Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle

by Webb, Brenda

  “I see.” Alfreda turned to study the view now. Elizabeth was lying. Of that she was sure. But why? After all, Mr. Darcy was married. Ultimately, she decided that she really did not want to know.

  Seeing that Alfreda was not going to question her again, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief and resumed her study of the park from out the window.

  I will not think of him! I will not think of him!

  If only her heart did not have a mind of its own.

  ~~~*~~~

  Chapter 17

  Ramsgate

  Younge’s Art Gallery

  Standing on the veranda that stretched across the entire length of the back of the art gallery, George Wickham’s every faculty was engaged. Silently memorizing the landscape, he took a deep breath of the clean, salty air and held it for a moment before releasing it. He also made note of the number of people about at that hour of the day, perfecting his strategy for escaping with Georgiana even as he waited for Mrs. Younge to finish assisting a customer.

  While calculating that the sea was only a couple of hundred yards away, his attention was drawn to two figures in a gazebo at the end of a narrow, wooden walk. Intrigued, he studied the ladies under its roof and found that both had easels perched in front of them and were painting. Following the walk’s path with his eye, he found that it meandered from the end of this very porch over a multitude of sand dunes and beach grasses before ending up at the structure.

  Once at the gazebo, it was possible either to access a wider boardwalk that spanned the entire row of houses or take steps down to the wide, flat beach. In addition, every house had a similar narrow walkway leading to the boardwalk which enabled patrons to access each shop along the way without the necessity of using the front street entrances. The boardwalk itself featured several stations where people could rest, each containing brightly-painted wooden chairs with large umbrellas attached to protect sightseers from the sun. Yet, only Mrs. Younge’s walk had a gazebo at the end.

  “Goodness!” Sarah Younge exclaimed from behind, causing Wickham to whirl around. “I thought she would never leave! That woman had no intention of buying anything—she never does! But I have to be polite to her regardless, and by some means, she always raises my hopes that today will be the day she makes a purchase.” Shaking her head, she smiled wearily. “I do not know why I bother flattering her.”

  “I can imagine how very frustrating all of this must be for you,” Wickham offered sympathetically, waving a hand towards the shop. “For such a talented artist as yourself to be reduced to a shop clerk—well, I cannot wait to take you away from it all.”

  Mrs. Younge lowered her eyes self-consciously, making Wickham nervous. “You have not changed your mind, have you? God knows that I wish it could be handled differently, but you must realise that I have no choice, given the circumstances. Darcy will never pay me the equivalent of the living that his father left me in his will. And without it, I can never afford to marry.”

  The widow paused. “I… I have never done anything like this in my life.”

  “You are not really going to do anything—merely turn a blind eye while I speak to her. What she decides to do will be her choice.” He stepped closer, reaching for a trembling hand. “It is for us—for our future.”

  She studied his face for a long moment before succumbing to his argument. “It only seems fair, since you were cheated of your rightful inheritance. And I have been very lonely running this gallery. It is certainly not the life I envisioned.”

  Wickham gave her his most innocent expression. “I swear that no harm will come to anyone, and we will only be forcing Darcy to give up what is rightfully mine.”

  He waited with bated breath as she regarded him. Certainly it had been risky sharing his scheme with the woman, but after her enthusiastic welcome upon his return to Ramsgate, he had been convinced that she cared for him. He was confident that she would not alert anyone, even if she decided not to be a part of it.

  Finally, she smiled feebly. “It would be wonderful to be married and leave this horrid place forever. My brother has gradually become a hard taskmaster, in spite of all my efforts to make this shop profitable. The allowance he provides barely covers my needs and those of my family.” She immediately questioned, “You do intend on taking my mother and sister with us, do you not?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Wickham lied, bringing one hand up to place a chaste kiss there. “I would not dream of leaving those you love behind.”

  Mrs. Younge flushed with his show of affection. “Then it is settled. I shall help you. Miss Darcy arrives in a few days for two weeks of lessons. I shall endeavour to create opportunities for you to be alone with her so that you may speak privately. Since there will be only one other girl taking lessons, that should not be a problem. I often give individual instruction to one student while the other works independently. Then I change over and instruct the other.”

  Wickham tilted his head in the direction of the outbuilding. “Why is it that you alone have a gazebo? Is it exclusively for your use?”

  “My brother had it built especially for my art lessons. We needed a place to sketch the scenery while avoiding the sun’s unrelenting heat. And, yes, it is exclusive to my clients.”

  “I assume then that Miss Darcy will take advantage of that structure part of the time?”

  “Yes. I tutor my students in the house in the morning then we move there in the afternoon. This way they can practice what they have learned by creating their own paintings.”

  “Good. Good. That will work out very agreeably. I plan on convincing her to leave with me by way of the beach. I have found a trail that leads down to the beach several hundred feet to the west of the gazebo. If she will walk with me in that direction, we can take that path back to the street where my coach will be waiting. We shall be on our way to Gretna Green before her hawkeyed aunt discovers she is missing.”

  “But… but you said that you will not actually go to Gretna Green.”

  Wickham silently cursed his mistake. “That was a slip of the tongue. As I told you last night, Miss Darcy will be led to believe that we are eloping. But instead I will transport her to a friend’s estate in Manchester, where we shall wait until Fitzwilliam Darcy pays the living I was promised. His little sister will be released only after we and your family are well on our way to Scotland where I have relations. Once we are safely out of England, we shall sail on the next ship to the Americas. I have no doubt that we shall be aboard the ship well before the Darcys figure out where we have gone.”

  Mrs. Younge sighed heavily. “Are you quite sure that the authorities or her family will not suspect I had something to do with her disappearance and arrest me before I can travel to you?”

  “There will be no evidence connecting you to the incident. And when you leave to meet me, they will think you have had no choice but to relocate since the business will likely close due to the scandal. They will never be suspicious of you.”

  The frown lines on Mrs. Younge’s face visibly relaxed. “Of course, you are right. I worry too much. Forgive me.”

  “Come, close up the shop, and let us walk on the beach. I shall not be able to show you any attention nor spend time with you once Miss Darcy arrives. I shall miss that terribly!”

  She smiled brightly. “Oh, George! How good it is to have you back.”

  ~~~*~~~

  On the carriage ride back to his hotel, Wickham pondered the only weak spot in his plan—Gisela! It had played on his mind since he had met with Darcy’s wife after his sojourn to Rosings. Her conduct had grown even more bizarre, and he assumed her heavy drinking was the likely reason.

  Finding her completely indifferent to Lady Catherine’s order to kill the solicitor, he was stunned when she suggested he use a long-time servant of hers to do the job—a tall lanky fellow with bad teeth she referred to as Grimsby. She had alluded that this man was very loyal to her and would think nothing of killing Lowell at her command. In addition, she had shown no aversio
n to the notion that Grimsby was to be murdered after he accomplished the task. Her indifferent attitude had been unexpected. He remembered their conversation.

  And you have no problem with murdering Grimsby too!

  What is he to me? We do what we must!

  But, by your own admission, he has been loyal to you. Does that mean nothing?

  As long as I have money, I can buy loyalty.

  It was at that very moment that he realised the tenuous nature of their relationship. He had supposed that they were friends or, at the least, business associates who needed one another. But if Gisela had no allegiance to her faithful servant, she would have none to him. This revelation was eye-opening, especially in light of her present frame of mind.

  The final proof that Gisela was becoming more unbalanced, one might even say obsessed, was evidenced by what subject occupied her thoughts that day. Instead of attending to his plans regarding Georgiana which would make them both a good deal wealthier, she was preoccupied with having him find the identity of a young woman.

  Doubtless, there was not a soul in all of London who had not heard of Wilkens slight of her at the Trousdale dinner party. But that Gisela was willing to spend precious time and pay a goodly amount of money to learn the name of the young woman Wilkens was courting, just so that she could confront her with Wilkens’ dissolute ways, was preposterous!

  Nonetheless, Wickham felt that he still needed Gisela’s help. After the marriage to Darcy, she was supposed to gain Georgiana’s trust by championing her right to choose her own course without her brother’s interference. Thus, having no choice, Wickham indulged her curiosity, using his contacts to ascertain the young woman’s name, Elizabeth Bennet, and the fact that she was of little or no consequence in society.

  Gisela had been quite giddy upon gaining the woman’s name before learning that Miss Bennet had left London with Miss Wilkens, and they were bound for Ramsgate. Reluctantly, she had acquiesced to his demand that she wait until after their business with Georgiana was complete to continue her mission of revenge against Wilkens.

  Wickham sighed heavily. He prayed Gisela kept her word. Thus far, the only part of his scheme that had worked flawlessly was the way the widow Younge had succumbed to his charm.

  Nothing is going to hinder my plans to become rich at Darcy’s expense, especially not Gisela’s petty little vendettas! And after I am secure in my marriage, I shall phase out any reliance on Mrs. Darcy or Lady de Bourgh!

  ~~~*~~~

  On the Road to Ramsgate

  Elizabeth’s eyes may have been closed, but her mind was busily engaged, pleasantly recalling Mr. Bingley’s call on her two days before.

  Are you certain that Miss Bennet would welcome my return?

  I am positive that my sister would be delighted to see you again, sir

  Elizabeth smiled with the memory of Bingley’s wide grin. From the looks of it, at least Jane could count on a love match with a successful gentleman as Bingley had declared his intention to return to Netherfield straightaway. There would be no need for her to send a letter to Jane, as he would be in Meryton long before the post. And with her sister happily situated, it would not be incumbent upon her to accept a man she loathed. If Madeline Gardiner had not already set off for her sister’s house, she would have refused to accompany Alfreda to Ramsgate. This dreadful farce was almost finished.

  I shall inform Aunt upon my return to London that I shall NOT marry Lord Wilkens under any circumstance!

  “Elizabeth, are you awake?” Alfreda leaned over to touch her friend’s hand, which brought her eyes open.

  “I was just woolgathering.”

  “We are almost to our destination—the inn where Brother and I always stay. It is half-way between London and Ramsgate and is very comfortable. The proprietors know Brother well and provide the best suites for our use. He made arrangements for our stay when he travelled last week, so all is in readiness. There is nothing to dread in staying here.”

  Elizabeth nodded at Alfreda before her eyes rested on the older woman to Miss Wilkens’ left, Mrs. Armstrong. She had once been Alfreda’s governess but now served as her maid and companion. Though pleasant enough, she was not talkative, and Elizabeth hardly realised she was accompanying them at times. Seeing Elizabeth’s gaze, the older woman smiled, but it did not seem to reach her eyes.

  Elizabeth returned a wan smile, trying to think of something to say to break the silence. Noting horsemen now riding on either side of the coach, she declared, “My goodness! I have not realised until this moment that your brother provided a small army to accompany us.”

  Alfreda laughed. “Yes. My brother is very protective. We always travel with two footmen, a postillion, a driver and two servants on horseback. He says you can never be too careful, not with all the highwaymen on these roads.”

  “I suppose he could be right.”

  “Oh, yes. Brother is always right.”

  Elizabeth sighed at Alfreda’s assertion. Miss Wilkens took her brother’s side in every instance, but of late, the adulation had begun to fray her nerves.

  “I cannot imagine anyone always being right.” Elizabeth offered, trying to get his sister to examine her admiration. “Surely he is capable of mistakes, as we all are.”

  Alfreda flinched, while Mrs. Armstrong seemed about to speak but thought better of it and held her tongue. Since neither was to reply, Elizabeth continued her exploration of the subject.

  “All I am saying is that I have found him to be wrong about a lot of things in the short time I have known him.”

  The other women exchanged guarded looks before meeting Elizabeth’s eyes. From their expressions, one would have thought she had just uttered blasphemy. Alfreda coughed self-consciously, bringing a shaky hand which held a handkerchief up to her mouth.

  Then, with a look that showed no mirth, she stated very deliberately, “While I am sure that occasionally you may think him wrong, you will find that my brother is very intelligent and considers things more thoroughly than most. However, may I propose that, until you are better acquainted, you refrain from telling him outright that he is wrong? He is unused to having women speak their mind to him, I am afraid. My late mother always deferred to him, as do I. And I have found it best to let him think you agree and work on presenting your viewpoint in a less threatening manner.”

  Elizabeth was incredulous. “What is threatening about stating your opinion?”

  Just at that moment the coach came to an abrupt halt, and the sounds of the driver issuing orders and the footmen climbing down from the top alerted the passengers that they had arrived at their destination. Unfortunately, it also afforded Alfreda the opportunity to focus on their arrival, instead of answering Elizabeth’s question.

  Not sure what to make of it, Elizabeth followed Miss Wilkens out the door of the coach, making a mental note to bring up the subject again.

  ~~~*~~~

  Longbourn

  The Parlour

  Jane sat stiffly on the settee, trying and utterly failing to appear pleased. She concentrated on lifting a lukewarm cup of tea to her lips without allowing her hand to shake because of her great disappointment. Across from her sat John Lucas, who had barely said a word in the half-hour since his arrival. He, too, seemed extraordinarily focused on the cup in his hand.

  To her right was her father, who sat at a small table pretending to read a newspaper. Every so often, he would peer over the top of the paper, as though studying her. She could not decipher from his expression if he was amused by what was happening, as he had been when Mr. Bingley called, or if he sensed her loathing of Mr. Lucas. Nonetheless, she was near the end of her patience with his entertainment at her expense. Just when she thought she might scream with frustration, Mrs. Bennet burst into the room, startling everyone. She was followed closely by Mrs. Hill, who carried a plate of biscuits and a fresh pot of tea.

  “Set it down here, Hill,” her mother ordered, motioning to the table where her father sat. Mr. Bennet frowned and
moved his paper from atop the surface to his lap. Mrs. Hill had barely quitted the room when she accosted him. “Come, Mr. Bennet. I have something important to discuss with you in the library.”

  Mr. Bennet lowered the paper and looked over his glasses. “I can assure you, madam, I am not moving from this spot. I have just come from a lengthy meeting with my neighbours regarding a drainage problem and I am exhausted.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet! You try my nerves so!” she cried before addressing Jane’s caller. “Mr. Lucas, would you mind escorting Jane to the garden? Then my husband and I will not have to withdraw to the library? I shall be glad to have Hill bring the refreshments to the table beyond the roses.”

  Lucas eagerly responded to Mrs. Bennet’s suggestion by quickly standing. “I would be most pleased to do so.” He held out an arm to Jane. Sighing, she glanced to her father, who shook his head in dismay and looked back to his paper.

  Jane stood, placing her dainty hand on the proffered arm. Slowly, she and John Lucas made their way out of the house and down the gravel path to a small, white ironwork table. It sat just past the rose garden, next to a brick wall covered with ivy. The place was so lovely that Jane had often dreamed of being proposed to in this very spot. But in her dreams, it was not Mr. Lucas doing the proposing.

  Lucas led her directly to one of the small benches on either side. She sat, refusing to look up at him. He hesitated beside her for a moment before taking a seat on the opposite bench.

  “Ahem. Miss Bennet?”

  Jane forced herself to meet his gaze. Without thinking, she began to analyse why she found him so unattractive. He was not ugly, though he was nondescript. However, as he began another conversation by mentioning Lady Lucas, Jane realised that it was his total reliance on his mother’s opinion that predominantly coloured her view of him.