by Olivia Kane
Tomorrow, when the men were riding to the hounds, would be the perfect opportunity for the future sisters-in-law to become better acquainted. Lady Catherine would most definitely see to that. After all, the entire point of subjecting themselves to the inconveniences of travel was to procure Anne a superior husband and not merely to participate in idle chitchat with the Hertfordshire locals. Goodness knows if she wanted parochial conversation she had the Reverend Collins and his awkward wife at her fingertips daily. No, from the amount of attention her daughter was receiving from Hugh Radcliffe, Lady Catherine could correctly conclude that her troubles had been worth the effort. She congratulated herself on a job well done, priding herself for her uncanny instincts.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was similarly pleased with the seating arrangements, as George Wickham, by virtue of being seated at the same side of the table as Georgiana, but at opposite ends, had no view of her. Hugh Radcliffe, however, had scored the ultimate prize by being seated directly across from Georgiana. Fitzwilliam could not help but notice how many times his gaze rested on her face during the course of the dinner. Amidst the glowing candlelight, his sister would appear to her best advantage.
She possessed the loveliest of faces, Fitzwilliam thought to himself. He did not deem himself prejudiced for thinking so. Hugh’s placement next to the very dull and inarticulate Miss de Bourgh, would provide a high contrast, he chuckled. He swore he could not remember a single witty or memorable statement ever issued by his young cousin. Surely the young Mr. Radcliffe’s experience would be similarly uninspiring. Where unattached, eligible women of good quality were concerned, Georgiana Darcy had no competition.
If only he could remove the blot that was George Wickham from his sister’s past. He had paid dearly for them to have no past. But why tonight, of all nights, should this miserable man darken their doorway? Had he not just told his sister that timing was everything in life? Yes, he had, but here was the universe reminding him that timing was both good and bad. That night he was a victim of very bad timing, indeed.
He must keep Wickham away from Georgiana, and at the same time afford her access to Hugh. Or maybe such an intricate dance between the parties would be impossible to achieve when they were all sleeping under the same roof.
Georgiana and Wickham sleeping under the same roof?
His mind roiled at the thought. How he wished with all his heart that he had left Georgiana safe at Pemberley, watched over by his faithful retainers, a little bored, surely, but with no risk attached.
Damn that Wickham!
He seethed with anger. Perhaps he should feign an emergency and depart with his whole party in the morning. His conscience, however, would not allow him to let his hosts down so rudely and besides, it was beyond his code of behavior to act under a falsehood. It appeared that money, once again, would have to exchange hands for him to be rid of Wickham.
While Wickham’s proximity to Georgiana was a wretched accident he could levy blame on no one, but only hope to stay ahead of the situation. Darcy noticed with dread that Wickham was always lost in thought, a dangerous sign that foretold some type of plotting on his end. For the life of him he could not imagine what machinations went on in his ex-friend’s mind. Fitzwilliam was sure that George Wickham would not quit Bennington Park without intercepting Georgiana in some manner. It all merited careful monitoring. Darcy glared down the table at Wickham for the duration of the meal.
Elizabeth noted the tense look on her husband’s face from afar and knew that the presence of Wickham was the cause. There were no words that could calm him, she knew. She closed her eyes; her head spun dizzily and the room seemed uncommonly warm. It was nice that Charlotte lived in a home where she did not have to worry about constant drafts. Bennington Park must be exceptionally well sealed, she noted. She sneezed, then reached for her handkerchief and sneezed again. She gazed at the mantel clock, ticking slowly. Surely it was much later than the hands showed? She could not account for the degree of fatigue she felt and she desperately wished the night to be finished and to sink into the closest bed she could find.
From his end of the table, Wickham noted with disgust the glow on Hugh Radcliffe’s face as the young heir’s eyes continually gazed upon Georgiana, seated strategically across the table from him. What were the odds of that, he sniffed? He knew that predatory look in Hugh’s eyes; he could tell that, if Hugh were to get his way, Georgiana would become the future mistress of Bennington Park.
Wickham glanced around the table at the fine china place settings, the silver candlesticks and pitchers that glistened in the candlelight, the crystal, the European lace, the partridge and venison richly dressed with morels and apricots, the well dressed staff rotating in and out of the room, all the trappings of wealth so cavalierly put on display. One day, he imagined, Georgiana would have Pemberley and all this too. The woman for whom he had bet everything on and lost, went about her pretty world unscathed by life. He imagined she would float effortlessly from one castle to another, oblivious to the randomness of birth that showered her with so many worldly riches, whereas he, George Wickham, would wake each morning next to a wife he did not esteem, and rise to face a life of constant struggle.
He glanced across the table at his wife Lydia. She was a burden, a confounded rash decision for which he was indebted his entire life. For a few nights she had transported him back to those lost days in Ramsgate when Georgiana’s eyes lit up to see him, when she would seek him out, when she welcomed his company, his laugh, and in one impulsive moment, his kiss. But Lydia Bennet’s charms faded upon repeated exposure; she was but a pale imitation of Georgiana Darcy. His misguided attempt to recreate those lost days with Georgiana instead ended in a forced marriage, a sad development he had not anticipated. Since then, drink had been a necessary escape.
Perhaps Georgiana still harbored a soft spot for him. They had not spoken since the day Darcy summoned him into the meeting room and handed him a bag of coins and ordered him out of their lives for good. He had never written Georgiana; that had been one of Darcy’s conditions. Perhaps it was fate throwing them under the same roof when he most desperately needed a helping hand.
His mind whirred as he wondered how to rendezvous with her alone and gain her sympathy. He wasn’t sure what he would say; he wasn’t sure she would even listen. Her heart could be stone cold. Still, finding her here, again, was a stroke of luck. There had to be a way to use this encounter to his advantage. He pondered the situation for a moment, and then his gaze fell once again upon Hugh Radcliffe.
Well, well, well, he chuckled to himself. Maybe he did have the upper hand after all. During his brief tryst with Georgiana they had several opportunities to be alone together, unchaperoned, behind closed doors. In such unguarded moments he could have taken her completely. He should have taken the liberty, he thought, as a means of securing her hand. However, the fact that he didn’t was inconsequential; he only needed to insinuate that he had. Doubt was all that was needed to compromise a young woman’s reputation.
Would Hugh Radcliffe be interested in hearing the details?
Would he want to know what it felt like to run his hands through the golden strands of her hair? To feel her heart beat as rapidly as his? Surely, a Radcliffe heir would want a wife with a blameless reputation. So far, no one knew the intimate details of their shared pasts. Darcy had paid him well to keep silent but that payoff was long gone and he needed money now more than he ever did. The fiscal obligations of a wife and child weighed heavily on him, and Mr. Bennet’s paltry allowance did not provide for more than the starkest necessities.
He would much prefer to remain a gentleman, where Georgiana was concerned. But he would also much prefer not to be so damned poor. He stared at the silver cutlery in his hands, the price of which could pay off several overdue accounts. As a precaution against his pleas falling entirely on deaf ears, Wickham casually slipped the knife into his boot. The Bennington Park silver would buy him some solace in the pawnshops of Manchester or Liverpool.<
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Down the table Lady Catherine also picked up a piece of silver cutlery, examined it and, finding it to be of exceedingly high quality, tapped it lightly on the stem of her crystal wine glass. The tinkering brought the low rumble of conversation to a halt, and drew all eyes to her. She rose from her seat of honor next to Lord Radcliffe, a large, splendid figure hovering over her host. She cleared her throat, waited a few moments to build suspense, and then said: “It is not news to our gathered guests that my esteemed nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, has a new bride.”
All eyes shifted toward Elizabeth, who could feel her already warm face flush even further.
“Yes, the former Elizabeth Bennet,” Lady Catherine made an unpleasant sniffing sound with her nose, purposely omitting the Miss before Elizabeth’s name.
“As his oldest relative, I congratulate him on his union and wish him felicity, fertility, and compliant servants for all his days.” She raised her glass and the party followed.
“Here, here,” the guests toasted the new couple.
Lady Catherine took a tiny sip from her glass and then set it carefully down and continued.
“I also forgive him.”
She paused for effect, noting the surprised looks exchanged amongst the party, smugly enjoying their silent confusion as she refrained from elaborating further. Elizabeth felt her cheeks burn in humiliation.
Lady Catherine continued on. “To this end, I would like to present Fitzwilliam with a token of my esteem and affection for him. It is an item that I hope will stir within his bosom the memory of many happy days at Rosings Park.”
She looked to the door. In the hallway, a servant stood awaiting her signal. She nodded slightly.
He walked toward the table, holding in his hands a large item draped in a burlap cloth and stopped behind Mr. Darcy. He waited a moment for further instructions.
“Stand up Fitzwilliam please, and face me, so I can see your expression,” his aunt requested. Mr. Darcy humbly did as he was told.
She motioned to the servant to remove the covering, and as he did so the party gasped to see the large winged falcon frozen in time.
Elizabeth’s hand shot to her mouth in a look of horror that she was unable to suppress. In that moment Lady Catherine saw, with delight, that her gift had had its intended effect.
Charlotte laughed outright at the look of shock on her friend’s face and then quickly grabbed her linen napkin and held it to her face, and feigned a small coughing attack to hide her laughter. As a hostess, she did not want to be perceived as laughing at either of her guests. Guy facilitated her ruse by jumping up and slapping her several times on the back with a bored look on his face, as if this type of coughing episode happened often between them.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was as astonished at the odd trophy awarded to him as he was at the somewhat public spectacle his aunt was making. Anxious for his aunt to sit back down he quickly registered and then expressed the appropriate degree of surprise and gratitude. His natural good breeding made such a response look effortless.
Nevertheless, he sensed his aunt expected more from his reaction. And that was the trouble with Lady Catherine, Fitzwilliam thought ruefully—always expecting more, more, more.
Hugh Radcliffe, who watched the scene with amusement, felt compelled to step in and take control. He could not prevent Lady Catherine from using their home as a platform for abusing her own relatives, but he could control how long he allowed her to wield her weaponry. He rose quickly and spoke loudly.
“What a marvelous gift! Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine, would you do me the honor of accompanying me out into the hall, where I would like to place this wonderful, uh, memento, in a place of honor?” He motioned the falcon-bearing servant toward the entry hall, and Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy dutifully followed after him.
Hugh directed the servant to a lacquered commode set immediately inside the main doorway, on which seasonal displays of flora and fauna graciously greeted all those who entered. Hugh slid a porcelain cachepot containing such an arrangement from its center position over to the side, making room on the commode for the falcon. The servant gently placed the bird down as directed.
“There, it will be safe and secure as well as prominently displayed here,” Hugh explained. “And plainly visible to all arriving for the ball tomorrow night!” He sensed correctly that Lady Catherine expected flattery, praise and notice from the general public for her generosity. Additionally, he saw the comic value of such an unsuitable wedding gift and thought he would personally enjoy observing the shock of the fine ladies of Meryton as they entered the great hall only to be greeted by a large dead piece of fowl. He anticipated his mother objecting to the falcon’s placement, but if it came down to it he planned to offer her an enticing bribe in order to have his fun.
Lady Catherine sharply examined the placement of the falcon.
“It is too far to the left.”
Hugh moved it to the right.
She frowned. “The vase takes away from the bird’s wild, primitive beauty. Remove it.”
Hugh directed the servant to remove the heavy cachepot.
“Drop that off in the potting room,” he dismissed him.
Lady Catherine examined the table with an artist’s eye. “Neither should there be a candelabra with lit flames so close to it.”
Hugh blew out the candles and removed the small candelabra.
Only then was Lady Catherine satisfied. She clapped her hands together in delight. “Yes, splendid! What a view your guests will have as they enter the ball tomorrow night!”
“My thoughts exactly,” Hugh beamed in delight and anticipation. “May I have a card written out describing the item as a wedding gift from yourself to the Darcy family?”
Lady Catherine could not have been more impressed with Hugh. She gazed at him with admiration.
What an obedient young man, she thought. How willing he is to be guided by my suggestions!
She began to think of other improvements to the entry hall of Bennington Park that he might adopt. The pale green paper hangings that covered the entry walls, for instance, of Chinese origin and obviously expensive, were not to her taste. When Anne was installed as mistress those hangings would be the first to go, she decided.
She directed her attention back to her nephew who had stood aloofly nearby the whole time. “Oh Fitzwilliam I forgot you were here, you’ve been so quiet boy! Doesn’t the falcon take you back to your wonderful stays at Rosings! Oh, remember when Sir Lewis was alive?”
“Indeed it does. I am quite overcome by the memories,” he lied.
In truth, Mr. Darcy was more than a little taken aback at the gift. He had always commented on the falcon in a casual manner, as a way of making conversation and surely, according to his recollection, not displaying any specific preference for the bird. Somehow, his commenting must have led his aunt to believe that he desired to bring the creature home with him, which he definitely did not.
Nevertheless, the gift was a generous gesture on his aunt’s part. He appreciated the effort it must have taken to strap in such a bulky item amongst the luggage and paraphernalia that a long journey required. He knew he would have no peace unless she felt convinced of his delight. He looked his aunt in the eye and thanked her again.
“I lack the proper words to sum up my feelings right now,” he added, making a mental note to thank her repeatedly over the next few days until his gratitude grated.
Mr. Darcy was equally grateful to Hugh for his deft redirection of the party’s attention away from his beloved, beleaguered wife. He realized with regret that not only must he fight to keep Wickham away from Georgiana, but it appeared he would have to fortress Elizabeth from his aunt’s jabs as well. It was not beyond Mr. Darcy’s notice that his own relations were causing him the lion’s share of consternation and grief that evening.
Observing the tense set of Mr. Darcy’s jaw and his marked silence, Hugh raised his eyebrow and said to him, “An after dinner port back at the table?” to which
Mr. Darcy eagerly nodded yes.
Immediately upon the trio’s quitting the dining room with the falcon Lady Radcliffe stood up and took control of the room.
“Shall we move back to the drawing room?” indicating that the women should follow her while the men stayed back to indulge in port and cigars.
Lydia took advantage of Mr. Darcy’s absence to corner Elizabeth. She linked her arm in her sister’s.
“What a grand home this is! How does it compare to Pemberley?”
“It is equal in terms of furnishing and room sizes,” Elizabeth affirmed.
Lydia persisted.
“How I do long to see it.” She added a soft sigh, for affect.
Elizabeth tried to be gentle and understanding with her sister while dancing around the real reason she and Wickham were barred from Pemberley. This edict on her husband’s part caused Elizabeth only a small amount of discomfort, as keeping Lydia at a distance was a request she found quite easy to fulfill. Plus she saw the color rise in her beloved’s Fitzwilliam’s face every time Lydia’s name was mentioned. Fitzwilliam had done the right thing for Lydia where Wickham was concerned, all the while knowing that his love for Elizabeth might tie him permanently to a man he despised. That sacrifice made Darcy unimpeachable in Elizabeth’s eyes. She patted her sister on the hand consolingly.
“How I love to come home to Longbourn instead. It is like old times when I do.” Since her marriage Elizabeth tried to make up for the snub by making regularly scheduled visits to the Bennet family home. “And with the baby it is too difficult to undertake the journey, don’t you agree?”
Longbourn, however, was not Pemberley and the snub chafed at Lydia.
“No. I do not need to bring Georgie with me! I am happy to leave him in mother’s care,” she insisted.
“The baby is welcome, but his father, sadly, is not. As we will not separate Wickham from his child I am afraid a visit at this time is impossible. Must we discuss it here Lydia?”
