Page 31 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

“Yes, we can,” Elizabeth replied, wiping her eyes, and then turned to glower at her youngest sister.

“Lydia, you must not say a word about this conversation, do you hear? I would die of shame if gossip should spread that I am pursuing Mr. Darcy. The Lord knows that the poor man is chased often enough for his fortune and his place in society. I would be sorry to make him feel uncomfortable in my presence.”

“I will not say a word on the matter,” Lydia vowed, meaning it with her whole heart.

/

The Kings’ House

Meryton

“And how is Mr. King today?” Wickham asked solicitously.

“Oh, he is very ill indeed, Mr. Wickham,” Miss Dodd declared, her plump face drooping with worry. “It quite goes to my heart to see him in so much pain, it does.”

“He is not always suffering,” Mary King said quickly. “Mr. Jones is giving him a tincture with laudanum, and that helps a great deal.”

“That is a good thing,” Wickham murmured and decided that was quite enough about Mr. King. The man was failing, it seemed, but not quite at death’s door.

“Miss King, might you be willing to play on the pianoforte?” he invited with a charming smile.

“Oh, yes, that is, if you are truly interested…,” Mary fluttered.

“Of course I am,” Wickham declared. “You are truly a most accomplished woman, as well as lovely.”

A lie, of course; the girl was no more than passable at playing the pianoforte and far from lovely.

But she and Miss Dodd eagerly lapped up all his adept flattery.

Poor plain Miss King, so surprised at the admiration, so very pleased to be receiving at last the attention and affection she craved.

Easy pickings, he thought cynically, too easy, already so open to the least gesture of kindness.

It would not be long now, he knew, before he was able to convince her to run away with him.

A few honeyed words, a gesture or two, perhaps a trinket, and she would be his.

Mary King reminded him much of Georgiana Darcy, who had been equally dazzled, equally easily played. Georgiana could have taken the role of Mrs. Wickham that Mary King would now fill, if only her fool of a brother had not intervened!

Wickham seethed for a moment over Darcy’s ill-timed interference.

He would very much have liked to have taken Georgiana to wife, as shy and unobtrusive and pleasing to the eye and wealthy as she was.

Nor was Darcy’s campaign of persecution over.

A mere two days previously, Wickham had been unpleasantly surprised by the cow-faced owner of the Pig in the Poke informing him blandly that there was now a two pound limit to all charge accounts.

Wickham fumed. It was obvious that Darcy had made known Wickham’s proclivity for leaving debts. It was unfair! If Darcy had not denied him the living that should have been his, he would not need to struggle to feed himself and purchase necessities.

It was essential that he seduce Miss King into elopement and soon.

The pittance he received from the militia would not be enough to pay down his accounts, and he needed her fortune.

His fellow officers had grumbled, but they all, gentlemen’s sons, had an allowance from home.

Wickham had only his looks and his charm, and he intended to use them to his own advantage.

The cessation of the pianoforte’s plunking roused him from his reverie, and he rearranged his expression from one of grave interest to one of blatant admiration.

“That was exquisite, Miss King,” he says to the lady sitting behind the pianoforte, “You are truly accomplished.”

Mary blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Wickham.”

/

Jane and Elizabeth’s bedchamber

Longbourn

Night

“Lizzy?”

Elizabeth, who had been half asleep, rolled over to face her sister. The room warm and dark, with only the soft light of the banked fire casting a reddish glow which outlined Jane’s silhouette next to her.

“Yes?” she asked drowsily.

Silence fell for a moment, which caused Elizabeth to wake up further and ask worriedly, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Jane said, “No, I … that is, I hope not. Were you terribly uncomfortable about Lydia’s statement about Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth felt her face flushing a little, and she rolled onto her back, sighing deeply.

“I was a little uncomfortable,” she admitted, “but I am more unsettled and melancholy than anything else.”

Jane raised herself onto her elbow and demanded, “Why?”

“Why?” Elizabeth repeated. “Because Mr. Darcy is handsome, wealthy, well connected, and while not exactly charming, he is a truly excellent man. I … I do not know if I am in love with him, but I do know I like him very much, and Father is right, I am certain Mr. Darcy approves of me well enough now. But does he admire me? If he does, is there any chance that he would make me an offer? Mr. Collins claims he is engaged to his cousin, and Mr. Darcy’s aunt and uncle are of the nobility, and he is so very wealthy and… ”

She trailed off as Jane reached out her arm and pulled her close to her to kiss her gently on the cheek.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she murmured. “I am sorry. I think you and Mr. Darcy are well suited, but you are correct that we do not know his heart. He may well feel obligated to marry as his family desires.”

“And if he does, he does,” her sister replied and then chuckled a little.

“If there is one thing I know about the gentleman in question, it is that he is able to make up his own mind. I will always be thankful for his presence in our lives, and while I might pray for more, I am content to wait and see.”