by Leenie Brown
Her father had only tolerated the disturbance for a few hours before sending an express to request Mr. Gardiner’s advanced arrival in Meryton and his willingness to return home with not just Jane but also Elizabeth. And so, Elizabeth Bennet sat in the carriage next to her sister. She had been sent away─sent away for her own good and her father’s peace of mind.
Elizabeth closed her book and tucked it into her reticule. She studied her sister for a moment. Jane dabbed at her eyes, and Elizabeth gave her hand a small squeeze.
Jane smiled at her, but the smile did not reach her eyes. “I shall be well. A little time is all that is needed to get over a disappointment, or so I have been told.”
“We have also been told to keep an eye out for husbands.” Elizabeth spoke softly so as not to disturb her uncle. “I dare say if I do not return home with a prospect, Mama shall disown me and throw me into the hedgerows.”
“She really was quite put out with you, was she not?” Jane could not help the small chuckle that escaped her.
“Was?” Elizabeth huffed. “She still is.”
Mr. Gardiner shifted again in his seat as the carriage began its halting journey through the streets of London. He yawned and stretched. “Your cousins will be glad to see you. Andrew has been planning a trip to the park with you, Lizzy. Margaret would like to have Jane help her with a bonnet. Michael has several stories already chosen for reading, and Amelia helped Cook make some special cakes for your arrival.” He peered out the window. Elizabeth loved how anxious he was to be home. She wished that she could one day feel the same about her home.
Finally, the carriage rattled to a stop before the Gardiners’ townhouse. A smile spread across Mr. Gardiner’s face. “There, did I not tell you they would be eager to see you?”
Andrew was first to exit the house, followed by Mrs. Gardiner and her three other children. The children shifted and danced behind their mother, eagerly waiting to greet their cousins.
“My dears, it is so good to see you.” Mrs. Gardiner gave each girl a warm embrace as she alighted from the carriage. “As soon as the children have given you a proper welcome, we will have tea and cakes in the drawing room.”
Three-year-old Michael bounced up and down. “Cake, cake, cake,” he said, grabbing Elizabeth’s hand and pulling. “Mia make cake.”
“So your father said,” Elizabeth replied as she allowed herself to be pulled into the house.
The Gardeners did not live in a very fashionable section of town. Their house was modest but well-kept and comfortable. Uncle Gardiner ran a prosperous import and export business not far from his home, and although he could afford to live in a more upscale district, he preferred to stay close to his business and the friends that lived in the community. They employed several servants, and their children had a nurse and a governess. But, to the outside world, their address left them out of many circles.
Within these walls, a familial warmth radiated to everyone who entered as if the home had some magic to soothe even the weariest of individuals. But Elizabeth knew that it was not the building that held the magic, but the family within it. She watched as Amelia proudly and properly served her cakes, and Margaret poured tea under the supervision and instruction of her mother. She smiled with contentment.
After the children had had their treats and the attention of their favourite cousins for some time, they returned to the nursery, and Jane and Elizabeth were allowed to settle in and refresh before dinner. Elizabeth lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling.
“It is nice to be here, is it not? I so love Aunt and Uncle and their children.”
“As do I,” said Jane as she joined her sister on the bed.
“If I ever get married and have a family, I would wish for a home like this. Full of love and welcoming.”
Jane nodded her agreement. “I love Mama and Papa with all my heart, but theirs is not a marriage I wish to copy.”
“Nor I,” agreed Elizabeth. “I will only marry someone whom I love and respect and who is my equal in intellect.” Elizabeth sat up, “And, he cannot be the sort of man who does not encourage his wife to learn and read. I fear marriage for me is an impossibility!“ She flopped back on the bed. “I am sure such a man does not exist! Instead, I will have to be satisfied to live with you and your family and care for your children. I will teach them to read and write and question everything they hear.”
Jane grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. “I do not for one moment believe that you will be a spinster.” She lay down on the bed next to Elizabeth. “But, I should love to have you live with me always.”
Elizabeth rolled over and propped herself up onto her elbows to look at Jane. “And because I love you, I will promise to teach your children some decorum, so that they are not as silly as our younger sisters. I love Papa dearly, but I will never be diverted by my children’s improprieties. I fear it is our family’s unseemly behaviour that has brought you so much sorrow, my dear sister.” She scowled. “I am sure that arrogant man persuaded Mr. Bingley to leave because your connections were below him.”
“Elizabeth,” Jane chided. “You cannot go around making assumptions about the actions of others. You are far too hard on Mr. Darcy. If anyone is to blame, it is Mr. Bingley’s horrid sister.”
“Why, Jane,” said Elizabeth proudly, “I do believe that is the most unkind thing you have ever said.”
Jane smiled in response. “We should go to Aunt. I am sure she is waiting for us.”
Downstairs, the Gardiners sat quietly talking in the drawing room as they waited for their nieces to join them for dinner. Jane and Elizabeth were favourites of the Gardiners and their children. Both girls were well-mannered and caring. Although Elizabeth could at times let her tongue and temper get the better of her, she was usually quick to right the wrong and worked diligently to keep herself under good regulation. Jane was sweet to a fault. Steady and easy-going, she was quick to find the good in all and in all situations. The two girls balanced each other perfectly. Elizabeth challenged Jane to take risks while Jane calmed Elizabeth and helped to soothe her when she became irritated.
“Do you know any gentlemen to whom we might introduce our nieces while they are in town?”
Mr. Gardiner scrunched up his face and rubbed his chin while he thought. “There is my former partner’s son. He is to come to dinner tomorrow. I should think he would do quite well with Jane, and perhaps he has a strong-minded friend he might be willing to introduce to our Lizzy.” He laughed softly. “It would have to be a very strong-minded young man. Matlock’s nephew comes to mind, but I am not sure Matlock would wish a connection to trade.”
“My dear, I may be partial, but any gentleman with good sense and an eye for prosperity should beg for a connection to you.”
Mr. Gardiner patted his wife’s hand. “I quite like your partiality, my love.” He stood and offered his arm to her as his nieces entered the drawing room, followed by his three eldest children. “I believe dinner awaits.”
Listen to Your Heart
“Did you read the papers I sent you?” Anne de Bourgh questioned her cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy as soon as he entered the sitting room.
“I did.” He nodded to Mrs. Jenkins. She smiled and inclined her head in acceptance of his greeting before returning her focus to her stitching.
“And?” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to share his opinion of their content.
“You found them in your father’s office?”
Anne nodded. “Between some books as if tucked away and out of sight intentionally.”
“I had my solicitor look at them. They seem legitimate.” He tipped his head to the side and gave her a questioning look. “They will change things for your mother. Are you sure you wish to take on that battle? Will your health tolerate it?”
“My health will never be robust, but I am not standing on the edge of the grave, Fitzwilliam.” Anne laid aside her mending. “I intend to approach her today on one item.”
“Today?
” Darcy handed Anne a small glass of sherry and then picking up his own glass, settled into a comfortable chair near his cousin. “And what item is first on your list?”
Anne sipped her sherry and considered how she should approach the subject of their supposed engagement. “I have heard some troubling news. It seems my mother’s imaginings regarding our future have travelled far and wide.”
“She has never been one to keep that particular story to herself. I am surprised you had not realized the extent to which it is common knowledge. Makes it blasted hard to get to know any young ladies during the season ─ which, I suppose, is her intent in publishing the tale.” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched as he attempted to contain his frustration at his aunt’s machinations.
“Yes, but at least you are free of these walls.” Anne waved a hand around the room. “I have not even been given the opportunity to meet any eligible gentlemen, and I am nearly five and twenty! Firmly on the shelf having never left it! No longer. I will have it no longer.”
Darcy’s eyes grew wide in surprise.
“Today, my mother will know that her imaginings are just that ─ fanciful tales which hold no basis in reality. I am sorry, my dear cousin, but I do not now, nor have I ever, wished to marry you.” She smiled at him. “I need not fear for my financial stability. Father has amply provided for me as those documents attest. I am at liberty to choose a match based on compatibility and, if I am so fortunate, love. And you might pursue such a match for yourself without scorn or derision from society as I am the one to call off this sham of an engagement.”
Darcy sat slack-jawed, unable to know where to begin a reply to such a declaration, but Anne was not yet through.
“I believe I might be of assistance to you in finding ladies who would suit your temperament, but I will need you to place your trust in me.” She placed her glass on the table and leaned toward Darcy. “I have studied your character for years, Fitzwilliam. I believe I am as qualified as you, if not more qualified, to find an acceptable match for you.”
“You…” He shook his head to clear away the fog. “You will find a match for me?”
“Indeed I will, but first I must inform Mother of my decision to not marry you.” Anne stood and walked to the window that looked out over the park toward the parsonage at Hunsford. “Mother has a new parson. Did you know?”
Darcy nodded. “Yes, I have met him. He was visiting relatives in Hertfordshire when I was there with Bingley.”
“He was sent to find a wife from amongst his cousins.” She watched Darcy’s face discretely and bit back a smile at the horror that passed across his features. “He was successful in finding a wife….” She turned and paused purposefully. “They were married in January.” The colour had drained completely from his face, and she wondered for a moment if she had gone too far in ascertaining the truth of Mrs. Collins’ words regarding his feelings. They had shared many fascinating conversations regarding Darcy’s stay in Hertfordshire. “It is unfortunate he did not choose to marry one of his cousins as such a marriage would have been to the family’s advantage, what with the entail and all.”
Darcy slumped forward and rested his head in his hands. “He did not marry a cousin?”
“No.” Anne came to sit near him once more. “He married Miss Lucas. I assume you know of whom I speak. I have been given to understand her father is well-known in Hertfordshire.” She studied how his shoulders relaxed and noticed him rub at the corner of one eye. She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered. “The lady who is your heart’s desire remains unattached.” His body tensed under her touch, and she was certain his breathing had ceased. “Mrs Collins is her particular friend, it seems, and she, along with Mrs. Collin’s sister, has come to stay at the parsonage for a visit. She has been here a fortnight, and I find I shall quite miss her when she leaves. So open and welcoming. Intelligent, too. It is through her I discovered just how much damage my mother’s tales of our engagement might be causing.” She withdrew her hand from his shoulder and sat back in her chair, waiting for his reaction.
“Elizabeth is here?” He whispered.
Anne smiled to herself. He was clearly more smitten than even Mrs Collins realized, and certainly more than Elizabeth would consider. “She is, and she is under the impression we are to marry should you ever be a gentleman and ask me.”
Through Every Storm
George Wickham slammed the glass down on the table. He had not meant to slam it down, but the table had somehow risen closer to his hand. He looked around the room, straining to find the barkeep. There appeared to be twice as many people here now as there had been mere minutes ago. Why could they not stay still instead of dancing in circles? He dropped his head into his hands.
“Come on, old boy, time to get you home.” Colonel Nathaniel Denny hoisted his friend up to a semi-standing position and placed an arm around the drunken man to steady him. This was not the first time he had come to cart Wickham home. No, at one time, this had been a regular routine. Out of how many scrapes had Denny steered this reckless rogue?
“I dunno wanna go hum,” slurred Wickham. “I wanna go to the greeve.”
“It is not your time to go to the grave, Wickham. Perhaps tomorrow, but for tonight you are going home.” Denny dragged him out the door into the night. A cold, early spring rain was beginning to fall. Denny helped Wickham mount his horse before pulling the hat from his friend’s head. Perhaps a cold shower would help sober him up. Wickham uttered a curse and grabbed at one of the hats floating in front of him. The jerking action nearly sent him sprawling onto the ground.
After manoeuvring his horse close to Wickham’s, Denny helped right his friend once again. “Hold onto the saddle, old man. I will steer you home.” Wickham grabbed the saddle and slumped forward. Confident that his friend would stay seated, Denny nudged his horse to walk. With one hand on his own reigns and one on Wickham’s, he began the slow journey to Wickham’s rented house.
Wickham shivered as the rain ran down his face and under the collar of his coat. The coldness of the rain and the night air brought back to him the pain he had been attempting to forget. “She’s gone.” He lifted his head long enough to spit out the words before slumping forward once again. The effort to stay upright was still too great.
“Yes, she is gone.” Denny knew what few others knew. Wickham, though once a cad and a rake, had learned to love his wife—a wife who was forced upon him due to an ill-thought out plan for revenge. Theirs had been a hard life of scraping by, first on the meager earnings of an enlisted man and then, the poor profits from his shop.
In one respect, she had been good for him. His love for her had finally overcome his love of gambling and had helped him gain a desire to become a respectable gentleman. It was too bad that she had not returned his affection.
“You still have Thomas and Louisa. You must think of them now.”
Wickham groaned. How was he to care for his children on his own? Thomas he could mold into the man he never was, but Louisa — what did he know of helping a girl grow into womanhood? His experiences with women were the sort that he hoped his daughter would avoid. Kitty would help him. She was the only one of his wife’s sisters who still spoke to him. The few bridges that he had not burned in his misguided youth, his wife had done a masterful job of destroying.
Denny pulled Wickham from his horse and helped him into the house. He poured some cold black coffee into a mug and shoved it at his friend. Wickham grimaced at the taste of the stale coffee.
“You could go after her.” Denny took a seat across from Wickham.
“And do what? Get myself killed?” Wickham scoffed.
“That is what you are trying to do now. At least if death comes at the end of a dueling pistol instead of the bottom of a bottle, it would be an honourable death.”
“Honourable.” Wickham huffed. “When have I ever been honourable?” He took another gulp of his coffee and placed the cup on the table.
Denny pushed the mug towa
rd him and raised a brow in challenge. Wickham sighed and took possession of the drink again.
“In the past five years,” said Denny, “you have proven yourself to be honourable on many occasions.”
“Those were not honourable actions, but restitution. There is a difference.”
“Only an honourable man would make payment for his past transgressions. You, ten years ago, would have scoffed at any man who tried to right his own or another person’s wrongs–in fact, you did. How many times did I hear you curse the name of Darcy?”
Wickham stared at the dark liquid in his cup. “I should have listened to him–to him, his father and my own. Instead, I blamed them for all my misfortunes. Stupid man.” Wickham gulped the last of his coffee. “Stupid, stupid man.”
Denny slapped the table. “You are that man no longer. Pull yourself together, and get on with life.” Denny had never had much patience for wallowing. It was what made him a good leader. He could be empathetic with his men, but he did not abide a sustained time of self-pity. He stood with his arms crossed, glowering down at Wickham.”Go to bed. We will plan your attack on life in the morning.”
Wickham laughed. “I am not in the militia anymore, my friend.”
“No. But you are in a battle nonetheless. Now, go to bed.”
Wickham stood shakily and gave a limp and misaimed salute. Bed sounded like a welcome prospect. With any luck, perhaps he would wake from this nightmare in the morning.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Morning came, bright and clear — far too bright for Wickham. Denny threw open the curtains in Wickham’s room and called loudly to his friend. “Get up. The day awaits.”
Wickham groaned and rolled away from the light. “Have a care, Denny. My head feels like it has been trampled by a horse. Keep your voice down and the curtains drawn.”
“I will do nothing of the sort. You shall feel the full extent of what you have done to yourself. Perhaps you will remember it the next time you wish to drown your sorrows.” He yanked the pillow from under Wickham’s head, causing his friend to curse as his head bounced off the mattress. “Dress and be down in ten. Do not test me.” Denny threw a set of clothes at him and left the room, deliberately slamming the door.
