The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  “I am tired. The journey from Kent took longer than usual because of the rain, but as I wrote in my letters, Aunt Catherine and Anne are well and send their love, as does Richard.”

  “Are you sure there is nothing wrong? You look sad.”

  “Georgiana, I need a good night’s sleep, and then all will be well.”

  “But all is not well. I can see it in your eyes. You have had a sadness about you ever since Wickham…”

  “You are mistaken,” he said, interrupting her, “and we shall not speak of him or anything to do with that matter.”

  “But what if I wish to speak of it?”

  “Georgiana, this is not subject to discussion,” and he got up to pour a glass of Madeira.

  “Will, that is unfair. You have determined in your own mind what happened, and a good deal of it is wrong. And, yet, I cannot tell you the truth as you will not hear it. So I have to bear this burden of you thinking I would have eloped with Wickham, but I never would have. Never.”

  Will sunk back into the chair. Were the stars aligned against him? Is that why he was unable to say or do the right thing as far as the female of the species was concerned?

  “I know it pains you, but you will have a different understanding if only you will listen.”

  Darcy shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “I will hear you, and then we will not speak of it again. Is that agreed?”

  “Yes, of course, and you will be glad when I am done.”

  Just the mention of George Wickham’s name infuriated him. Darcy knew little about Wickham’s early background, except that, as a young child, he had been placed in the care of Pemberley’s steward and his wife, who were childless and who loved their adopted son dearly. Darcy’s father also grew fond of Wickham, who had a most pleasing manner, one that hid a deceitful and conniving character, and had agreed to support him at Cambridge. In an act of generosity, Darcy’s father informed Wickham that once he had completed his studies, some money would become available so that he might purchase a living in the church, a commission in the army, or study the law. From that one conversation and because of old Darcy’s interest in his welfare and education, Wickham had decided that he was the natural son of his uncle, George Ashton, who was known to have fathered several children and had scattered them about the country. Because of Ashton’s association with the Darcy family, in Wickham’s mind, he was entitled to much more than the purchase of a living.

  After the elder Darcy had died, Wickham left Cambridge and came to Darcy to ask for the value of the living and had disregarded all of Darcy’s arguments against such a scheme. At Wickham’s insistence, he had provided him with a draft on a London bank for the full amount. Within six months, Wickham was back at Pemberley asking for additional sums, but was refused. An angry George Wickham had declared that he knew who his father was and would expose Ashton if his demands were not met. The conversation and his response were still lodged in his memory.

  “I do not know who your father is, but I know who he is not. And he is not George Ashton. My father agreed to manage a sum of money on your behalf as long as you pursued your studies or a career. It is obvious that your intention is to do neither. You made a mistake by coming to me today with your demands. You will get nothing from me, and you are to leave Pemberley immediately.”

  In a rage, Wickham had told him, “You will come to regret your decision. I will see to it.” And he had come very near to succeeding.

  A year earlier, on the spur of the moment, Darcy had decided to visit his sister in Ramsgate. Instead of enjoying the sea air with her companion, Georgiana had been receiving, in her rooms, George Wickham. The scoundrel had followed his sister to Ramsgate and had convinced her that he was in love with her, so much so that they should marry immediately. Because Darcy had thought it improper to discuss the man’s appetite for gaming and loose women and his spendthrift ways with a girl who knew nothing of how the world really worked, Georgiana had been unaware of Wickham’s true nature. As far as Darcy was concerned, Wickham had ceased to exist when he had accepted a cash payment in lieu of a living.

  Although Georgiana insisted she would never have married without his consent, Darcy believed he had prevented their elopement, and now she was asking that he listen to the details of Wickham’s plan. And he signaled for his sister to begin.

  “At my brother’s insistence,” Georgiana said, smiling weakly, “before being allowed to go to Ramsgate, I had to promise to study my German and practice my pieces on the pianoforte for at least two hours every morning. Mrs. Younge would sit with me in the parlor, but I thought it was unfair as there was nothing for her to do. So we agreed that during that time she could go to the shops or down to the pier and enjoy the sea air. Somehow, Mr. Wickham discovered I was in Ramsgate, and after learning that Mrs. Younge was my companion, befriended her. At this point, she was completely innocent.”

  “If you wish for me to listen to you,” Darcy said, preventing his sister from continuing, “please do not refer to Mrs. Younge as being innocent. If she is to be believed, she talked to a man not of her acquaintance, and if for no other reason, she failed in her primary duty to protect you.”

  “I understand,” his sister said. “But before I go on, I must step back. While you were at Cambridge and I remained at Pemberley, I would often go out onto the lawn and sketch with Mrs. Bridges. One day, Mr. Wickham came by and admired my sketch, and he asked for one of my chalks and drew a very funny picture of Mrs. Bridges. And we laughed because it was very funny. The next day, he brought me a sketch of himself, which was also funny. There was no third day because Mrs. Bridges insisted I remain in the classroom and draw, saying that Mr. Wickham was neglecting his duties. Other than seeing him about the property, we had no further contact.

  “And now to the heart of the story,” and taking a deep breath, Georgiana plunged in. “One morning, Mrs. Younge encountered Mr. Wickham on her walk, and it was then he revealed that he had grown up at Pemberley and asked if he might call on me. She asked, and I agreed. Well, it was a very pleasant hour, and he suggested that I join him for a walk around the harbor the next day, which I did, and continued to do for another three days. I must confess I was flattered by the attention, especially when he bought me a jewelry box decorated with seashells. After that day, the weather turned against us, and he now called at the house, and much to my surprise, he professed his love for me. Not having been introduced to society, I did not realize that this was a common ploy used by men who were in search of women who would inherit a fortune.

  “Finally, he asked if we might go for a carriage ride without Mrs. Younge. I agreed, but as soon as I did, I knew that I would not. I realized that I should have written to you to ask for your permission before I had ever agreed to receive him. It was my intention to do so, but it was not necessary. That morning, while Mrs. Younge was doing my hair, she repeated stories Wickham had told her about providing endless hours of amusement for me while we were at Pemberley, including walks in the garden and our reading poetry together, neither of which had ever happened. And I realized what a fool I had been, and without saying anything to Mrs. Younge, I waited for Wickham in the parlor for the purpose of telling him he must never come again. That is when you arrived, and you know the rest.”

  Yes, he did know the rest. He had missed his sister’s company and was looking forward to visiting her, and in order to surprise her, he had not written to inform her that he was coming to Ramsgate. When he went into the parlor, the first person he saw was not Georgiana, but Wickham, and he had no doubt why he was there. He grabbed him by his coat, pushed him down the stairs and into the foyer before throwing him into the street. Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Younge came to see what was happening and encountered her employer in full fury. He very quickly got the whole of the story, and giving her only enough time to gather her belongings, demanded she leave immediately.

  Georgiana was correct. Despite te
ars and protests, he had refused to hear what she had to say. He sent her to her room and ordered the servants to pack up everything as they would be returning to London immediately. On several occasions, she had tried to tell him the truth of what had happened, but he could not bear to hear Wickham’s name.

  “I know what I did was wrong, and now that you know the whole of it, you will understand that I would never, ever marry without your consent. What I did was foolish and immature, but I love you, and I would not hurt you for all the world. I was never at risk of becoming Wickham’s wife.”

  Darcy opened his arms to his sister, and she came running to him. He kissed her on the top of her head and told her, “I was not angry with you, but with myself. It was I who had personally interviewed Mrs. Younge and had decided she was an appropriate companion for you. But that is in the past.”

  Gesturing for his sister to sit down, he said, “Your future is quickly upon us. In the spring, you will come out into society. It is well known that you are to inherit a great deal of money. There are men who will say anything if they think it will give them access to your fortune. Allow me to give you an example. You are acquainted with Abigail Curzon,” and Georgiana nodded. “Would you describe her as a ‘jewel plucked out of the night sky’?” Georgiana tried not to laugh because poor Abigail was one of those unfortunate people who had inherited the very worst traits from both of her parents, and Georgiana shook her head “no.”

  “Exactly. She is an intelligent and thoughtful young lady, but she is not handsome, except to Lord Corman’s spendthrift son, who paid her that compliment within my hearing.”

  “Will, did Mr. Corman actually say ‘plucked’?” Miss Curzon was often described as having a “swan neck,” and in her case, it was true. She had the longest neck of anyone Georgiana had ever seen.

  “Yes, he said ‘plucked.’ And I understand why that word came to mind.” And both of them started to laugh.

  “Oh Will, I can see your spirits have lifted. I am truly sorry for the hurt I caused you, but I am much wiser now. I understand that there are people who will lie and deceive for their own gain. I shall be on my guard against such ruses.”

  “Georgiana, you know you are the dearest part of my life. You and I, we are a pair. Anything that injures you hurts me. So come and give me a kiss, and we shall say good night.”

  Later that evening, while in his study drinking his nightly glass of brandy, Darcy wondered at his inability to take the true measure of a woman. He did not have this problem with men. He knew Wickham to be a liar, and possibly a thief, from when they were mere boys. And then there was Charles Bingley, an awkward young man, who had very few social graces but who was a stellar fellow. He had recognized his attributes from the very beginning of their acquaintance.

  But women? They were something else entirely. He had seriously misjudged Mrs. Younge. His housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, had cautioned him that she might be too young, but then he thought of Mrs. Jenkinson. As devoted as she was to Anne, she was old enough to be her mother. Darcy believed the ten-year age difference between Georgiana and Mrs. Younge would make her presence not only tolerable but enjoyable. But it had all gone so badly.

  And Jane Bennet. There was another one. He had truly believed she liked Bingley very much, but he did not see any depth of regard in her looks. But Elizabeth insisted she was very much in love with him, and it was only her modesty that prevented an open display of affection.

  And had he fallen any shorter of the mark than when judging Miss Elizabeth Bennet? He knew her to be a fighter from their time together at Netherfield Park. She challenged almost everything he said with a biting wit and sometimes just biting. How could he have believed that the same woman who had made such sharp remarks while dancing with him at the Netherfield ball would put aside all prejudices because he was honoring her with his proposal?

  Darcy stared into the fire and remembered the evening at Rosings when Elizabeth was sitting at the pianoforte. They had a pleasant, almost playful, exchange in which she accused him of trying to frighten her, and he teased her in return, but concluded by praising her playing. If Aunt Catherine had not interrupted the conversation, he would have said more. But before she resumed her playing, Elizabeth had looked at him with a puzzled expression that he had interpreted as her wanting to know him better so that she might understand him better.

  He would have to put these thoughts from his mind for the time being as he had promised Georgiana that they would spend the holidays with the Smythes before returning to London for her last term at seminary. After that, he would be free to make the journey to Pemberley, and the view of the Peaks with their ever-changing landscapes would restore his spirits. Because of the lingering memory of Elizabeth sitting outside the parsonage clutching his letter to her bosom, he refused to be devoid of all hope, and if there was a solution to be found, it would be found at Pemberley.

  Chapter 10

  Shortly after Lizzy and Jane returned to Longbourn from their travels, Lizzy was finally able to unburden herself as to what had transpired at the parsonage. Jane’s response was to be expected. Because of his place in society, she was greatly surprised by Mr. Darcy’s offer of marriage and equally dismayed by the mode of his declaration. However, it was merely in the blink of an eye before she went from chastising the gentleman for assuming so much to feeling sorry for him.

  Jane was even more surprised when Lizzy acquainted her with all of the facts concerning Mr. Wickham and Miss Darcy. She now believed the very worst about him, and she would shortly have proof of it.

  The Bennet family had very good relations with their servants, but it was Mrs. Hill whom they loved and trusted. Because of her many years of service to the family, there were very few topics that were not freely discussed in front of her, and Mrs. Hill understood that any confidences shared with her would remain within the confines of Longbourn. However, Mrs. Hill often shared news of what was going on in the village and the surrounding farms because every piece of gossip was quickly circulated amongst the servants of the farmers and shopkeepers.

  “I was talking to the Smart girls,” Mrs. Hill began. “All four of them was hired by Miss Bingley when she come to Netherfield, and while the Bingleys were there, they hardly shared a thing of what was going on abovestairs, afraid they was of being sacked. But now that the lot of them are gone, they could hardly wait to get all of it out. But I doubt that you two would be wanting to hear such tattling.”

  “Oh, how wrong you are, Mrs. Hill. We want to hear every juicy morsel, and nothing should be left out,” Lizzy said, laughing. Although Jane had resigned herself to the fact that Mr. Bingley and she would not see each other again, Lizzy understood her sister would want to hear everything she could about him.

  “First of all, Martha said Mr. Bingley was as nice as could be, and the only thing that could put him in a sour mood was two rainy days in a row so he couldn’t go out riding. What Martha said about the others was that Miss Bingley was never happy with their work and was always complaining, that Mrs. Hurst went along with anything her sister said, and that Mr. Hurst couldn’t be kept from the port wine no matter what his wife said to him. The only juicy piece of gossip was that Miss Bingley was flirting with Mr. Darcy all the time, but he wasn’t paying her no mind. She heard that from Jeremy Stockard, who was hired on as a footman. He could hardly believe that people were willing to pay him good money to stand by a door with a powdered wig on his head, so the ladies wouldn’t have to open it themselves. But that’s what Miss Bingley wanted, so he lined his pockets and kept his mouth shut.

  “I says to Martha, ‘Well, there’s not much news there. It’s just as you’d expect,’ and she said that was true but there was a surprise, and that was Mr. Darcy. Now, I know you don’t like Mr. Darcy, Miss Lizzy, but it seems that he was a good friend to Mr. Bingley, and when Mr. Bingley decided to have the ball, well, there was no way it could happen without some help. So Mr. Darcy sent
a letter to wherever he lives in Derbyshire, and the cook, butler, and a wagonload of servants come down to get everything ready for the big night. And all of Mr. Darcy’s servants went on and on about how good it was to work for him and Miss Darcy. Well, I never would have believed it from what I heard about him from the time at the assembly when he snubbed Miss Lizzy.”

  Jane looked at Lizzy out of the corner of her eye. It seemed as if evidence was building that her sister had seriously misjudged Mr. Darcy.

  “But that’s nothing compared to what’s being said about Mr. Wickham,” Mrs. Hill said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Sally Smart, who works for the Drapers, says Mrs. Draper has been crying on and off for days because Mr. Wickham didn’t pay any of his bills. What Sally said was that Mr. Draper had ordered some expensive heavy fabric and a brass clasp from London for a cloak that Mr. Wickham wanted made special. He told them he’d pay them when he got paid, but he never did, and Mrs. Draper is afraid he never will. And once word got out that Mr. Draper hadn’t been paid, others from the shops said they were owed money too. But they hadn’t said nothing before with Mr. Wickham being an officer and a gentleman and all. But Mr. Corbin said, gentleman or no, he’s writing to Colonel Forster. He wants his money.”

  There was more news, equally bad, about Wickham taking liberties with some of the local girls, as well as extensive gaming debts and displays of bad temper and drunkenness. If only half of the rumors were true, Wickham was as vile as Mr. Darcy had described him.

  Both sisters were truly distressed by Mrs. Hill’s news, but Lizzy was heartsick. She could hardly bear to think about how she had taken sides in Wickham’s favor and at the expense of Mr. Darcy. Now, she completely understood the look of disgust on his face before he left the parsonage and the necessity of his writing that awful letter.