by Webb, Brenda
“I pray he will let her return to London without incident.”
“If not, I shall not hesitate to intervene.”
“Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.”
“So Fitzwilliam will finally divorce that harridan. I am delighted!”
“He will move heaven and earth to marry Miss Bennet. Only her refusal will stop him.”
“Then I pray that Miss Bennet knows a treasure when she meets one. Fitzwilliam is much like my Horace and your Joseph—a man among men.”
“I could not agree more.”
The carriage came to a sudden stop, and both ladies looked out the window. The streets were lined with various shops and stores filled with all manner of merchandise and products produced in that area of England. As one of the Bow Street Runners leaped down to open the door, Audrey completed her thought.
“Let us pray that both Alfreda and Miss Bennet are allowed to leave without incident.”
Lady Hawthorne’s eyes twinkled, though she did not smile. “If not, John will learn the consequences of my displeasure.”
Audrey nodded, well aware of the scope of her friend’s power and influence. “Now, what say you to helping me find something unusual for my nephew? It is impossible to purchase anything for Fitzwilliam, as he had everything he desires, but Richard is another matter. He loves whatever I buy him.”
“Then buy Fitzwilliam some serviceable gloves and purchase something for the woman he loves, just as Anne would have done were she alive. We women understand what another woman will cherish. Perhaps some lovely lace handkerchiefs, a silk shawl or opera gloves trimmed with lace.” Violet exited the carriage with a youthful vigour. “There is even a shop in the next lane that sells miniature chests. Just follow me.”
With that, she turned to enter the nearest shop, Madame Juliette, a modiste. The windows of the establishment featured a bride’s trousseau—silk and lace in champagne colours that had been fashioned into every imaginable item of intimate clothing. Audrey could not help but smile at her friend’s choice.
As Violet quickly disappeared inside, an animated greeting echoed from the open door. “Welcome, Madame Hawthorne! What brings you to my little shop today?”
~~~*~~~
Younge’s Art Gallery
The morning at the art gallery had progressed much as every other had since Georgiana’s lessons began. Mrs. Younge started the day by instructing her charges in brush techniques. Then she gave Georgiana personal tutoring while she sent Margaret to the gazebo to practice what she had learned. As the temperature rose, both girls were ushered into a large room in back of the house with windows on three sides. The windows were covered by shutters that could be propped open on wooden supports. An oil lamp burning near an opening in the high ceiling created a draft, allowing the salty sea breeze to be pulled through the open windows, thus keeping their work area cool and comfortable.
Around noon they broke for refreshments—tea with small sandwiches, biscuits and cakes. Next, everyone rested on the shaded back porch for a half-hour before walking to the gazebo, and then strolling down and back along the wide boardwalk that ran behind all the shops to get a bit of exercise. When they returned to the gallery, Mrs. Younge normally would begin instructions in colour composition or something similar. But today was Friday, the one day that lessons ended earlier.
Thus, Lady Strongham was given personal instruction while Georgiana occupied the gazebo. At that time of day, the temperature had cooled somewhat, and the spot provided an excellent opportunity for sketching the sea. Today she intended to draw the various birds that ran after the various insects and sea life along the shoreline. Having just placed a new canvas on her stand, she was leaning down to select a brush from the case containing her supplies when a shadow came between her and the sun. Startled, she gasped and looked up to catch the piercing gaze of Mr. Wickham as he chuckled softly with a bemused smile.
“Did I frighten you? I am sorry. I thought you heard me coming.”
Giving him a slightly irritated look, Georgiana began to saturate her brush with a blue the colour of the sky from her palette and then stroked it across the canvas in broad strokes as though annoyed. Wickham noticed. Today of all days a good rapport was essential.
“Truly, I am sorry if I caused you alarm, Miss Darcy. I did not realise that you did not hear my footsteps.”
Georgiana’s shoulders relaxed, and Wickham breathed a sigh of relief. She continued her preoccupation with her painting, and he feigned interest, making inane conversation, though his mind reeled with his plans. Having learned that this was the least popular day for tourists to visit the area, he felt he had to act now. Less people on the boardwalk meant fewer witnesses to the disappearance, and he had a small window of opportunity to accomplish his objective. Pulling another chair close by Georgiana’s, he sat down and leaned towards her as he pretended to study her work.
“I am fascinated by artists. I could never draw, and I am certain that no amount of lessons would improve my poor efforts.”
Georgiana smiled slightly. “I think Mrs. Younge could teach anyone to draw a respectable picture, if not paint a portrait.”
“Oh, I must disagree. I am talentless when it comes to painting or drawing.”
They sat in companionable silence until he felt he had no alternative than to speak. “Georgiana.”
Georgiana stopped, her brush in mid stroke, as her eyes flicked to him. “You have always addressed me as Miss Darcy.”
“But what I have to say, I would like to say to Georgiana, if you do not mind.”
Georgiana shrugged, not realising the importance of his declaration. As she leaned down to wash her brush, Wickham reached to still her hand, making her eyebrows furrow. At the same time, voices were heard coming from the direction of the art gallery. A quick glance told Wickham that several people had walked onto the covered back porch and were now watching them. He strained to see if one was Lady Ashcroft but upon inspection thought that none resembled her. Aware that it was only a matter of time before Darcy’s aunt discovered him alone with her niece, he jumped into action.
“Would it be possible for us to walk on the beach while we talk?” At her hesitation, he added, “Only a short walk. This is my last day in Ramsgate, and I have not had opportunity to put even one foot on the sand.”
Georgiana studied him, and he smiled widely, making him appear boyish. She nodded. Putting her supplies aside, she stood as he did and placed her hand on his outstretched arm. Guiding her expertly down the steps to the beach, Wickham swiftly led her in the direction of the path he had discovered—the one that led back to the main road where his coach sat poised to spirit her away.
As they walked, Wickham covered her small hand with his, causing Georgiana to peer up at him with an expression of bewilderment. He deliberately avoided meeting her gaze, instead staring straight ahead as he began his soliloquy.
“I cannot adequately express how pleased I am to have found you again. I feel that we have become even better friends in the short time you have been in Ramsgate. In fact, if I might be so bold, I would say that my feelings have progressed far beyond friendship.”
Though he kept going in the intended direction, Wickham now glanced to see her reaction and found that Georgiana’s expression was not what he had hoped it would be. Instead of appearing to be interested in his romantic assertions, she looked like a puzzled child. His pulse began to race. Was she going to bolt and run?
“I may be several years your senior, but I always admired you, and now that you are a young woman—” He halted to cup her chin. “I must confess that I have fallen in love with you.”
He could feel Georgiana’s body begin to shake. Her voice quivered as she repeated, “You lov… love me?”
“Most ardently, my dear Georgiana, and I wish to marry you.”
Georgiana pulled away from his touch. “I am not ready to marry. Besides, my brother will be the one to determine whom I shall marry.”
“I thought
better of you,” he countered in a mocking tone. “From our conversations, I thought you a young woman of substance, someone in charge of her own destiny. Instead, you sound like all the other women of the ton—a mindless slave.”
Georgiana jerked away from him now. “Brother told me not to listen to any man that would ask for my hand without asking his permission first.”
Grabbing her arm with an iron grip, Wickham pulled her back to his side as he hissed, “Then I suppose that we shall have to do this the hard way.” He began to pull her down the beach while she twisted first one way and then another, trying to break free. Stunned at his actions, she did not think to cry out.
Suddenly, shouts came from the gazebo, and he turned to see that a group was congregating there. One young woman in particular seemed determined to catch up to them. As she ran down the steps and began in their direction, Wickham was relieved to see that she was having difficulty negotiating the sand in her fancy shoes and that the man who had been standing with her did not seem inclined to join her, but rather was shouting a warning. In only a few short moments though, she had not only caught up with them but was beating him on the back with her parasol. Annoyed at her interference and smarting from her assault, Wickham backhanded her, connecting with her cheek and knocking her to the ground. The fall almost rendered her insensible, and Georgiana screamed at the sight of her friend on the ground.
As Wickham continued, dragging her towards the path, he glanced back to be sure no one else followed. He was not in luck, for another man, older and taller, had appeared from out of nowhere. Leaping over the rails of the gazebo without bothering to take the steps, he began charging in their direction.
Pulling a small pistol from an inside pocket of his coat, Wickham turned to take aim. At that moment, Georgiana got a glimpse of her second rescuer, and her heart stopped. Her beloved godfather, Marshall Landingham, was Wickham’s target.
As though trapped in one of her childhood night terrors, the pistol discharged.
~~~*~~~
Chapter 26
Ramsgate
Younge’s Art Gallery
Mrs. Younge stood in the shadows at the back door of the gallery trying not to be seen as she watched the man she loved flirting with Miss Darcy at the gazebo. For the first time, she considered how effortlessly George could charm anyone he pleased. During the past few days, she had overheard enough of his banter with the young miss to understand how Georgiana Darcy had been swayed into letting him meet with her each afternoon. Were she not a grown woman, one with excellent judgment, she might easily have dismissed her suitor as a silver-tongued rogue when he first appeared on her doorstep. Had she written him off at that point, she told herself, she would never have come to know the true George Wickham. Unfortunately, she overvalued her own judgment.
From their posture, the couple near the beach seemed to be conversing amiably, Georgiana apparently still unaware of what was to occur in the next few minutes. She continued to watch, worried at what might transpire when George’s intentions were made clear, when the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel out front broke through her reverie. Quitting her post, she hurried to peer out a window.
Finding Lady Strongham’s father exiting the vehicle, she clutched her heart in relief that it was he and not Lady Ashcroft. Always eager to collect his daughter and leave, today would be no different. The fewer people here when the news of Miss Darcy’s abduction became common knowledge, the better. There would certainly be enough turmoil when Lady Ashcroft learned that her niece was missing. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and flung open the door.
“Lord Strongham, come in, sir! Your lovely daughter is still working on the techniques we studied today. If you will be so kind as to follow me, we shall see how much she has accomplished, as I was just about to check her progress.”
The gentleman did as requested, though he began to explain, “I am a bit early, so I am willing to wait if Margaret needs more time to finish her work.”
“No!” Sarah Younge exclaimed a little too zealously. Strongham’s brow knit in surprise as he came to a complete halt. Trying to recover, Mrs. Younge added, “I meant to say that you are certainly not interrupting, and if your daughter has anything to finish, she will have ample time on the morrow if she wishes to do so.”
“I shall ask my daughter what she desires. After all, I have paid for an entire lesson today.”
With that, Strongham stalked on ahead, leaving Mrs. Younge speechless. Her heart sank to realise that he might still be here when the abduction commenced. Despite her best efforts, Margaret Strongham had glimpsed George at the gazebo with Georgiana today, and she had taken great pains to convince her that Wickham was a friend who had come to escort her to dinner after she finished today’s lesson. In the inevitable melee to come, Mrs. Younge wondered, would Lady Strongham blurt out that she had seen a man with Georgiana—someone who was supposedly a friend of hers?
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and hurried to join father and daughter.
~~~*~~~
A Few Minutes Later
Reaching the art gallery entrance, Elizabeth Bennet rushed inside, closed her parasol and slammed the door firmly. Then she leaned back against it with a loud groan. She was relieved to find no one was in sight, as she was so angry she wanted to scream!
The entire day had been a disaster. There had been one confrontation after another with Lord Wilkens—about her choice of gown, her penchant for merriment, even her insistence on greeting those she had previously been introduced to in Ramsgate. The last straw had taken place at the establishment next door, a pottery shop. While encountering Mr. Chandler, whom she had met at Lady Hawthorne’s dinner party, he offered Elizabeth a warm greeting, but she was prevented from acknowledging him. Wilkens had stepped between them, taking her arm as he guided her none too gently out the front door without a word of explanation. Once outside, he declared that she was not to speak to anyone of whom he did not approve, and he definitely did not approve of Mr. Chandler. Only Alfreda’s sudden appearance and teary eyes had kept her from confronting Wilkens where they stood.
Furious, she had outpaced him and his sister as they headed in the direction of the gallery, their last call on the street. Wilkens was far too stout to keep up with her, and Elizabeth relied on the fact that Alfreda would slow down in order to walk alongside him. At her last glimpse of brother and sister, they were a good distance behind her, though his scowl was unmistakable even from so far away.
Insufferable Man! Elizabeth murmured under her breath as she hurried towards the back of the shop where an inviting covered porch beckoned. I have no intentions of marrying him nor will I stand his abuse any longer; not even to placate Alfreda!
At length, Wilkens and Alfreda reached the gallery, and as they entered the front door, they encountered Mrs. Younge and Lord Strongham coming from the back of the house. His daughter had insisted that he wait until her lesson was complete, successfully thwarting the proprietor’s plans to send them on their way. As introductions were made, Alfreda seized the opportunity to further delay her brother’s mission to catch up with Elizabeth.
“I have so often wished for a painting of the sea to hang in my sitting room,” Alfreda declared fervently, whilst her brother looked at her with disbelief. “Mrs. Younge, would you be kind enough to show me the selection, and perhaps, Brother, you and Mr. Strongham will give me your opinions on which one I should choose.”
Apparently quite used to his judgment being sought, Lord Strongham did not seem surprised to be asked. “I shall be happy to advise you.”
Though he did not reply, Wilkens did not wish to refuse his sister’s appeal and appear uncooperative in front of Strongham. Thus, as the entire group headed into a room filled with paintings from ceiling to floor, his expression mirrored his frustration in not being able to find Miss Bennet and chastise her for her childish behaviour.
Meanwhile, on the porch, Elizabeth took a deep breath of the salty air and closed her
eyes. Blessed peace at last! What punishment it would be to listen to that man day in and day out.
The tranquillity did not last long though, as a conversation at the gazebo drifted Elizabeth’s way on the wind. Opening her eyes, she beheld a man and a woman at the structure. On closer inspection, she changed her mind. No, that is a young girl, not a woman and she looks like…
Squinting, she recognized the figure of Georgiana Darcy and instantly stiffened. Why was the child all alone with a man? Furthermore, something about the man’s bearing made the hair on back of her neck stand up. I should go to her.
She had taken no more than a half-dozen steps down the walkway when a familiar voice challenged from behind. Wilkens had successfully rushed Alfreda to a decision in order to resume his search. “Miss Bennet, where are you running off to now?” His voice dripped venom.
She turned to face him, her expression pitiless and her eyes ablaze. “I am taking this walkway to the beach. Once there, I intend to walk along the shoreline—alone.”
Without waiting for rebuttal, Elizabeth turned and walked even more briskly towards the structure. The first thing she noticed was that Georgiana had allowed the gentleman to escort her down the steps to the beach below. As she increased her pace, she heard Wilkens call out, “This is not a race. Wait for me.” She paid him no mind.
Had she turned she would have seen him trying to follow her with Alfreda Wilkens right behind. In the doorway, Mrs.Younge still stood beside Lord Strongham. And while her expression had changed to dread, Margaret’s father looked pensive, as though he too had noticed the man and girl now heading down the beach.
