Willow Hall Romance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Series

by Leenie Brown

  “And you fear that Wickham will attempt to hurt you to get what he wants?” asked Philip, looking intently at Lucy. He longed to be where her aunt was now, with his arms around her and her head on his shoulder, providing comfort and a feeling of security.

  Lucy lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “As silly as it sounds, I do, and if not me, then one of you. Men like my uncle do not admit defeat easily.”

  “I will not allow it,” said Philip standing and pacing the room. His emotions could no longer be contained without some escape of movement.

  “Nor will I,” said Mr. Harker and Darcy nearly as one.

  The vehemence in Philip’s voice surprised Darcy. His friend had always been gentle and peaceable. He had rarely shown any sort of anger, and only in instances when those he cared for deeply, such as his sister or his brother, had been threatened. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Darcy found himself smiling as he watched Philip pace the room. No matter how much his friend insisted that he was marrying Lucy out of convenience or some sense of duty, Darcy suspected that Philip had actually fallen in love with the woman who was soon to be his wife.

  Chapter 4

  Having already made her selections, Lucy stepped outside the milliner’s shop the following morning to wait for her aunt. A soft, cool breeze blew, tugging gently at her bonnet. She turned her face to the sun. It was pleasant to feel its warmth on her cheeks for the few brief moments she allowed them to be tilted upward. She would like nothing better than to remove her bonnet and drink in the sunshine, but her skin was fair, and where others would turn brown from the sun, she only turned painfully red. She glanced through the shop window and watched as the milliner’s assistant showed her aunt ribbons and lace. She smiled. Her aunt was never without an exquisitely decorated cap.

  “Miss Tolson.”

  Lucy heart skipped a beat at the voice. Slowly, she turned to face the speaker. “Mr. Wickham,” she said in greeting, with a quick curtsey and a nervous glance toward the shop.

  “It is a fine day for shopping, is it not?” He shoved the small package he was carrying into the pocket of his great coat. “The sun is warm, the breeze is cool, and the shops are filled with smiling faces.”

  “Indeed, it is a lovely day, Mr. Wickham. My aunt is just finishing placing an order for a new bonnet,” Lucy took a step toward the door to the shop. Although he wore a friendly expression, she knew better than to trust that there was anything akin to friendship behind his greeting. He had always been able to convince people of his sincerity with his flowery word and pleasant smile, but she had seen his true character displayed more than once while they were growing up. She also knew that he had been unsuccessful in his meeting with Mr. Darcy, which meant he would be looking for a new slant, a new approach, to gaining that which he desired.

  “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.” Wickham stepped towards her. His features drooped with feigned grief, and his shoulders sagged just a bit. “He was a good man from all accounts.”

  “He was,” agreed Lucy watching him warily. His posture shifted just slightly. His shoulders rose and his countenance brightened, though Lucy was not certain if it would be more accurate to say he smiled with restrained delight or just mere cunning.

  “I also understand that you are to marry. I believe the younger Mr. Dobney is the lucky fellow, is he not?”

  Lucy glanced again toward the shop. She heart was beginning to beat more rapidly the longer she stood here talking to him, and her stomach began to twist into a knot. She wished desperately for her aunt to conclude her business and step outside. “He is,” she said.

  “A rather sudden engagement, I hear.” An eyebrow flicked upwards as he smirked at her.

  Lucy heard the hidden implication in his tone and read it in his expression. She wished to pull her pelisse more tightly about herself and turn away from his roaming eyes. “You have been busy catching up on all the news, have you not?” she said somewhat sharply.

  He chuckled and allowed his eyes to roam her figure once again. “One hears things,” he said as he took his watch from his pocket. “Well, I must be off, or I shall be late.” He took two steps away before turning back with a most evil smile on his face. “Do you wish me to give a greeting to your uncle?”

  Panic gripped Lucy’s heart. The world felt as if it was shaking, causing her to sway and struggle to keep her balance. “My…my…uncle?” she eventually forced out the words.

  Wickham stepped closer once again and placed one hand on her elbow to steady her while he placed his other hand inappropriately low on her back. “Well, Tolson told me his arrival would come as a shock to you, but I had not expected you to nearly swoon.”

  She pulled her arm away from him and took a step forward. “I did not almost swoon,” she snapped. “I was merely surprised that you know my uncle so well.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so, but I suppose any lady who wished to pass herself off as chaste enough to be a parson’s wife would be worried to the point of swooning if she knew the stories that could be told about her.”

  She wished to end this conversation and run to her aunt, who was still inside the shop, but her feet were rooted to the spot where she stood. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she shook her head. “There are no stories,” she said.

  He shrugged once more. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so. There are no stories.”

  He laughed. “Oh, Miss Tolson, there are stories.” He picked at a piece of lint on the jacket of his coat. “I am sure an arrangement can be reached where you can continue to be thought of as a paragon of virtue.”

  “An arrangement?” She remembered the same word being used by her uncle when he had discussed her becoming the young bride of the man to whom he owed money. The pieces were beginning to fall into place in her mind. Although still wary and fearful, she was becoming increasingly angry at his hints of knowing some secret. Pushing her fear to the side, she drew a fortifying breath and asked the question that would confirm her suspicions about her uncle and Mr. Wickham being associates. “Mr. Wickham, exactly how do you know my uncle?”

  Again he shrugged. “I grew up here. Everyone knows your uncle.”

  She shook her head. “No, he left when I was quite young, and you are not that much older than I. You would not have been old enough to have formed such an intimate acquaintance before he left.” She cocked her head to the side and studied Wickham’s face. His eyes shifted uneasily under her scrutiny. “You have met him since.”

  “Very well,” admitted Wickham. “We have been friends and business associates for just over a year.” He took a step closer to her, and any false pretense of friendliness left his features. “But, I assure you, there are tales that can be told. You would do well to be more receptive to his offer when he visits you this time.”

  Dread settled in Lucy’s stomach, but she dared not acknowledge it. He had seen her fearful reaction once; to offer him a second glimpse of the terror her uncle brought to her heart was not something she was willing to do. “Tell him,” she said as calmly as she was able, “that he may call for tea tomorrow. I am sure he is anxious to see that the estate is in order and ready for its transfer. You may assure him that it is.” The door to the milliner’s shop creaked behind her. “Good day, Mr. Wickham.” She bobbed a quick curtsey and turned toward her aunt, who was just exiting the store.

  “To whom were you speaking?” asked Aunt Tess as she reached Lucy’s side.

  Lucy let out a shuddering breath, finally releasing some of the fear that had gripped her. “It was Mr. Wickham.”

  “What did he say to you?” Aunt Tess took Lucy by the arm and began hurrying her in the direction of the parsonage since it was much closer than her home. Lucy’s face was decidedly pale, and she was trembling.

  “He asked if there was a message I wished for him to give to my uncle.”

  Aunt Tess’s grip on Lucy’s arm tightened and her pace increased. “Your uncle is here?”

  Lucy shrugged
. “I am not certain, but Mr. Wickham made it sound as if he is.” She and her aunt moved further to the side of the lane as a barouche approached, but instead of passing as they had expected it would, it came to a stop next to them.

  “Miss Tolson, Mrs. Barnes,” Philip called to them. “Could we give you a ride?”

  Aunt Tess eagerly accepted the offer, and soon the two ladies were seated in the carriage with Darcy and Philip. “We were on our way to the parsonage,” she explained as the horses began walking. “I was unsure that Lucy would make the full journey home. She had a bit of a fright.”

  “You are unwell?” Philip asked.

  Lucy ducked her head and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. His tone was so serious, so filled with concern. “I had a small conversation with Mr. Wickham.”

  “Wickham?” asked Darcy.

  Lucy gave him a weak smile and nodded head. “He mentioned my uncle was here.”

  Shock suffused Darcy’s face. “Your uncle and Wickham are acquaintances?”

  “Business associates, according to Mr. Wickham, which,” she took a breath and blew it out, “means they are both in need of money. I would venture to guess that Mr. Wickham, since he has already petitioned you for the living, is in debt to my uncle, and my uncle is in debt to someone else.” She turned to Aunt Tess. “He said I should be more receptive to my uncle’s offer this time when he calls on me. He knows of what happened and has threatened to use it to tarnish my reputation.”

  Philip looked at her in confusion. “How could a tale about a man attempting to force you into marriage harm your reputation?”

  Aunt Tess had wrapped an arm around Lucy. “Lucy was preparing for bed when he visited last time. She was not dressed to receive visitors and was less dressed when he left, for he tore her clothes from her as he spoke of her particularly attractive attributes. She was not violated in any other way than being seen disrobed and, of course, touched as he removed her clothing. She is still as virtuous as any maiden, but her uncle is not above lying.”

  Lucy’s face burned crimson, and she dared not look at either gentleman in the carriage.

  Philip reached across the carriage to take her hand. “What can I do to protect you?” What he wished to do was pull her into his arms and ride away with her to some place where her uncle was not. Her peculiar affect on his feelings once again surprised him.

  Lucy peeked up at him. There was no judgement in his eyes, only concern. “I do not know,” she whispered.

  “We must not return home,” said Aunt Tess.

  “Pemberley,” said Darcy. “You must come to Pemberley.” He laid a hand on Philip’s shoulder. “You and I and a stout footman or two shall spend the night at Willow Hall in case Lucy’s uncle decides to visit in the same manner he did last time. I believe Mr. Harker should join the ladies at Pemberley.”

  “I have told Mr. Wickham that my uncle may call on me tomorrow for tea to inspect the estate and see that all is in order for the transfer to new tenants,” said Lucy.

  “Then it is most imperative that you stay at Pemberley, and we keep watch over Willow Hall. If he is as desperate as I know Wickham is, your uncle may try to alter things so that he can blame you. If he can make you appear to be an unacceptable choice for Mr. Dobney; then you will have no option but to return to his home with him.” Darcy rubbed his chin. “How exactly Wickham and his request for the living fit into this scheme I do not know.”

  Lucy squeezed Philip’s hand, which still held hers. “I believe I know,” she said softly. “Mr. Wickham must owe him a substantial amount of money.”

  “But how will ruining you help Wickham?” asked Philip.

  “If he can discredit me in the eyes of the village, he can certainly do the same to you. Who would wish for or listen to a minister who has been taken in by a fallen woman? Indeed, who would respect a man who preaches purity when he himself has rushed into a marriage because of a lack of restraint?”

  “But we are not marrying for that reason,” protested Philip.

  “No, we are not, but it is what Mr. Wickham implied.”

  Philip’s eyes grew wide and then narrowed with anger.

  “She is right,” said Darcy gravely. “Tolson may not be readily believed, but we all know how convincing Wickham can be.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Philip.

  “The ladies and Mr. Harker will go to Pemberley, and we will stay at Willow Hall as planned. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, we can stop them before they have begun.”

  Aunt Tess agreed with the plan but added. “I know that none of you approve of gossip, and neither do I, of course; however, a word of caution to the staff at Willow Hall about Lucy’s uncle with a suggestion of his debauchery would not be out of order.”

  Darcy smiled. “And we know that servants do not always keep all tales to themselves.”

  “Especially when they are not instructed to,” said Aunt Tess, returning Darcy’s smile and tapping her nose.

  “Very good,” said Darcy. “Ladies to Pemberley, gents to Willow Hall, and tales to those who will carry them.”

  Chapter 5

  Lucy looked around her room while mentally ticking off the items she had put in her bag and attempting to ensure she had not forgotten anything that she would need for her stay at Pemberley. Her eyes came to rest on the book next to her bed. “Of course,” she said. Picking up the book, she turned it over in her hands and ran her finger along the ribbon that held her place.

  He prayeth best who loveth best,

  All things both great and small:

  For the dear God, who loveth us,

  He made and loveth all,[[1]

  She quoted the familiar lines as she tucked the book under her clothes in her bag. It was a book she had read many times, a book which had been a gift from her father to her mother, a book that she had heard her father read to her mother as they sat before the fire in the evenings. And it was the book she had read while her father had breathed his last. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. It was a book with which she would never part. The memories attached to it were greater even than the wonderful words contained within it.

  “Miss?” A maid stood at the door. “There is a letter for you.”

  “A letter?” She took the letter from the maid. “I had not heard a rider.” There had been no crunching of the gravel on the drive or banging on the door. Both were things she would have heard from her room since it was situated facing the front of the house.

  The maid wrung her hands nervously. “There was no rider, miss. Only a man in gentleman’s clothing at the kitchen door.” Her voice was soft, and she peeked down the hall behind her. “I weren’t supposed to tell you, miss.”

  The letter trembled slightly in Lucy’s hand, so she tucked it into her pocket. She fought to keep her voice steady as she questioned the maid. “Do you know where my aunt is?”

  “Yes, miss. She is in the sitting room with the gentlemen. Jonathan is waiting to take her bag to the carriage when he takes yours.” The maid dipped a small curtsey and turned to leave.

  “Margaret,” Lucy called to the maid before she could scoot away. “This man.” She held up the letter. “Is he gone?”

  “I do not know, miss. I did not tarry when he told me to be quick. I feared he might hit me if I did.”

  Lucy’s brows rose, but she dismissed the maid with the instructions that her bag was now ready for Jonathan to take to the carriage. She took the letter from her pocket and turned it over in her hands so that she could see the seal. There was the distinctive T in the wax. It was, she suspected, from her uncle. She shook her head at his cunningness. He had selected a maid who had not been in their employ long enough to know his identity. She crossed to her window and looked out, even though she did not expect to see him since he had made his delivery at the back of the house. The carriage waited in front of the house, and beyond a footman and a coachman, there was no one in front of the house.

  “Are you not going to read it?”


  Lucy froze at the sound of her uncle’s voice.

  “Are you not going to read it?” repeated Lucy’s uncle.

  Lucy closed her eyes briefly and took a steadying breath before turning around to face him. “I shall read it. Just not now.” She slipped the letter back into her pocket. “I was on my way to visit with friends, and they are waiting. I shall not keep them waiting.” She was not sure her legs would carry her the full way or that passing so close to him to leave the room was a wise choice, but she was certain she did not wish to remain in this room with him.

  “I think,” he said as he nudged her bedroom door closed with his foot, “that you should read it now. I am rather impatient for an answer.”

  “If you are so impatient for an answer, why do you not just make your request and be done? I do not see why you bothered to take the time to write a message if you had every intention of speaking to me in person.” Lucy hoped that the trembling she felt was not visible to him. She knew she must act confident even if she did not feel it. “Jonathan is to arrive soon to collect my bag, and my aunt and my friends will wonder when I do not appear in the sitting room soon.”

  He stepped closer to her and clucked his tongue. “Your manners are not at all those of a well-bred lady and certainly not the sort that would do honour to a parson.” He took a moment to admire her features. “Your beauty is not that of which the poets write, but I must say you are very womanly. I still have at least one associate who would be pleased to have you.” He took one step closer. “You have not forgotten my previous offer, have you?”

  Lucy fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself and hide from his gaze. “My friends are waiting, Uncle.”

  “Ah, yes, your parson and Darcy. One who holds a position that should be another’s and the other, the lying, thief who gave it him.” He crossed to her bed and began to open her bag. “You really should seek better friends.” He pulled out a chemise and stuffed it inside his coat.