Page 16 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 25: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

“Tuesday, November 19th,” Hawkin once more proclaimed, and Darcy pressed his face into his hands.

What now? Would Wickham be swayed by an appeal to his past feelings towards Georgiana? After all, he truly had played with her as an older brother back when they were children. No, Wickham’s behaviour of the summer proved that whatever kindness he had shown her in the past amounted to nothing in the present.

Darcy groaned.

“Sir?” Hawkin queried.

Darcy nearly brushed the man off. However—an outside perspective might prove useful. “Hawkin, I have reason to believe that Wickham will continue to pursue Georgiana. I have learned that he is joining the —-shire militia and will be arriving in Hertfordshire today.”

Hawkin stared at him, his eyes nearly as wide as the coffee cup he had prepared for Darcy. “Here? Miss Darcy?”

“Yes. Obviously, the letter you took him did not serve as a sufficient deterrent. What else might prevent him from seeking out my sister?”

“You do not believe that Miss Darcy will—will she not avoid him, sir?”

Darcy hesitated. He had not considered it from that end. What if he wrote to Georgiana instead? Would that be sufficient action to prevent such a misstep?

He had thought that his sister understood why Wickham was a terrible choice for a husband, but perhaps he was wrong.

“Thank you, Hawkin. I shall write her a letter.”

Darcy stood and collected his writing case.

“Right now, sir?” Hawkin asked, gesturing towards Darcy’s shaving things and the riding clothes laid out in readiness.

“Of course,” Darcy said, ignoring the blank look his valet was giving him.

“I shall return shortly then,” Hawkin said with only the merest hint of a sigh and left.

Darcy mended his pen and began.

Dear Georgiana,

How are your studies? Have you continued to find Mrs. Annesley a congenial companion?

I hope you are well.

It is not common practice to discuss such things with one’s younger sister, and I wish that I could have this conversation with you in person rather than through a letter, but needs must.

W has arrived in Hertfordshire today. Georgiana, it occurred to me that perhaps I did not make my objections clear. I wished to spare you the details of his many misdeeds, but I am concerned that it might have left some room in your heart for the man. It is not just his lack of status, nor his connections to our family—though those are material concerns in this matter. My primary objection relates to his character.

W has long shown a tendency towards profligacy—both in his finances and in his relations with women. He spends money faster than he can earn it—in fact, the only means of earning money I have ever seen him use is in gaming or stealing it from others.

I am sorry to say that I believe his primary interest was in your dowry (and perhaps to gain revenge on me). Upon Father’s death, he told me he had no desire to become a clergyman and wished instead to go into the law. Rather than have me manage the funds, he requested the equivalent sum of the living be given to him so that he could manage his own education.

I had no expectation that he would succeed in gaining a law degree, but as W and I have not had a cordial relationship for many years now, I also had no desire to tie myself to him and so I acquiesced and gave him the sum. However, when Mr. H. died, W came to Pemberley and demanded he be given the living at K. I still did not believe him to be a suitable clergyman—particularly as he had made no preparation for the job and lacked the morals to guide others. For the sake of our people, I refused him.

He was quite vocal in his hatred towards me, but I never expected him to seek you out.

Darcy slowed, recalling Georgiana’s tear-stained face for the thousandth time since this summer.

She had been devastated. Destroyed. So little remained of the bright, but shy, girl she had been. Now, she spoke only slightly louder than a whisper, and guilt and grief had ravaged her. Her dresses hung on her frame as though she had become little more than a living skeleton.

It was why his Aunt Matlock had insisted Darcy go to Hertfordshire with Bingley. Theoretically, it would give Georgiana time to heal without being constantly reminded of her guilt every time she saw him.

Darcy was not haunted by her guilt, but by how nervous and resolute she had appeared when she had told him of the upcoming elopement. Georgiana was so convinced that Wickham was in the right, that she would be able to intercede between them and repair “the bond they had shared in their childhood.” Shaking, she had argued that their father loved Wickham differently, not more than Darcy, and that Darcy was being petty to hold their father’s love for Wickham against him.

She had been utterly duped. Entirely in Wickham’s power. The monster could have done whatever he pleased with her. He had succeeded in turning even Georgiana, dear sweet Georgiana, against Darcy. The girl he had rocked to sleep as a baby. The girl he had protected and nurtured almost all his life. She had taken Wickham’s side over his.

Others had chosen Wickham over Darcy, again and again, all through their childhood and school years, but never had it hurt so badly.

He dipped his pen in ink, trying to decide what else to say.

I am sorry, Georgie. I should have told you about W long ago. You have grown so, and I forget that you are no longer the little mite who entreated me to attend tea parties with your dolls. You are a young lady now, and I shall do my best to treat you as one.

When you marry, more than anything, I want you to marry a man who wishes to marry you for yourself and not for your status or wealth. I would want him to be kind and responsible, someone who is trustworthy and diligent. Someone who will take care of you and not put you into difficult positions.

W is not such a man.

For you, I wish that he was. I know that you believed he was, else you would not have given him your heart. If you doubt my account of his character, Fitzwilliam would be more than happy to speak to you about him—as would Aunt Margaret or Uncle Stephen. Both of them are aware of W’s behaviour, and Uncle Stephen advised me on the necessary paperwork for providing W with his inheritance in the form of money rather than the living.

Georgiana, I love you, and I truly want what is best for you. Please do not speak to W should he attempt to reach you. Do not do anything to put yourself in jeopardy.

Our aunt and uncle will do their best to protect you—as will Fitzwilliam and I—however it is your responsibility to protect yourself as well. You are precious, and I do not wish you to throw that away.

Finally, I would like to remind you that any man who is not brave enough to ask for my permission and work to gain your family’s respect is not brave enough to do well at life. He is not someone who will work hard or act honourably.

Darcy set down his pen again. What else could he say to Georgiana? He sighed. Perhaps nothing would make a difference. He was starting to wonder if fate was inevitable and he was doomed to be tied to Wickham for the rest of his life, no matter how hard he strained the leash.

Please write me back. I miss you.

His throat grew tight as he realised how true that statement was. He regularly ended his letters to Georgiana with it, but never had he missed her so much. He did not even know when he would see her again—or even if he would ever see her again. Nor could he whet his appetite with letters from her—there was no way to gain knowledge of how she was doing.

Although . . . he could ride to London . . . . If this did not work, he would do just that tomorrow.

He hurriedly signed and sealed the letter and then directed Hawkin to have it sent via express.

As he had done his best to thwart Wickham today and he doubted anything new could be gained from repeating yet another appeal to the man, Darcy decided to spend the day out of doors. He requested a packed lunch from the kitchen and for Hawkin to inform Bingley that he would be back late.