Page 44 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

The Road to London

The Next Day

It was a dark, gray day outside the carriage window. The leafless trees swayed and danced in the brisk wind, and occasionally a spatter of snowflakes flung themselves against the glass.

Within the carriage, the occupants were moderately warm, with hot bricks on the floor and warm woolens on the bodies and hands of the passengers.

Darcy, unlike many of his contemporaries, rather enjoyed carriage rides, at least so long as he liked his traveling companions.

He was an active man, and enjoyed walking and riding his horse, but he found a delightful simplicity, a certain enjoyable indolence, in being carried along by a well-sprung coach, with a skilled coachman at the reins.

He had never been able to read or write in a carriage without feeling peculiar, so he merely sat and looked out the window, or spoke with his companions.

A brief memory surfaced, and he suppressed a shudder.

He had once shared a carriage with Miss Bingley for much of four days as they traveled from London to Pemberley, and by the end, Darcy thought he would go quite mad.

He was a man who appreciated occasional bouts of silence, and to listen to a woman chatter incessantly about the grandeur of his name and estate and contrast it to almost everyone else was exasperating and annoying.

He was extremely thankful that Bingley’s sisters were far, far away.

Behind him lay the rolling countryside of Hertfordshire, which contained the little village of Meryton, where the foremost ladies of the area were spreading the news of Wickham’s debauchery and indebtedness.

In front of him, London stretched in all her glory, filled with the mansions of the rich and the grim hovels of the poor.

Somewhere in the great city was one despicable man, George Wickham, and Darcy would do everything in his power to find the man and bring him to justice.

But for now, he could do nothing but relax in this seat and relish the company of his cousin Richard and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Yes, she was with him. It had happened only this morning, when Richard had again spoken with Mr. Bennet regarding marriage settlements.

When the two men emerged from the office, Richard had said, very casually, that he had offered to take Miss Elizabeth to London when they returned, and he hoped that Darcy did not mind .

Did he mind spending several hours with the most lovely, most fascinating lady he had ever met in his life?

No, he did not mind.

His eyes shifted again to the lady in question, who was seated across from him in the forward facing seat, with a young maid at her side.

She and Richard had been chattering for at least an hour, with minimal contributions from Darcy.

He felt strangely tongue tied in the lady’s presence – or perhaps it was not so strange.

He was, after all, caught in a vortex of confusion.

What did he owe his name, his sister? Marriage to a wealthy, well-connected lady whom he would, ideally, at least tolerate?

Or marriage to a woman he admired, respected, and even adored?

“My Aunt Gardiner has longed for many years to travel to Lambton in Derbyshire again,” Elizabeth said, drawing his attention away from his own muddled thoughts. “She says it is a lovely little village.”

“It is,” Darcy volunteered and swallowed in an unsuccessful attempt to remove the lump in his throat.

Without a doubt, he knew the answer now to the questions which had plagued him on the journey to Hertfordshire; this was no mere infatuation – he was in love with Miss Elizabeth.

But what did she think of him in return ?

He could not ask her even indirectly, since they were sharing the carriage with Richard and a servant.

But at least he had the opportunity to spend a few hours in her cheery presence, and despite being in the midst of his anxiety over Georgiana’s reputation, and his own uncertainty, he felt his spirits rise merely because he was with her.

“There is a most delightful sweets shop in Lambton,” Richard said, “or at least there was the last time I visited.”

“It is still there,” Darcy said. “I used to plague my nursemaid to take me to that shop when I was but a child, and then when Georgiana was old enough, I would carry her off to Lambton to buy confections for her at the same shop, partly to be a good brother, and partly, yes, because I have a sweet tooth.”

Elizabeth chuckled and said, “You are a wonderful older brother.”

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I try, though of course on occasion I fail.”

“The only perfect Man was our Lord and Savior,” Elizabeth pointed out. “I do not believe any of us can expect perfection of ourselves. I suppose that when one is master of a great estate, it is more difficult to be patient with one’s own failings, since any error can affect so many individuals. ”

“There is truth to that,” Richard said solemnly. “The more responsibility one has, the more power for good or evil. In my view, Darcy does an excellent job as Georgiana’s brother and as master of Pemberley.”

Darcy felt his color rise and glowered at his cousin; he did not need help in winning Elizabeth’s fair hand.

When he looked back, he found the lady herself to be gazing at him, and he could feel his face heat still more.

“I fear that we are embarrassing you, sir,” she said, smiling sympathetically, and turned to his cousin and asked, “Richard, have you and Jane discussed wedding dates?”

“Not in any detail, no. Given that your family is still in deep mourning, we have discussed a delay of at least a few months.”

“That is sensible. Now, I understand that you were once a colonel in the Regulars?”

“Yes.”

“What is your opinion of the militia officers, not counting Wickham, of course? I presume there are vast differences between the officers of the Regulars and those of the militia? ”

“Yes, very much so,” Richard said, and Darcy hid a grin. His cousin held less than flattering views on the abilities of the members of the militia.

The conversation flowed easily for the rest of the trip, ranging over military tactics and the Duke of Wellington’s character, and then shifting elegantly to Paris, France, which Darcy had visited when he was a child.

Darcy was startled when the carriage drew to a halt in front of a tidy home in Cheapside, and also disappointed. He would far rather spend more time in Elizabeth Bennet’s buoyant presence than to hunt down the mad dog who was George Wickham.

But Elizabeth was here in London, at least, and the lady’s elder sister was engaged to Richard. Darcy would see her again, and soon.

/

The Bennets’ House

Cheapside

The Next Da y

“Lizzy, do help me! Jane must have wedding clothes! You must send a letter to your uncle at once and ask for money for her. She is his niece, after all, and Jane is to marry the son of an earl. She cannot be married in an old gown!”

Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who was looking exasperated, and then turned back to her mother.

“Mamma,” she said soothingly, “Jane and Richard are not intending to wed for a few months. There is plenty of time for Jane to acquire the perfect dress.”

“I suppose that is true,” her mother said, mollified. “Though I do not know, perhaps they ought to wed at once, not that Mr. Fitzwilliam will cry off, because he is such a gentleman, but what if he dies?”

“He is not going to die, Mamma,” Jane said wearily, and she then looked up as a manservant entered with a silver tray, upon which reposed a letter.

“Who is it for?” Mrs. Bennet cried out, bustling forward eagerly.

“It is from Richard!” Jane answered, her irritated expression smoothing into one of obvious delight. Elizabeth, observing it, could only rejoice that her dear sister had found a man whom she genuinely adored.

“It has to do with both of us, Lizzy,” Jane said, and read it aloud .

Jane,

Darcy and I have a busy afternoon ahead of us, and we fear Georgiana will be lonely. Would it be possible for you both to come and spend time with her today?

Your beloved,

Richard Fitzwilliam

“Do they not wish for Lydia to come as well?” Mrs. Bennet demanded. “I believe Miss Darcy is about Lydia’s age, is she not?”

“I would rather stay here,” Lydia said. “I have a slight headache, and besides, you promised we could look through The Ladies Monthly Museum together, Mamma. I do love looking at the sketches of those divine dresses and gowns and shawls.”

“Oh, very well,” Mrs. Bennet said, “though of course it will be some time before you can purchase such a garment, and even longer for me. A full six months in full mourning! I am not certain how I will bear it!”

“You look wonderful in black,” Lydia assured her, “with your blue eyes and blonde hair.”

/

London

Afternoon

Wickham’s gaze followed the barmaid as she went about her work. As she moved back towards where he sat, he winked and purred, “I declare, the company in here is even more appealing than the drinks.”

The buxom girl giggled and winked saucily in response as she sailed on past, continuing to bear drinks and the occasional meal to patrons.

Wickham watched her traipse about, disgusted at his own failure to lure her away from her duties.

A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he grabbed the back of his chair to keep from toppling.

A moment later it passed, leaving him entirely clearheaded, and he grinned. Never let it be said that George Wickham could not hold his drink.

He tripped a little passing the doorstep and admitted to himself that he had been drinking a bit more than usual tonight, though not enough to dull his dread and distaste at returning to the boarding house where he was staying.

It was a squalid little heap of a place with a foul stench and cramped quarters.

He had gone first to Mrs. Younge, and though she had been pleased to see him, her own boarding house was quite full – there was no room at all for him, much less the clean spacious quarters he deserved.

He rubbed his chin as he sauntered along.

He was not completely sure what his next move would be.

He had some few pounds left from his last bout of gambling, and Mrs. Younge would surely give him some money if he cajoled her enough.

But he had no long-term prospects, and he could not always depend on the dice and the cards.

No, what he needed was a quick marriage to an heiress.

Before, his charming manners and handsome person might have won him a wife from among the gentry.

But the slanderous rumors he had put about regarding Georgiana Darcy had precluded that; his act of revenge was, perhaps, ill-considered, in hindsight.

But it was too late now, and he could draw satisfaction from the knowledge that he had, he hoped, destroyed her own chances of an advantageous match.

Perhaps some vulgar and voluptuous merchant’s daughter?

As little as he relished tainting himself with marriage to a Cit, it would provide a good source of ready income.

And any mushroom would be thrilled to marry his daughter off to a man with the polished air that Wickham possessed. It was an idea to mull, at least.

Wickham wrinkled his nose fastidiously as he picked his way down the narrow, refuse-lined alley that led to the ramshackle house where he was staying. His boots would be filthy by the time he returned to his room, he reflected with revulsion.

The stairs shook beneath his weight as he ascended, the ancient boards of the floor creaking and groaning like the prisoners in the Tower. He opened his door with a discordant screech of rusted hinges, wincing, and stepped inside – only to pull up short in horror.

“Good evening, Wickham,” Richard Fitzwilliam said and grinned in a thoroughly feral way.

Wickham spun around, intending to flee, only to run into the large, hard knuckles of Fitzwilliam Darcy.