Page 1 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 1: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

As the chill wind raced down Meryton’s main street, Fitzwilliam Darcy discreetly searched through the clusters of people who had been tempted out into the November sun. He hoped and feared that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be among them. His dearest friend, Charles Bingley, was currently scouring each face in hopes of finding Miss Elizabeth’s older sister. Miss Bennet had only recently recovered from a severe cold which had kept her confined to bed for almost two days; hence, Bingley’s determination to find her and inquire personally after her health.

Darcy hated the anticipation that thrilled through him at the thought that he might see Miss Elizabeth at any moment now. He ought to have better control of his impulses. His heartbeat sped up as their horses approached a gaggle of young women. Was Miss Elizabeth present? But no, these women were unknown.

“The Bennets must be around here somewhere,” Bingley muttered. “We would have noticed if we had passed them.”

“That is true,” Darcy agreed, trying to sound thoroughly disinterested. If he could not control his wayward attraction, he would at least control his manner so as not to raise expectations.

Darcy’s gaze roved the nearby buildings, his lips tightening in disgust as a snaggle-toothed beggar woman grinned at him. Meryton was little more than a small market town, and yet, though it was plain that this woman needed assistance, everyone ignored the woman. It just went to show how thoroughly backward these country folk were—they did not bother to care for one of their own. She nodded at him, and he turned away. If he had been near Pemberley, he would have ensured someone attended to her, but it was not his responsibility here.

“There they are!” Bingley proclaimed.

Darcy’s eyes snapped to the knot of people Bingley was speeding towards. Yes, there, Miss Elizabeth was present. He reminded himself not to gallop after Bingley and over to her, even if his spirit was already halfway there.

When they had first met, he had not seen her beauty; however, a second examination had yielded an entirely different perspective, and now he internally overflowed poetry every time he saw her. It was as though she drew the words to the surface of his mind with the sheer force of her presence.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a beauty, even if she was not one in the conventional sense. Her brown eyes sparkled with mirth, studied the world around her with uncommon intelligence, and darkened when she was upset. Her figure, though not fashionable, was light and pleasing, and her charm and wit only added to her beauty, making her the most wonderful creature he had ever met. Were it not for her wretched circumstances, he truly believed he would have been in danger of forgetting his duty wholly.

Fortunately, her family was truly dreadful and he had only to spend a brief moment with her ridiculous younger sisters or her avaricious and empty-headed mother before his ardour cooled almost entirely. Unfortunately, the moment they were out of sight, his soul discarded their wretched behaviour as unimportant in the face of Miss Elizabeth’s beauty and charm.

She had drawn him in, and he was constantly afraid that she could see his interest shining like a lighthouse’s beam from every word he spoke, every look they exchanged, every time they crossed verbal swords in debate—which was why it was so important that he make his way to her at a measured pace, rather than rushing over headlong as Bingley was doing.

Finally, he reached her and dismounted, bowing to her before he looked around at the rest of the company.

His heart stuttered. George Wickham—the wretch who had attempted to elope with his darling sister for the sake of her dowry—stood there, conversing with the Bennet sisters in broad daylight as though he were respectable. This man, this scoundrel, was the reason Georgiana had mourned and lost weight and borne guilt heavy enough that she could no longer look anyone in the eye. Wickham was the reason Lady Matlock had suggested Darcy accept Bingley’s invitation, as Georgiana seemed even worse when he was present.

Heat flooded his veins, and Darcy’s fingers twitched as though already in the act of strangling his boyhood companion. Turning on his heel, he mounted his horse and rode back down the street. If he made a scene, it would only cast doubt on Georgiana’s reputation and he was determined to protect his sister. It was what his father would have wanted him to do.

The beggar woman stumbled in the street ahead of him and sat down with a puff of dust. With an internal sigh, Darcy pulled Sisyphus to a halt. As no one else appeared willing to help her, he would at least ensure the old woman was out of the street.

“May I assist you, Madam?” Darcy asked her.

The woman smiled, her blackened teeth showing dark against her chapped and cracked lips. Darcy suppressed a shudder as her unwashed odour wafted towards him.

“That would be lovely, young man.” She used his arm to heave herself off the ground and then dusted off her skirts with surprising vigour for one so elderly.

Darcy commanded his horse to heel and then gestured to the town. “Where were you going?”

The old woman cackled. “I believe I have reached where I am going, but you may escort me to the milliner’s there.” She gestured to the small shop across the street. “You know, I was a bit unsure about you, but perhaps you do have a kind heart even if it is nearly smothered to death,” she said confidingly.

Darcy did not know what to say to this.

“You see a poor old woman, do you not?” she continued. “I see a poorer young man. Even with all your riches, Mr. Darcy, you are more destitute than I. I hope you do not remain so.”

She must be mad, Darcy decided. He might as well try to assist Bingley and the other local landowners by discovering where she belonged and why she was apparently living on the streets of Meryton. “Do you have family nearby, Madam?”

“Not at all,” she said with another cackle.

“You are a resident of Meryton then?”

“For now. I do not know how long I shall be here,” she said, casting him a sideways glance.

Darcy hesitated. Was the woman expressing doubts about her lifespan or hoping he would provide another place for her to reside?

“I go where I am needed, you know.”

“I see,” Darcy said. In his experience, mad people generally required one to humour them lest they turn violent.

“I believe your friend is waiting for you,” the woman commented. “This will do quite well,” she said, gesturing to the bench out front of the milliner’s and stepping away from him. “I shall see you tomorrow, Mr. Darcy. Have a lovely day.”

Darcy bowed. “You as well, Madam.” He doubted he would see the woman tomorrow, but politeness forbade him from expressing such an expectation.

“Are you all right, Darcy?” Bingley asked as they rode out of Meryton. “You were rather abrupt back there.”

Darcy grimaced, his jaw clenching as Wickham’s visage darted into his thoughts. “Merely uncomfortable with the company. I have a prior acquaintance with that scoundrel, Mr. Wickham.”

Bingley started. “A scoundrel?” He turned in his saddle as though trying to see past the bend in the road to where they had left the Bennets. “Is Miss Bennet—are the Bennets safe?”

“Undoubtedly. Wickham has no reason to dally with them ,” Darcy said bitterly.

“You—you are certain?”

Darcy nodded. “Shall we examine the east fields since we are out?” He could do with a good gallop to purge the rage that still coursed through his veins. Killing Wickham was not an option, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. It would engender too many questions, could result in murder charges, and endanger Georgiana’s reputation.