Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 1 (5 page)

He drew near the pianoforte. Georgiana caught sight of him in one of the gilded mirrors that hung on the wall and jumped up.

‘Fitzwilliam!’ she cried, her eyes shining.

She walked demurely, towards him. Then, at the last minute, she threw decorum aside and ran the last few steps.

‘I am so pleased you are home,’ she said. ‘You look tired. Is anything wrong?’

‘No, nothing,’ he said. ‘Or, at least, nothing for you to worry about.’

The biggest satisfaction of his life was that Georgiana had had nothing to worry about since the death of their parents. Darcy had sheltered and protected her, so that she was growing into a happy and confident woman. No love affairs or unsuitable affections had marred her fifteen years. He had guarded her well.

He thought suddenly of the companion he had hired to accompany his sister to Ramsgate over the summer. The woman had proved to be unsuitable, and had encouraged Georgiana in some fanciful thoughts about the romantic nature of elopements. This Darcy had discovered on a surprise visit to see his sister in Ramsgate. He had even wondered if Mrs Younge had been preparing Georgiana for the advances of a fortune hunter. But luckily nothing had come of it. However, he had sent some of the Pemberley servants to Ramsgate to watch over his sister, and he had dismissed Mrs Younge as soon as Georgiana returned to London.

In time, he hoped she might marry Charles Bingley, or some other kind and wealthy gentleman. But for now he wanted her to be exactly as she was: open, trusting and loving. A perfect sister.

‘My guardian called while you were out,’ said Georgiana, taking Darcy’s arm in a confiding manner. ‘He could not stay, but I invited him to dine with us.’

‘You did well,’ said Darcy.

Georgiana had two guardians. One was himself and the other was his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. She had needed guardians because her parents died before she came of age, and she would need them until she married or reached her majority. Darcy relished the rôle, and he knew that his cousin also liked it and took it seriously.

But Darcy was not just glad for Georgiana’s sake that Colonel Fitzwilliam was in town, he was glad for his own sake. He found himself on the horns of a dilemma. And he would value his cousin’s advice. Bingley, for all he was an amiable young man, did not have the breadth of experience that Darcy felt in need of. Because he had a challenge facing him.

Should he should reveal the fact that Wickham was married?

And, if so, how he should do it?

Dinner that evening was convivial. Georgiana was old enough to be dining with the adults and it did her good to have some experience of society. She was joined at the table by her new companion, a sensible woman who was a friend and confidante as well as someone who could teach her etiquette and such like.

Bingley was in a cheerful mood. He had tended to some business in town but was looking forward to returning home to Netherfield the following day.

Colonel Fitzwilliam brought with him news of the war and news of his family. The conversation flowed easily until it was time for Georgiana to withdraw, leaving the gentlemen to sit over their port.

They did not sit long, however, because they knew that Georgiana had no one to talk to except her companion and so they soon joined her.

Darcy suggested that Bingley should sing for them. He had a fine tenor voice and Georgiana accompanied him on the pianoforte.

‘Neatly done,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam appreciatively.

Darcy raised his eyebrows questioningly.

‘Getting rid of Bingley and Georgiana – in the nicest way, of course.’

‘Was it obvious?’ asked Darcy.

‘Only to me,’ Colonel Fitzwilliam reassured him. ‘But I have seen since dinner that something is pressing heavily on your mind. Will you tell me what it is?’

‘I will, for I would value your advice.’

‘You will go your own way as usual, I suppose?’ asked Colonel Fitzwilliam, who knew Darcy to be a strong-minded individual.

‘Yes, I will. But my own way might change once I have spoken to you. You have a wide knowledge of the world and as I find myself in a difficult position I would like to know your feelings on the subject.’

Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed one booted foot over the other then settled himself back in his chair. His noble profile was not as handsome as Darcy’s but there was still a family resemblance.

Mr Darcy told him of the problem.

‘At what point do you think I am justified in interfering?’ asked Darcy. ‘Am I justified in saying something as soon as I return to Meryton? Or should I wait until it becomes clear that Wickham’s attentions are giving rise to expectations? Expectations that he cannot meet.’

‘It is difficult,’ admitted Colonel Fitzwillam with a frown.

‘And should I speak to Wickham or should I put the lady on her guard? If so, should I casually drop the information into conversation, as if it was common knowledge, or make a point of it?’

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave the matter careful thought.

‘You have asked for my advice, and so I will give it. I think you should speak to Wickham and tell him you know of his marriage. Warn him that if he does not stop paying particular attention to certain ladies you will make his marriage known. Further, I think you should tell him that he should also reveal the fact of his marriage in a casual way, so that it seems like a commonplace thing and not something he ever intended to hide.’

‘Which I am sure he did,’ said Darcy.

‘I agree,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘But by speaking to him quietly you will give him a chance to hang on to his reputation – and also allow the lady to keep hers. For it will expose her to unpleasant gossip if he wins her affections and it then becomes known that he was merely toying with her.’

Darcy nodded. ‘Good advice. I am glad we had this chance to talk. I will give Wickham his opportunity to retire gracefully. After all, we were friends once, and he has not done anything so terrible that I would wish to disgrace him in public. He has led a wild youth, but so have many other men. And as for his present behaviour, although it is not befitting a gentleman, it is not a crime. So yes, I will give him a chance to set matters to right. And I will tell him he must let the lady know the truth when they are somewhere quiet, so that her initial reaction to the knowledge will not be seen by curious eyes and form the subject of gossip.’

The problem having been satisfactorily discussed, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam joined Bingley and Georgiana at the pianoforte.

Elizabeth walked into town with her sisters. Jane was quieter than usual, and had been so since Mr Bingley left for London.

Kitty and Lydia, the two youngest sisters, ran on ahead and looked at the bonnets in the milliner’s window, whilst Mary went into one of the neighbouring shops to buy some new music.

‘You miss him, don’t you?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘I do. He is the most agreeable man of my acquaintance. But Mama says he will be returning to Meryton tomorrow.’

Elizabeth did not find it unusual that Mrs Bennet should know about the comings and goings at Netherfield Park. Servants talked, and any news of this kind swiftly travelled round the neighbourhood.

‘I think you will make a good match,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Oh, Lizzy, not you too! I have had Mama talking about a match between us ever since we met. It is far too soon to speak of such things.’

‘To speak of them, perhaps, but not to think of them. Confess, Jane, you have thought of it.’

‘Well, yes, if you press me dear Elizabeth, I must say that I have. But I am not foolish, I hope. I know that young men of his age do not always settle, and I have seen other young woman have their hearts broken, so I am not regarding his affection as a settled thing. But how about you, Lizzy. You are very fond of Mr Wickham, are you not?’

‘Yes, I confess I am. He is entertaining and charming and my idea of what a gentleman should be.’

‘I will say what you said to me only moments ago: I think you will make a good match.’

‘And I will echo your sentiments, Jane, and say that it is too soon to speak of such things. But I am looking forward to seeing Mr Wickham again at the Netherfield ball.’

The ball was the main topic of conversation in the neighbourhood. Everyone of any importance was going and the Miss Bennets were on their way to buy new ribbon with which to trim their gowns. It was lucky that Mr Bingley had decided on a later date for the ball than the one he originally intended, owing to his need to go to London to deal with some business there. If he had held the ball on the date originally planned, it would have been impossible to go into Meryton for ribbon and suchlike, for it had done nothing but rain.

Today, however, was dry. It was cold but otherwise pleasant, with a weak autumn sun shining down from a clear blue sky.

They had not gone much further when Mr Wickham himself rounded a corner and almost bumped into them. He was with Captain Denny. The two men doffed their hats and greeted all the ladies, for the younger sisters had rejoined their older siblings.

They walked on together and discussed the coming ball. The officers had been invited and this fact had excited the younger Miss Bennets, who were looking forward to dancing with men in red coats.

‘I am glad I have seen you,’ said Mr Wickham, falling into step beside Elizabeth. ‘I was coming to Longbourn on purpose to speak to you. Would you do me the very great honour of dancing with me at the ball?’

Elizabeth was delighted. She agreed to dance the first dance with him, and then to partner him again later in the evening, as well as going into supper with him. She only wished it was possible for her to do more, but the strict rules of society forbade it.

‘I believe I am looking forward to this ball more than any other ball I have been to,’ said Mr Wickham, bowing over her hand.

‘I am inclined to say I feel the same,’ said Elizabeth, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Then we both have something to look forward to.’

The gentlemen accompanied the ladies as they finished their shopping and then escorted them back to the house. Elizabeth invited Mr Wickham and Captain Denny inside, but the gentleman politely declined the invitation. Denny had work to do and Mr Wickham was engaged to try out a new horse.

But their parting would be of a short duration, because that very evening they would all meet again for the ball.

Elizabeth ate little at lunch time. Her stomach was churning with excitement. After lunch she could not settle to anything and, as it was too early to dress, she decided to take a walk. The day was fine and some exercise would do her good.

She donned her pelisse and bonnet, pulled on her gloves and her stout walking shoes, and then set out. She walked to the river and admired the rushing water, which spilled in clear profusion over shining stones. She crossed the bridge, and as she did so, a sudden gust of wind tugged at her bonnet. Her ribbon tying it beneath her chin was loose and her bonnet blew off.

She ran after it as it tumbled over the edge of the bridge and was blown into the shadows beneath it.

At the same time that Elizabeth left Longbourn, Mr Darcy saddled a horse and set out from Netherfield Park for a ride. He did not know if he was glad to be back at Netherfield Park or not. He had found it difficult to be away from Elizabeth, for he was falling in love with her. But at the same time, no good could come of seeing her, for she was beneath him in every way.

He decided that, once he had warned Wickham to reveal the truth, and once he had seen it done, he would leave Netherfield and retire to London for the rest of the winter. Once he no longer saw Elizabeth every day, he hoped he would forget her.

He rode hard, knowing some vigorous exercise was just what he needed to rid him of his frustrations and prepare him for the ordeal to come. He must speak to Wickham at the ball, taking him aside and quietly letting him know the truth would have to come out. Then he would leave it to Wickham to tell Elizabeth the truth.

He rode out into open countryside, galloping over fields and jumping streams. The ride was exhilarating, but at last it was time to turn back. Just as he was about to do so he saw George Wickham trotting towards him on a showy mount.

Thinking that there was no time like the present, and that he could speak to Wickham here, at once, in private, Darcy rode onto a hump-backed bridge which Mr Wickham was just crossing. The two men met at the top of the bridge.

‘A word, George,’ said Mr Darcy.

He reined in his horse. Mr Wickham was forced to stop, too, as Mr Darcy’s horse was blocking the bridge.

‘Darcy! I did not expect to see you here,’ said Mr Wickham.

He was looking neat and well dressed in a blue coat and cream pantaloons. His cravat was skilfully tied and an embroidered waistcoat could be seen underneath his coat. A tall black hat was well placed on his head. He had not a hair out of place, in contrast to Mr Darcy who was hot and dishevelled from his hard ride. Darcy’s hair hung in elflocks across his forehead, and his white shirt, which was visible beneath his coat, clung to him, showing the contours of his powerful body.

Mr Wickham rested his gloved hands on the pommel and said facetiously, ‘And so you want a word with me. Which word would you like?’.

His casual attitude annoyed Mr Darcy, who said, bitingly, ‘I think
sorry
would be a good place to begin.’

‘Sorry? For what?’ asked Mr Wickham, laughing insolently.

‘For deceiving everyone in Meryton,’ said Mr Darcy scathingly.

‘Why, I have done nothing of the sort!’ returned Mr Wickham, but his eyes were restless and showed that Mr Darcy’s words had hit home.

‘You have come here pretending to be free when you are nothing of the kind. You have led Miss Elizabeth Bennet on and —’

‘Ah! So that is what all this is about,’ said Mr Wickham annoyingly. ‘You don’t care about the people of Meryton, you care about Elizabeth.’

‘She is a gently born young woman and she is entitled to your respect,’ growled Darcy.

His hands gripped the reins so hard that his knuckles turned white. Those same knuckles longed to knock Wickham from his horse. The two of them had often fought as boys. They had been taught how to wrestle and to box, and they had often tried their strength against each other. Darcy longed to do the same now.

At the back of his mind he was aware he was obeying a primitive instinct to fight over a woman but he did not care. The sight of Wickham smirking there in front of him made his blood boil.

‘She knows I mean nothing by it, it is just a bit of harmless amusement,’ said Wickham, laughing at Darcy’s concern.

‘Then you can have no reason to disguise the truth,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘You will tell her that you are married this evening, at the ball, and you will do it in a discreet corner of one of the anterooms, so that her shock will not be observed. You will apologise for deceiving her. Then, tomorrow, you will be on your way.’

‘On my way!’ Wickham mocked him. ‘This is not the Middle Ages. You have no power to send me on my way. You are not my feudal overlord – even though I am sure you would like to be. You have always been puffed up with your own importance, Darcy, just because you were born into a rich and influential family, but you are no better than I am, and you are not my lord and master. I will leave Meryton when, and if, I please.’

‘You cannot think you will be welcome here when the truth is known, after the way you have behaved!’

‘That is for me to decide. As it is for me to decide whether or not to say anything. You cannot force me to it.’

Darcy let out a roar of rage. Wickham had pushed him too far. He was usually a cool and distant man, being too proud to engage in a brawl, but George had caught him on the raw, and the memory of all their childhood fights took over. Mr Darcy flung himself from his horse and leapt at Wickham, knocking him from his mount with such power that both men flew over the side of the bridge and into the water.

The rushing river wet them through and they struggled to right themselves, fighting the current. Their sodden coats weighed them down and they flung the offending garments aside, grappling with each other in the shallow river as their shirts and breeches clung to them, following every contour of their bodies.

‘You will apologize,’ said Darcy through clenched teeth as he threw Wickham.

Wickham picked himself up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the frill on his shirt cuff hanging loose as he did so. The neck of the shirt had fallen open and he was no longer the dapper gentleman he had been five minutes before. Instead, he was as wet and dishevelled as Darcy.

The two men circled each other, looking for an opening, waiting for the other one to make a mistake.

Darcy feinted and Wickham reacted, leaving himself open for Darcy to grapple him round the waist and throw him again.

It was an unequal contest. Although both men were of a similar height and weight, Mr Darcy’s skill far exceeded the skill of his opponent, and as he threw Wickham for the third time, Wickham fell back into the water and did not get up.

‘Wickham!’ shouted Darcy, his voice being lost in the rush of the river. He splashed about, looking for his fallen foe. ‘George!’

He heard a sound behind him and, turning round, saw that George had swum between his legs and was now in a superior position.

The two men grappled again. Wickham caught Darcy round the waist and lifted him from the floor, helped by the buoyancy of the water. Darcy clung to Wickham’s back and shoulders so that he could not be thrown. The weight of him began to tell against Wickham and at last the two men fell into the river together.

It was Darcy who emerged first, exhausted. George Wickham was still under the water. Darcy reached out a hand and caught hold of Wickham’s shirt then pulled him up and half carried him, half threw him, onto the bank.

He collapsed next to George and the two of them lay there panting for some minutes.

Darcy recovered first.

‘You will tell her, and you will do it tonight,’ said Darcy, standing up and catching Wickham’s horse.

He heaved Wickham over the horse’s back as though he had been a sack of flour, then tied his coat to the saddle and balanced his hat on the pommel.

Wickham just managed to haul himself upright and sit in the saddle before Darcy gave the horse a slap on the rump and sent it back towards its stable.

He stood panting for a minute, bent over with his hands on his knees, as water ran in rivulets down his face and dripped from his dark hair, onto his sodden shirt which clung to his every ridge of muscle. Then he straightened, throwing hi shoulders back, and went to fetch his own horse. He picked up his coat and hat, mounted his stallion, and set off back towards Netherfield Park.

Elizabeth, who had been beneath the bridge the whole time the two men had been fighting, was scarcely able to breathe. She emerged from the shadows and found she was shaking. But it was not only with the cold. She had heard very little of their conversation, because the men’s own breathlessness and the rushing of the river had disguised it, but she had heard enough to know they were fighting over her. She did not want to admit it, even to herself, but it had exhilarated her. There had been something very primal and masculine about it and she had not been able to look away. The sound of their exertions had intensified her feelings and she was left feeling confused, perturbed and excited all in one.

She tied her bonnet back on her head, knotting the ribbon firmly beneath her chin, and walked briskly back to Longbourn. She went straight to her room, where she found Jane.