Ann Herendeen

by Pride / Prejudice (v5)

  “Miss Lydia Bennet,” Fitz said.

  “Oh,” Charles said, looking oddly deflated.

  “She’s the youngest sister,” Georgiana said.

  “Yes, I remember,” Charles said. “Big, noisy girl, always chasing after officers.”

  “Well, she caught one, finally,” Fitz said. “And she’s creating a wretched scandal for her family.”

  “Naturally I’m sorry for that,” Charles said. “But I don’t see how it’s any business of yours, either, Fitz, or how you think you can help.”

  “Let me tell Charles, Fitz,” Georgiana said. “I already told him about my—mistake.”

  “Georgiana,” Fitz said in his sternest voice, “after your earlier protestations, that is a very strange confession. You did yourself no good service by breaking your understanding with Mr. Bingley. I hope this will be a lesson.”

  “Now see here, Fitz,” Charles said. “That’s quite enough of treating Georgie as if she were ruined, merely because she was deceived into accepting a marriage proposal from a fortune hunter. Could have happened to anybody. And nothing happened anyway.”

  “How delightful that you are privy to the entire escapade,” Fitz said. His face had gone completely white and he was standing very still in a pose that Charles remembered from an incident in the early days of their friendship, when a peculiar person, much the worse for drink, had accosted the two of them in St. James’s Park. “Georgiana,” Fitz continued in frigid tones, “you may wish to reconsider your situation with regard to Mr. Bingley. Other men will be far less forgiving and might well conceive a disgust—”

  “Stop it, Fitz,” Charles said with surprising force.

  Fitz turned at the sound, opened his mouth wide in something that was not a yawn and took several deep breaths, his chest heaving.

  “You see, it’s Mr. Wickham that Lydia has gone away with,” Georgiana said.

  “Wickham! But isn’t he—that is—doesn’t he—” Charles struggled against the awful tension in the room. His face worked and contorted with the heroic attempt not to laugh, but defeat was inevitable. “Lydia does look a bit like Elizabeth. Maybe he was confused in the dark.”

  Fitz took two short, controlled steps forward, almost like dancing, and raised his clenched fist. “I could call you out for that.” He drew his arm back until the fist was beside his own ear, and took another hopping step slightly to Charles’s left.

  “No, Fitz!” Georgiana cried, pushing herself between the two men.

  “Damn it, Georgie,” Fitz said, lowering his arm. “You might have been hurt.”

  “I didn’t want you to hit poor Charles. It’s not fair when you’re so much bigger.”

  “Thank you very much, Miss Darcy,” Charles said. “As I have now been put in my place by two Darcys at once, I think it best to retire to the company of the other guests. And I sincerely apologize, Fitz. The news took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Hell and damnation,” Fitz said. He shook out his hand as if he had landed the intended punch and a couple more, and walked briskly around the room, shrugging his shoulders in a rolling motion and swinging his arms. “Georgie, I am truly sorry. It seems if anyone lacks discretion, it is I. Charles, I owe you satisfaction, and you may have it any way you wish, when I return from town.”

  “Never mind about that, Fitz. I know how you care for Georgie and I don’t hold grudges for my own sake. But I think you’d better tell us the whole of this wretched business.”

  “All right, Charles. Let’s get this over with. I’m in a hurry to make the arrangements with my steward, as I expect to be away at least a week, more likely two. George Wickham has indeed run off with Lydia Bennet, eccentric as that seems. They are living somewhere in town, unmarried, and her father is unable to locate them. Now do you see why I need to keep this quiet, and why I am the only person who can help?”

  “Of course, Fitz,” Charles said. “You know, it’s a damned shame you can’t tear yourself loose from that clinging vine.”

  “It seems he will be my responsibility to the grave,” Fitz said. “Try as I will to wash my hands of him, if he persists in making messes, I’m the only one capable of cleaning them up.”

  “Assuming you can.”

  “Money, Charles. That’s all it is with him. Now, if the two of you don’t mind, I must finish dressing.”

  “I’VE NEVER SEEN Fitz so lose command over himself,” Charles said. He sat with Georgiana in one of the unused bedchambers, digesting the shocking news before facing the censorious crowd of guests downstairs.

  I have, Georgiana thought. When Fitz had “had words” with Mr. Wickham over their intended elopement. She was unable to share the memory with Charles; even after a year it was too painful.

  “Although he was in a pretty bad way after his return from Rosings,” Charles continued, perfectly capable of sustaining a one-sided conversation.

  “Yes,” Georgiana agreed. Where last summer’s events had brought out the harsh, paternal side of him, asserting his rights over family and property, this time he had seemed like a rogue animal, divorced from all connections. Like an angry cat, balked of its prey, lashing its tail and wishing to pounce on something to tear apart with teeth and claws. For almost a month he had been terrifying. Georgiana had crept about the house, trying to keep from drawing his attention, the least little failing or misstep bringing down his wrath. He had even been out of temper with Mr. Bingley, not greeting him with a kiss at breakfast or going to his room at night. It was sad and disturbing to see a loving friendship diminish over time instead of strengthening, made all the worse for there being no reason for the change that Georgiana could see.

  Then, somehow, Fitz had regained his composure, even a kind of contentment. By the time they were ready to remove to Pemberley for the summer he had been his old self, more like the kind, protective older brother she remembered from her childhood. Softer, more forgiving, not so sarcastic and disdainful as he had grown in recent years. “I wondered if he had fallen in love,” she ventured to suggest.

  “I say, you do have a pretty dismal notion of love,” Charles said. “I suppose, after Wickham, that’s only to be expected.”

  “I’d just as soon not hear that name again,” Georgiana said. “But now I begin to comprehend your sister. Did you hear her yesterday? She was very droll on the subject of the militia leaving Hertfordshire, and how the Bennet family must feel the loss.”

  It had all begun to make sense at Pemberley. Fitz had gone on ahead by a day, to prepare for the rest of the party. When Georgiana arrived, the first words Fitz said to her were that Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her aunt and uncle were in the neighborhood, and instructing Georgiana on her duties as hostess when they called. As if she hadn’t been acting as Fitz’s hostess from the age of twelve. Between Fitz’s almost boyish eagerness, and Miss Bingley’s incessant censure, Georgiana had been nervous—no, terrified—about meeting Miss Bennet, convinced she would be provincial, sharp-tongued, possessed of neither beauty nor grace, and with a very high opinion of herself. But Miss Bennet turned out to suffer from none of these faults. She was positively charming. Younger than Miss Bingley, polite, clearly intelligent, and basically kind. You could see it in her face.

  And the way Fitz looked at her. No wonder poor Miss Bingley lost all sense of discretion. She was the one who showed her ill breeding at every turn, while Miss Bennet had been a model of comportment. When Miss Bingley made her spiteful remark about the militia, Georgiana was so mortified she couldn’t say a word, just stared at the floor, not comprehending why Caroline should wish to hurt her so, when she was still desperately hoping for at least one marriage into the family, if not two. But Miss Bennet, almost as if she knew how painful the subject was to Georgiana, and sympathized without judging, adroitly changed the subject.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Fitz were to marry her? Georgiana had become almost resigned to the idea that she and Caroline Bingley would be sisters-in-law, especially as Fitz seemed to regard i
t as inevitable. Georgiana’s only escape then would be her own establishment, as Fitz had been promising before the events of last winter had overset everyone’s plans. But a man only made a point of introducing a lady to his sister if he intended something serious. And if Fitz married Miss Bennet—oh, how perfect! It would be like having the older sister she had always wanted, someone to confide in, to advise her on all the things a brother couldn’t, even as excellent a brother as Fitz…

  “What a lucky chance,” Charles said, as if reading her thoughts, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet traveling in Derbyshire at the same time we came to Pemberley. Eight months since we were at Netherfield, and now to meet again here.” God, he thought, it was like something out of the Bible, a miracle or an apparition. He had never seen Fitz so—what was the word? Almost soft. Smiling, agreeable, making gentle, undemanding conversation. Until poor Caroline betrayed herself. Why couldn’t she just accept the fact that Fitz preferred Miss Bennet to her? What man wouldn’t? And then, what really got Charles thinking—if Fitz received Elizabeth and her relatives so graciously, who were just a town merchant and his wife, then perhaps he had revised his opinion of Charles’s marrying into the family. Was it possible? For the first time in months, Charles allowed himself a glimmer of hope.

  “Fitz was so eager to introduce us,” Georgiana said, “I developed an absurd fear of her. He kept saying how witty and clever she is, and warning me not to hang back in the conversation, until I was terrified she’d bite my head off. But she has excellent manners and she’s not frightening at all.” She sighed, still stunned at the feeling of intense relief.

  “Well, you see,” Charles said, “she was very different when we knew her in Hertfordshire. She was the lady I told you about, always laughing at Fitz, and topping his epigrams with her own. But you’d never guess it from her behavior now. To my mind, much improved. More like her eldest sister, Jane.”

  As her dearest imaginings received confirmation of a sort, Georgiana began to comprehend how Charles could be so genuinely glad to see Elizabeth and yet oblivious to Fitz’s attentions to her. “Is she the Jane you’re in love with? The one Fitz doesn’t want you to marry?”

  “Well, yes,” Charles said, smiling shyly like a girl. “But perhaps he’s of a different mind now.”

  Georgiana shook her head. “I’m sorry, Charles. After what we’ve just learned, that will be impossible.” She thought of Wickham with something approaching hatred, an emotion that, despite everything, would have been inconceivable in connection with him as recently as a week ago. Now he had ruined more than just one girl’s future. He had destroyed so many people’s happiness by this one careless act, six at least: hers, Fitz’s, Charles’s, and no fewer than three Miss Bennets—probably all five of them. Georgiana didn’t know whether she wished Fitz to find Wickham and Lydia in town or not. Lydia’s disgrace tainted her sisters and rendered them unsuitable for marriage to any respectable man. But a Miss Bennet married to Wickham was an even greater impediment to Fitz’s marrying another one, because then they would be tied forever, brothers-in-law…

  “What?” Charles said. “Why?” Seeing Georgiana’s crushing embarrassment, he refrained from further questioning and was able to puzzle it out for himself. “Oh, that wouldn’t matter to me. Ridiculous, as if Jane were responsible for her younger sister’s foolishness. If you knew Jane you’d see what I mean.” He recalled the previous day’s revelatory conversations. “And look here. When Caroline was so hateful about Elizabeth, refusing to allow her any degree of beauty, and teased Fitz about having once admired her a little, what did Fitz say? Something about, ‘that was only when he first knew her, because it was long since he had come to consider her as one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance.’ Lord, that was marvelous! I wish I could come up with perfect set-downs like that unrehearsed.”

  Georgiana smiled but remained grave. “That was before we learned about Lydia,” she reminded Charles.

  “But he’s going off to town to help,” Charles said. “You heard him. He knows what Wickham is like, and he won’t lay all the blame on poor Lydia.”

  “No,” Georgiana said, “but he could never bring himself to be brother-in-law to Mr. Wickham.”

  “Of course not!” Charles exclaimed, swiveling in the chair to goggle at Georgiana’s wild suggestion. “But it shouldn’t matter to him if I am. You know, this visit of the Gardiners is the first time I saw him so friendly with people not of his level. He actually invited Mr. Gardiner to fish in the stream.”

  “That is unfair to Fitz,” Georgiana said, accepting the fact that what was to her the most important aspect of the conversation was a dead end. “He is always civil, if not gracious.”

  “But he sneers at low connections and people in trade,” Charles said. “I’m grateful that he befriended me, as I’m really nothing more than a wealthy tradesman’s son.”

  “Now you’re just hoping for a compliment on your gentlemanlike character,” Georgiana said. “Fitz does not disdain anyone for his position in life, but only those whose manners are lacking. He confessed to me yesterday that he took Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner for people of fashion at first, and I have to say I felt very easy in conversation with them.”

  “They certainly have better manners than a lot of people I know,” Charles said. “Including members of my own family.”

  “You can say that,” Georgiana said. “I dare not.”

  “ARE WE NOT to enjoy the great favor of Eliza Bennet’s company for dinner?” Miss Bingley said as Georgiana and Charles entered the drawing room. “Mr. Darcy will be sorry to miss her sparkling wit and tanned complexion. Especially after informing us in the strongest terms yesterday how greatly he admires her beauty. Perhaps he’s had a bit too much sun himself.”

  “Miss Bennet and her aunt and uncle have had to cut their tour short and leave for town,” Georgiana said.

  “Have they?” Miss Bingley said. “What a pity! And after timing their arrival in Lambton village so neatly to coincide with Mr. Darcy’s at Pemberley. Only think if they had chosen the Lake District or the seaside for their little holiday instead, how differently things would have worked out. And now all for naught.”

  “Enough, Caroline,” Charles said. “Surely you heard Miss Bennet explain. She and her aunt and uncle had originally planned to visit the Lakes, but Mr. Gardiner’s business affairs necessitated a shorter trip, and that’s how they settled on Derbyshire.”

  “Oh yes,” Miss Bingley said. “That was a charming little speech, and she recited it most correctly. I especially liked the part about daring to visit Pemberley because they had been assured by people in the village that the master was away.”

  “Nobody knew my brother was coming that day,” Georgiana said. “He only decided at the last minute.”

  “I do hope nothing has gone wrong with the uncle’s business now,” Miss Bingley continued as if she hadn’t heard. “What is it he does? A mercer? Or is he a clerk, perhaps at law? Oh no, that’s the other uncle.”

  “Stop being such a cat, Caroline,” Charles said. “It’s really something very serious. Fitz is going to follow them tomorrow. Oof,” he added as Georgiana elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Really?” Caroline said in delighted tones. “Is it some kind of party? No, let me guess. It’s an elopement, isn’t it? They’ll stop at a justice of the peace on the way to town and celebrate with a masquerade ball at Vauxhall Gardens.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bingley.” Georgiana decided it was time to step in. “My brother expressly forbade me or Mr. Bingley to discuss the matter. I’m afraid we simply can’t say another word about it. My brother will tell you what he can when he returns from consulting with his steward. Now, may I direct your attention to the fruit bowl? We have more of those lovely ripe peaches and nectarines, just picked from the greenhouse this morning, and a few early grapes.”

  “Very nicely done,” Charles whispered. “You’ll be a duchess a year after your coming out, I’ll wager.”

  Nineteen


  “NOW I UNDERSTAND,” Elizabeth said. “Only now, after seeing his estate, and speaking with his housekeeper.”

  “Understand what?” Jane said.

  “That it is virtue that makes a man attractive, just as much as a woman.”

  “Better to have learned that lesson late than never, I suppose,” Jane said.

  Back at Longbourn after the painfully truncated summer holiday, Elizabeth could barely bring herself to talk to anyone, even Jane. The memory of those visits to Pemberley, the magnificent reality surpassing anything imagination had supplied, and the revelation of Mr. Darcy’s improved behavior, had begun a sequence of thoughts that sprouted up overnight. Like a mushroom after rain, without any planted seeds of hope or preparation of the soil with deliberation, the idea had bloomed, ripe and ready for harvesting, before she had even noticed new growth in a barren field. And then to have it all spoiled by Lydia. It was so absurd as to be funny—if the sudden destruction of carefully rebuilt prospects could be humorous. It was like laboring for years to restore a sacked city, only to have everything undone in an instant of natural disaster, an earthquake or a tidal wave. And all from the heedless act of a sixteen-year-old girl.

  “Too late,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Darcy will want nothing more to do with us after Lydia’s disgracing us all like this. I should not have revealed Lydia’s shame, but I was caught by surprise. I had just received your letters when he arrived at the inn to escort us to Pemberley to dine.” That was the most painful recollection. She squirmed with embarrassment even now, remembering how he had come into the dark little parlor at the moment of her taking in the contents of Jane’s letter, how they had almost collided, he stooping slightly to pass under the low doorway, and she running after her aunt and uncle who had gone for a walk. How his sympathetic questions at her obvious distress had brought the whole story pouring out of her, coupled with the most unladylike tears, when she ought to have had the sense, if not the decency, to conceal such a scandal, something that reflected so poorly on her entire family it ought never to be mentioned. But no, she had held nothing back, not even Wickham’s name—and look what it had gained her. His silence, probably from disgust, and his leaving her with but a look, whether of contempt or curiosity, no doubt appalled to have been on such intimate, even friendly terms with those contaminated by association.