closer, his face a mask of false concern. “Mr Wickham has shared some rather troubling information about both Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley. Information I believe you and your sister should be aware of before you proceed with your respective engagements.”

“What sort of information?” The words escaped before Elizabeth could stop them.

Wickham sighed deeply, as though the burden of truth weighed heavily upon him.

“It concerns the living that was promised to me—the living at Kympton. You see, Mr Darcy’s father was my godfather as well as my father’s employer.

On his deathbed, he made provision for me to inherit the family living when it became vacant.

He knew my circumstances, my desire to enter the church, my need for independent income. ”

Elizabeth’s mouth went dry, but she said nothing.

“When old Mr Darcy died, I applied to his son for the living as was my right. But the current Mr Darcy… he refused me. Claimed the living was not suitable for my temperament, that perhaps I would be better served by pursuing law instead. He offered me a sum of money in lieu of the living—a paltry amount compared to what I had been promised.” Wickham’s voice grew bitter.

“I was young, foolish, desperate. I accepted his offer, thinking I could make my way in the world through other means.”

“And could you not?” Elizabeth asked.

“The money was gone within two years. Invested poorly, spent unwisely—I freely admit my mistakes. When I found myself in reduced circumstances, I applied to Darcy again, begging him to reconsider the living, which had still not been filled. But he refused me utterly. Told me I had made my choice and must live with the consequences. Mr Bingley was in residence at the time and only strengthened Mr Darcy’s resolve to deny me.

The two of them worked in confederacy to separate me from Georgiana as well.

I always thought of her as a sister, and the two of them filled her head with all manner of falsehoods so she now thinks ill of me. ”

A cold dread settled in her chest. “That seems rather severe.”

“Severe indeed, particularly from a man who had once called me brother.” Wickham’s eyes glittered with suppressed anger. “In truth, he always saw Bingley as more of a brother than I. They have more in common I suppose. They are rich, well-regarded, and popular with the young ladies,” he smiled.

“Young ladies?” she asked, hating how weak her voice sounded. Darcy had never mentioned another woman and Bingley had told Jane he had never been in love before.

“Oh yes, they were both popular. Bingley more so than Darcy. But he suffers from, shall we say, a fickle heart. Never stays with one lady for very long. That is also why I am here. To warn you and your sister.”

Elizabeth was not sure what to make of this. Who was this Wickham really? And why had Darcy not told her of him? They had shared so much over the last few weeks but he never once spoke of Mr Wickham. And what if Bingley? How reliable were his words regarding Bingley?

“But that is not all,” Wickham continued, his voice taking on an even more bitter edge.

“There is also his treatment of those who depend upon him. The stewardship of his estate, for instance. Did you know that he has dismissed several long-serving families from their positions for the smallest infractions? Families who had served the Darcy name faithfully for generations, cast out without references or means of support.”

“Rather excessive,” James said.

“Excessive, yes, but entirely in character. Darcy cannot bear to have his authority questioned in any way. He rules Pemberley like a tyrant, and woe betide anyone who crosses him.” Wickham’s eyes glittered with malice.

“But perhaps you think I exaggerate? After all, what proof do I have beyond my own testimony?”

“I dare say you have shown none,” Elizabeth said.

“I had hoped you would listen to me and trust my word, but if you do not believe me, I have brought evidence. Letters from former tenants.” He slipped hand into his pocket and waved a small bundle of papers. He handed them to her.

She hesitated but then took them from him, though every part of her wanted to decline.

“Miss Bennet, I merely present facts and allow you to draw your own conclusions. Though I will say this—the Darcy I knew as a child was capable of great charm when it served his purposes. He has always possessed the ability to make others believe exactly what he wishes them to believe.”

The garden seemed to spin around Elizabeth. Every tender moment with Darcy, every gentle word, every look that had made her heart race—had it all been part of some elaborate performance? Or had she seen only his best side? Was he hiding a dark side to him? And what of Bingley?

“I think,” she said unsteadily, “that I have heard quite enough.”

“Of course,” Wickham said with another of his unsettling smiles. “I understand this must be difficult. Perhaps we should take our leave and allow you time to consider what you have learnt.”

He bowed again and moved towards the garden gate, but James remained behind, his countenance now openly vindictive.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked when they were alone. “Why would you bring this man here? Why would you want me to hear such things?”

“Because you and your sister are blinded by wealth and status,” James replied coldly. “You think Darcy and Bingley are your saviours, but they are not the sort of men you think they are. Darcy has ulterior motives and is surely using you, and Bingley? He will tire of Jane soon enough.”

“Mr Darcy has already paid our debts, he has no obligations to us anymore.” She paused, not wanting to say out loud that his reason for courting her—needing a Miss B—had long since resolved itself.

“As for Jane, you are only envious because she is happy and no longer needs your calculating offer of help.”

“You flatter yourself, Miss Elizabeth. After what your family has cost me—the humiliation of being rejected, the strain you have caused between Uncle Morton and I—do you honestly think I would still want to marry into such a family? Even if Jane came begging, I would refuse her.”

“Then why—”

“Because I am not as bad a man as you think I am. When your family rejected me for Darcy and Bingley I decided to look into them. That is how I learned of Mr Wickham who in turn told me a great many things that let me know how large a mistake you are making. They will discard you, both of you. Mark my words.”

With that, he strode away, leaving Elizabeth alone in the garden with her shattered certainties crumbling around her like autumn leaves.

The house behind her hummed with the usual evening activity—the Gardiners preparing for dinner, Lydia practising her pianoforte, Kitty’s laughter drifting from the drawing room.

But Elizabeth could not bring herself to enter that world of contentment.

Not when every foundation of her happiness had just been shaken to its core.

Was it possible? Could the man she had begun to love be capable of such cruelty, such calculated manipulation?

The Darcy who had defended her at Vauxhall, who had looked at her with such tenderness, who had made her believe in the possibility of genuine affection—could he truly be the same man who had destroyed Wickham’s prospects and dismissed faithful servants without cause?

As the shadows lengthened around her, Elizabeth remained in the garden, wrestling with doubts that threatened to destroy everything she had thought she knew about her own heart.