Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  An intense feeling of relief rushed through Georgiana when her brother said “our scandal” rather than “her scandal.” She had never doubted that he would stand by her in times of difficulty, but hearing him say so inspired her courage.

  Wickham mocked, “What a noble fellow, though you know full well that your sister’s reputation affects your marriage opportunities, too. But for the sake of the friendship we once had, Darcy, I will offer you a bargain. Give me twenty thousand pounds, and I will never publicly speak of your sister’s shame.”

  Darcy turned away briefly, struggling to control his countenance; before he could reply, Mrs. Younge hurried into the suite, speaking rapidly to Wickham. “Mr. Darcy has been seen here in Ramsgate.” Then, noticing her employer, she blanched and took several steps backward.

  Wickham gave her an arrogant smile. “That is old news.”

  Darcy growled, “So while I pay your salary, madam, you are Wickham’s confederate.”

  Although addressing Mrs. Younge, Wickham locked eyes with Darcy. “I told your employer that if he were to gift me with twenty thousand pounds, I would never reveal that Georgiana has been compromised.”

  Georgiana stormed out, shouting, “But I haven’t! I was never alone with you. Mrs. Younge was always with us.”

  Darcy gave her a relieved look. I believe you, dearest!

  “It is your word against mine, my girl,” Wickham said, not even glancing in her direction. Instead, he smiled at Mrs. Younge. “Or shall I say it is the word of two against one?”

  After a pause, Mrs. Younge agreed, “Yes, the word of two against one.” Turning to Darcy, she added, “Georgiana was never alone with him; I made certain of it. I was determined that what happened to me at your sister’s age would not happen to her.”

  “But you had no qualms about my marrying a man who did not love me,” Georgiana said through clenched teeth.

  Mrs. Younge shrugged. “You said you loved him, and I thought he would be kind enough to you.” She gave Wickham a malicious look and repeated, “Georgiana was never alone with him.”

  Wickham, his fists clenched, stepped toward her. “You have just ruined a lucrative deal for us.” Automatically, Darcy put himself between Wickham and his sister’s companion.

  “For yourself, you mean,” Mrs. Younge sneered. “How much of that twenty thousand pounds would you have shared with me?” Rushing into her bedroom, she slammed the door behind her.

  From the moment Georgiana stepped into the parlor, she had been waiting for her fiancé to look at her. When Wickham did not, she realized, I am nothing to him other than a source of funds. In a cold fury, she rushed at him. “You are a monster!”

  Wickham grasped her by the shoulders, kissed her roughly, and shoved her at her brother, who caught her with both hands as she stumbled. Wickham managed to land an off-center punch to Darcy’s jaw before running out of the room and down the stairs.

  As Darcy staggered, Georgiana embraced him and led him to the sofa. When he attempted to pursue Wickham, she clung to his arm with all her strength. “Leave him—I need you!”

  Darcy looked around, reassuring himself that the confrontation was over. “Is Mrs. Younge gone, too?”

  Georgiana hurried to the closed door of her companion’s room and tried to open it. “It’s locked.” Pounding on the stout wood with her palm, she said, “I demand you come out at once!”

  “Dearest, come sit with me,” Darcy said, holding out his hand to her. “In a moment, we will summon the housekeeper to unlock the door, but I expect Mrs. Younge has grabbed what she could and gone out a window.” As his sister sat beside him, he added, “If this sort of deception is her game, she has undoubtedly prepared for a quick exit.”

  Georgiana put her head on his shoulder. “Brother, let us go home to Pemberley.”

  “Yes, Pemberley,” Darcy murmured. George Wickham, you bastard, I hope to God I never to see you again, and you should hope that, too!

  August 21. London, England; Colonel Christopher Fitzwilliam and Lady Penelope Trelawney Velez y Garcia

  We are well and truly safe at last! Colonel Christopher Fitzwilliam thought, giving a deeply felt sigh of relief as the rented coach came to a stop in front of his parent’s London townhouse.

  At his sigh, Lady Penelope Trelawney Velez y Garcia laughed. “My days of living as a man are over, I suppose.”

  Fitzwilliam smiled at her. “For the first time in a month, we are not threatened by French grenadiers, stormy seas, or foolish peers of the realm.” Emerging from the carriage into the late afternoon sun, he closed his eyes and smelled the smells of home. Although he wore civilian clothes, the colonel’s military bearing was unmistakable.

  After a moment, he shifted the leather satchel containing his uniform jacket and his few possessions from one shoulder to the other so he could offer his hand to Lady Penelope. She, however, had already stepped out onto the brick-paved drive. Beneath the voluminous cape that covered her from chin to boots, she was still dressed in men’s clothing, as she had been when she and Fitzwilliam rented the coach.

  Having delivered his passengers to their destination, the driver said, “Good day to you, sirs,” and steered the horses along the circular drive to the street.

  “What do you think?” Fitzwilliam asked as Lady Penelope stood beside him.

  Holding a portmanteau scarcely larger than Fitzwilliam’s satchel, she considered the elegant townhouse. “I suppose it would be rude to mention that Trelawney Hall is slightly larger,” she said in a teasing tone.

  He chuckled. “I’ll see for myself when I deliver you to your family. Let me take your bag.”

  “Is your family in residence?” She gave him her portmanteau.

  “We will know in a moment.” Fitzwilliam led the way up the marble steps and rang the bell. When the door opened, he entered first and Lady Penelope, holding her cloak closed, followed.

  In the center of the foyer stood Lady Amanda Fitzwilliam, Countess of Kesteven. Remaining in place, she spoke in clear, measured tones that gave no hint of the concern she had endured in recent weeks as she waited for news from her second son. “Christopher, how nice to see you. I was happy to receive your express today, and I have had a room prepared for your guest.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” He kissed her cheek fondly. She was such a formidable presence that he was sometimes surprised at her being a full head shorter than he. “Is Father here?”

  “No, it will be just you, your guest, and myself for dinner.” Lady Fitzwilliam’s tone alerted the newcomers that attending dinner was mandatory.

  “Lady Fitzwilliam, may I present Lady Penelope Trelawney Velez y Garcia,” her son said, extending his arm toward his traveling companion. Lady Penelope made a shallow curtsy as she struggled to keep her masculine attire concealed.

  Lady Fitzwilliam made a respectful nod to the young woman as she studied her with a curious yet kind gaze. She seems weary, and yet I see sparks of wit and liveliness in her. “Welcome, my lady. I am not familiar with Spanish titles. What shall I call you?”

  “Were you to address me as ‘Lady Penelope,’ madam, I believe that would help accustom me to being in a land where I have not set foot for nearly ten years.” Studying the elegant woman before her, she thought, I see how the colonel came by his auburn hair and blue eyes.

  “Then permit me to welcome you to England and to Fitzwilliam House, Lady Penelope. The staff are preparing baths for you and my son. I would like to dine in two hours if that is acceptable.”

  “Yes, your ladyship. Thank you.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam nodded to the housekeeper standing by. “Mrs. Rushworth will see you to your room.” Fitzwilliam gave the portmanteau to the housekeeper, who started up the broad staircase. Lady Penelope gave him a small smile before following her.

  When Fitzwilliam took a step toward the staircase, his mother restrained him with a firm hand on his arm. Silently, they watched as Lady Penelope and the housekeeper disappeared into the wing containing the guest
bedrooms. I am ready for this conversation, he told himself before turning to meet his mother’s gaze.

  “So that I am pellucidly clear, my boy, you and this woman—”

  “She is a lady,” he said firmly.

  “An unmarried lady?”

  “She was widowed very recently.”

  “Ah.” Releasing his arm, his mother stood with her hands clasped in front of her. Fitzwilliam knew the posture well; she would evaluate his every word and expression, just as she had done when he was a lad called to account for himself. “I had hoped she was, but her trousers confounded me. Yes, I noticed.

  It is more difficult than you might think to hold a long cloak closed while safely ascending a staircase. Now perhaps you could provide a few salient details, my boy.”

  At being called a boy, Fitzwilliam smiled and shook his head. “Lady Penelope is the widow of Don Salvador Velez y Garcia, a Spanish gentleman. I have brought her from Spain, and tomorrow I will deliver her to her brother, Lord Cadan Trelawney.”

  “Is escorting widows a promotion or a demotion? It has not been your usual assignment.”

  “Blame yourself, madam. Had you not insisted that I learn French, Spanish, and Italian, I would not have been tasked with rescuing Sir Oscar Smallwood.”

  “Oh, it’s always the mother’s fault, isn’t it?” she said drily.

  “Because of my language skills and my being a brilliant officer,” he said in a mocking tone, “I was sent to retrieve Sir Oscar. He had sent a frantic communication to my commander that he was severely wounded and needed to be evacuated to England. In truth, Sir Oscar was uninjured, but after two days in his company, I was tempted to do him bodily harm myself. It was because of his foolishness that I received a minor wound.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How minor? Where? Are you in pain?”

  “Very minor. A bullet grazed my leg. For all intents and purposes, I am healed.”

  His mother gave him a skeptical look. “Doubtful; please continue.”

  “Sir Oscar—a gentleman in name only—is not a soldier. Rather, he is a self-appointed ‘special ambassador’ who lacks even a rudimentary knowledge of Spanish, French, Portuguese, history, logic, negotiation, or any other field of study one would reasonably expect for a diplomat. I suspect he wanted to return home because he was bored with his self-assigned ‘mission’ and worried about being trapped in the war with Napoleon.”

  “Knowing Sir Oscar’s father as I do, I am not surprised by the son’s incompetence.” Lady Fitzwilliam’s recollections brought a frown to her face. “Sir Oscar is not a young man, is he?”

  “About fifty, I think. Apparently, he married at an early age, and his wife died but a few years ago. Now he is having the adventures might expect of a self-indulgent stripling. Simply put, he is a fool with a vast and unwarranted sense of self-entitlement.”

  His mother nodded. “I think we have exhausted that topic. Now about the lady .…”

  “As I said, her brother is Lord Cadan Trelawney.”

  “I know the name. Last year, he and your father were on the losing side of a vote in the House of Lords.”

  “Lady Penelope’s husband, Don Salvador, was killed several months ago in a skirmish with the French. Their daughter, born to Don Salvador’s first wife, is living with the Trelawneys here in town at present because of the wars on the Continent.”

  “I believe I heard something about that, too. No gossip—merely that the Trelawneys are hosting the young lady.”

  “Don Salvador and Doña Pen—that is, Lady Penelope—had opened their home outside of Salamanca to persons who were injured. After Don Salvador’s death, she continued to help those in need. At the time that Sir Oscar was dropped on her doorstep by some junior officer, she and her few household retainers were also caring for an elderly female baker—with a bawdy sense of humor, I must say—a brigand turned guerrilla, and a Spanish gentleman.”

  “Did Lady Penelope treat your leg wound herself?”

  “No, Mother, her manservant did.”

  “Ah.”

  “After I reached Salamanca, but before I could get Sir Oscar organized for his ‘rescue,’ Lady Penelope received word that French soldiers were planning a raid on her hacienda. Thus, on very short notice, the lady, her patients, her two servants, and I fled. We watched from a nearby hill as the French destroyed her home with fire and artillery shells. I suspect they thought the place sheltered enemy combatants. Lady Penelope lost everything save the portmanteau she is carrying today.”

  “I believe I have some dresses to offer her if she wishes. The hems will have to be let down, but my maid can handle that easily enough,” Lady Fitzwilliam said.

  Although his mother’s neutral expression had not changed, Fitzwilliam knew she was touched by his account. “Despite everything, Lady Penelope carried on like a … a soldier with a mission. From her knowledge and her determination, we made our way to the Bay of Biscay. Happily, in Oviedo, the Spanish gentleman took on the care of the baker—herself a widow without a home.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam touched her son’s cheek, reassuring herself that he was well. “I do not like to think of you in desperate circumstances.”

  “I assure you, Mother, our trek was more tedious than dangerous. We traveled by carriage, by farm wagon, by donkey cart, on horseback, and on foot. But save for the whining of Sir Oscar, there was much camaraderie between us.”

  “So, what, pray tell, became of the brigand?”

  “He made himself useful. When we reached Gijón, I used my letter of credit to get funds for our escape to England. The brigand —a charming fellow really—assisted us in arranging passage with a privateer. By ‘we,’ I mean that Lady Penelope added what little money and jewelry she had to mine so we could fund our escape. Sir Oscar contributed not so much as a ha’penny.”

  “What an ungrateful fellow!”

  “Indeed! Then just before we docked at Lizard Cove in Cornwall, I discovered Sir Oscar had quite a cache of gold crowns on him.” Fitzwilliam shook his head at the memory. “Lady Penelope had done so much for him—for all of us—yet the greedy arse didn’t contribute to his own rescue! Thus, when I had the opportunity to rectify his oversight, I took it.”

  “I would expect no less. You have always had a passion for justice, Christopher, which you received from me as much as from your father, if I may say so.”

  He grinned. “So true, madam. Anyway, after Sir Oscar disembarked at Lizard Cove, the privateer delivered Lady Penelope and me to Brighton. I hired a carriage, and here we are.”

  What are you not telling me? his mother wondered. “The lady sounds quite practical. An important quality during wartime.”

  “Essential.” After a prolonged silence, Fitzwilliam said, “Well, if that is all, I shall see you at dinner.” As he turned toward the staircase, he felt his mother’s hand on his arm again.

  “Did Lady Penelope’s maid accompany her on the voyage?”

  Meeting her gaze openly, he said, “Her maid is married to her manservant; their families are in Spain. It made no sense for them to travel to England.”

  “What were Sir Oscar’s thoughts about traveling with an unchaperoned lady?”

  “That arrogant, self-deluded fool! Scarcely an hour before we were to set sail from Gijón, he declared Lady Penelope could not join us, for he feared she would entrap him into marriage at just the time he was enjoying his freedom as a widower! So, the lady insisted that her cousin, Master Penn, travel in her stead, as he would then arrange for her rescue with Lord Trelawney.”

  “And she masqueraded as her own cousin? That explains the trousers. But did Sir Oscar see no similarity in this ‘cousin’?”

  “Master Penn avoided him. Fortunately, Sir Oscar spent most of his time in his cabin, away from the rank and file. I also suspect that his frequent cups of brandy laced with laudanum affected his attention to detail. Only the captain and the first mate knew of Lady Penelope’s deception. In public, we treated her as an ordinary fellow and gave
her as much privacy as could be managed.”

  “I have never sailed from the Bay of Biscay to Lizard Cove. Is it a lengthy voyage?”

  Fitzwilliam knew she was wondering just how long this scandalous arrangement had lasted. “Several days,” he shrugged as if the length of the trip was of no consequence. “We ran into a fierce storm on the first night, but nothing too unpleasant after that.”

  “Christopher, do you believe no scandal will be attached to either the lady or yourself?”

  “Lady Penelope feels the loss of her husband keenly, nor is she the sort to declare herself compromised. In truth, she could do better in the matrimonial market than to wed me.”

  “As your mother, I naturally disagree. Still, if the lady is considered compromised, what will you do?”

  “Offer her marriage, of course.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam studied his face. “You admire her.”

  “She lost her husband, her home, everything! Yet, she saw to the care and rescue of others. Certainly, I could have made my own way to England, but I could not have gotten Sir Oscar and the others to safety without her. She was pluck to the backbone! Now, may I take my bath, Mother?”

  “Oh, if only your six-year-old self could hear you. Happily, I no longer have to bribe you to bathe. Yes, go. I shall send up someone to shave you and trim your hair.”

  ≈≈≈

  Of the two copper bathtubs at the townhouse (one for the exclusive use of family and one for guests), Fitzwilliam did not know which had been brought to his childhood bedroom. How-ever, within easy reach of the tub was a wooden stool bearing a bar of Pear’s soap and a silver flask containing a fine vintage port.

  Easing his weary body into the hot water, Fitzwilliam savored the luxury. I hope Master Penn is enjoying her bath as much as I am enjoying mine, he thought. At once, his mind was filled with memories of the day Lady Penelope had become Master Penn.