Chapter Twenty-One

Elizabeth

11 th March 1812

A week had passed since Georgie had left for London, and his departure had left Elizabeth’s emotions entirely torn. With each passing day, she grew more and more uncertain about their future. Would he do as he had promised and return to her side once he proved himself entirely innocent of the accusations laid against him? Or would he vanish, proving her mother right, that he had known he was George Wickham all along and had concealed his true character?

No, this couldn’t be true. Not her Georgie. She knew him, didn’t she? She leaned back against the bench as Lydia and Kitty approached. Kitty’s visage carried a certain sympathy, and she had been exceedingly kind to Elizabeth. Lydia, on the other hand, had always enjoyed drama, and there was nothing more dramatic than her elder sister’s situation.

“Lizzy, are you still pining for Georgie? You must understand that he is not coming back. Surely,” Lydia said with all the empathy of a dead fish.

Elizabeth looked up. She wanted to be angry at her sister for her unkind words, but she no longer had the strength to conjure up feelings today. She was numb, exhausted from the endless torrent of emotions tearing through her. She had battled her mother for days now, for Mrs Bennet was certain they had escaped a great tragedy. Even her father had indicated that it might be best to not dwell on things for too long. This had hurt her more than anything because she knew her father had liked Georgie.

“Lydia, must you be so unkind? Can’t you see that Elizabeth is upset?” Kitty asked in an unusually sharp rebuke.

“Lizzy hardly knew the man,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “Do not be so silly. The both of you are, in fact, exceedingly silly. In a few days, you will have forgotten all about him and you’ll find yourself another young gentleman. And Kitty, do not indulge her. She does not need us to pity her. She needs us to shake her back into reality. I cannot be burdened by two sisters who mope around the house and feel sorry for themselves. It was bad enough with Jane crying over Mr Bingley for weeks on end, but at least Jane is gone, so I do not have to see her miserable face. But you, Lizzy…”

“You are horrid,” Kitty said. “I do not know why I spend so much time with you. Must you be like this?”

“Must I be like what? Realistic? It seems I am the only one in the family. Jane and Elizabeth have their heads in the clouds, Mary can never lift hers out of a book, and you… you do nothing but cling to my skirts.”

“Lydia!” Elizabeth said, suddenly jolted out of her melancholy. “What is wrong with you?”

“I can tell you what is wrong with her. Mr Denny told her he does not want to see her anymore,” Kitty said, hissing the words more than saying them.

“Kitty, I made you promise!” Lydia said, curling her hands into fists and stomping one foot into the ground, sending dust into the air. “I asked you not to tell anybody,” Lydia complained, but Kitty shrugged, indignant now.

“I asked you not to talk to me in such a rude and condescending manner. If you cannot be nice, why should I?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “What in the world has happened? Lydia? I thought you and Mr Denny got along so well.”

“Mr Denny has met a young lady while away on leave, and he is engaged. Can you believe it? Engaged to somebody other than me!” Lydia said indignantly. “I hear she is as ugly as sin and he only wants her for her father’s money. Oh, why can Papa not be rich?”

“I heard she is rather lovely,” Kitty said and crossed her arms. “And her father is only a merchant, not a gentleman like Papa, perhaps he simply likes her better,” Kitty said and shrugged while Elizabeth shook her head. She had not paid much attention to her sisters and their exploits and doubted that there was anything serious between Lydia and Mr Denny. At least on his end.

“You are terrible, terrible!” Lydia cried and rushed away, while Elizabeth let out a deep sigh. The last thing she needed right now was her sister bringing more mayhem into the house. What she craved was quiet, but she knew she was not likely to get it if Lydia was determined to have all the attention on her instead.

“Do not mind her,” Kitty said while Lydia stormed inside and slammed the door. “She is in a dreadful mood. She should take her own advice because, in a few days, she will have forgotten all about Mr Denny and will find another gentleman.”

“You are correct. But perhaps this could be a lesson to you, Kitty. She is right—you attach yourself to her too often. You are a kind young woman in your own right, and you do not need Lydia to pull you down.”

“You are quite right. The older I get, the more I realise this. But what of you, Lizzy? How are you? I hate to see you so sad and despondent. Has there been no news from Mr Wickham?”

“No. And I truly hope that he isn’t Mr Wickham. I trust that there has been some kind of mistake…”

Then the front door opened again, and Lizzy braced herself for another round of her sister’s complaints. However, it was her mother who appeared instead.

“Lizzy! There you are,” she said and waved her arm.

Lizzy rushed towards her mother immediately. A letter. Perhaps at last, word from Georgie.

“Is it from Town?” she asked, assuming that he would still be in London at. Her mother shook her head.

“No. It is from Rosings Park.”

“Rosings Park?” Lizzy frowned. Why would there be a letter from Rosings Park? Could it be that Lady Catherine had concluded that she had been wrong?

Was she writing to confess that she had made Mr Wickham sound more villainous than he actually was? She took the letter from her mother immediately and tore off the seal, expecting it to be from Lady Catherine. However, this time, the handwriting was not that of the older Lady Catherine de Bourgh. This handwriting was more youthful.

She realised her mother and Kitty were talking because she heard their voices, but the words did not penetrate her mind. She left the two of them standing where they were and made her way towards the garden, needing quiet to focus though her mind was already racing.

Dear Miss Bennet,

I hope this letter finds you as well as can be expected under the circumstances. You do not know me, and I know you have no reason to believe my words, for they are nothing more than the words of a stranger, but I felt compelled to write to you. I heard that you have fallen prey to the same man I did.

Her stomach clenched at once, and she glanced at the signature, Georgiana Darcy. This letter was from the woman Georgie supposedly attempted to trick into marriage. She did not want to read on and wanted to burn the letter immediately, but she knew she couldn’t. With one hand clutching her necklace, she read on.

George Wickham was one of my dearest friends when I was growing up. My home in Derbyshire, called Pemberley, is one of the grandest in the north, and Mr Wickham’s father was largely responsible for its success. He was our steward and lived on the grounds, and myself and my brother Fitzwilliam, grew up with Mr Wickham. I used to call him Georgie, which is funny because that is also what my brother calls me.

Elizabeth’s feet swayed under her. Georgie. Was this why her Georgie liked the name so much? Because it was, in fact, his name and the name of the woman he was connected to?

Mr Wickham and I were good friends, though he and my brother never got along. They were the same age and went to the same school. They were never friends. It was peculiar, everyone always thought that Fitzwilliam was a little strange when it came to Mr Wickham. He always spoke of him and accused him of having bad intentions when everybody often just saw him as a good young boy with a touch of mischief. It changed when he grew older, and people around me began to see that perhaps my brother was not wrong in his assessment. As for me, I was too foolish to see it, and I hate to admit it, but I was too blinded by what I thought was love.

You see, after his father died, Georgie relied on me.

She had crossed out Georgie and written Mr Wickham next to it, which was oddly like another punch in Elizabeth’s gut. This woman had called her Georgie, ‘Georgie’, and he had hurt her so much she could not refer to him as such anymore.

Mr Wickham relied on me a lot afterwards. I was still very young then, of course, but I had regarded him as my friend for so long I wanted to be there for him in his darkest hour. You see, he had no other family since his mother died when he was born and there were no relatives left alive.

My father paid for his schooling and intended to mentor him but unfortunately, we lost both my father and mother within a few years of each other. My brother became my guardian alongside our cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam—

Elizabeth immediately recalled the name. This was the cousin who had exposed Mr Darcy’s scheme to Charlotte in the first place. She narrowed her eyes and wondered how old Miss Darcy was now. She could not be more than eighteen or so. To lose both one’s parents so young was tragic indeed, and then to be left with just a horrid brother and an aunt who was by no means kindly was sad for Georgiana Darcy thus far sounded like a decent person.

My father left him a living. I was very excited because I thought it meant he would be near us more and I would still be able to see him, but he declined the living, saying that the church was not for him.

Instead, he wanted to go into the law, so my brother Fitzwilliam gave him a monetary sum.

Elizabeth paused again. The law. Mr Wickham had expressed an interest in the law. Just like her George. George wasn’t necessarily knowledgeable in all manners of law, but he knew estate law. They had never had occasion to explore how deep his knowledge of the law went in other areas, but this was just another clue in the puzzle.

Elizabeth continued reading, her heart heavy with every word.

After a while, Mr Wickham returned to Pemberley to ask for more money, but my brother would not give it to him. A few weeks later, he showed up in Ramsgate, where I was with my companion, Mrs Younge. Mr Wickham charmed me, and I fell deeply in love with him. I was so naive, and he knew exactly what to say to make me trust him completely. We planned to run away together. I believed we were to be married and that he loved me as much as I loved him. My brother arrived just in time to stop everything.

At first, I was furious with my brother. I could not understand why he would ruin my happiness. Fitzwilliam let me listen from another room while he confronted Mr Wickham. I heard everything. Mr Wickham admitted he only used me for my money. He was going to marry me solely for that reason. He did not love me. He had never loved me. I was nothing but a means to an end for him.

I was distraught, as you can imagine. My brother was my only comfort, but even he could not mend my broken heart. I do not write this to distress you further, but to warn you. If this man is indeed George Wickham, you must not marry him. He will only bring you sorrow. And as for his having forgotten his memory – I know my aunt must have told you already in her letter but it is known George Wickham owes large sums of money to many people, most of whom are dreadful and capable of all sorts. It would be in character for him to pretend not to know who he is in order to start over again.

The man described to me by Mr Collins’ letters and my aunt makes me believe he is indeed who I think he is. Especially his coat. Yes, indeed. It hurt me deeply when my aunt told me that Mr Wickham still wore the coat I had given him. I had it embroidered with ‘My dearest love, George Wickham.’ It was a token of my affection, a symbol of my blind trust. To hear he still wears it, and that it was how you were able to discern his name felt so strange, I can hardly explain.

Elizabeth put the letter down, her hands trembling. She remembered a tear in Georgie’s coat above the name George Wickham, as if it had been snagged on something. Had he cut out the part that said, ‘My dearest love’? What a horrible thing to do. The man Georgiana described sounded like a most dreadful man. How could he possibly be the same man she’d grown to love?

She turned the letter over, forcing herself to read the rest.

I wish my brother were near so I might tell him what I have learned and draw comfort from him, but he has left Town and I have not been able to reach him. I know if he were here, he would come to Longbourn at once to confront him because he would never allow Mr Wickham to harm another young lady.

Elizabeth sank into her seat, feeling as though her entire world had been ripped from under her. Her Georgie, a horrible man—and Mr Darcy, the man she’d despised for so long, was a good person? How could that be? Of course, the letter was written from a loving sister’s perspective. If only she could speak to Mr Darcy, but she did not know where to find him.

Georgiana’s words had a ring of truth to them that Elizabeth could not ignore. It was clear Georgiana had no reason to lie to her, and her account of Mr Wickham’s actions was too detailed, too specific to be anything but genuine.

Elizabeth felt tears well up in her eyes. She had been so sure of Georgie, so ready to believe in his goodness despite everything. Now, she felt like a fool. The pain of betrayal cut deep, and she wondered if she would ever trust anyone so completely again.

As she sat in the garden, clutching the letter, the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the ground. Elizabeth knew she had to make a decision. She could not ignore the evidence before her. If George Wickham was truly the man Georgiana described, then she could not let herself be drawn further into his web of deceit.

With a heavy heart, she resolved to confront him if he ever returned. She would demand the truth, no matter how painful it might be. She owed it to herself and to Georgiana to uncover the real man behind the charming facade.

For now, though, all she could do was wait and hope that the days to come would bring her the strength to face whatever truths lay ahead.