Chapter Eight

Darcy

H e looked around the countryside, still a little barren since spring was weeks away. Yet, it was rather lovely anyhow. The empty fields for as far as the eye could see filled him with a sense of hope. There was much to explore, and somewhere around here lay the answers to his many questions regarding his identity.

It was a pleasurable way to spend a little time, walking in the cold winter’s air with Elizabeth Bennet, who told him all about the neighbourhood, its inhabitants, and whatever else she could think of that might help him remember who he was and where he came from.

As they walked back, a half hour into their walk, he found himself a little out of breath as they reached Longbourn House, which struck him as rather odd, seeing how he was a young man. He had looked at himself in the mirror, hoping to find out who he was, but it had been a stranger looking back.

“Oh Mr Wickham!”

He looked up to see the two younger Bennet sisters, Kitty and Lydia, peeking out from an open window. Their giggles filled the air when he dipped his head in acknowledgment, eliciting even more laughter. A strange sense of familiarity tugged at him upon seeing them, though he couldn’t quite place why.

Elizabeth sighed softly. “I must apologise for my sisters, Mr Wickham. Their curiosity is getting the better of them. They are eager to learn more about our mysterious guest.”

He smiled, a warm, genuine expression that reached his eyes. “No need to apologise, Miss Bennet. I can’t blame them. I’m just as curious to find out more about myself.”

They shared a smile, a moment of connection that neither could entirely explain. He cleared his throat and gestured around them. “Would you mind if we sit in the garden for a spell? I am afraid I cannot walk any further today, but I am not ready to return to my… your chamber. I must apologise anyhow for taking your room.”

“It is quite alright, Jane and I do not mind sharing,” she said quickly, and he nodded, grateful once more. The Bennets had been nothing if not hospitable, and he hoped to one day repay their consideration. He wasn’t sure when or how, but he would.

“Tell me about your family, Miss Bennet. If I can’t know more about my own for the time being, I’d like to know about yours.” It was true, he still knew little about her family, and she hadn’t said much about them, focusing instead on the area around them in case it would give a hint of where he was from, or who he was.

Elizabeth appeared thoughtful. “Very well. I am the second oldest of five daughters. My elder sister, Jane, is the beauty of the family. She is as kind and good-natured as she is lovely, as I am sure you know by now. Then there is Mary, who is very studious and serious. She was the one who brought your breakfast yesterday. Kitty and Lydia, as you have seen, are the youngest. They are quite spirited and full of energy.”

Mr Wickham listened intently, intrigued not just by her words but by the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of her family. He found himself captivated by her voice, the sincerity behind her words. He wondered what his own family was like. Did he have siblings? Did he sound as amused when he spoke of them as she did? Were his parents still alive? These questions swirled in his mind, but he pushed them aside, focusing on Elizabeth.

“And your parents?” he asked, eager to keep her talking.

Elizabeth’s smile wavered slightly. “My father, Mr Bennet, is a quiet, scholarly man. He prefers his books and his study to the bustle of everyday life. My mother, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. She is very keen on seeing us all well married and is always full of plans and schemes to that end. She has a brother in town and a sister here…”

“Mrs Phillips,” he said. “The solicitor’s wife.”

She smiled at him. “You remember.”

“I appear to be a keen listener with a good memory. There’s something we’ve discovered about me,” he replied with a bright smile.

“We shall accept any little victory. I hope my family is not too boisterous for you.”

Mr Wickham chuckled softly. “Not at all. Your family is wonderfully lively. I can hear your conversations through the door sometimes when you congregate outside my room. Or rather your room.”

Her lips parted, and he knew instinctively that she was thinking about the things she and her sisters might have said about him. He smiled to ease her worries.

“I’ve not overheard anything untoward, just a lot of chatter about gentlemen from your younger sisters and assorted fretting from your mother.”

She threw her head back, and a laugh escaped. “That sounds right.”

“It makes me wonder if I have a family also. I hope I do,” he said, wondering what his family might be like. Did he have living parents? Siblings? Children? A wife? He stopped and blinked.

“Are you unwell?” she asked quickly, but he shook his head.

“No, it just occurred to me that I do not know anything about my personal life. I wonder if I have children. And…” he looked at his fingers. There was no ring, there should be a ring.

“A wife?” she asked, and the air shifted between them.

“I wondered about it, but I feel I do not have a wife. I am missing a ring though, I feel certain that I wear a signet ring, a gold ring with a ruby and—” he stopped abruptly.

“And what?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“The memory has gone, for a moment I could almost see it, but it was fleeting,” he said sadly.

“It must be a good sign though, that you have snatches of memory however brief,” Elizabeth smiled at him.

“Perhaps.”

“So you feel that you do not have a wife?” she asked, and he couldn’t help but notice the delicate pink flush in her cheeks as she spoke.

“A feeling, but a distinct one,” he said and dropped his hand.

“Well, then perhaps you are as yet unwed, Mr Wickham,” she said and indicated for them to press on. Yet the sound of the name from her lips somehow caused him to stand still. There was a distaste to it he couldn’t place. It bothered him to be called this name by anyone, but her most of all. He cringed and took a deep breath, expelling it with some force.

“This will not do,” she declared with determination and faced him.

He looked at her, confused. “What do you mean, Miss Bennet?”

“You clearly don’t like the name Wickham for whatever reason,” she said firmly. “So, we need to come up with something else. Do you prefer George?”

A smile tugged at his lips but he shook his head. “I do not love it either, no.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, thinking. “We shall have to find you something else. It cannot be Thomas for that is my father’s name, nor Phillip as it is my uncles.”

“Phillip Phillips?” he quipped and she let out a little laugh behind her hand.

“Indeed, his parents were very humorous. Now, as for you, how about… John?”

He laughed. “John? That sounds far too common, don’t you think? I would not want to be in the market and have to turn every few minutes upon hearing that name.”

“True,” she admitted, grinning. “Alright, how about Edwin?”

He smirked. “Edwin?” He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. “I do not mind it. Do you think I look like an Edwin?” He noted they had skipped from formal last names to Christian names but she did not mind it. She scrutinized him with care before waving a hand.

“No. You look more like … Melchior?” she proposed.

“As in the bible? The bringer of myrrh?”

“Gold, I believe. Another thing we have learned about you. You do not know the scripture well,” she said and he wagged his head as a laugh escaped both of them.

“It seems that way. But no. None of these will work,” he said and grew silent when a thought came to him. “Truly I do not like George but I quite like the name Georgie. I’m not sure why, but it feels… right.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Georgie? Yes, I like it too. It suits you.”

He smiled, a sense of relief washing over him. “Georgie it is, then.”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Very well, Georgie. I shall tell my family this is your preferred name. Georgie Wickham. But we shall not use the Wickham.”

He bowed slightly, a playful glint in his eye. “I thank you, Miss Bennet.”

As they walked on, the mood lightened, and they continued to exchange stories and jokes. The name Georgie seemed to fit perfectly, and with each passing moment, the bond between them grew stronger, filled with humour, and a hint of something deeper.