The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  “Mercer, have you ever been in love?” Darcy asked while soaking in his bath.

  “Yes, sir, many times.” When Darcy looked up in amusement, Mercer reminded his master that he had driven a mail coach for many years before going into service.

  “I had forgotten. So you had a lady friend at all of the coaching inns.”

  “No, sir. Not at all of them.”

  “And none of them ran you to ground?” Darcy asked, laughing.

  “No, sir, because I had enough lady friends to know that I didn’t understand women and that was not likely to change. So I have been a bachelor for all of my forty-seven years.”

  “Then you are as perplexed as I am. Does anyone truly understand females? The more I am in their company the less I know. Their behavior is the opposite of everything in the natural order and flies in the face of logic.”

  “Sir, if you have any hope of understanding them, I’d suggest that you not put logic and ladies in the same sentence.”

  Darcy finished his bath and went and sat in a chair near the fire and motioned for Mercer to sit down. As much as he loved Pemberley, he found it a lonely place when his sister was not with him. It would not be lonely if Elizabeth had accepted him. She would be here by his side.

  Mercer understood that a good manservant was there mostly to listen, but he also knew there were times when the well-being of the master required some intervention.

  “I seen that you had guests today, sir. I was unpacking your clothes when they come into the garden. I was watching the young lady with the dark hair and very entertaining she was. She took off her bonnet and threw it in the air and then started spinning ’round in circles. She put me in mind of that pretty young friend of the reverend’s wife who came to Rosings for dinner.”

  “You have a good eye, Mercer. The lady was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the very same lady who dined at Rosings. She and her aunt and uncle were touring the Peak District, and Miss de Bourgh suggested that they come to Pemberley.”

  How much did Mercer know? He had been surrounded by servants his whole life, and he knew it was almost impossible to keep anything secret from them. The lives of those abovestairs were dissected on a daily basis by those belowstairs, and so it had been through the ages. But in Mercer’s case, he was more like an able lieutenant than a valet, and he kept close watch on his master. No, Mercer definitely knew something.

  “Will the lady be coming to Pemberley when Mr. Bingley and his sisters arrive?”

  “Oh, damn. I have been preoccupied with other matters, and I put them out of my mind. Miss Bingley will arrive tomorrow afternoon, and Miss Elizabeth will be joining us for dinner.”

  “Is that a problem, sir?”

  “Yes, Mercer. It is one lady too many.”

  On the best of occasions, he found Caroline to be insincere and manipulative, and that was when she liked you. She did not like Elizabeth Bennet.

  “Well, sir, might I suggest that if Miss Elizabeth is still here the day after tomorrow, you should invite her to go riding in the Peak.”

  “I hinted at such a thing today, but the lady does not care to ride.” That would have to change if she became his wife. No, he would hope that it would change if she became Mrs. Darcy.

  “I guess that must be something common to the ladies, sir, because, as I remember, Miss Bingley doesn’t ride at all. She’s afraid of horses.”

  Darcy smiled. That was true. Caroline had a fear of horses and had since her childhood. That was not the case with Elizabeth. It was just that her preference was to walk. “Perhaps it will be possible to change Miss Elizabeth’s mind,” Darcy said, smiling.

  Chapter 28

  Jane and Mary were sitting on the sofa in the front parlor opposite to Mr. Dalton Nesbitt. He had written to Jane to tell her he had business in Meryton with her Uncle Philips and asked if he might call. Jane had not seen him since her Aunt Susan’s holiday party five months earlier. He was not a bad-looking man, although she did not remember him as being quite so tall, and she had pictured him with light brown hair, not red. It must have been the light from the fire. But then, she was not trying to commit his features to memory. Other than his extensive knowledge of the law, he had made almost no impression on her at all.

  Shortly after Mrs. Hill served the tea, Mr. Nesbitt presented Jane with a small packet wrapped in tissue paper. She cautiously opened it, and when she saw a piece of note paper decorated with dried flowers, she was so relieved that it was not another lock of his mother’s hair that she was almost giddy in her thanks. And she went on and on to the point where Mary squeezed her hand to let her know she had said enough.

  This whole situation brought to mind Mr. Collins’s proposal to Lizzy. When he had asked to speak to her alone, everyone had gone out onto the porch, and since the window was open, every word could be heard. Lizzy made several attempts to get Mr. Collins to cease and desist, but he would not. Finally, she walked right up to him to the point where she was less than two feet away. Mary nearly fainted, thinking that Lizzy was going to kiss him. In words, which she pronounced as if each one was its own sentence, she said, “In no way could I make you happy. My temperament is unsuitable for the wife of a clergyman. Good day, Mr. Collins.” She said it with such emphasis that Mr. Collins had backed out of the room and right into the arms of Mrs. Bennet.

  After tea, Mr. Nesbitt asked if she would like to walk to the village. With Mary serving as chaperone, her visitor told her of his plans, and they were ambitious. He would not be satisfied with being a solicitor. His goal was to become a barrister and possibly a magistrate. In addition to his business plan, he had a financial one too, which was his way of letting her know that he was capable of providing for her. It was so detailed that by the time they had reached the village, Jane was not sure if he was courting her or selling shares.

  On the return trip, he asked her many questions about her likes and dislikes, and he could hardly believe how much she had in common—with his mother. They liked the same flowers and both read Cowper, and their favorite tree was the horse chestnut. But when he learned that her preference in teas was for Bohea black tea rather than Hyson green tea, Mr. Nesbitt knew she was the right woman for him, because was not that also his mother’s preference. He was so excited by this discovery that it was all Jane could do not to laugh. The situation was simultaneously serious and ridiculous.

  There was no doubt that Mr. Nesbitt was pleased with how things were progressing, Jane less so, but she had to face reality and evaluate her situation with her head and not her heart. Mr. Nesbitt was thoughtful and made a good living, and he had planned his future with exacting detail. But the thing that worked most in his favor was that he had hinted that if they were to become engaged, it would be a lengthy one as he was determined to become a barrister. That would give her the best of both worlds. She would have a suitor, so her mother would leave her in peace, but she would not have to do other things required of a wife. When the nuptials finally did take place, she believed that the possibility existed that they would be happy together—all three of them.

  ***

  There was no fool like an old fool, and Colonel Forster was feeling very old and very foolish. At his young wife’s request, he had invited Miss Lydia Bennet to Brighton to keep her company while he dealt with the logistics of relocating a militia regiment from a quiet village in Hertfordshire to the Channel coast, where they would serve as part of a first line of defense in case of a French invasion. While in Meryton, he had only spoken to Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, and based upon his conversations with them, he had assumed that Miss Lydia, having been brought up in the same household, would behave in the same manner as her older sisters.

  His error quickly became apparent. Instead of Lydia Bennet solving his problem, she had doubled it. Because of frequent quarrels between the two females, it had become necessary for the colonel to have his aide arrange a series of amusemen
ts. Captain Wilcox had set up a schedule by which some talented member of the regiment came to the Forster home at least twice a week to entertain Harriet and her friends.

  These diversions were successful at first, but then Harriet, Lydia, and friends eventually grew tired of the musicians and singers and asked the colonel to arrange for some of his younger officers to come to the house to play cards on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. In order to avoid a return to his wife’s constant whining, the colonel once again turned the matter over to Captain Wilcox, relying on his aide to invite officers with impeccable reputations to come to his home to entertain the ladies. Two of those suggested were Lieutenants Fuller and Wickham. Fuller, he knew, was the youngest son of a respected member of the staff of the Archbishop of Lincoln. As for Wickham, according to Wilcox, he was the natural son of a man from a prominent Derbyshire family. Although he had never been publicly acknowledged, the father had provided an annuity and saw to his education, not out of obligation, but affection. Or so he had been told.

  The trouble began when Harriet, who was feeling much better now that the worst of the sickness had passed, no longer needed to retire so early. Realizing that it would soon be impossible to conceal her pregnancy, Harriet wanted to go to the theatre and concerts and other amusements that would shortly be denied her. One evening, Harriet had returned home without Lydia, saying that they had become separated when a large number of people had left the concert hall at the same time. Harriet was more annoyed than concerned that her sixteen-year-old companion had not come home with her. The colonel was putting on his jacket to go in search of her when a remarkably undisturbed Lydia came through the front door. He would have thought that someone of such an age would have been upset that she had been left on her own in an unfamiliar town. A similar incident occurred when Lydia went to the theatre with his adjunct and wife. In the crush of people leaving the venue, Lydia again became separated from her party. One time was an accident, twice was a coincidence, but a third time was a plan. And on that third occasion, Colonel Forster was ready, and one of his sergeants had followed her. He immediately reported to the colonel that there was no doubt a rendezvous had taken place, and although he could not identify the officer, he had his suspicions.

  When Lydia came home, the colonel was waiting for her. He demanded that Harriet go to bed; he would deal with her friend alone. Lydia denied doing anything wrong. In tears, she explained it was only because Brighton had so many diversions that she had become distracted and had found herself separated from her party, but she would pay more attention and it would not happen again.

  “No, it will not happen again, Miss Lydia, because you are going home. I will write to your father in the morning advising him of your return, and the necessary arrangements will be made.” When Lydia started to protest, he cut her off. “You were followed, my dear, so there is no point in denying you had an assignation with an officer. We will know shortly who you met, and if he is one of my officers, I will see him flogged on the parade ground. You are not to leave this house nor have any contact with anyone outside of this house under any circumstance. It is entirely up to you, Miss Lydia. You can go quietly, and your father will deal with you once you are at home, or you can make a fuss, and everyone will know what you have got up to and your reputation will be tarnished. I suggest the former.”

  Lydia immediately calculated that she only had two, three days, at most to act. As soon as her father received the colonel’s letter, he would be on the road to Brighton. She needed to contact Wickham to warn him that they had been discovered, and in her note, she demanded that he live up to his promise to marry her.

  Once I am your wife, nothing will be denied you. Above all things, you must act quickly or we will be separated forever. Send your reply by Teddy. He can be trusted.

  With love from your future wife,

  Lydia

  At first light, Lydia went to the kitchen where Teddy, the son of Mrs. Forster’s laundress, was sleeping in a corner on a pile of army blankets. She pressed a coin and note into his hand and told him exactly where he needed to go. But Teddy could not find Wickham, and instead he delivered the note to his friend, Lieutenant Fuller. Just as assembly was sounding, Fuller was prying Wickham out of the arms of a prostitute, and because he had so much experience in such matters, Wickham had prepared for just such a contingency. He quickly moved to the home of a certain lady of the night and told Fuller it was his intention to bring Lydia with him to London.

  “Why are you bothering with that girl? She will only slow you down.”

  “Because, Fuller, I have invested a lot of time in Miss Lydia, and I intend to get paid.”

  He also had a score to settle, and although he could not strike directly at Darcy, he could injure his friend, Mr. Bingley, and it might even make Miss Elizabeth regret that she had snubbed him in Meryton. All the anger Wickham had felt towards Darcy had been reignited when he had seen him in Hertfordshire. While every officer in the regiment was dancing at the Netherfield ball, he was in a public house drinking cheap ale. It was reminiscent of his childhood at Pemberley: the privileged Darcys abovestairs and everyone else below. He remembered the day the elder Darcy had called him into his study to tell him that because he was such a bright young man, he had decided to pay his way at Cambridge. In addition, he would support a living if Wickham chose the army, the church, or the law. From years of watching his parents and the other servants bow and scrape in gratitude at any bone the Darcys threw them, he knew exactly what to say. He believed his temperament would be most suited to the church. This had the desired effect, and it was then that Mr. Darcy, in all his munificence, told Wickham that if he did well at university, there was the possibility of an annuity of £200 per year. He feigned gratitude, but what he really wanted to do was grab the old goat by his collar. A lousy £200! He was supposed to be grateful for £200 when he knew that his son already received an allowance of £5,000 which amount would double on his twenty-first birthday. It would have been a bitter pill to swallow even if he had not known that George Ashton, Mr. Darcy’s brother-in-law, was his father, but in light of his connection to the Darcy family, £200 was a paltry sum that would barely cover his tab at the local public house.

  “This is madness, Wickham,” Fuller insisted. “Once her absence is discovered, you will be looked for everywhere. Captain Wilcox will be in a fury, and when he finds you, he will call you out. And as for Miss Lydia, you have done enough damage, and I will not provide any further assistance.”

  “No need. It’s already been taken care of. That little bastard she used as a messenger has threatened to expose me if I do not pay a ridiculous amount of money. He will have his payment, but only after he has brought Lydia to me.” Then Wickham placed one penny on the table. “And there is his reward. Nobody threatens me.”

  Chapter 29

  When the carriage carrying Anne, Georgiana, and the still sleeping Mrs. Jenkinson pulled into the courtyard at Hulston Hall, Sir Geoffrey Hulston was there to greet them. Darcy had known Geoffrey since his schooldays at Eton when they were in the same house together and Darcy had been the new boy to his friend’s old boy, and they had been at Cambridge together as well. The Hulstons were first-rate people living in a third-rate house. Because repairs had been neglected by the two previous generations, the Hulstons found themselves picking and choosing which part of the manor house should be repaired first. It was only because of the extra money their property was generating as a result of the wars with France that any repairs could be made at all. But delayed maintenance was not on Darcy’s mind when he had written to the Hulstons. His purpose was to secure one night’s lodging for himself, as he would be leaving in the morning for Pemberley, and two nights for his party.

  The house was nearly one hundred fifty years old and sprouted more chimneys than a street of terrace houses in London, and pigeons, nesting in every nook, descended at the least provocation. When Georgiana stepped out of the carr
iage, she looked around at a scene that was custom made to feed a fertile imagination, and to her mind, the best things about Hulston Hall were the thick, leaded-glass windows that blurred the images behind them, giving the illusion of ghostly apparitions moving through the house.

  “Oh, my! Sir Geoffrey, your house is…”

  “In need of repair, Miss Georgiana. I am well aware that it is nothing to Pemberley.”

  “No, sir, I was going to say it was perfect.”

  Mr. Hulston burst into laughter, and after he shared Georgiana’s remark with his wife, she had a good laugh, too. But to her brother, this was another example of what happened when a young mind was exposed to the gothic novels that were so popular in town. As soon as a new title appeared at Hatchard’s Booksellers, Mr. Pickering would send a runner to the townhouse to let Miss Darcy know of its arrival. Every place they visited that was old, vine-covered, or in need of repair became a possible setting for a novel, and Darcy knew that before Georgiana departed Hulston Hall, she would have the outline of a story rattling around in her head.