Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (16 page)

Mr Darcy spent an uncomfortable few days at Pemberley, torn between feelings of duty towards his father and feelings of longing for Elizabeth. His father was ill after the ball and remained in bed, but on the following day he rose and Fitzwilliam was summoned into his study.

‘Your mother has told you that we are going to Buxton,’ said his father. ‘She has also told you why. I did not want her to tell you. However, what is done is done. She tells me you do not like Miss Bent and that you had mistaken the identity of the woman you loved. Is that true?’

‘Yes, father, it is.’

‘Well, it is unfortunate but it cannot be helped. People like us do not marry for love. We marry for duty and family.’

‘You and Mamma married for love,’ Mr Darcy pointed out.

‘That was different,’ said his father.

‘How so?’

‘It was a suitable match, well liked by both our families. Your mystery woman, however, is nothing but the daughter of a country squire.’

Mr Darcy looked surprised.

‘You did not think I would make enquiries? What do you take me for, boy? It was not difficult to discover her identity or her station in life. If she was a suitable wife for a Darcy, then perhaps something could have been done about the engagement, but as she is not, the question does not arise. She has no knowledge of hosting large parties or entertaining leading members of the aristocracy. She cannot manage a large household or take a leading place in society. It goes without saying that she has no money or connections to bring to the marriage. So you must forget her.’

‘I cannot,’ said Mr Darcy resolutely.

Her image was burned on his heart and nothing could remove it.

‘Then you must see if you can make her your mistress. I am sure something can be arranged.’

‘I would not dream of insulting her by suggesting it,’ said Mr Darcy, drawing himself up to his full impressive height.

His father looked surprised but then said, ‘Well, well, have it your own way. But you cannot marry her so let us hear no more about it. Now, we have more important things to discuss. When I am gone you will be the head of the household and I want you to make sure your sister is well taken care of. I would like to see her settled before I go, but she is too young yet to be married and I might not live long enough to see it. So you must be her guardian, with your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, and you must take good care of her.’

The conversation went on long into the afternoon, with the elder Mr Darcy passing on his wisdom and experience to the younger.

Only on two matters were they in disagreement: that of Miss Bennet and that of Mr Wickham. George Wickham was the son of a former Pemberley steward, who had retired when his health had broken down.

George Wickham and Mr Darcy had played together as boys because they both lived on the same estate, but they had seen less of each other as they matured. George had grown into a wild young man who spent his time gambling, drinking and wenching, and Mr Darcy had grown into an honourable gentleman.

Every time George returned to Pemberley for a visit he put on a charming face and hid his vices. It fooled Mr Darcy’s father but not Mr Darcy. He knew George too well.

‘I want to make sure George is well provided for,’ said Mr Darcy’s father. ‘I offered him the position of steward here when his father retired, as you know, but he felt the church would suit him better. This pleased me greatly, since I have several wealthy livings in my gift and I knew I would be able to provide for him. Now that he is about to take holy orders, I propose to give him the living of Loxton. It is just a few miles out of Buxton and it will give him a respectable start in life when the present incumbent retires next month. But as soon as the living of Prestly is available, I want him to have it. It might not fall vacant until after my death and so you must make sure he is given the living.’

Mr Darcy had tried to reason with his father before on the subject of George, saying that George should not be in holy orders. But his father had turned a deaf ear to stories of George’s antics, saying that a man must sow his wild oats, even a clergyman. When Mr Darcy had explained that those wild oats were still being sown, his father had refused to listen.

At last his father grew tired and waved a hand to dismiss him.

Mr Darcy left the study. As he was crossing the hall he saw his sister coming downstairs. He felt a lump rise in his throat. She was so young and she seemed so vulnerable. Her father was dying and she did not know it. He wanted to protect her from the knowledge, as he wanted to protect her from all harm, and he wanted to provide her with as many pleasures as he could in order to alleviate the unhappiness he knew was to come.

And so he said, ‘Would you like to ride with me, Georgie?’

She was at once excited. She always considered it a real treat to ride with him and she ran upstairs to put on her riding habit. Then he escorted her to the stables where their mounts were waiting for them and they set off down the drive.

It took so little to make her happy.

He only wished that his own happiness, and Elizabeth’s happiness, could be arranged so easily.

Elizabeth dressed with care on the morning of the picnic. It was a fine day with a warm sun shining out of a clear blue sky, and she wore a sprigged muslin gown which perfectly suited the occasion. She put on her green pelisse and her bonnet, which was trimmed with a matching green ribbon, and then she was ready to go.

She had seen Mr Wickham several times since their first meeting at the assembly rooms. He had called the following day to make the arrangements for the picnic, and her aunt had invited him to stay for lunch. He had accepted the invitation and they had had a chance to talk to each other on a variety of subjects. The following day they had walked together in the park, escorted by her aunt and uncle, and there had been three chance encounters at a card party, a concert and a soiree. So by now she felt she knew Mr Wickham rather well.

She was looking forward to the picnic. The party was to meet at the picnic spot, and the guests were to arrive between eleven and twelve o’clock, so as not to clutter the narrow country lanes with too many equipages at once.

Buxton was set up very high and had magnificent views of the surrounding moors. The lanes were edged with dry stone walls, their irregular-shaped stones balanced on top of each other like children’s building blocks. The contrasting colours and shapes of the stones made a pretty edging to the dusty road, and a pleasing contrast to the rough green grass beyond. Sheep dotted the moors and their baaing combined with the cooing of doves to make a perfect pastoral scene.

The picnic spot had been well chosen. It had splendid views of the surrounding countryside and it was really possible to feel here that, as the guide book said, it was a thousand feet above sea level.

Mr Wickham was already there. His high-perch phaeton, a most dashing carriage, could be seen at the side of the road. He was talking to some other gentlemen when Elizabeth’s carriage approached, but he excused himself from them and opened her carriage door for her, offering her his hand to help her climb down the steps to the ground.

He did not forget her aunt, and showed his good manners by helping Mrs Gardiner to alight as well. Mr Gardiner followed, and before long the four of them were deep in conversation.

Mr Wickham offered to show them a particularly splendid view. He gave Elizabeth his arm and the four of them walked to an outcrop of rock nearby. He helped Elizabeth to climb onto the outcrop and they admired the view together. The Gardiners stood below them, so they could have some private conversation.

After general talk about the scenery, Mr Wickham pointed out a large house some way to their left.

‘One of my good friends, the Rev Mr Walker, lives there,’ he said. ‘I wonder if I might be permitted to introduce you to him later on today, when the picnic has broken up. It is not far, and I know you have only a short drive back to Buxton so it is not as though you will have to return in the dark. I think you will like him. He is very agreeable, and although he is elderly he has many interesting things to say.’

Elizabeth expressed her willingness to meet his friend and, when her aunt and uncle were consulted, the plan was decided upon.

Soon the other guests had all arrived and well-dressed ladies and gentlemen explored the area whilst the servants put up trestle tables and covered them with snowy cloths, then arranged all manner of delicacies upon them.

After the picnic, Elizabeth saw little of Mr Wickham, for he was the host and he had to pay attention to all his guests. But once they had departed, and the servants had packed away the remains of the picnic, Mr Wickham asked if he might be allowed to drive her to his friend’s house. Since it was an open carriage, and since Mr and Mrs Gardiner would be following close behind, Mrs Gardiner said that Elizabeth might accept the offer with perfect decorum, and Elizabeth soon found herself sitting beside Mr Wickham.

She found he could converse easily on many subjects and the time passed quickly, but it was not until they reached his friend’s house that she began to realise he might have a particular reason for inviting her.

It was a large and well-built rectory in a good-sized garden, and as they went up to the front door he let drop that his friend, the present incumbent, would be retiring soon and that he, Mr Wickham, would acquire the living.

Mrs Gardiner gave Elizabeth a significant glance at this. Elizabeth looked nonchalant, but in fact she was very flattered. There was only one reason Mr Wickham would want to let her know that he was a man with a good career, and that was because he wanted her to know he was in a position to take a wife.

They had not known each other very long, but he was very agreeable and she was looking forward to getting to know him better.

Once inside, they met the Rev Mr Walker, who was a dear old gentleman with side whiskers and a portly frame. He spoke highly of Mr Wickham and said that, although he was sorry to be leaving his parish, he knew he was leaving it in good hands.

He insisted on their taking tea with him and he showed them his wonderful library.

‘What do you think of it, m’dear?’ he said to Elizabeth, as she wandered around the spacious room.

‘I think it is wonderful,’ she said. ‘It is quite as big as our library at Longbourn, and it is well stocked.’

Tall book cases lined the walls. They were made of oak and they were carved with acorns and oak leaves. They were polished and they shone. Their books were well read and well loved.

They went through into the sitting-room and Mr Walker said, ‘It’s a good size, plenty of light, but it needs a woman’s touch.’

Elizabeth flushed, but he only chuckled and looked meaningfully at Mr Wickham. Mr Wickham did not look embarrassed, he looked pleased.

The afternoon passed very pleasantly and Elizabeth returned to their lodgings at last feeling much happier than she had done for a long time. Mr Wickham admired her very much and her relatives liked him.

And he had never deceived her – unlike Mr Darcy.

The Darcys set off for Buxton. Georgiana had been told that her father needed to take the waters, but she was not worried because she thought he had a mild case of gout.

As they drove into Buxton they passed the park. Mr Darcy was looking out of the window, and to his astonishment he saw Elizabeth walking with a gentleman. As he drew closer, he saw, to his horror, that she was walking with Mr Wickham.

He was about to rap on the roof of the coach to indicate that he wanted it to stop when he remembered that he was in his father’s coach, and that he could not command it.

It rolled past the park and went on through the town until it reached the house the Darcys were renting for their stay.

Saying that he needed to check on the horses, which had been sent on ahead and were being stabled nearby, he hurriedly headed towards the park.

Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot. She had been enjoying a pleasant afternoon’s stroll with Mr Wickham when she had glanced at a splendid coach rolling past and seen Mr Darcy! He was the last man she had expected to see in Buxton, and the last man she wanted to see. All her feelings for him came flooding back: her enchantment at dancing with him, her pleasure in his company, and then her shame and humiliation when she realised he had deceived her.

Mr Wickham saw her face change and said, ‘What is it? What is wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, gathering herself quickly.

‘Do you need to sit down?’ he asked, indicating a bench nearby.

‘No. I am quite all right, I do assure you,’ she said.

‘Very well.’ He still looked puzzled but he did not press her. ‘As I was saying . . .’

She paid attention to him and she was soon feeling herself again. She was not about to let Mr Darcy ruin her stay in Buxton, as he had ruined her stay in Lambton. She resumed her stroll, with Mr Wickham walking beside her. Behind her was her aunt’s maid to provide her with a chaperon, since Mrs Gardiner had a headache and Mr Gardiner had some business letters to write.

She was just admiring a particularly splendid tree when suddenly she beheld Mr Darcy entering the park. She stood as if rooted to the spot.

‘What is it?’ Mr Wickham asked again.

‘Nothing. Only I think I would like to go home.’

He followed her gaze and saw Mr Darcy, who was looking the other way.

‘Do you know that man?’ he asked.

‘I believe I will go home now,’ said Elizabeth, taking matters into her own hands.

She turned and walked decidedly towards the opposite park entrance.

Mr Wickham followed her and gave her his arm.

‘Has that gentleman done something to offend you?’ he asked.

‘I cannot think what you mean,’ she said with dignity.

‘If he has, you would not be the first. Mr Darcy makes a habit of offending people. He is above his company and he is frequently rude. Some people think him a great man, but I think him only arrogant.’

‘Do you know him?’ asked Elizabeth in surprise.

‘I do indeed. I grew up with him, on the Pemberley estate. We played together as boys, and at one time we were good friends, but as he grew older he grew more arrogant, until he refused to see me as an equal any more. He refused to have anything to do with me at university and mixed entirely with his own set.’

‘But how shocking!’ said Elizabeth.

‘
You
think so,’ he said with a warm smile. It said as plainly as words,
But that is because you are such a generous creature
. ‘But the rest of the world would probably agree with him. Distinctions of rank must be preserved!’ he said with a humorous smile, but there was a touch of sadness in it that Elizabeth did not miss.

She thought he had never looked more charming.

‘You do not seem bitter, at least,’ she said.

‘Bitterness hurts no one but the bitter,’ he said.

‘That is very true.’

All this time they had been walking towards the other entrance to the park and they now turned out on to the street. Once they had safely crossed the road, Elizabeth continued.

‘You say you grew up together. How so?’

‘My father worked on the Pemberley estate. Mr Darcy’s father was his friend and when my father retired, Mr Darcy’s father offered me the position.’

‘He is not proud like his son, then?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘He is proud, yes, but he is fair. He has been a good friend to me. He paid for my schooling, since my father could not do so, and he paid for me to attend university. I repaid him by working hard at my studies, and when I decided to take holy orders, he offered me a valuable living; in fact, the living you have seen. I know that, when other, better, livings become available, they will be offered to me.’

‘And yet his son treats you so badly!’ said Elizabeth.

Mr Wickham hesitated, as if he did not want to say any more, but Elizabeth was curious and at last he relented.

‘Mr Darcy’s father has always valued me,’ said Mr Wickham, ‘and Mr Darcy does not like it. He is jealous of his father’s affection for me. I, on the other hand, have always been grateful for it. I lost my mother early in life and my own father can do little to help me, so the generosity of Mr Darcy’s father is something I will never forget.’

‘Your sentiments do you credit,’ said Elizabeth.

Mr Wickham looked modest.

‘You say your father worked on the estate?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘What did he do?’

‘He was the steward,’ said Mr Wickham.

‘The steward!’ exclaimed Elizabeth.

‘Yes.’ Mr Wickham stopped walking and turned to look at her in surprise. ‘You sound surprised. Why?’

‘Not surprised,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I was just remembering . . . ’

‘You not need fear speaking to me,’ said Mr Wickham. ‘I promise you that anything you say will go no further.’

Elizabeth drew a deep breath.

‘When I met Mr Darcy, he claimed that he was the steward.’

Now it was Mr Wickham’s turn to be surprised.

‘What? But why?’

‘To make a fool of me,’ said Elizabeth.

‘No one could make a fool of you,’ said Mr Wickham, with a warm glance towards her.

His admiration did much to soften the blow she had felt when Mr Darcy had deceived her.

‘Nevertheless, that is what he did.’

‘I think there is more,’ said Mr Wickham quietly.

Elizabeth nodded.

‘Yes, there is,’ she said. ‘He paid . . . at least, I thought he was paying attention to me. Only later did I realise it was a game, played for his own amusement.’

Mr Wickham shook his head sorrowfully.

‘I wish I could say I was surprised, but there were similar incidents at university. He made himself agreeable to several respectable young ladies, merely to satisfy his vanity. He made them have feelings for him, simply in order to stroke his own conceit.’

‘It is shocking that any young man – any gentleman – should do such a thing,’ said Elizabeth.

‘No
gentle
man would,’ said Mr Wickham. He laid great stress on the
gentle
part of the word.

‘And yet in other ways he seemed very much the gentleman,’ said Elizabeth.

She was a fair person and she felt compelled to point out that he had been polite and considerate to her aunt and uncle.

‘He can be most agreeable when he chooses,’ agreed Mr Wickham. ‘Alas! He does not choose to be so all the time. He is agreeable when it suits him and rude when it does not. He is a great man, after all, and we are expected to make allowances for greatness.’

‘My uncle said something similar,’ remarked Elizabeth.

‘Your uncle is a very wise man.’

They had reached her lodgings.

‘Will you come in and take tea with us?’ she asked.

‘I am afraid I am engaged elsewhere. I have a matter of business to attend to. I would much rather spend time in your company, but I cannot neglect my duties.’

‘No, of course not, nor would I wish you to,’ she said.

He bowed and kissed her hand. Then, with a last charming smile, he set off down the road.

Elizabeth went into the house, where she related the news of everything that had happened to her aunt and uncle.

Alone in her room some time later, however, she could not help thinking about Mr Darcy. His behaviour had been so perfect to begin with, and then so monstrous, that she could not believe one man could have two such different personalities. She began to wonder if there could have been some mistake.

Despite his dreadful behaviour, she still remembered him warmly whenever she remembered dancing with him at the ball or speaking with him on their idyllic stroll through the bluebell woods.

But then she chided herself for wishful thinking. She was just making excuses for him and that would never do. He was obviously capricious and she must recognise that fact. For if he was in Buxton she needed to be on her guard, lest he try to fool her again.