At Last: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Anne Morris

  Lydia jumped up to exclaim at her friend's arrival, with shrieks and calls about the unexpectedness of the visit, her unending excitement over seeing Georgiana, and she rushed to her to take her friend into her arms, then pulled her to a seat.

  "I did not know you were coming!" cried Lydia.

  "I did not know I was going to come to London!" said Miss Darcy, "Fitzwilliam surprised me by driving all the way from London to Derbyshire to tell me he was going to take me to London, simply to see you." Georgiana leaned over from their shared seat on the sofa to give Lydia another hug. Both of the Bennet sisters glanced over at Mr. Darcy, though for different reasons. Lydia had a funny look on her face, for she had never considered Mr. Darcy's Christian name: she thought 'Fitzwilliam' an odd sort of name, not Thomas, or John, or even William, which she thought a far better name than 'Fitzwilliam.'

  Elizabeth considered what she heard he had done, that he had driven all the way to Derbyshire and back with only the idea of uniting the two friends, and she could not help the wonder and surprise showing on her face. After they had all settled, and tea had been ordered, Elizabeth ventured to ask; "did you really drive all that way to bring Miss Darcy to see Lydia?"

  "Yes," he replied. Her heart whispered that he had done such a thing for her. He knew it would please her, but she did not seek his eyes and looked away instead, down at her tea cup for a few heart beats, but then she dared to look up at him again.

  "You are a kind brother, Mr. Darcy, to have driven that distance to give your sister a little happiness."

  "You mentioned that your family was here, and so long as I was in Town, I did not see why Georgiana should remain at home," he explained. "We shall stay a number of weeks here. I thought we might go on to visit Weymouth before we return to London for Christmas. Have you ever been?" He seemed rushed in his explanations.

  "No, I have never been to Weymouth," she replied.

  "Well, truth be told, neither have I," and he smiled gently, "however, Georgiana was finding Pemberley, and being at home, a little dull." Georgiana looked up when she heard her name, but then went back to Lydia's attention. "I fear I have to face the fact that she will have her come-out in the spring." His smiled changed to a more rueful one.

  "I am sure she is excited about her prospects for next Season," said Elizabeth. She recalled her own story, a fictitious story, of having a Season so many years ago, and she wondered if Mr. Darcy was considering that tale, that lie, as he looked at her. The silence between the two of them grew, though Lydia and Miss Darcy still spoke in excited whispers on the sofa.

  "I…I stopped in Hertfordshire, to see Mr. and Mrs. Bingley on the way North; they are well," he said at last.

  "Oh!" she cried, not sure what he wished as a response, "I have been in hopes of a letter from Jane, but have not heard from her recently."

  "They are both well," he repeated, and then silence was upon them again. She went so far as to offer him more tea and was able to refill his cup. But they then sat in their chairs drinking, and principally focused on their sisters' conversation until Miss Darcy's half hour was over, and the brother and sister rose to depart.

  Miss Darcy and Lydia, as at Scarborough, spent as much time as was possible together with Mrs. Younge's watchful eye upon them. They did not have the same freedom to walk about as they did at that seaside resort, but Miss Darcy had the freedom of a carriage at her disposal. The two reveled in each other's company as the Bennet family prepared the final details for Catherine's wedding.

  Elizabeth thought she might see more of Mr. Darcy. She thought that his actions in bringing his sister to London to visit with Lydia might be an indication, on his part, of a renewed admiration for her, but it was checked back by the measure of her brief encounters with him in the days leading up to Catherine's wedding. He made an occasional call to their leased lodgings when Mrs. Younge was unable to escort Miss Darcy, or when a gentleman's escort was needed, but their interactions were few. They spoke only with common politeness, certainly not tete-a-tete. He never spoke with anything other than the friendliness displayed to all of the members of her family, and not with that congeniality which he had shown her at Pemberley. Was he simply improving upon his friendship with her family after their summer visit, and no longer admired her?

  • • •

  They would pay. Both Georgiana and Darcy would pay for this affront. He had outlaid a great deal of money and time to be greeted by an empty house. Wickham was clever enough and quite sober to realize the servants had no reason to hide anything from him or to suspect him—they were new, old Phelps had retired, so this butler had been straight-forward with him. Wickham had left quickly when he realized that there had been a change to the plans, and Georgiana was not waiting for him. He spared a small thought for considering that he should have written to her to tell Georgiana he was indeed coming for that suggested visit. It would not have helped, however, so it was not his fault for his failure to have written.

  He considered his next steps and what he should do. He had the ear of Mrs. Younge to keep him appraised of what the family was doing, but they were in London, and he had no idea how long they would be there. He had often lived in London, as he found it a place he liked, as he could hide and move about without anyone else being the wiser to his activities.

  But he was in Derbyshire, and he was not sure if his target might return here, returned by her brother to Pemberley. He would be that much closer to Gretna Green. If he could be spared the expense of the trip again he would do so, and all for the cost of a letter—and that cost would be borne by Mrs. Younge. So he wrote to her.

  He could not stay anywhere near Pemberley; there were still some living who remembered him and his reputation, but as he had taken the carriage from Blythe, he could easily find cheap lodgings there while he awaited an answer.

  • • •

  Mrs. Bennet had everything she wished for when Catherine was married at St. George's in London—and just eighteen! It was the loveliest wedding she had ever attended, and her new son-in-law's father had hosted the wedding breakfast at his London House—such a place, and to think they had such connections now! Her heart could not have been happier, though it did beat excessively, and if Elizabeth hovered over her all that day with a worried look, well then, it was as it should be. Perhaps Elizabeth's not marrying was a good thing, as there would be one daughter to look after her. Even Mary might find a husband as accomplished as she was. Elizabeth seemed intent on telling her to hold her tongue all the time, as if a daughter might tell a mother what to do! Oh! Her heart did beat fiercely!

  For once she agreed with Bennet, and they too were to step into a carriage and follow the bride and groom off onto the road, though only to travel home to Hertfordshire. It had been such a long time since they had been home, but it had been such an interesting year! Two daughters married, and now there was the hint that Jane might have a child—that summer visit to Pemberley seemed to have done the trick. There was almost too much news to speak about with her neighbors, and again the spasms in her chest increased, and she thought she felt a headache coming on. She would be glad to be able to sleep in the carriage during the ride home; Elizabeth was always accommodating of a shoulder. These spasms might just warrant having Mr. Jones come to visit her as well, for she had missed her country apothecary who knew her so well. People spoke of London doctors as being the best, but she had every authority in her familiar country one.

  • • •

  Elizabeth read the letter from Charlotte as she walked towards home. She had perused it when she first received it the afternoon before, but distractions at home, with Jane visiting, meant she had not been able to give it her full attention. Charlotte was happy in Scarborough, perhaps a little melancholy at being in a family situation of two instead of residing in a large household, though she did not state as much. Charlotte would never complain, that was never her way.

  There just was a little something between the lines that Elizabeth picked up. The recto
ry was to her liking, so too were her new friends. The city, and especially the sea, held a fascination for her, and Charlotte often included descriptions of walks by the shoreline with descriptions of the beauty of the color, power, and majesty of the ocean out beyond Scarborough as though it invited her to consider travel and adventure. This small, plain woman who had never been anywhere, or done much of anything, wished to move beyond the confines of what she knew. Elizabeth hoped that she and her husband might continue to travel, despite his occupation.

  Elizabeth spied Miss Simnel and Simon approaching. More and more, they spurned morning walks as Miss Simnel adopted a stricter routine in the nursery as she prepared Simon for more serious and difficult lessons. There was less spontaneity of play to be had, but perhaps the rare sunny day that autumn had Miss Simnel bending her own rules, and allowed them to depart from the top floor of Longbourn House to the pathways beyond its doors.

  "Lizzy," called Simon, "I am to identify five different types of trees and ten different types of plants this morning with Miss Simnel," he had a concentrated look, and appeared to have taken his instructions from the governess quite seriously.

  "That is a good lesson to learn," answered Elizabeth. "I am not sure I could answer that question," she said playfully, "but I did not have Miss Simnel's excellent guidance."

  He stopped to look at her. "How is it that you did not have Miss Simnel's teachings?"

  "We have not always had Miss Simnel, dearest," she came over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and they began walking down the path. "She came to us before you were born, but just before. I was seventeen, and had no need of a governess or instruction anymore."

  He wriggled away from her touch, but then looked up at her. "Are you really that old?"

  "Yes, dearest, I am really that old," she replied, with her stomach twisting a little at his words. She looked over at Miss Simnel who had a sympathetic smile on her face. Elizabeth felt her heart drop into her stomach as she wondered if Miss Simnel knew her secret. The governess had been with them for the entirety of Simon's life, and had most likely seen Elizabeth in those early days, when she and her mother had been excessively worried if they had been discreet enough about that secret. People so often dismiss governesses and servants as invisible, and she thought that she too had been guilty of that with Miss Simnel. She had to suppose that the governess had some inclining of the truth, though Elizabeth would never ask her outright.

  "How was Lydia with such lessons?" asked Elizabeth.

  "Lydia was rather good at them, she likes plants, 'specially flowers," answered Simon. "I wish she was back with me," he took Elizabeth's hand and tugged her down, "she would help me with my own lessons and would read to me. I miss her."

  "Things have changed so much, haven't they?" she said softly. "Catherine is gone now, though Jane is nearby."

  "Yes," he pouted.

  "Well, I shall not leave you. I shall not marry and go away," she declared.

  "But Lizzy," he said frowning, "I want you to be happy too. I don't think you have been happy since we came home from London." He looked at her with his wide dark eyes. They were her own eyes that stared back at her. He was fair-haired, like Henry, and she thought he had something of his father's looks too, but Simon had her eyes which she had from her mother. He was a handsome boy. He was fair-minded—except in play—and she was content and as happy as any mother could possibly be with such a child. He was also a charming and handsome brother with an insight beyond his age.

  "You are correct," she looked over at Miss Simnel, that lady who often had so much insight into their family. How much had she witnessed of their lives in the past seven years, did the Bennet family truly appreciate Rosamond Simnel? "I have not been in the best spirits. However!" She let a wide smile grace her face. "A race to that grove of elms would certainly cheer me up." And she began to run without pointing out the direction, leaving Simon to identify the trees in question.

  • • •

  Mrs. Younge wrote to say that they were not to return to Pemberley, so he was a fool to remain in the North. It had already begun to feel like winter, and that was one thing he certainly did not miss—the earlier approach of the season. This time, he took a mail coach south, cheap and fast, and just as smelly as he had predicted. His companions were all men, de-mobbed, and going to London for work as there had been no work in their hometowns. He had men just like them under him in the militia, unruly men, complainers, and not workers, inclined to slip away when asked to do too much. He had flogged a number of enlisted men for being idlers in his stint as a militia lieutenant.

  He would write to Mrs. Younge again, and to Georgiana, to establish himself again in her eyes. His costs were higher than he wished for, but there were one or two widows in London he might tap into for some financial and social relief while he was there. London allowed him to be anonymous which was why he always liked to visit it every few months, no one knew him there—so few knew him there as 'Wickham.'

  Twenty-Six

  —

  Sir John

  When Darcy first returned from fetching Georgiana, he had called on his family, and mentioned his friend Bingley. Everyone knew his friend—Bingley made an impression on everyone with his openness, his cheerful disposition, and of course, everyone liked him, but in particular Darcy's aunt. Darcy mentioned his friend's leased house and that he had heard a tale that it was owned by a Sir John Mandeville.

  His aunt was as bad as any other older lady who had time on her hands to gossip, and she gave him an earful about Sir John's history, of losing his son to an early death, and of having an ungrateful grandson who, like any young man, wished to direct his own life and to not listen to his betters. He had run off to fight in the war, but had died as a result of it. "Boys of that age are so trying," insisted the Countess, who had two sons who had tried her patience so she ought to know. He wondered how she had felt about Colonel Fitzwilliam's time on the Peninsula, but Darcy did not ask.

  Sir John lived in London with his sister, Mrs. Raleigh. Neither the old man nor his sister attended social events, however, so the Countess could not say that she knew them in a personal way. His aunt had been more helpful than she knew. Darcy wondered if he should directly contact Sir John about Henry Mandeville. He wondered if there were details about Henry's fate that the baronet knew that might not be public knowledge. But Darcy felt that to ask him directly would not garner him an interview with the man, given his reputation as resentful and bitter. He would need another reason to visit.

  He considered all of the family holdings in Hertfordshire around Meryton: 'Longbourn,' 'Netherfield,' that 'Purvis Lodge' that was perpetually leased. There was an estate called 'Ashworth,' owned by a young man named Mr. Parry whom he recalled meeting the previous year, a fellow just out of mourning, but otherwise quite ordinary. His only thought about the gentleman was whether grief made him reluctant to join in society, or if he was naturally a reticent man, Darcy could not decide. 'Haye Park' belonged to the Gouldings, and Mr. Goulding had done well by it, and done well by his sons—though he had lost the one to war, the one he once suspected of being Simon's father—but now Darcy had no fascination for that family or estate either.

  'Stokes House' he had discovered the day he had discovered Elizabeth's secret on that longest of afternoons, when he had walked to lose himself in an attempt to cool his anger, and even his disgust with her. Looking back on it now, he felt ashamed of ever feeling disgust for her; she was too lovely, too valuable a woman to have ever deserved such, even in thought. Anger is a feeling that is difficult to control, it comes and then leaves, and can be indicative that change is needed or a discussion is warranted. But disgust is an awful thing to experience.

  He recalled that beautiful house with the boarded up windows, snippets of conversation he had heard about the Osmont family with their three daughters, but with that only one married, and whispers of circumstances about the other two. Darcy thought another fox hunt along those lines might be w
arranted, and could he inveigle his way into Sir John Mandeville's drawing room because of it?

  Directions were not as easy to obtain as Darcy had wished. Though his aunt knew that Sir John was living with his sister in Town, they had been so retired from society for so long that it seemed no one was sure of Sir John or Mrs. Raleigh's exact location. The sister had married her daughter off years before, then had taken a smaller house, the direction of which was unknown.

  The Countess had to do some hunting of her own to obtain it, and it had not been her first priority. The fact that her oldest son and his wife were discussing living apart because of marital difficulties was of far more concern. Darcy could not insist, and had to be patient. It was several weeks before he heard at all from his family. He and Georgiana, in the meantime, stayed nestled in London rather than moving on to Weymouth. He did not wish to miss the opportunity to call upon Sir John because he would be out of town. Though Lydia Bennet was gone, Georgiana had not seemed to mind the delay in moving from London, and was happy to stay put in Town.

  • • •

  His heart beat unrelenting, but with a steady rhythm this morning, but often when it did, and he noted that pulsing and pounding against his chest, as he sat in his sister's rather dull and outdated parlor, it meant the same rhythm was repeated in his head, causing him a rather painful headache. At least he was alive. His stomach was in knots, but it was what he expected most days. There would be no meat for him at any of his meals today. Sir John missed his port and cigars but had, on the advice of countless doctors, physicians and specialists, given them up, in an attempt to see a few more years. He would show those who thought him near the grave that he could see one or two more years still.