Page 22 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Meryton

Wickham was lounging in front of the pub when he next saw the portly figure of Miss Dodd, strolling alongside a short girl with straw-blonde hair.

They entered the library, and he levered himself up from the post against which he had been slouched, and wandered towards the library building.

He entered some five minutes behind them and saw the two women over by the novels, speaking animatedly together.

He himself picked up a volume of military history and arranged himself advantageously beside one of the windows so the light fell full on his face.

After a few minutes of thumbing through the mind-numbing volume, Miss Dodd glanced over and gave a glad cry. “Lieutenant Wickham! Come, my dear, I must introduce you!”

Miss King, Wickham was disappointed to see, was a short plain girl with a heavy spattering of freckles across her nose, not at all beautiful.

He had hoped very much for a beautiful wife, but he could always take lovers to satisfy himself.

So he smiled his most charming, attentive smile and declared himself very pleased to make her acquaintance, noting with satisfaction the blush that backlit those appalling freckles.

He drifted with them up to the desk as they each checked out a novel, and he seized his chance. “Would you permit me to carry your books home for you?” he asked urbanely, beaming at Miss King.

“We would be delighted,” Miss Dodd declared, as Miss King was too busy blushing unbecomingly to answer.

Wickham lifted their books in one arm and opened the door for them to exit, falling into step beside Miss Dodd.

He chatted and laughed easily with the two women, both greedily lapping up the attention.

Miss Dodd was vulgar and loud and not at all bright, and Miss King was unlovely and quiet.

Wickham thought of twenty thousand pounds and gritted his teeth and smiled.

They reached the door, and Miss Dodd turned to face him. “Oh, Lieutenant Wickham, you simply must come in!” she urged.

“I should hate to intrude,” Wickham said delicately, hiding his exultation.

“It is no intrusion,” Miss Dodd said firmly. “Why, Mr. King himself said that he wished to meet you, indeed he did! Did he not, my dear?”

Miss King dropped her eyes diffidently. “He did, Mr. Wickham,” she said softly, twisting her fingers.

“He most certainly did,” Miss Dodd declared. “‘I must meet that young man,’ said he. ‘He was so kind to you, Abby, I must give him my thanks.’”

Wickham permitted himself to be ushered inside throughout this speech, handing the books off to the silent butler who appeared.

Miss Dodd bore him triumphantly through another doorway into a drawing room, Miss King trailing a few steps behind.

A man sat ensconced in a chair before the fireplace, and Wickham studied him.

He had the flabby, shrunken look of a corpulent man who had rapidly lost a great deal of weight.

His eyes were rheumy and bloodshot, and his hearing seemed none too good, for he took no notice of them until Miss Dodd called cheerfully, “Oh, Mr. King! Look who we brought to visit you! It is Lieutenant Wickham!”

“Eh?” old Mr. King said, looking around at last. “Oh. Abby, it’s you. Hello, my dear.”

Miss King moved over to bend and kiss the old man’s cheek. “Hello, Grandpapa. We brought Lieutenant Wickham to meet you.”

The old man squinted at him. “So you did, so you did. Well, get over here, young fellow, you don’t suppose I can see you standing way over there!” A gnarled hand lifted to gesture Wickham closer.

Wickham obediently stepped over, bowing slightly as Miss Dodd made introductions. “Mr. King, this is Lieutenant Wickham of the militia.” She took a second to bat her eyelashes at him before saying, “Lieutenant, Mr. George King.”

“Militia, eh?” the old man said testily, and waved an impatient hand. “Well, sit down, young fellow, don’t stand there looming over a body. Hmmm. Militia. You one of them harum-scarum young jackanapes?”

Wickham sat gracefully. “Not at all, sir,” he said seriously.

“Hmmm. Mary, m’dear, would you ring for tea?” Mr. King requested with a slight lightening of his stringent tone as he spoke to his granddaughter.

Miss King complied with this request before seating herself demurely nearby. Wickham caught her eye as she sat and favored her with another blush-inducing smile before turning his attention to flattering and coaxing her grandfather. This would be absurdly easy.

Mary King poured the tea and folded her hands in her lap, watching the effervescently handsome Mr. Wickham listening attentively to one of her grandfather’s long-winded stories.

He paid gratifyingly close attention to her grandfather, but every so often he would look up and catch her eye.

His whole face would soften and brighten and his teeth would flash in the most beautiful grin she had ever seen, and every time her heart would thump and her face heat and she would smile back.

She found herself very disappointed when the clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour, and Mr. Wickham rose very properly to make his goodbyes.

He bowed to her grandfather before moving to stand before the couch where she and Abby sat together.

He caught her eye again, demeanor unequivocally admiring, before inclining in a shallow half-bow.

“Miss Dodd, a true delight to see you again,” he said gravely, before turning to face her.

“Miss King, I am more delighted than I can say to make your acquaintance.” After another brief word, he bowed himself out of the room, and Mary was left with heaving bosom and excitement fluttering through her veins.

As Wickham strolled back to his barracks, he basked in the accustomed feeling of success.

Miss Mary King had fallen unreservedly for his charm.

He had flustered and flattered her, and it would not take her long to fancy herself in love with him.

He could endure an old man’s geriatric ramblings and the overly effusive friendliness of a stupid spinster in the pursuit of twenty thousand pounds.

/

Netherfield Hall

Elizabeth gave her father’s hand a gentle squeeze as he handed her out of the carriage before letting go and stepping forward.

Jane met her eyes with a giddy smile, and Elizabeth smiled back.

Her sister looked fetching indeed in her pale winter clothes and cream-colored fur muff and pelisse.

They were always chilly now, with the broken windows in the house and the rationed firewood.

Jane stepped up beside Elizabeth as they all moved towards the house.

She glowed with joy still, rapturously excited about her engagement.

Elizabeth rejoiced with her, but sour unease curled in her stomach.

How would Mr. Bingley’s sisters react? Would they accept Jane as her sister believed they would?

Or would they be haughty and unkind, as Elizabeth feared?

The door opened, and Bingley was framed briefly in the doorway before running lightly down the steps. He paused to greet their father perfunctorily and nod to Elizabeth before taking his betrothed’s arm in his own and leading them all up the steps and into the house.

It was deliciously warm, especially once the footmen shut the door behind them.

Elizabeth shivered gratefully, looking around.

It was an inviting sort of entryway, a bright candelabra set welcomingly beside the calling-card tray.

Elizabeth paused a moment to admire a painting of a hunting scene, the hounds streaming across the bright grass, the horses vivid spots of color before the shadowy greens of the forest behind.

She turned away to follow her family and smiled to herself upon noting how unusually full of people the hallway seemed to be.

An uncommon number of footmen stood around while two maids dusted already spotless wainscoting.

Jane was oblivious, wholly absorbed in Bingley, but beyond the couple Mr. Bennet caught Elizabeth’s eye and smirked a little.

She looked away quickly lest she laugh. The servants were plainly pleased with the turn of events and wished to observe for themselves the newly engaged couple.

Many of them were sons and daughters of local families, and they knew well that Jane would be a good mistress.

“Please do come in to the drawing room, and we will have some tea,” Bingley said jovially, “and then Mr. Bennet and I will go to my office to discuss business.”

A manservant leaped forward to open the door for the group, and Jane and Bingley entered with Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth on their heels.

Elizabeth peered around and felt her body relax as she realized that while Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were present, along with Mr. Darcy, Miss Bingley was mercifully absent.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet,” Louisa exclaimed, rising to her feet and surging forward. “It is wonderful to see you today. Many congratulations on your engagement to my brother, Miss Bennet!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hurst,” Jane responded. “I am so very happy!”

“Oh, please do call me Louisa,” the lady said.

“And you must call me Jane, then.”

“Miss Bennet, please allow me to congratulate you as well,” Mr. Darcy said, stepping forward and bowing toward the eldest Miss Bennet.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Jane responded, bestowing an adoring glance on her beloved. “Indeed, I know how truly blessed I am.”

“On the contrary, Jane, it is I who am blessed,” Charles returned fervently. “But come, let us sit down.”

The guests distributed themselves on the chairs and settees near the fireplace, and Elizabeth found herself relishing the heat from a truly well stoked fire.

Mr. Darcy sat down across from Mr. Bennet and his second daughter, while the Hursts, Bingley, and Jane formed a conversational group a little ways away until Mrs. Hurst rose to prepare tea for everyone, which she proceeded to hand out.