The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  “I often found him looking at me, but not with that quizzical expression I had seen at Netherfield and Rosings. It was a softer look,” and Lizzy remembered their time together in the stables when he had placed his hands on her waist and had run his fingers along her cheek. She had wanted to do the same to him. Would she ever have another such opportunity?

  “The night before we departed Lambton, he asked if he could come to the inn to say good-bye to me. Not having read your letter, I agreed. When he arrived, I was quite upset, and he insisted on knowing the cause. I shall never forget his response when I mentioned Wickham’s name. He stood up and stepped away from me, and the look on his face, I shall never forget. He left as quickly as civility would allow.”

  “But do you think it was his intention to make another offer?”

  “I am quite sure of it because of several comments he made, but I can’t imagine he would ask for my hand now, especially if Lydia marries Wickham.”

  “But why should the actions of another prevent him from proposing to you? First his pride gets in the way and now this. To my mind, all obstacles to the union are self-imposed.”

  “That is unfair, Jane. You forget Wickham’s designs on Miss Darcy, which would have bound his sister to a man we now know to be a seducer and debaucher.”

  “No, Lizzy. I have not forgotten. But Wickham’s plan to elope with Mr. Darcy’s sister failed, and she suffered nothing greater than embarrassment. So the fact is, Mr. Wickham is a scoundrel who has successfully deceived two impressionable young ladies. One has been restored to her family, none the worse for the experience, while Lydia will be branded for years to come even if she marries. Considering how unequally people from the different classes are treated, it is best we are kept apart.”

  “You are speaking like this because you are still hurting as a result of Mr. Bingley’s actions.”

  “No, Lizzy. It is that I am wiser because of Mr. Bingley’s actions. Now I better understand how the world works, and I have changed because of it.”

  ***

  Each day, the post was eagerly anticipated in hopes of news from London, and when Lizzy saw Mrs. Hill paying the postman, she asked her if there was a letter from Mr. Gardiner.

  “No, miss. The only letter is for Miss Jane from Mr. Nesbitt. He writes so often that he left me money to pay the postman.”

  Lizzy delivered the letter to Jane, who sat reading it on the edge of the bed with a puzzled expression. When she finished, she threw herself backward and let out a cry and then began to rock back and forth with her arms across her chest. Lizzy immediately sought to comfort her sister over what was obviously very bad news, only to find that she was not crying, but laughing hysterically.

  When Jane could finally speak, she sat up and said, “Apparently, word of Lydia’s elopement has reached Watford, and Mr. Nesbitt writes his practice is not so well established that he can afford to be associated with scandal. As a result, he must withdraw his attentions. Oh, Lizzy, we are in dire straits indeed if I cannot even secure Mr. Nesbitt,” and she began to laugh until tears rolled down her face.

  “Then you are relieved by this news?” Lizzy asked hopefully.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, taking her sister’s offered handkerchief. “He is a very nice man, but he can be quite odd,” and she pulled a box out from underneath their bed and showed Lizzy the gifts he had given her.

  “He sent you a lock of his mother’s hair? I have never heard of such a thing.” Lizzy wasn’t sure if she found it to be funny or repulsive.

  “I think it was his attempt to let me know his mother approved of me.”

  “There are other ways less tangible. For example, ‘Jane, my mother likes you very much.’”

  “I know. That’s what I thought, but then he sent a bee trapped in tree resin. Mary believes the B was meant to represent Bennet.”

  “Or Beloved.”

  “Oh, I would never have guessed that. It would have been much too cryptic for me.” And the two sisters started to laugh again, something they had not done in the long days since Lizzy’s return. “There is another reason why I am glad it is over. Mary is in love with Mr. Nesbitt. Whenever he called, it was Mary who stayed with us and Mary who walked him to the gate, and, honestly, they do have a lot in common. It was she who identified the amber specimen. She would have been perfect for him, but now it doesn’t matter. Neither of us is to have him.”

  “Well, Jane, I would not have thought it possible, but something good has come out of Lydia’s elopement. You will not have to marry Mr. Nesbitt.”

  They again erupted into laughter, and it was a sound that drifted into their father’s library and gave him hope that his lack of foresight had not destroyed the soul of his family.

  Chapter 46

  The day after Darcy’s arrival in London, he immediately went to see George Bingley, who was feeling confident that Lydia would quickly be found.

  “It is merely a process of elimination. Since I received your letter, my associates have narrowed our area of search considerably. We have also spoken to his fellow officers, and in interviewing these men, we have learned something I am sure will distress you. Wickham has been spreading the lie that he is the natural son of Mr. David Darcy of Pemberley. I took the liberty of contacting your solicitor, Mr. Stone, who will be here within the hour with the file regarding the financial and personal information concerning Wickham’s adoption by your estate manager.”

  George had anticipated Darcy’s reaction, and he had a glass of wine at the ready. But no amount of wine could settle a man who had just heard the most malicious lie made against his beloved father.

  “Once we have Wickham, we will put an end to this slander. Wickham will not wish to spend any time in prison but, if he repeats this lie, he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  By the time Mr. Stone arrived, Darcy could still feel the heat in his face generated by his hatred of Wickham, but he kept his mind clear. Since all the major players were now dead, his solicitor was free to reveal the full contents of the file.

  “George Wickham was born to Martha Ferris, the personal maid of actress Elaine Trench and actor Adam Spendel. Your uncle, George Ashton, was an acquaintance of Miss Trench, and she knew that he had fathered a number of children, whom he had placed with families in the country. Because Miss Trench was fond of her maid, she asked Mr. Ashton to assist her in this regard.”

  Darcy looked puzzled. His parents were generous to a fault, but they were disgusted by George Ashton’s affairs. Taking someone’s illegitimate child might give the impression to the elder Darcy’s brother-in-law that they condoned such actions.

  “I have been the family solicitor for nearly thirty-five years, Mr. Darcy, and I can understand your confusion. However, your parents were very fond of the elder Mr. Wickham and his wife. They were childless, and with your parents’ consent, they offered to raise the young George Wickham. As you know, your father was also fond of the boy, and he agreed to provide the funds necessary for his education and for a living in the church, the law, or the army. This was an act of generosity, and in no way obligates you or your heirs to provide any additional monetary assistance to Wickham. All of these facts are supported by the proper documentation. I might add that both of Wickham’s natural parents are dead. That is all there is to it, sir.”

  That was all there was to it, except that it wasn’t, and Lydia Bennet was proof of that.

  That meeting had taken place three days earlier, and in that time, nothing new had come to light. Darcy’s frustration was only equaled by his sense of guilt. Knowing Wickham’s history of unpaid debts, gambling, and seduction, he had chosen to remain silent when he had seen Wickham in Meryton. It would have taken so little effort on his part to warn others about him. Mercer could have gone into the village and discreetly mentioned to one or two merchants that he knew Wickham left unpaid debts wherever he we
nt. A private word with the vicar might have been sufficient to alert the young ladies of the village that Wickham was a man bent on relieving them of their maidenhood with no consequences to him. But he didn’t do either of those things, as he was a Darcy and Darcys didn’t involve themselves in such unsavory situations.

  And what had his pride cost Elizabeth? He could hardly bear to think of her with tears streaming down her face and his inability to comfort her. To his mind the only way he could make amends was to recover her sister, and all of his hopes in that regard rested with George Bingley.

  ***

  Mercer could see how heavily the business with Lydia and Wickham weighed on his master, and he encouraged him to go to his club or ride in the park—something—anything to keep his mind from dwelling on the missing couple. He took Mercer’s advice and felt better for it, but today he intended to remain at the house and answer business letters, which is what he was doing when Mercer announced that Mrs. Aumont had presented her card and was waiting in a hackney for his reply.

  “I do not know Mrs. Aumont.”

  “The lady said you would remember her as Christina Caxton.”

  Darcy was out of his chair like a bullet and immediately went to the window. Of course, he knew he would be unable to see her as she was in the cab, but he needed to be convinced she was actually there. And then the absurdity of his situation brought a smile to his face and then all-out laughter because if he did not laugh he might very well cry. Earlier in the day, he had been pining for Elizabeth with her luminous eyes and curly hair that refused to stay in place, and he had begged the Fates for some sort of diversion. Well, his plea had been answered.

  “Sir, will you receive the lady?”

  “Yes, Mercer. She is an old friend.”

  When Christina walked into the drawing room, six years of time melted away. Was it possible for someone not to age? Her blond hair and green eyes and flawless complexion—everything the same, including the most delicious lips he had ever tasted.

  “Mrs. Aumont, welcome back to England.”

  “Mr. Darcy, it is very good to see you again,” she said with a slight curtsey.

  “Mercer, please arrange for some tea.”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am feeling guilty enough about coming here unannounced, so I shall keep my visit brief.” Mrs. Aumont removed her pelisse to reveal a décolletage that stirred very pleasant memories.

  Darcy instructed Mercer to pour two glasses of wine. “Have you returned to London permanently, Mrs. Aumont?”

  “I shall answer your question only if you call me Christina.” After Darcy nodded, she continued, “My husband died last year after a lengthy illness. Up until that time, my being English had never been a problem, but with Wellington fighting Joseph Bonaparte in Spain, I was feeling less welcome. Without my husband’s protection, I felt quite vulnerable. Mr. Aumont had secured a pass for me to leave France, and I thought it best to use it while I was still sure that I could.”

  Christina accepted the wine and took a tiny sip, which is something he remembered her doing. She explained that a woman could gain weight very quickly if she overindulged in food and drink, and she didn’t want to lose her figure. She had obviously succeeded.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “With Mrs. Conway. She lives in…”

  As soon as he heard Mrs. Conway’s name, Darcy started coughing, nearly spitting out the wine. “Mrs. Conway of Bedford Square—the Whig hostess?” he croaked.

  “Yes. She mentioned that you were acquaintances and of similar views politically, which I found quite gratifying because Mr. Caxton was a champion of Whig causes. I was surprised as I would have guessed that the Darcys would be Tories.”

  “I do lean more towards the Whig point of view. These wars will end eventually, and grain prices will go down rapidly. In addition to my own interests, we must be in a position to protect the small farmer and our tenants, who will suffer greatly if something is not done.”

  “That is all very admirable and interesting, William. But after six years, do you really want to talk about grain prices?”

  “Sorry. I never was good at small talk.”

  “No, you weren’t, but we didn’t talk all that much, did we?”

  “Not about politics. I am sure of that,” Darcy said, feeling his neckcloth tighten.

  “Do you remember our last time together?”

  “It was Bordeaux, I believe. The home of the Comte de somebody. The name eludes me at the moment.”

  “I wasn’t asking for a geographical reference. I meant where we stayed together.”

  How could he not remember? When you made love on and off all night, it tended to stay with you.

  “Were you allowed to bring your personal possessions with you when you left France?” he said, changing the subject as delicately as a coach and six making a U-turn in the road.

  “I was told my chests were to follow, but I am beginning to wonder if it will ever happen.”

  “You are short of funds then?”

  “William, I do not wish it to appear that I have come with hat in hand.”

  “I will gladly provide you with assistance.”

  “That is very generous of you, but I must tell you there is an excellent chance I shall be unable to repay you.”

  “Please do not think of it as a loan but as an arrangement between friends. Shall I send the cheque around to Mrs. Conway’s residence?”

  “If you don’t mind, may I come by tomorrow for a visit? We have not spoken at all about what you have been doing all these years, and Mrs. Conway tells me you remain a bachelor and a much sought after one.”

  Darcy assisted Mrs. Aumont with her pelisse, and she turned around and ran her fingers along his chin and tapped his lips lightly with her finger. “Until tomorrow. Shall we say 3:00?”

  After Christina left, he collapsed into a chair. “Mercer, the gods are toying with me. I have always prided myself on keeping my life as uncomplicated as possible. So why, at this moment when it is in such turmoil, does my former lover appear at my door?” As he looked out the window, he watched as her hackney made its way through London’s crowded streets. “Do you know that old adage, Mercer, ‘Be careful what you wish for because you might get it?’ Just this morning, I was in need of a diversion, and I got it—in spades.”

  “Perhaps, we will have good news shortly of Miss Lydia, and you will then be able to turn your full attention to Miss Elizabeth.”

  “That is my greatest hope, but in the meantime, please arrange for tea with Mrs. Aumont for tomorrow. And, Mercer, you may have all my breeches. In the future, I shall wear only trousers. Life is entirely too unpredictable.”

  Chapter 47

  While Darcy was dressing, he gave Mercer very specific instructions for that afternoon’s engagement with Christina Caxton.

  “I want a light meal served—not something that is going to take all afternoon. After we have finished eating, if Mrs. Aumont does not leave immediately, we shall go into the drawing room. But I do not want to be in there for more than fifteen minutes. I shall tell her I am expecting an important letter, which is the truth, and if she has not left by that time, I want you to come in and tell me the letter has arrived. I do not like deception. But she is an old friend, and I do not want to hurt her feelings. I just want her to leave.”

  It was a simple plan that went awry immediately as Mrs. Aumont sent word that she would not be able to join Darcy at the agreed-upon time, but would visit around 5:00, making it more difficult to show her the door after fifteen minutes. Darcy, who knew he was miserable at small talk, would be at a loss as to how to fill the time. There was nothing in the rules of deportment taught to him by his mother and governess that covered former lovers.

  He was already on edge because earlier in the day he had gone to George Bingley’s office in hopes of hearing some good
news. But George dealt only in facts, and there was nothing new to report about Lydia and Wickham. Darcy wanted so much to write to Elizabeth, but what was there to say? “I am part of the reason your sister is with Wickham, and I haven’t a clue where she is.”

  When Mercer showed Mrs. Aumont into the room, he took a deep breath. She was so beautiful. Who could resist her charms? He knew the answer: A man desperately in love with another could, and he gestured for her to sit on the sofa, while he sat on the chair opposite to her. But Christina patted the sofa and asked Darcy to join her. As soon as he sat down, he explained he was expecting a letter from a friend, and once he received it, he would need to leave immediately and hoped she would understand.

  “I promise to be brief, and, therefore, let me begin immediately. Yesterday, your discomfort was so apparent that I thought I should not come back at all because I was embarrassed. But I wanted to explain my behavior,” and she looked to him for a sign that she should proceed, and he nodded.

  “My husband and I were living happily in a small villa in the south of France when he became ill, and he never regained his health. When he died, I found it necessary to sell almost everything we owned in order to pay the bills. Even with that, I was never able to fully settle the accounts, which made no one happy, including myself.

  “Although I am half French, I was known as La Femme Anglaise, and because of the fighting between the French and English, I found a very cool welcome where there had once been a warm one. I was so uncomfortable that I decided to leave France. The farther north I traveled the more hostility I met. I finally called on an old friend who escorted me to the frontier, and I sailed from Ostend. I was so happy to be on English soil, but then it dawned on me. I had not given any thought as to what I would do once I reached England.