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Chapter 29

Colonel Forster's Residence

Meryton

19th November, 1811

George Wickham nodded at the privates who were guarding Colonel Forster's main door, stepped into the hall, and followed his superior officer to the third door on the right. He was aware of Colonel Fitzwilliam following in his wake, but he forced himself to move loosely and to maintain a confident smile on his face.

He entered into the colonel's study and came to a sudden halt a few feet inside the door. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood near the window, an expression of disgust on his aristocratic countenance.

"Colonel Forster, may I ask what is going on?" Wickham inquired in the calmest voice he could muster. He kept his gaze on his commanding officer, who had walked over and seated himself behind a desk, which was covered in piles of papers.

"Lieutenant Wickham," the colonel said heavily, "I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes."

"They arrived here an hour ago and have laid serious charges against you with regards to your habit of leaving debts wherever you go. I have receipts here for some two hundred pounds of debts from the village of Lambton in Derbyshire, which you failed to pay when you left the region, and which Mr. Darcy paid on your behalf. Do you have anything to say on this matter?"

Wickham gulped and donned a sorrowful expression. "Colonel Forster, it is true that I, most regrettably, was quite unable to pay my debts in Lambton, but that truly is not my fault."

"Why is it not your fault?"

Wickham cast a long suffering glance at Darcy, whose own narrowed eyes were fixed on him, and then turned back to his commanding officer. "The situation is a rather delicate one, sir. The truth is that I was the godson of the late Mr. George Darcy, who was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. I was promised a most valuable church living by my godfather and was anticipating the income from that living, only to be denied it by the son when the living fell vacant. I know that Mr. Darcy and I have not been on the best of terms, but I was truly shocked that he could treat me so poorly and disgrace the memory of his father in such a way."

Forster's lips thinned during this recitation, and he looked down, lifted up a pile of papers, and withdrew the one at the bottom. "You mean, I presume, the Kympton living in Derbyshire, which you gave up in exchange for three thousand pounds, as proven by this document, which you also signed?"

Wickham was, for once in his life, struck dumb. He had not imagined that Darcy would treat him in such a way. For all of his life, he had been spoiled by his mother and his godfather. Even Fitzwilliam Darcy, though openly disapproving of his lifestyle, had never called him to accounts so cruelly. It must be Colonel Fitzwilliam's doing! The man had always hated him.

"You have nothing to say, I see," Forster continued. "Wickham, I will admit that when Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam approached me this morning, I was inclined to believe that there must be some kind of mistake; not about the living or the debts, but perhaps there were reasons for such youthful indiscretions. But now I see that you are merely an extremely accomplished liar who uses his good looks and outward charm to trick people like myself and to cast aspersions on honorable men."

"That describes him perfectly," Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked. "Given Wickham's antecedents, he has been remarkably blessed through the years and used my Uncle Darcy's attention and support to run up debts, carouse, despoil maidens, and cheat honest merchants and tradesmen."

"I can see that," Forster said, his expression one of disgust. "You certainly have my blessing to carry him off to Marshalsea."

Wickham's frozen tongue gave way immediately to frantic pleading. "Marshalsea? Darcy, no! Have mercy on me! Your father would not wish for you…"

"Silence, Wickham," Richard Fitzwilliam snapped, taking a few steps forward and glaring up into the taller man's face. "Act like a true gentleman for once in your life. You left the debts, and now you must suffer the consequences. Moreover, my Uncle Darcy never had any idea who you really had become. Your wastrel life ends today."

"Georgiana would not wish," Wickham began, only to be interrupted by Darcy, who snapped, "That is Miss Darcy to you, Wickham. My sister is no longer the small child who enjoyed playing spillikens with you."

"But," Wickham protested feebly, "I…"

"Moreover," Colonel Fitzwilliam interposed dangerously, "as you well know, there are different sections to Marshalsea prison, and if you say anything at this juncture that you should not, my cousin will be happy to cast you into the section of the prison reserved for the very poor, whereas if you behave yourself, he will provide some monetary assistance so that you can live in a state of … I will not say comfort, but less discomfort than you deserve."

Wickham swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. There was, he saw, nothing he could do to save himself, and he had no desire to live in the ranker parts of Marshalsea, in a crowded room sleeping on straw.

He sullenly closed his still-open mouth, struck dumb at the realization he was in a trap he could not escape.

/

Jane's Bedchamber

Longbourn

Midnight

Elizabeth tapped on the door of her elder sister's room and, at the soft welcome from within, opened the door.

Jane was seated near the fire, which threw sunset orange reflections across her white nightgown. Her long hair was down over her shoulder as she braided it. Elizabeth drew her dressing-gown tighter about herself as she stepped further into the room, almost as familiar as her own. It was not cluttered, but soft, much like its inhabitant. Gentle blue seascapes lit up opposite walls, with an ample supply of cushions set tastefully around for the comfort of any occupants. Tonight it was draped in a soothing dimness, the curtains drawn across the window and two lit candles creating soft pools of wavering light.

The Bennet girls were blessed in that they each had their own room, though Lydia's was quite small. Doubtless when Mary wed and moved out, Kitty would move up into her larger room, and then Lydia would shift to Kitty's former room. Jane and Elizabeth, of course, would not move, and for that, Elizabeth was grateful. Both her room and Jane's had become havens, each a place of sanctuary when life became too trying to bear.

"Sit down, Lizzy," Jane instructed, gesturing toward the empty chair across from her own.

Elizabeth did so with enthusiasm. It was a chilly night, and the heat of the fire was welcome.

Jane waited until her sister had reached out to warm her hands and said, "I am grateful that you are here. I need to speak to someone regarding Mr. Bingley's admissions today."

"I need to as well," Elizabeth said promptly. "I was quite astonished at the conversation."

"As was I," Jane agreed, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

"How do you feel about being tested by Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, Jane? I think it highly presumptuous of the gentlemen to act in such a way. It has caused you a great deal of trouble."

Jane stroked her forehead with two long fingers and then turned a grave look on her sister. "I was initially quite angry, Lizzy, but I have had time to think about the entire matter, and I am now entirely at peace. In fact, I am inclined to admire Mr. Bingley even more."

"Truly? Why on earth?"

Jane sighed and leaned back in her chair, her eyes now fixed on her own clasped hands. "Neither Mr. Darcy nor Mr. Bingley could have guessed that our father would behave in such a way – how could they? Now Mr. Darcy made a mistake in asking for a second dance in public, but he was, it seems, attempting to protect his friend from a loveless marriage. The reason that I admire Mr. Bingley more is that he admitted what he had done today, and I believe he was truly contrite at the trouble that was caused. He did not need to do so. Mr. Darcy would never have explained the matter, of course. Mr. Bingley could have kept silent, and I would have never known the truth. I appreciate his honesty."

Elizabeth frowned and then nodded. "That is a good point. It says much for Mr. Bingley's sense of honor that he would not permit his friend to suffer our poor opinion without being willing to share in it. Given that he has already offered for your hand, that was courageous and honorable. I still think it was rather outrageous, though, to think that you, of all people, would marry based on fortune alone!"

"But Mr. Bingley has obviously had disappointing experiences in the past," Jane argued. "Indeed, dear Lizzy, I daresay a great many women with no fortune would leap at the chance to become Mrs. Bingley. You and I, with the example of a truly unsuccessful marriage between our parents, would rather live on gruel and coarse bread than to marry a man who despises and disdains us, but neither Darcy nor Bingley could know that."

Elizabeth blew out a breath and looked around at the comfortable room. "That is true enough. As much as I do not like to worry about the future, it is odd to think that one day Mr. Collins will inherit and would have every right to expel us from Longbourn. We have always been very well provided for, and to have to leave and dwell in some mean cottage would be difficult."

"Do you think Mr. Collins will cast us out?"

"Given that he will shortly wed our sister, certainly not. I consider him a weak man, and Mary will be able to manage him. No, our futures are secure enough. Indeed, considering how difficult Father can be, I do not imagine in the least that Mr. Collins will be a more unpleasant master of the estate."

"Father is in pain a great deal," Jane said softly.

"I am aware of that," her sister said, scowling at the fire, "but that is truly no excuse. He has no right to vent his spleen on Mother and the rest of us. If he cannot control his tongue, he should stay away from us, not take every opportunity to denigrate our wit, our wisdom, our intelligence, or our looks!"

Jane made a sad sound of agreement, and for a full five minutes, the sisters were silent. Elizabeth, who could feel herself grow drowsy, sighed and said, "I had better leave before I fall asleep in this chair.

"A moment more, please," Jane requested.

"Yes?"

"Lizzy, I have come to the conclusion that I love Mr. Bingley, and I believe we would, if married, be very happy together. Do you think I have formed such a conviction too soon or in error?"

Elizabeth, whose drowsiness had fled, gazed at her sister with an open mouth. "Truly? When he admitted to…"

"As I said," her sister interrupted, waving her shapely hands in the firelight, "that makes me admire, and yes, love him more. Do you not see? He is not the type of man to hide his true nature. He is open, honest, kindly, generous, and exactly the sort of man I would like to marry."

"You truly love him?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do."

The second Miss Bennet considered this for a minute, her mind racing, and then nodded. "I think, in that case, that you and Mr. Bingley will be, as you said, happy together. Of course, that assumes he asks for your hand again."

"Yes, and perhaps I will need to drop some rather large hints. I love Mr. Bingley, but he does not seem the sort of man to relish subtleties."

"I agree," Elizabeth said and managed a smile. While she wanted everything good for her sisters, it would be difficult to lose both Jane and Mary in the near future. But she could not keep Jane from her love, and moreover, her argument made sense. Mr. Bingley seemed entirely opposite from Mr. Bennet in every way that mattered; he was kindly in his speech, willing to acknowledge his own mistakes, and an honorable and faithful friend.

She rose to her feet, planted a kiss on her sister's night capped head, and said, "I will do everything I can to assist you in your quest to become Mrs. Bingley, my dear. Until tomorrow."

"Good night, Lizzy."

The lone candle in the hall did little to light the way, but Elizabeth knew the route from Jane's room to her own so well that she needed no light to navigate to her own door. Her fire had burned down low in her absence, a lone log half-burned, and she reached for the poker to prod the flames back to life. They sprang up warm and bright, and she shivered gratefully in the sudden wash of heat before hurrying to slide into her bed.

Though she was tired, Elizabeth's thoughts were now too busy to allow sleep to claim her immediately. As she thought over what Jane had told her, she found herself approving even more of the match. Jane would make an excellent Mrs. Bingley, and Bingley was kind enough to see to the welfare of his new mother and sisters-by-marriage. But it was not on Mr. Bingley that her mind dwelt for long, veering instead towards his handsome friend. It was an inordinate relief to learn that Mr. Darcy was not, in fact, a rake, casually playing with the affections of any woman whose heart he could capture. It seemed that the reserve he normally displayed was his natural habit, and in order to assist his friend, he managed to overcome it sufficiently to speak to and dance with young ladies whom he would not otherwise converse.

Elizabeth was not really sure she approved of the ‘deal' between Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy – it felt dishonest , in a way, or at least disingenuous. But, according to Mr. Bingley, the plan had strained out more than one fortune hunter who had cared far more for Mr. Bingley's money than his kind and generous heart. Moreover, none of the Bennets had ever been subject to suitors seeking a rich wife. It was easy to imagine that many ladies and gentlemen would eagerly wed for wealth alone. It spoke well to the characters of both Bingley and Darcy, she conceded, that they cared enough for compatibility in marriage that they designed such a test for prospective brides.

Jane had come to truly love Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth realized that she very much liked Mr. Darcy. Her approval had cooled with the suspicion that he was pursuing Jane, despite his friend's obvious interest. She did not think that a jealous man who felt the need to pursue the most beautiful woman around would be a good man to marry. Then, as it turned out that her earlier estimation of his character was the correct one, her admiration flared back to brilliant life.

The woman who wed Darcy would be blessed indeed. He was handsome, refined, and would offer abundant advantages in life – wealth, and high connections, a grand estate and an equally grand house in Town. More than that, he was the possessor of a great many virtues. He was kind, and honest, and conscientious, and sober, and generous. The idea that, as high as his social status was, he might ever ask some simple country miss to be his wife seemed utterly absurd. It would not do for her to pine for a man quite beyond her reach, but she regretted the circumstances that set them apart. Darcy of Pemberley was, she realized, the first man she had admired enough to truly consider marriage.

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