Chapter Six

Mid-Summer 1811

G eorgiana Wickham was frightened. About a month ago, she had married a man she had known since childhood, George Wickham, over the anvil at Gretna Green. At the time, it had seemed terribly romantic, and her head had been filled with dreams of a beautiful future with an adoring husband at her side.

George had assured her that her brother would approve of the marriage once he saw how deeply in love they were, and that there would then be plenty of money for them to have the life to which she was well-accustomed and deserved: a fine house, servants, clothing, whatever she wanted.

But somehow, it had all gone terribly wrong and nothing was as she had imagined.

Georgiana had been enjoying a holiday at Ramsgate with her companion, Mrs. Younge. Apparently by chance, George Wickham, the son of Pemberley's steward and a childhood friend, had been there as well. She had introduced him to Mrs. Younge, and soon the three of them found themselves spending a good deal of time together. George had then begun paying her compliments, saying he had always known she would grow up to be a beauty, but his imagination had fallen far short of the reality. Such golden hair! Such beautiful eyes! Such a clear and lovely complexion! And were they not meant for one another, his name being George and hers being Georgiana?

She had asked Mrs. Younge if this was all quite proper, given that her brother knew nothing of this rekindled friendship, but Mrs. Younge had assured her that she had written to Mr. Darcy and had obtained his approval for George Wickham to spend time with her. In fact, according to Mrs. Younge, Mr. Darcy approved of George wholeheartedly. How could he not, given that the three of them had been such good friends, growing up together at Pemberley? Thus reassured, Georgiana had no difficulty at all falling in love with George Wickham.

When an adoring George had proposed to her – very romantically, on bended knee! – she had been elated. "William would want us to be married from Pemberley," she had told him, but George had begged her to come away with him directly. He had said that he had always dreamt of a romantic elopement to Scotland, but that of course they would bring Mrs. Younge along to preserve the proprieties.

Georgiana was eager to make her beloved's dream come true, and with Mrs. Younge along – well, surely no one could say that she had done anything improper.

It had taken them several days to reach Scotland. Georgiana had been a little taken aback the first time they had stopped at an inn for the night. The inn was a dark, foul-smelling place, the room she shared with Mrs. Younge tiny and dirty, the mattresses thin and lumpy. It was not at all what she was accustomed to, but she did not want her betrothed to think her a spoiled little child, so she suffered these new conditions uncomplainingly.

Once they had arrived at Gretna Green, it had taken no time at all to find a blacksmith, and in a matter of just a few minutes, she was Mrs. George Wickham. George had taken her directly to an inn, right there in Gretna Green, and had – well, she did not have words for what had happened next and it had been quite painful and more than a little embarrassing, but he informed her that now no one could part them, ever. This action had apparently made the marriage valid.

That very afternoon, Brother had found them at the inn. He had arrived on horseback, disheveled and covered in road dust. Georgiana, George and Mrs. Younge were in the main dining room, celebrating the marriage with a bottle of wine. Georgiana had been delighted to see William when he strode in. "Brother, you are just in time to help us celebrate! George and I are married!"

William had stared at his sister. His face bore an expression she had never before seen. He was frantic, that much was clear, but he was also – heartbroken? Horrified? She was not certain what the right word would be. She began to feel rather afraid.

"Georgiana, what in the name of God have you done?"

Georgiana protested, "No, no! Mrs. Younge wrote you and you said it was all right for us to be together! And she has been with us the whole time, everything was done quite properly!"

"Mrs. Younge! What have you to say for yourself?" Her brother had turned to face the woman.

"There is nothing you can do, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Younge had said, satisfaction in her voice. "She is wedded and bedded."

William had stared at Mrs. Younge. "But I hired you to take care of my sister, not aid in an elopement!"

"I had no intention of being her companion for more than a few months," she had replied.

"But your references?"

"Forged," she had replied, gleefully. "You never checked them, did you?" And she took George's arm and held it close in a manner that seemed overly familiar to Georgiana.

George had then said, "And now I would like those thirty thousand pounds, Darcy!" Georgiana had wondered at the tone in his voice. There was something there she had never heard before, a greedy, grasping quality. All that he needed to do was to rub his hands together and twirl his mustache, and he would have been just like a villain in a play.

William had shaken his head. "You cannot have it." His tone had been flat.

"Not have it? What can you mean by that? She married me; what is hers is now mine."

"You are sadly misinformed, Wickham. The money is not hers. It is held in a trust and may only be released with the written consent of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself."

"Then release it!" George had insisted, his voice rising in anger.

"I shall never do so; and you know Richard Fitzwilliam well enough to know that even were you to persuade me, you will never persuade him."

"The alternative is that your precious little sister will live in squalor in London; is that what you want for her?"

"What I want ? What I wanted for her was a marriage to a respectable gentleman who would hold her dowry intact for her to live on after he passed away. What I wanted was for her to have a Season in Town so that she might have the opportunity to choose such a gentleman. But none of that is possible now."

Georgiana had then begun to get angry. "Brother, it is your fault that George has no money; he was supposed to have the living at Kympton, you know that. But you refused to give it to him!"

"You believed that pack of lies? Sister, do you not know me well enough to know that I would never do something so dishonourable? Georgiana, he received a thousand pounds when our father died; he also received three thousand pounds in exchange for the Kympton living, which he did not want!"

"Four thousand pounds," she had said. "That is quite a lot of money." Turning to her husband, she had said, "It is enough for us to live on, surely, George! As long as we are together, what else matters?"

"Stupid girl," he had said, glaring at her. "That money is long gone. If we do not have your dowry, we have nothing."

She had just stared at him. Stupid girl? He usually called her his beloved, his darling, his one-and-only, and suddenly she was a stupid girl? Her head had spun, and tears had pooled in her eyes. "George?" she had said softly, laying a hand on his arm.

He had shaken her hand off, roughly, not even looking at her. "Darcy, I will tell every newspaper in London how your precious sister could not wait to accompany me to Scotland and give me her virtue."

Her brother had replied, "I have no doubt that you will, Wickham. And I also have no doubt that no matter how much money I give you, you will always come back for more and more and more. Georgiana has put herself in your power; I cannot allow all of Pemberley's dependents to suffer as a result."

Georgiana had stared at her brother. "I do not understand, William. You are not going to help us?"

William had shaken his head. "I cannot, Georgiana." His voice had been rough with pain and his eyes were wet. "Wickham will never be satisfied until Pemberley is bankrupt. And then he will simply abandon you."

George had snarled, advanced upon William and struck him in the face, knocking him to the floor. William had sprung up, growling like a beast, and had fallen upon his assailant, beating George with a ferocity Georgiana had never imagined possible.

Mrs. Younge had screamed; the innkeeper had rushed up and tried to separate the two men, but to no avail. The other diners were cheering the two men on.

"Ho there, lads, lend a hand!" The innkeeper had called out to the spectators.

Three other men had come forward and dragged the two men apart.

The innkeeper had demanded, "What's this all about, then?"

William had spoken first. "This scoundrel eloped with my sister! I demand to see the magistrate immediately!"

And George, whose face was bloodied, had raged, "Yes, do bring the magistrate, who will explain to my friend here that his sister is no longer his concern! I believe he has broken my nose! And I think I have lost a tooth!" He spat something into his palm. "Two teeth! I should bring charges against him!"

After some time, a rotund, florid-faced gentleman had arrived, saying that he was the magistrate and would sort this disagreement out. He had listened to William and to George, and had then addressed Georgiana. "Did you speak your vows with this man?"

"I – I did, to a blacksmith."

"And has the marriage been consummated?"

She did not know what that meant, so she looked – out of habit – to William. George had intervened, sounding disgusted with her. "How would he know, for God's sake, Georgiana? Yes, the marriage was consummated this very day."

And Mrs. Younge had added, "And I have the bloodied sheet to prove it."

Georgiana had hid her head in her hands, unable to bear any more of this conversation.

"Well, then, Mr. Darcy," the magistrate had said. "I think you must know full well that your sister is now this man's property, to do with as he wishes."

"She is but fifteen years old!" William had cried.

The magistrate had shrugged. "As long as she as at least twelve, the marriage is legal."

Georgiana knew she would remember the look on her brother's face for the rest of her life. He had gazed at her as if it would be the last time he would ever see her. Then he whispered, "I love you, dearest Georgiana."

And without another word, he had left the inn to ride away, leaving Georgiana to stare after him. George and Mrs. Younge had begun shouting at one another, but Georgiana had remained silent.

George and Mrs. Younge had then taken her to London. Throughout the journey, it was made very clear to her that George did not love her, had never loved her, very likely never would love her, and had married her for the sole purpose of gaining access to her dowry of thirty thousand pounds. Mrs. Younge was a long-time friend of his and had arranged Georgiana's meetings with George Wickham. It was now all too obvious that Mrs. Younge had never written to her brother at all.

Georgiana finally understood that she had been the victim of a clever, well-conceived and flawlessly executed plot. She had wept until her face was red and swollen, but her tears changed nothing. She had ruined her life at the tender age of fifteen.