by Nora Kipling
“Oh well, as long as you shall attempt,” Elizabeth answered with a smile. Truly, Mr. Bingley was a delight to converse with, and she greatly hoped for a future in which she could claim him as her brother. Never would an evening’s gathering be a bore with Mr. Bingley to charm and entertain. With Jane at his side, he would be even more cheerful, which she thought to be almost impossible, but surely both of their good natures would simply amplify one another, would they not?
“It will be the greatest of attempts, I assure you,” Mr. Bingley replied with a smile. “The rest of our party is gathered in the drawing room, if you would be interested in joining them for perhaps a game of Quadrille? Perhaps Patience?” He offered her his arm and she took it with a breath of relief.
“In truth, I am pleased that I had a moment to speak with you in a somewhat private manner,” she said, a flush coming over her cheeks as he gave her an odd, cautious look. “Oh no, please do not think me so forward, Mr. Bingley, it was just in the matter of my sister…”
“Miss Bennet, she is well, is she not?” Mr. Bingley asked, looking somewhat relieved as the tone of Elizabeth’s dialogue seemed to divert from the path of her confessing against all propriety, some measure of affection for him.
“Oh yes, quite well, but perhaps, she could be even better if…” Elizabeth trailed off as Mr. Bingley slowly, quite slowly, walked her towards the drawing room. “I had thought, perhaps, you had been busy, too busy, to pay a call to us. I am aware you have house guests for your party to attend to so perhaps…” Mr. Bingley was smiling at her, a sweet, unassuming sort of expression that suited his features quite well. If he had not belonged in her mind so thoroughly to her sister, she might have been tempted to swoon.
“I suppose you are much correct, and that I have been remiss in the attentions I should have been paying to your family,” he said, and his tone was teasing as well as gentle.
“Oh no, that is not quite what I had meant,” Elizabeth stammered the words out and Mr. Bingley gave a low sort of chuckle.
“What is it that you meant then,” he asked as they paused outside of the drawing room door. She was grateful he did not decide to head in right away, but seemed to realize the nature of their conversation was too private for other ears to overhear.
“It is just that, I rather think my sister is quite fond of you, and she has missed your company acutely, if I may be so bold to say so,” Elizabeth said, feeling her cheeks flushed. Mr. Bingley blinked once, slowly, and then cleared his throat.
“Miss Bennet, you say, that is to say… I mean to say…” he stumbled over his words, color coming into his face as well, and Elizabeth could scarcely contain her excitement to see him in such a state. It was quite obvious to her that this revelation was a startling, but also not unwelcome.
“Yes, she is,” Elizabeth answered, “and I might not hesitate to assume that you as well…”
Mr. Bingley’s cheeks pinked even further and he cleared his throat.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, a broad smile on his face as he tried to salvage the situation so that he might not look so gobsmacked. “I would be delighted to journey to Longbourn and see your family, and most importantly, pay visit to your sister, Miss Bennet. If you would please pass along to her my intentions to her… with discretion?” He looked so hopeful, and her heart thrilled at the thought of playing secret messenger between him and her sister. Of course she would, anything to save her sister from a marriage to the horrid Mr. Collins, and see her happily united with a man as kind as Mr. Bingley.
She gave a swift nod.
“Won’t you show me into the drawing room, Mr. Bingley?”
“Oh, oh yes, of course! Right this way, please, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a kind smile, and led her away.
Chapter 5
George Wickham
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
* * *
The girl, Elizabeth Bennet, was no fool, although she was altogether persuadable, and Mr. Wickham hoped dearly that biddability would translate itself not just in his household and marriage, but in the marriage-bed as well. As soon as he planted the idea that Mr. Bingley would perhaps need some prodding in taking further interest and action with regards to Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth had scurried to Netherfield to implement the strategy.
She was no fool, and yet he, Mr. Wickham, was playing her as if she were a fiddle. His sources within the Netherfield Park house had advised him that Mr. Bingley had visited Longbourn not once, but thrice in the following fortnight, and that the elder Mr. Darcy had noticed him as a challenger for Jane Bennet’s hand. Soon the elder Mr. Darcy would force Fitzwilliam to make a stronger pursuit of the eldest Bennet girl, but it would be too late. Wooed by Mr. Bingley’s sweet (simple, Mr. Wickham scoffed, so very very simple) nature, Miss Jane Bennet would find nothing appetizing in Fitzwilliam’s dour demeanor.
Wickham could barely contain his glee at the thought, of the younger Mr. Darcy approaching Jane Bennet, asking for her hand and being summarily shown the door in favor for a monetarily poorer but emotionally richer marital prospect in Mr. Bingley.
The pressure upon younger Mr. Darcy to marry a Bennet would increase, and he would hold animosity against his good friend, Mr. Bingley, for securing the most beautiful of the Bennet maidens. Then he would turn to Elizabeth Bennet, a pretty enough girl in her own right, and with a fine figure that Mr. Wickham had oft thought about getting his hands upon in the last few days, only to find her as well about to be married off… to he, himself, Mr. Wickham.
It was ultimately too delightful, and all of it going perfectly according to his every plan and desire. The thought of it was truly keeping him afloat as he drove a fine pony and cart towards the Longbourn lands. He had rented it for the afternoon, and hoped to coax Miss Elizabeth out for a ride, hopefully he could secret her away from her horrid mother for a small tete a tete in private although he doubted his wish would come to fruition. It was one thing to encounter a young lady, out for a bout of fresh air and a small amount of reading, it was to be expected she might not be accompanied by a chaperone if she was within the boundaries of her father’s lands and presumably under his protection and watchful eye, but it was another thing entirely to invite a young lady out for a cart and pony ride. No, he had no expectations that she would be allowed out without chaperone, nor that she would even consent to such a thing. The risk of being thought as compromised was too great, and if anything, Elizabeth Bennet was perhaps the shrewdest of her sisters and wise to the necessity of not even allowing a slight shadow to darken her reputation.
Perhaps that was what partially drove his desire for her, and not one of the younger Bennet sisters… Elizabeth was free-spirited, well-read, well-spoken, articulate, and as well possessed a sparkling nature that had not been squelched by the London ton nor local society. And yet, the very bonds by which she was tied down in society, she carried as if she herself had written them and could bend the rules at will. She ambled the countryside on walks, as free as any lowborn country maiden, and yet he knew if he reached out to touch her milky skin he would acquire a red hand-print upon his face for his trouble.
Elizabeth Bennet was singularly unique in that he felt she would challenge his authority as husband and ultimate ruler in their relationship every day of their marriage. He would have the pleasure of bending her, and breaking her to his will, seeing that bright spark in her eyes dull and die out as she learned through his fist and the weapons of the marriage-bed, that he alone could make her life a misery or a dreamland. She would be like a fine horse, brought to bear under whip and tight bit until she obeyed. He craved to master her wild spirit, to tame her and make her his creature entirely.
The thought brought a firmness between his thighs, and a hunger that would not be satisfied until he’d had her.
And so with those thoughts to keep his loins warm, he pulled into Longbourn and was received, with great fanfare, by the lady of the house, if not Mr. Bennet as he was not in, and Elizabeth turned to him
with a warm, but hesitant smile. He looked forward to the day when she smiled at him with no hesitation, as to do otherwise would invite misery and pain into her life. She would soon learn that he was not her father, George Wickham was no lackadaisical man, and he would demand proper obedience and deference from wife to husband from her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he murmured, bowing over her hand with a sly smile at her that only she could see. Her cheeks were blushing as he held onto her fingers for just a moment too long.
Mrs. Bennet had thought it was a fine day for him to take Elizabeth to Meryton, but instead of inviting herself along as chaperone, she suggested the newly married Mrs. Charlotte Watson, formerly Lucas, a friend of Elizabeth’s and a more age-appropriate person to accompany the young couple. She was also visiting, and a plainer woman Mr. Wickham had never seen, but she seemed weak-willed and unlikely to speak up if he were to take certain liberties upon Miss Elizabeth during their little sojourn.
Mr. Wickham left with Miss Elizabeth on his arm and Mrs. Watson in tow behind him, feeling absolutely delighted with himself and assured of the victory that was surely coming to him.
“Mr. Wickham,” Miss Elizabeth started as they sat in the little gig. The pony was a fine creature, with a grey coat that shone from a good currycomb brushing. The cheerful little beast flicked his ears back as Miss Elizabeth spoke.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, turning a smile upon her as they drove down the country lane. He could just imagine himself at her side, enjoying the envious looks that would be cast his way. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was no great beauty like her sister, Jane Bennet, but she had a distinct charm and a liveliness that most women did not possess. Wickham looked forward to making that charm, that vivacity, his, and extracting it from her whenever he so desired.
“I had rather thought by now that you would have sought out my father… to discuss… well, perhaps, to discuss your intentions,” Elizabeth paused and looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Watson, who was doing an exceptional job of studying the embroidery on her fan and paid them very little, if any, attention. Mr. Wickham had been under the impression that Mrs. Watson was a good, close friend to Miss Elizabeth, but perhaps the way that he had summarily deposited Mrs. Watson into the back of the little cart, and given her a stern stare was encouraging her to maintain her silence while he romanced Miss Elizabeth. Whatever it was, the older, married woman was remaining quiet, taking her job of chaperone with no particular degree of seriousness.
Mr. Wickham felt summarily grateful for the lapse in the attention she paid them.
“Your comfort is of the utmost importance to me, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Wickham said lightly as the little pony’s head bobbed along in time with the jerk and rattle of the cart. “But, in turn, I had rather wished to not be in the same position as Mr. Bingley, in want a wife, desiring of a certain woman to be his partner for the rest of his life, and to be unsure of her feelings for him.” He felt, rather than saw, Elizabeth stiffen beside him, and he held back a nasty chuckle. That was the crux of it, he thought. Miss Elizabeth certainly kept her emotions close to her bosom, more along the lines of her older sister, than the younger ones. He had no desire to be played, as he was playing her and her little family. She was prideful, the woman he intended to make his future wife, and she seemed to wish to be chased after.
Well, he had it in his mind to only take her once she was begging to become his bride, and not the other way around. She would come to him, pleading for the relief and shelter only a husband could provide a woman, or he would not have her.
“I… see…” Elizabeth said after several moments of quietness enveloped them, Mrs. Watson behind them staying absolutely silent despite the stilted atmosphere.
“Ah, Meryton, in all its glory, it kneels before you, its queen, Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said, nodding at as the pretty little town revealed itself when they rounded a bend in the road. The pony pricked up it’s ears, sensing that its little turn out paddock where it normally lived was close by, and its delicate feet clipped along the road at a faster pace. When Wickham looked over at Elizabeth he could see a blush tinging her cheeks from beneath her bonnet, and he felt he had adequately distracted her from his sharp words. Not that he wished her to forget exactly who was in control in their burgeoning relationship, but he had no desire to completely flatten the maiden with his blunt talk. While he suspected the woman he wished to make into his wife was no delicate flower, she was still a woman, and care had to be taken not to upset her delicate countenance.
“I am no queen,” Elizabeth said with a note of amusement in her voice, and the refusal of his compliment cut him for a moment. He withheld the glare he would have preferred to level at her for her sass, and instead clucked to the pony. The creature jolted them forward, and Elizabeth cried out, needing to grab at the side of the little gig. Behind them, Mrs. Watson made the first noise of their jaunt, also giving a shrieking cry.
Women, Wickham thought, were positively too simple and inane, good only for the creation of children and the pleasure of the bed. Still, Elizabeth was summarily silenced, and even slightly docile as he helped her down from the little cart, Mrs. Watson following closely behind her.
“Shall we walk through the town? Are there any sights you insist upon for a newcomer to the area?” He looked about and offered Elizabeth his arm again so she might hold it and stay close to him. He saw a few of his fellow campaign members and nodded to them briefly. Their eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s frame and he smirked to himself. Yes, she did cut a fine figure, with her noble bearing that was so far removed from the station of her birth.
She is a proud one, isn’t she? he thought to himself. A woman who acted as if she came from societies highest rungs would never come begging to be his wife, he realized as their shoes rang out on the long wooden boardwalk that graced the storefronts of the town.
It was then that he conspired with himself to bring Elizabeth off to one side, in some private corner of Meryton, and have Mrs. Watson distracted so that he might have a short, brief assignation with Elizabeth.
Enough that if discovered, she would be compromised, and have need to wed him or risk being cast to the dregs of society forever. Enough that she would be his, no matter what the outcome of the afternoon.
Chapter 6
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
* * *
Darcy straightened his coat, smoothing down the fine wool fabric. It was his second best for the country set, and he’d had Greer pay particular attention to his toilette that morning. Greer had given him an almost sly look, and Darcy had caught the man chuckling to himself a time or two.
Darcy intended to let the behavior slide, as the man perhaps deserved a small laugh at his master, given the amount of truly unmanly fluttering Darcy had engaged in that morning. But now he was facing the dragoness in her den, the lady he hoped to have for a wife: Elizabeth Bennet. His heart was hammering away in his throat as he made his way up the graveled pathway, his booted feet crunching over the ground. He was surprised that the girls of the house did not turn an ankle, and he wondered at the expenses of Longbourn, and how difficult Mr. Bennet might have been finding it to keep the house and estate in good repair.
A marriage to the Darcy family would prove fortunate to the entirety of the Bennet family, and while Mr. Darcy was not necessarily fond of most of the Bennets… he would do his duty as husband, and soon-to-be-patriarch, to make sure that his new relations were taken care of. His eyes ran over the house and the grounds just outside it, the sight of them distracting him for the moment from his nerves over seeing Miss Elizabeth. Immediately he saw a good five hundred or a thousand pounds of repairs and improvements to be made to the property… and that was just what he could see. Why had he not even realized that before upon his first visit?
He realized that he had not approached Longbourn with such a discerning eye because he had not been truly planning on being connected to the Bennets beyond the barest of social
association. His father had accompanied him, and then he’d been so utterly focused on the opportunity to see Elizabeth, in the first, heart-wrenching moments of the times he was realizing his affections for her…
Now however, he was considering making her his partner for life, taking her as the love of his heart. Now he saw the realities in which she lived, his dearest, brave, Elizabeth. What careless father did she have, that allowed her to live in such circumstances? Perhaps his income was modest, but even a man of modest means might improve upon his wealth with careful diligence applied to his tenants and the fields the tended. He shook himself free of path his thoughts had taken, and instead nodded in greeting to the serving boy, the housekeeper’s son or grandson likely, who opened the door for him.
“Oh Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet greeted him, her voice as shrill and piercing as ever, and Mr. Darcy was at once grateful that he was not prone to the malady of headaches that Miss Bingley was. A few minutes in Mrs. Bennet’s presences was enough to drive a man to suffer from throbbing temples. “It is ever so lovely to see you Mr. Darcy, pray do sit, and be welcome again in our modest setting.” She gestured to the drawing room that he had been escorted into, where several of her daughters were waiting, disturbed briefly from their employment by his entrance. He noted four sets of embroidery, although only Jane, Mary, and Catherine were there to greet him, and he wondered where Elizabeth might have been. He looked about the room for a moment as he removed his gloves- the room was warm in the early afternoon sun and since he could not remove his jacket without causing offense, he had to find some way of cooling off. Especially since he was flushed with anticipation at seeing Elizabeth, and then frustration at not finding her there within Longbourn’s drawing room.
