Chapter 21

Music Room

Pemberley

Monday, 17th August, 1812

The emerald silk of Caroline's sleeve caught at the corner of her eye, causing a small thrill of satisfaction to stab through her. This was one of her favorite dresses for when she knew she would be in sunlight; the rich green of the material would bring out the hints of red in her brown hair and make her look even more striking than usual. Such thoughts were a pleasant distraction from the matter occupying her mind, as the simple tune she was coaxing from the pianoforte was no longer sufficient.

Caroline generally disdained the country melodies, but she had found herself unequal today to the concentration required by her typical preference of Mozart or Beethoven. The handsome face of Mr. Peter Russell kept rising into her mind and distracting her.

The more she had thought about their initial conversation down by the stone bridge, the odder it had seemed that Mr. Russell did not want her to mention his presence to Miss Darcy. Surely he could not hope to keep his return to Derbyshire so thoroughly hidden that the servants and tenants and townsfolk would not gossip? And if he did intend to do so, that did not speak very well of his intentions. Accordingly, when the party had gathered in the drawing room after dinner that very night, she had casually brought up the chance meeting.

A dart of concern – almost fear – had crossed Miss Darcy's face, and she had looked at once to her military cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam's visage had been grim indeed, and Miss Bingley had wondered briefly if he often cross-examined men in a court of law, given the way he had rapid-fired searching questions at her. He had demanded details of the man's look and dress and manner and story, and Miss Bingley had taken a few moments to collect herself and describe her meeting with Mr. Russell as clearly as she could.

It had been obvious, from the unsettled dismay in Miss Darcy's face and the black scowl across Colonel Fitzwilliam's, that the man was known to them, and almost certainly not by the antecedents with which he'd introduced himself. Miss Bingley had silently congratulated herself on her instinct that he was a rogue and awaited explanations.

They did not come. Instead, the colonel courteously thanked her for her information and warned her not to venture outside without a strong footman with her, and to tell her sister the same. Miss Bingley had attempted a little delicate prying, but both Miss Darcy and her cousin had steadfastly refused to say any more on the subject. For two days now, Caroline's thoughts had been consumed with the mysterious Mr. Not-Russell, and she was no closer to knowing what was happening than she had been the day she met the stranger.

The door opened, and she looked up to see Colonel Fitzwilliam step into the room, dressed in the classic country attire of riding breeches, top boots, and a slightly wrinkled frock coat.

She stopped her playing and turned slightly on the bench. "Colonel?"

"Miss Bingley," the colonel replied. "I wish to inform you that we successfully captured George Wickham a few minutes ago."

Caroline's mouth dropped open, and it took her a few seconds to recover. "Mr. Peter Russell is actually George Wickham, Mr. Darcy's enemy?"

"Exactly," Fitzwilliam responded. He glanced at the door to make certain that it was open and then wandered over to sit down on a conveniently situated chair and crossed his legs.

"Was he … attempting to harm Miss Darcy?"

The colonel's expression shifted from pleasant to stormy in an instant, and he nodded. "I fear so. He loathes my cousin Darcy and intended to strike at the heart of his happiness by abducting my young cousin, though I must request you to keep that entirely private."

"Of course I will!" Caroline replied, and to her astonishment, felt a tear slide down her cheek. "I am so sorry that such a thing … how very distressing, Colonel! Miss Darcy is such a lovely young lady, and to think of that foul rogue attempting to…"

She quivered, and Fitzwilliam said, "It is greatly to your credit that you care so much about my cousin and that you were intelligent enough to inform us of the man's presence at Pemberley. I am not often surprised by people, but you have done so. Thank you."

Caroline realized her lips were slightly parted, and she closed them, struggling to control her emotions. His compliment felt very nice. It seemed that she had a new devotee.

After a minute of cogitation, she said, "I daresay I better understand how Elizabeth Bennet is so enamored with Mr. Wickham. He is a handsome man, in a rather earthy, vulgar way."

"Why do you do that?" the colonel asked curiously.

"Do what?"

"Take every opportunity to denigrate Miss Bennet? I found her a charming and interesting young lady when I met her."

Caroline felt her face flush. "I was not aware that you had met Miss Bennet."

"Elizabeth Bennet, yes, though not the eldest Miss Bennet, whom I understand to be lovely, along with kind and gentle."

"She is, yes, though not suitable for my brother, of course."

"Why ‘of course'? Miss Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman and your family earned its fortune from trade."

Now Caroline feared that her face was plum from suppressed anger. "My sister and I were educated at Miss Nokes' Seminary for Young Ladies, which is among the best in all of London! My brother attended Cambridge, and everyone agrees that he is one of the most affable, pleasant..."

"All of that is nothing compared to your position as a daughter of trade, Miss Bingley," the colonel interrupted. "Not that I agree with the mores of society; my time on the battlefields of the Peninsula has shown me that honor and bravery have very little to do with one's rank in life. Although it may not be fair, the reality is that the Bennet ladies, in spite of their relative poverty, are higher ranked than you and Mrs. Hurst, regardless of your education and wealth."

Caroline felt her nostrils flare like an angry bull, and she dug her fingernails into her hands to keep herself from screaming. How dare he?

"You do not know the Bennets," she insisted. "The mother is a mere solicitor's daughter, and the father is an eccentric sort who does naught to restrain the vulgar boisterousness of his daughters. As for Miss Elizabeth – well, I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin, her complexion has no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants for character, there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, at no time did I perceive anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."

The colonel laughed aloud at this vituperative outpouring and said, "I am confident that my cousin Darcy cares more about the inward heart than the outward appearance, though Miss Elizabeth is undoubtedly a beautiful woman. Along with that, she is a feisty creature with a great deal of wit. It is no wonder Darcy is so enamored with her."

Caroline's skin hue shifted rapidly from red to pale. "Enamored? You cannot mean…"

"My apologies," her companion said hastily, "that may not be the right word. I do not know if Darcy loves Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but he certainly admires her. He has long disliked sycophantic women who chase him around agreeing with everything he says, and I know from personal experience, during our time at Rosings in Kent, that Miss Bennet argued with him as a matter of course, though always charmingly."

Caroline opened her mouth and then closed it, and then opened it again, and then closed it once more. She wanted to say something, anything, but her mind was a hurricane of confusion, and yes, embarrassment. Could it truly be that all that time following Mr. Darcy around, agreeing with him, reading books alongside of him, flattering him, grasping his arm in the hopes of garnering his admiration – that all that time, she was annoying him? It made her hot with shame and sick with disappointment and anger at someone – herself, perhaps, or the colonel, or the finishing school where her instructors had urged their students to be agreeable and demure in order to win a gentleman.

"Miss Bingley."

She looked up now and realized that Colonel Fitzwilliam was on his feet, with a look of compassion on his face. "Are you all right?"

No. She was not all right.

"I am well," she said automatically and without emotion.

The colonel continued to gaze at her, and she felt a spark of indignation well up in her breast. "Do you need to say something else, Colonel?"

"Yes, I do. Miss Bingley, you are a handsome woman, with a remarkable taste in clothing, along with being intelligent and good company when you wish to be. My recommendation to you, perhaps unwanted, is to set aside any hope of marrying my cousin Darcy and find another gentleman who is in need of funds. Also, you are naturally permitted to be a slavish devotee of your prospective husband, but I do not think it matches your true temperament. I recommend you to be yourself, but with less complaining and belittling of those you consider beneath your notice. "

"Thank you very much for your advice," Caroline said as sarcastically as she could manage.

"It was my pleasure," Fitzwilliam said, bowed, and walked out of the door.

/

Mr. Price's House

Lambton

Evening

George Wickham sullenly stuffed the last morsel of bread into his mouth and chewed it thoroughly on the right side of his mouth. The left side was still throbbing painfully from his altercation with the stable boy. He then took a long drink from the simple tin cup sitting on the small table next to his bed and looked around with distaste.

His meal, comprised of a simple vegetable stew, bread, and water, was filling enough, but it was hardly appropriate for his sophisticated tastes.

The room was equally unprepossessing, consisting as it did of an unremarkable cot covered with a dingy patchwork quilt, a rough wooden floor, and no window. There was not even a pillow to support his head!

Not that he would be in here for the night, surely? He was the godson of George Darcy, and surely here in Lambton…

He gulped, and the anger which had sustained him since his capture abruptly deserted him in favor of pure, unadulterated fear.

If Darcy had captured him, he would not be so frightened, but no, it was Richard Fitzwilliam who had escorted him to the magistrate's house in Lambton, and the colonel despised and loathed him. What would Fitzwilliam do? Would he be transported to the Antipodes, or imprisoned in Marshalsea?

Surely Darcy would not allow that, even if he was angry about Lydia Bennet.

Thinking of that – and he would rather think of anything besides Marshalsea or deportation – he still did not understand why Darcy had interfered with his ‘elopement' with Lydia Bennet. It was odd; Darcy was such a cold, proud individual, and he did not approve of the Bennets in general and Miss Lydia in particular.

The door opened abruptly, and Wickham looked up hopefully, only to give way to ashen fear as Colonel Fitzwilliam strode into the room and slammed the heavy door behind him.

Wickham retreated a few steps, which brought him into the corner of the room, and wet his lips with his tongue.

"What do you want, Fitzwilliam?" he finally demanded.

"Part of what I want has already been fulfilled," the military man said with a grin. "It is truly a pleasure to see you safely locked up, my old enemy."

"You have no right to keep me here!"

Now the grin gave way to narrowed eyes, a set jaw, and a furrowed brow. "I have every right, and reason, to have you hanged, Wickham. You attempted to abduct my young cousin and ward!"

Wickham paled at these words, and he tried again to retreat, but there was nowhere to go.

"You would not," he gasped, eying the military man fearfully.

"I would," the other man said judiciously and with a smile that froze Wickham's heart. "But a trial would allow your abduction attempt to become known in society, and that could harm Georgiana's reputation. So no, I will not have you convicted and executed."

Wickham felt his muscles relax in relief so much that he almost collapsed. He forced his legs to straighten and said, "So, what will you do to me?"

"You have two options," the colonel replied, "and you will not like either of them."

/

Sibson Inn

A Few Minutes Before Midnight

Elizabeth, yawning, pulled the covers over her and leaned back against the well-stuffed feather pillow. The evening had been a pleasant one, as the party had savored a good meal from the inn's talented cook, followed by a few hours of reading and sewing and playing chess and backgammon. Elizabeth had enjoyed a long conversation with Mr. Darcy as Lydia talked to both of her suitors, with Mrs. Greenfield always at the ready to interpolate a comment if the girl grew too boisterous.

She and Mr. Darcy had spoken mostly of Pemberley. Elizabeth had seen many of the main rooms of the mansion, but she wanted to know more about the land and the tenants and the seasons. Derbyshire was substantially north of Longbourn, and Elizabeth was not surprised that the winters were far more bitter.

"It is not a bad thing, necessarily," Darcy had told her, his lips quirked up in a fond smile of remembrance. "Usually the pond in the north field freezes over by the New Year, and Georgiana and I used to go skating, baskets of rolls and carafes of hot chocolate."

"I have never skated," Elizabeth had admitted.

"Oh, you are such an excellent dancer that you will have no trouble at all," her suitor had replied, and there was, again, that ardent love in his eyes which made her cheeks flush.

How handsome he was, and intelligent, and diligent. He had spoken with obvious concern about his tenants, and it was clear that he took his responsibilities very seriously.

He also was well read on modern farming practices, and Elizabeth was determined to read some of his recommended pamphlets and books when she had the opportunity. She would not, of course, ever be expected to deal with the tenant farmers, but she had always found scientific advancements to be of interest. Furthermore, she thought it would be beneficial if she and Darcy enjoyed many mutual topics of interest; her own parents had almost nothing in common, and that had not proven favorable for them or their children.

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth turned over to squint into the darkness at Lydia.

"I did not know you were still awake," she murmured. "Is something wrong?"

She hoped not. She was tired and wished to sleep. But on the other hand, Lydia actually seemed to be thinking profoundly these days, for the first time in years, if not her entire life. Elizabeth would be glad to give up an hour or two of sleep if it led to a happy ending for her sister.

There was silence for another minute before Lydia said, "I have been considering Mr. Wickham."

Elizabeth felt a clench in her stomach – partly because she loathed the man, and partly because she feared that Lydia was pining over the handsome lieutenant who had shown no hesitation in nearly ruining Lydia and the entire Bennet family.

"What about him?" she asked and was proud that her tone was calm.

Silence again, and finally Lydia said, "Mamma has always said that being beautiful is incredibly important, which is why Mary is to be pitied, as she is not pretty. I expected that the same was true of a gentleman, that being handsome and sophisticated was extremely essential. Mr. Wickham is both of those things, and yet it appears he is selfish and cruel. It seems very odd to me."

Elizabeth's spine relaxed at her sister's innocent remarks, and she said, "I thought the same thing about Mr. Wickham, you know. When I first met him, I believed him the most handsome man I had ever met, save for Mr. Darcy perhaps, but instead of being distant and cold, he was warm and charming. I allowed Wickham's outward demeanor to convince me of his goodness, when if I had only been paying attention, I would have observed how his words did not match his actions. Then, the more I learned about him, the more I realized he had been deceiving us all."

"What do you mean?"

Lydia had, of course, heard some of this already, but repetition could be helpful.

"First of all, the very day I met Mr. Wickham, he complained about the church living which Mr. Darcy supposedly stole from him, denying him the living set aside for him by Darcy's own father. I should have asked him if he had taken Holy Orders at the time, but it did not occur to me."

"Why would that matter?"

Elizabeth sighed and said, "One cannot serve as a clergyman without taking Orders, and furthermore, everyone must serve as a deacon for at least a year under an established rector before taking a parish. If Mr. Wickham had truly expected to obtain the Kympton living, he would have worked to become ordained. The truth, of course, is that Wickham told Darcy that he did not wish to become a parson, and Darcy gave him three thousand pounds in exchange for giving up all rights to the living. It was only after spending that handsome sum that Wickham claimed he had been wronged."

Lydia hummed thoughtfully and then asked, "What else?"

"He also insisted that he would not be chased away from Hertfordshire by Mr. Darcy, but in fact he ran off to Town to avoid the Netherfield Ball. So he lied."

Lydia huffed and said, "But maybe he was merely alarmed by what Mr. Darcy might do to him? He is rich and powerful, and Mr. Wickham is but the son of a steward. Perhaps Wickham was afraid that…"

She trailed off, and Elizabeth said warmly, "I wish Mr. Darcy had done something! My dear Lydia, I know you thought he loved you, but you are merely one in a long line of women whom he used to fulfill his own personal desires. I am sincerely relieved that you are not with child; the Darcy estate is already supporting three women who bore Wickham a child. They are now ruined in the eyes of society and might well starve without Mr. Darcy's assistance."

Lydia gasped at these words and said urgently, "But not … they are not ladies, are they? I mean, I would never, we would never starve!"

"Do you know how much was settled on Mamma for her marriage portion?"

"No?"

"Five thousand pounds. In the Four Percents, that means she will have an income of two hundred pounds a year. Furthermore, our parents have saved nothing for our futures. When Father dies, we will have to leave Longbourn. If none of us are married by then, we will, all six of us, be forced to live on two hundred pounds a year. Given that you alone spend about one hundred pounds a year through your gowns and trinkets and food, that is not nearly enough for us all to live."

"Do you mean that if I do not marry, we could actually starve?" Lydia asked, and this time her voice was trembling.

"I do not think that, no," Elizabeth replied honestly. "We are blessed to have the Gardiners, who care deeply for us, and the Phillips as well. But my dear, if we never marry, we will find ourselves living at a far lower standard, with no new gowns, and few if any servants. It will be a difficult experience to lose what we are used to having."

She realized a minute later that Lydia was crying softly, and Elizabeth reached over to embrace her sister, though she did not say anything else. Lydia had long pursued a heedless, careless way of life and a good fright would likely do her good.