Chapter 2

Two

Ludley House, Ramsgate

August 15

Dear Brother,

I continue to enjoy my time here, much of it due to having made two new acquaintances in the most unexpected circumstance. Two days ago, Mrs Younge and I were enjoying ices on the promenade when we heard a scream from the direction of the bathing machines. Alarmed, we moved quickly to the rail to discover it was merely a young lady's shocking encounter with the cold sea water. She soon calmed, although her shrieks continued. We began to laugh with another young lady, a red-haired girl slightly older than myself, and her friend, truly the most beautiful lady I have ever seen.

Do not be uneasy—they are gently bred, properly chaperoned by one lady's uncle and her lady's maid, and enjoying a short holiday away from their families.

Pleased that his sister was doing the most unexpected thing—talking to strangers, who, blessedly, were somewhat similar in station and age—Fitzwilliam Darcy tucked the letter into his book. He would pen a reply this afternoon, offering up questions and praise for Georgiana while providing his own desultory news on events at Pierce Hall. It was among the dullest house parties he had attended, lacking stimulating conversation, well-stocked ponds, and intelligent young ladies. Worse, his rooms retained a musty smell no matter how often he had them aired. He would be pleased to return to Pemberley the following week and host a small party of his own, more compliant, friends. Two days later, another letter arrived.

Dear Brother,

I must again thank you for sending me to Ramsgate for the month. I am happy here in the sea air, and our little house is quite comfortable. My new friends have brought me such joy. Miss Bennet encourages my sketching and has agreed to pose for me in our sunny sitting room. She is truly beautiful, and it will be a challenge to capture it. Miss King is equally kind and has a lovely voice. Her uncle is a great enthusiast for the opera; she attends with him when in town.

Not since she was eight years old and caring for a new puppy had Georgiana written to him with such joy. These ladies may be strangers to him, but they were providing his sister with better company—and perhaps truer friendship—than she had enjoyed in years. Pray, let them be sincere feelings of friendship. Mrs Younge was a capable companion, if, in his opinion, rather austere; she remained in grey half-mourning gowns nearly four years after her husband's death. It gave him relief to see Georgiana finding pleasure with ladies closer to her own age.

As it rained for the following three days, Darcy managed to find entertainment in the library and billiard room and at the stables, where he spent most of an afternoon with a groom discussing the bloodlines of Richardson's two thoroughbreds.

After enduring a long night of cards and charades, Darcy sat at the breakfast table drinking coffee to fight off the headache stirred by the generously shared—but highly questionable—offerings from the wine cellar. A footman approached; the sun glinting off the silver salver made Darcy's pain worsen but he reached eagerly for his letters. Pleased to see another missive so soon from Georgiana, he withdrew from the breakfast room and walked to the terrace to clear his head in the fresh air. Settling onto a bench, he opened the letter.

Dear Brother,

The weather has taken a turn. The sea no longer attracts my notice, nor do the people I have met. My new friends no longer have time for me, and my old acquaintances appear to be less interested in my company than even a day ago.

The sense of helplessness that had beset Darcy months earlier, when he had taken Georgiana from school after one too many lonely letters, surged within him.

The ladies I mentioned previously, who were kind and intelligent, have taken up with more captivating company than I provide; their attention is diverted away from me. I am pained by it yet can blame only myself for being a dull friend.

Darcy cursed. These ladies were no better than the school friends who had turned their backs on his sister. Shyness did not equate with dullness!

From the start, Mrs Younge was suspicious of their motives in befriending me. She is angered on my behalf, though perhaps it is that she wishes for better conversation than I am capable of offering.

Cursing, Darcy wondered whether Mrs Younge truly had Georgiana's interests at heart; did these genteel young ladies turn away because they felt unwelcomed by his sister's severe companion? Why would she not encourage a friendship?

Fitzwilliam, I now must make a confession to you and ask whether you have suffered from a betrayal common to what now affects me. The object of their mutual fascination is your old friend George Wickham. Days ago, he was all friendliness and warmth to me; he called me as beautiful as our mother. Yet since he begged I introduce him to my friends, he has revealed a fickle nature which may be known to you. He treats me as a child and prefers the company of Miss Bennet. As kind as she remains to me, Mr Wickham now occupies her time, and I realise the insincerity of everyone ? —

Darcy shook his head in disbelief. Wickham? Bloody hell! How dare he—! As fear rushed through his veins, he rose to his feet, almost shaking with dread as visions of the man's past debaucheries rose in his mind. My dear girl!

With luck and good roads, he could arrive in Ramsgate by tomorrow morning.

Elizabeth spent the first fortnight of her trip to the Lakes marvelling over the beauty of the vistas, first to her aunt and uncle, then in missives to her family. Of those remaining at home, only Kitty proved a diligent correspondent, surprising Elizabeth with her own observations—and complaints—about life at Longbourn. Jane was proving more dilatory with her replies, though her first few letters had proved her enjoyment of the pleasures she found at the seaside. Although she lacked Elizabeth's skill in describing people and events, she mentioned attending an assembly, conversing with neighbours, making new acquaintances with other young ladies, and enjoying the unusual feel of sand on her stockinged feet. It was the most shocking thing Jane had ever done, and Elizabeth was glad for her.

Her own holiday turned less adventurous when Mrs Gardiner, who had endured the rattling of the carriage despite carrying her fifth babe and fretted over the children she had left in Mrs Bennet's care, could no longer feel comfortable. The trio began their journey back to Hertfordshire six days early, then—with the roads muddy—remained two days longer than planned at an inn in Stoke-on-Trent.

On their second afternoon there, Elizabeth let out a happy cry when the maid delivered two long-delayed letters from Jane. They had been sent to the inn at Keswick, where they had earlier stayed, before their new direction was given and the letter forwarded on.

"Thank goodness we are here, rather than travelling," Elizabeth said to her aunt as she curled up in a chair by the sitting room's large window.

"Indeed," Mrs Gardiner replied, groaning slightly, from her seat. "But as I have no letters, please pass on any news from Jane not given in confidence."

Elizabeth nodded in understanding; Mrs Bennet preferred to receive letters over writing them, requiring them to depend on letters from Kitty and Mary to know of the children's welfare. Her aunt was understandably anxious not to have news from Longbourn. Jane's letter could prove a happy distraction.

"I shall reveal all," Elizabeth said, smiling mischievously, "even if Jane has now walked in the sand without her stockings."

"Not our Jane," Mr Gardiner said, chuckling from behind his newspaper.

Ramsgate, August 23

Dear Lizzy,

I hope my letter finds you well and as happy as I. While the seaside has brought me many pleasures and new experiences, I have refrained from telling you the true reason for my joy. Among my new friends in Ramsgate is Mr Wickham, the most agreeable man of my acquaintance. He is of good character and great charm—Lydia would agree that he is very handsome—and has eased my way into society here. He even claims a connexion with my other new friends and thus was introduced to our company. We have enjoyed happy hours together in conversation, taking in the views from the paths and sea walks.

Such a letter, more effusive than any Elizabeth had ever received from her sister, sent a frisson of anxiety through her. Jane never kept secrets from her. And to keep secret a gentleman caller, one who brought her joy? Where was her cautious Jane, the Jane whose emotions lay quiet and unseen except by those who truly knew her and understood her heart?

Elizabeth stared unseeing at the letter, her mind filling with questions. Mary King was a shy, sensible girl; she and her uncle were fine chaperons for a few weeks by the seaside, but not if the society had broadened beyond teashops and strolls on the promenade to include a gentleman caller.

No one deserved happiness more than her sister, but Elizabeth was torn between astonishment and concern. Who was this man? She returned her attention to the letter and found no more mention of Mr Wickham, only Jane's questions for her and her thoughts on the sea. She quickly unfolded the second letter, dated three days after the first. There it was again, Jane's most concerning declaration of feeling.

Lizzy, I know you will wonder whether the sea air has addled my thinking, but it is my heart that is stirred by Mr Wickham's kindness and goodness. I enjoy his company so much and will tell only you that his comely appearance makes it even more pleasant. Mr Wickham says he has not felt such affection for any other lady. He tells me I am the most beautiful creature he has met, even on his travels to the Continent.

Elizabeth's heart pounded as her thoughts raced. Such compliments—but is he sincere or merely another bad poet, charming you with words?

Her eyes fell back to the letter. She gasped as she read Jane's next words.

He wishes to marry me.

Elizabeth could not believe it. The acquaintance was far too short—her sister had left Longbourn three weeks earlier as a single, and very sensible, young woman. How could Jane move from admiration to the brink of matrimony so quickly, to a man none of them had heard about, let alone met? Had infatuation turned her artless? What was she thinking?

Elizabeth sat stunned, almost lightheaded, fully unaware of the distress emanating from her. Mrs Gardiner called out. "Lizzy, are you well? What does Jane say? You look quite ill."

Much as Elizabeth may have wished to keep her thoughts her own, her aunt and uncle were not disinterested parties. Their affection for her compelled Elizabeth to disclose Jane's news. They shared her unease, although voiced it less violently, and put forth the same questions as Elizabeth before ceding cautiously to their eldest niece's good sense.

"Jane is of age," said her aunt, "and she is a rational creature, unlikely to give her heart or her virtue"—here she exchanged a frank look with her husband—"to a man who is not her equal in kindness."

Elizabeth would not stand for it. "What kind of man woos a lady far from home and speaks of marriage with an acquaintance of ten days?"

She saw her aunt wince, though whether it was from worry about Jane or a new pain in her belly was unclear.

"Jane is not stupid and is mindful of propriety," said Mr Gardiner, although his frown deepened. "Does she give any indication she has written to her father?"

Jane had not, and Elizabeth could hardly fault her when she herself had given no thought to his response. Her mother would be overjoyed, of course, with Jane returning to Longbourn as an engaged woman, especially if her prospective husband was all that she claimed. But Jane could see no bad in anyone; she could forgive poor manners in her younger sisters and boastful assertions by her neighbours. She was good and kind and deserved the best in her choice of husband—a man who would court her and respect her family.

Was no one to shout that such a hasty union was unthinkable? Recognising her own impotence until she could talk to her sister, Elizabeth resolved to reply immediately to Jane's letter with all her questions and urge her to write to their father. After taking a deep but trembling breath, she said quietly, "Jane has a tender heart and has always seen only the best in people. But she is sensible as well, and although she may trust easily, she has never given her heart easily."

Mr Gardiner agreed. "Mr Wickham must come to Longbourn and meet your father. Bennet will give his blessing when he is certain of the man and his worth and intentions."

Elizabeth could not be so hopeful about her father's actions. How she wished the Gardiners would meet Mr Wickham, for astuteness and judgment were in short supply at Longbourn. Preoccupied as her aunt and uncle were with their own family and with Mrs Gardiner's condition, they would make the enquiries that were most important: How was Mr Wickham to support himself and Jane? Where were they to be settled? Did he understand Jane brought little to the marriage beyond herself and her innate kindness and sensibility? Would he love her as much if she were not so beautiful?

Hours later, her letter to Jane written, sanded, and posted, Elizabeth lay in her bed, unable to sleep. Her mind pulsed with one thought: Who was Mr Wickham and could he be trusted with Jane's heart?