Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle

by Webb, Brenda

  ~~~*~~~

  Ramsgate

  For the fourth time since he had arrived, George Wickham admired the view as his rented carriage made its way down the street nearest the beach. As he peered up at the sky, it seemed bluer than he had ever imagined, with fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the great expanse. On his previous jaunts, he had noted that the weathered old houses that lined the street were evidently well built to withstand the storms that blew in off the sea, and any repairs that did not fit the older, grey portions, were all ornamental—trim and such. Nevertheless, these once stately homes had declined over the years and had long ago been turned into business establishments, such as the one he would call on today.

  As abruptly as the conveyance came to a stop, so did Wickham’s contemplations of the neighbourhood. He stepped out onto the sandy street, taking a deep breath of the lightly gusting salty air. Invigorating! For a moment, he envisioned how pleasant it would be to live near the sea, but dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. The risk of staying in one place was too great, as he was constantly in flight from one plot or another gone awry. No. There would not be a seaside residence for him.

  Consequently, he turned once more to study the facade of the last manor on the street. It was three stories high, the upper floors occupied by family, per the shop keeper’s admission, while the bottom floor served as the art gallery. A uniquely painted white sign with a seashell border and black lettering swung back and forth over the top of the stairs—Younge’s Art Gallery. Underneath in smaller letters were the words, Lessons Available.

  As his eyes dropped to the entrance, he noted Mrs. Younge peering through the glass so he hurried towards the steps, removing his hat as he went. She opened the door before he reached it.

  “Mr. Wickham.” Bobbing a curtsey, the proprietor stood back to let the tall, handsome, brown-haired man pass. Sarah Younge was undecided what to think of the gentleman who had already visited several times that week—perusing the same paintings and talking of purchasing one—though he had not bothered to do so as yet.

  A widow of five years, she could not help blushing under his persistent gaze. Plain and overweight with no hope of another offer of marriage, she was unaccustomed to attention. After her husband’s death, she had continued to run the art gallery, since she, her mother and her sister depended on the income. Her late husband’s brother, a merchant, had been a co-owner of the gallery, but upon John’s death, he took ownership of not only the business, but the house as well. Graciously, he allowed them use of it, and Mrs. Younge gave art lessons and sold her paintings and those of other artists in order to survive.

  “I have to tell you, madam, that I have searched all of Ramsgate for the perfect painting for my cousin and have found none that I admire more than the one you have created.”

  Mrs. Younge barely smiled at his fawning. “I am pleased that you like the painting. It is one of my personal favourites, as I love the tranquillity of the sea, the grasses, birds and sand dunes. Unfortunately, most people have rejected it as too placid.”

  “I admire the tranquillity of it as well. I find that I can actually feel myself relax as I take it in. I am sure that it will please my cousin.” The widow’s mien softened at his compliment. “I suppose, however, that it is not wise of me to praise the painting as the price may increase!”

  “Oh, no!” Sarah Younge declared decidedly. “The price is the same as I quoted the first day you came into the shop—five and twenty pounds.”

  “Sold!” Wickham exclaimed, taking a bank cheque from his inside pocket. “I would like to have it shipped to London so that when I return it shall be waiting for me to present.”

  “That can certainly be arranged,” the woman replied. “We have a friend, a merchant, who delivers to London once a week, and I believe he leaves here again tomorrow. I shall send word to him immediately, so that he may take this painting with him when he delivers his goods.” Mrs. Younge motioned towards a room on the right. “If you will follow me, I shall write out a bill of sale and provide paper for the directions to the address where you want it delivered.”

  Reaching the enormous desk in the office, she opened a drawer for the book of receipts and handed Wickham a piece of paper for the shipping address. While she wrote out the bill of sale, he scribbled directions to Gisela’s townhouse in London, and when she came around the desk to exchange documents, he added a cheque for the painting. Thanking him profusely for the sale and assuring him that it would be delivered in a timely manner, she returned to the desk to replace the book. Taking a seat to complete her paperwork, she assumed he would leave. Nonetheless, she glanced up to see that the he was still standing in the doorway with a quizzical look on his face.

  “Yes, Mr. Wickham?”

  Wickham moved in front of the desk, a practiced air of shyness about him as he fiddled with the brim of his hat. “I am new to Ramsgate and have made few acquaintances, so I was wondering if you… if you might consider a stroll among the nearby shops this evening, after business hours, of course. I noticed that there is an elegant coffee and pastry shop, an ice cream parlour and a shop that sells unique gifts all within walking distance. I must purchase a surprise for my dear niece, and I could use a woman’s perspective. Besides, I would heartily enjoy the company.”

  The widow did not hesitate as her colour rose. “I would be delighted, that is, if you will allow my sister to accompany us.”

  She noted that Wickham’s spirits seemed to fall, although his words did not betray it. “Of course! The more the merrier, I always say!”

  “Thank you. As I have already pointed out, I live upstairs,” she turned to nod towards a staircase, “with my sister and my mother. We shall be awaiting you this evening at six o’clock, if that time is agreeable.”

  “Six o’clock it is!” Placing his hat atop his head, he tipped the brim and was out the door before Mrs. Younge could say another word.

  She smiled as she watched him enter his carriage. If Mr. Wickham was no gentleman, she had lost nothing by inviting her sister along. And if he were a gentleman, he would understand that she was a proper lady.

  Heading straight to the office, she unlocked the drawer of the desk and placed the cheque that Wickham had presented inside and relocked it. Then standing, she smoothed her skirts and went back to the main sales floor with a renewed spirit. This sale would go a long way towards their expenses this month. And with the art lessons to begin in a few weeks, she would be able to placate her brother, as he was not convinced they could live off the income from the shop.

  ~~~*~~~

  Wickham relaxed into the comfortable seat of the rented carriage transporting him back to the boarding house. He was pleased that he had secured permission to take the object of his plotting on a stroll that evening. Though greatly disappointed that she had insisted on including her sister, he was proud that he had quickly schooled his face not to show any disappointment. And he was certain that, after the first outing, he could prevent it from ever happening again.

  I shall see that this is the last time she brings a chaperone! I must have time alone with her in order to secure her heart before Georgiana arrives.

  Wickham had long suspected that Lady Catherine would not keep funding him forever, especially if he could not provide any services. She had made no secret of the fact that she was considering cutting off the monthly stipend she had provided since he was a young man living at Pemberley.

  This plan must work else I shall be left without a farthing!

  His thoughts drifted to the conundrum of how to convince Mrs. Younge to join him in his plans for Georgiana Darcy. In essence, he would be juggling the affections of both women at once—convincing both of them that he was in love. First, he would persuade the unattractive widow that he loved her. Then he would tell Mrs. Younge a tale of how Darcy had denied him an inheritance from George Darcy. If she proved to be sympathetic to his plight, he would allude to the fact that he could marry her if he recovered the money t
hat Darcy supposedly had stolen from him.

  Only if the widow seemed sincerely convinced, would he explain his scheme—kidnapping Georgiana by convincing the girl that he loved her. Afterward, Darcy would pay a large ransom for his sister’s return, which would enable him and the shopkeeper to marry and be on ship to America before anyone knew they were sailing. He would even promise to take her mother and sister along with them, if need be. With any luck, the Widow Younge would be so infatuated that she would be willing to allow him access to Georgiana while she took art lessons.

  The real strategy, however, consisted of taking Georgiana directly to Gretna Green where they would be married. Afterwards, he surmised, Mrs. Younge would keep her mouth shut about her involvement in his deception, either from fear of retribution from Miss Darcy’s relations or out of embarrassment at her naivety. With his plans firmly set in his mind, Wickham began to relax.

  I have never failed to gain the affections of any woman, so why should I worry about impressing someone as plain as Mrs. Younge? There is no doubt that I can sway her.

  Just then, the carriage came to a stop in front of the boarding house, and he exited, turning to give the driver orders. “I shall be leaving again in three hours. See that you are waiting for me out front.” The driver nodded and then drove on, leaving Wickham to study the nondescript house.

  I will be married to Georgiana Darcy ere long and living in a mansion instead of places such as this!

  Having regained his confidence, he stepped smartly up the front steps and nodded as he passed other customers exiting the building. It was with a better frame of mind that he looked forward to the evening and the beginning of the charade.

  ~~~*~~~

  London

  Darcy House

  “WILLIAM!”

  Georgiana bounded down the grand staircase, her blond curls bobbing up and down like a child’s as she ran straight into her brother’s arms. Entering the upstairs hallway from her bedroom, she had heard him address Mr. Barnes in the foyer and had instantly run ahead of their aunt who was now descending the same stairs at a decidedly slower pace.

  As William twirled his sister around and set her back on her feet, she continued to talk excitedly. “Where were you when we arrived? Aunt said that you could not wait for my return, but when we got here, you were out, and now it is evening, and this is the first I have seen of you all day! Have you been with Richard?”

  William strove to keep his smiling mask in place. He would rather that neither Georgiana nor his aunt find out that he had stayed up most of the night because of the continuing nightmares and his vow to Richard that he would not resort to brandy again in order to sleep.

  Still awake at dawn, he was out of the house for a ride in the park before most of London awakened, and then off to his club where he promptly fell asleep in the quiet of the library. One of the staff had found him there in an upholstered chair and had closed off that room for a short while, allowing him to rest undisturbed. And if another member had not finally wandered in and roused him, he might still be sleeping.

  “Well, baby sister, I have been working hard to keep you in fine gowns and bonnets! And as for Richard, I have not seen him today.”

  Georgiana pulled back to take in his appearance. “You look terrible!”

  “That is a fine thing to say, especially as we have not seen each other in weeks! What if I said the same to you?”

  “Then you would be lying!” Georgiana chuckled, easily diverted by her brother’s teasing.

  Over his sister’s head, William watched his aunt descend the last few stairs, and unbidden tears filled his eyes. Audrey Ashcroft was the spitting image of her older sister, Anne Darcy. Tall, thin, dark-haired and blue-eyed, she could easily be mistaken for his mother when she was younger, which had been both a blessing and a curse for him.

  While he and Georgiana were delighted to have her live with them, his sister had more readily adjusted to having their mother’s double in residence. For his part, those first few months after she took up residence at Pemberley, the resemblance was often so overwhelming that he would have to remove himself from a room until he could regain control of his emotions. At any rate, he had kept that secret deep within, not able to speak of it to anyone. He was about to greet her when Georgiana interrupted.

  “I cannot wait until you take me shopping! I must have some new music, new books and I want us to ride in the park and visit the museums! And ice cream! May we have ice cream?”

  At first Audrey had been torn between laughing at Georgiana and reprimanding her for her unladylike behaviour. She had spent the better part of the last two years trying to fashion a young lady out of a decided tomboy. But she found it somewhat amusing that Georgiana lapsed into her former nature whenever she was in her brother’s company—especially in light of the fact that she often maintained that she was now old enough to do as she liked. Nevertheless, having instantly taken note of William’s dishevelled appearance, his ashen face, and red eyes, her attention was drawn away from Georgiana.

  “Of course, sweetling. We shall do everything you want while you are in London. I am at your disposal.”

  “Oh, Brother, you are too kind!”

  His aunt, however, was not so easily pleased. “Fitzwilliam, may I speak to you alone please?”

  Both siblings turned to study their aunt, though Audrey gave nothing away by her demeanour—her face remaining as blank as a canvas. William had no choice but to agree.

  “Certainly. Shall we go into my study?”

  He waved his hand in that direction, and his petite aunt glided past him effortlessly, seemingly floating over the floor as was the custom of elegant ladies. He followed her with his eyes, then turning back to Georgiana, he leaned in to whisper teasingly, “Wish me luck.”

  Georgiana squeezed his hands in a sign of support, and he kissed her forehead. “Wait in the library and I shall return.”

  With those words he promptly followed his aunt, catching up to her just as she flung open the door and entered his sanctuary. Stepping to the very centre of the room, she began to turn in a circle, taking every inch of the room into account. By the time she had completed the round, William was sitting behind his desk with his feet propped upon it, trying to look unconcerned.

  “Where are your manners? You did not offer to seat me.”

  “Aunt, I knew that you would not be seated until you had made a clean sweep of the room. So if I had offered to seat you, you would have wondered what I was trying to hide.”

  The corners of Audrey Ashcroft’s mouth lifted, and for a moment, she looked as though she was trying hard not to laugh. Then she chuckled. “When you were younger, I could intimidate you with my disapproval, but now that you are a man… well, let us just get to the point.”

  She sat down with a flourish in the chair situated directly in front of his desk, opened then closed the cigar box on the corner, then leaned towards him across the great expanse of mahogany. “Georgiana is right, you look awful! What are you trying to hide?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You heard me, young man! The newspapers are neatly stacked on that table where Barnes leaves them every morning. Evidently you have not read one in days. The cigar box is full, and there are no ashes in the trays, so your friends have not been here. That bottle of brandy has not been opened, and no glasses are sitting about or missing from the cabinet—though judging from your appearance, I would assume you had been more often in your cups than not. You have lost enough weight to be noticeable. Your colour is not good, so you have neglected your customary exercise. And even more telling—your eyes have lost their sparkle. So, I ask again, what is it that you do not wish me to find out?”

  William’s feet came to the floor with much finality as his mask fell from his face. He buried his face in his hands, and seeing his misery, Lady Ashcroft swiftly moved to his side, sliding an arm around his shoulder and kissing the top of his head. Then she ruffled his hair affectionately.

&n
bsp; “I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. Having had no children of my own to practice upon, I have no finesse when it comes to parental skills, though God knows I think of you and Georgiana as my own. I can only be honest with you and expect the same in return. Pray tell me, is your present melancholy due to Gisela?”

  “She is always a part of my misery, but no more so than usual.”

  “Then I can only surmise that you have fallen in love.”

  William’s blue eyes were wide as he gazed up at her. “Wha...what makes you say that?”

  “I have watched you very closely since your marriage, Fitzwilliam—mainly because I feared for your sanity. I have seen you persevere in the face of tremendous sorrow and heartache, and I concluded long ago that the one thing that would collapse your carefully constructed house of cards would be for you to fall in love. And I see from the look on your face that you have.”

  William moaned, dropping his head back into his hands. When he finally spoke, it was with mumbled resignation. “I cannot let anyone know—not Georgiana and especially not Gisela. Besides, it can amount to nothing. I am married, and she can never be mine.”

  “I do not suppose you want to tell me about her?”

  “I would rather not. It is hard to persuade my heart not to care when I am constantly reminded of her.”

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam, my dear, dear boy!” Audrey Ashcroft leaned down to kiss the top of his head again. “You will learn that the heart cannot be persuaded who to love, or not to love, as the case may be. I know because I never met the man that could replace my beloved Joseph. That is why I have remained a widow all these years.”