Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (21 page)

He had not solved all the problems Jane could think of since the thought of spending a considerable time, perhaps several years, in the grand home of one of the great nobles of the realm was rather unsettling. Her primary dispute with his plan was that she had even less desire to spend such a short time with her new husband, only to see him sail off…and perhaps never return.

This last thought was uncomfortable in the extreme, but Jane Bennet was more aware than most young ladies of her position in life and the realities of war. Men went off to far places, and too many of them did not return. But perhaps there was a way…

“Why could I not travel with you to Bermuda?” she asked seriously. “I have read of wives who travelled to such places with their husbands, even aboard warships.”

“That is true,” George replied, his brows furrowed in concern. “But…look, Miss Bennet…Jane. There is little room aboard warships, even for a captain…”

“…but perhaps a little more for a commodore,” she said softly, and George had to smile.

“Perhaps, because the
Poictiers
does have provisions for an admiral, but the quarters will not be that much larger. And Bermuda does not have a pleasing climate. It is usually very hot, and the storms can be fierce indeed.”

“It does not sound so very bad, George.” Her face showed interest rather than concern. “I would far rather put up with discomfort and heat than be parted from my new husband.”

She looked at him in that direct way of hers again and said softly, seriously, “I do not want to be separated from you. Though I have not the hardiness of Lizzy, I am sturdy enough. I would really like to accompany you.”

Smiling, he said, “Then you shall, though I hope you will not hold it against me if we have to share a hammock.”

“I am not completely certain I know what a hammock is,” she said then held up her hand as his mouth opened to explain. “And I would prefer to wait to learn until it is needful to do so. For now, I would suggest that I have Hill send for Reverend Thompson and then we can inform my father of our decision.”

She shook her head sadly. “Poor Papa. He does not do well with disruptions to his leisure and tranquillity. But since there is no help for it, it would be best done quickly. Shall we go?”

Chapter
13

“The divine wrath is slow indeed in vengeance, but it makes up for its tardiness by the severity of the punishment.”

— Valerius Maximus, Roman writer during the reign of Tiberius

Monday, April 20, 1812: Hertfordshire

It was a happy day for her maternal feelings, as well as the prestige of her family, when Mrs. Bennet saw her eldest and most beautiful daughter married to a son of the nobility. It may well be imagined how delighted she was to afterwards speak of Mrs. Commodore Fitzwilliam and her journeys and experiences with her new husband. It may also be imagined how great was the tedium of all her friends and neighbours as they listened to the interminable details of her daughter’s sea voyage to Bermuda, of the social scene in that bustling station, and the progression of the pregnancy that would eventually lead to Mrs. Bennet’s first grandchild, a strapping son.

But all that was in the future, and her husband’s introspections followed a much different course as he watched half of the sensible females in his family board the carriage for her departure, first to London and then later to Plymouth with her new husband. He was easily able to interpret the looks the newly married couple gave each other, remembering that long-ago day when he boarded a carriage with his beautiful new wife and admired her graceful form and her lovely, good-humoured face.

Unfortunately, all too soon I realized the dangers of a hasty choice in selecting a companion for the rest of my life,
he thought.
After the first flush of desire passed, her lack of sense came to dominate her every action. I do not have to worry about that with Jane and her officer; they are both eminently sensible.

Darcy’s ruminations were more cheerful than his future father in law as he watched the same scene. Despite the radically unorthodox “courtship,” he believed the married couple had selected completely admirable mates. Sensibility clearly was the dominant reason for their marriage. Even so, he was convinced other emotions were at work and would eventually manifest themselves, especially when he remembered the looks the newly married couple shared.

They complement each other also,
he thought contentedly,
not as Elizabeth and I do but in a different way. I believe and hope they will both find a happiness and contentment so often missing. That is especially so in the case of Jane Bennet — no, Jane Fitzwilliam! It would have been much different had she been forced into marriage with Bingley; she definitely does not look on George with indifference! She deserves all the happiness in the world, and I believe George will try his best to see she receives it.

Darcy wasted little time or emotion on Jane’s younger sisters. Mary had at least shed tears, a mixture of joy and sadness at seeing her eldest sister life leave her home. But the reactions of Lydia and Kitty were exactly what he would have expected. They shed no tears but only fidgeted. The ceremony had been put together with such rapidity that none other than Sir William and Lady Lucas had attended. The same rapidity prevented either Kitty or Lydia the opportunity to be a bridesmaid — Elizabeth stood up for Jane and Darcy for Captain Fitzwilliam — so they had not even an opportunity to exhibit before their neighbours.

Elizabeth’s feelings were the most conflicted of all her family: joy for her sister after months of melancholy, sadness to see her leave — not just to another town but another part of the world — and an uneasy, indefinable emotion she could not yet name. She only knew that a part of her wished for the stability she sensed Jane had achieved despite the tumult of the past twenty-four hours.

Then she sighed as they entered the house, and not even the prospect of a long ramble with Darcy was enough to settle her mind. She was going to have to press her father at some point for a resolution of the dispute with her mother over the date of her wedding, and she did not look forward to the inevitable argument. She knew how badly her father reacted to unsettling events, and after the tumult of the past days, she wished to spare him the grief.

But she could not wait forever; definitely, she could not. Nor, even though he gave no indication of impatience, did she believe William could.

Tuesday, April 21
- Wednesday, April 29, 1812: Hertfordshire

Wedding plans continued apace at Longbourn as Mrs. Bennet prepared menus and decorations for the wedding breakfast, selected fabrics and commissioned dresses and accoutrements for her daughter’s trousseau, and discussed the details of the ceremony with Reverend Thompson. The matter of Elizabeth’s trousseau was the most pressing for Mrs. Bennet, for she was determined that this daughter would not leave Longbourn until she possessed wedding clothes appropriate to the fortune and stature of her husband. Elizabeth helped her mother as much as she could tolerate, knowing that resistance would only make the ordeal longer. But not even determination could keep her at this task when her anxiety rose so high; only a lengthy ramble, with or without Darcy, could restore a measure of calm.

Darcy visited daily, though he often could not come as early or stay as late as he wished. As Elizabeth predicted, he was bombarded with invitations; and he had decided he could not decline them all despite the freedom she had given him to accept any, all, or none. In choosing, he always asked her advice, trying to limit his acceptances to those who were especial friends of the Bennet family. Thus, he occasionally missed a part of a day.

But he was happiest when he could come early and stay late, talking quietly in the house, walking in the Longbourn garden while he answered her questions about Pemberley and its environs, and escorting her, usually hand in hand, on those long rambles she enjoyed so much.

Elizabeth was becoming more comfortable with him and had grown more acquainted with his idiosyncrasies. While she grew convinced some elements of his behaviour might be changed, she was equally certain he was never going to be as convivial as his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam or that disappeared scoundrel, George Wickham. But she was content that she could live with his idiosyncrasies, defects, whatever they might be called, though she might try to change certain of them — but gently, gently. Fitzwilliam Darcy
was
a proud man, and she now knew he had reasons for a measure of that pride. She would move quietly and subtly, and if he changed, well and good. And if he did not, she would…cope.

Besides, he had already shown improvement in his reticence at social functions they attended, sometimes at Longbourn and sometimes at the homes of other neighbours. They seemed to be gaining an unusual awareness of each other, and she was finding that she only had to glance upwards at some renewal of his characteristic stiffness and reserve to find his eyes already on hers. Then she would be rewarded by a chagrined shrug and a rueful smile as he visibly steeled himself to the task and set out to respond to the conversations of those he would have preferred to avoid.

Like sister, like brother,
Elizabeth thought, remembering Georgiana’s shyness.
Their reticence takes different expressions, and hers is certainly more recognizable. Besides, one would have to be heartless to feel anger at a girl of her youth when she cannot manage a single word. It is much more difficult to recognize in a grown man, experienced in the ways of the world, who covers up his diffidence with reserve and even haughtiness. Oh, my, yes. He was haughty and proud, was he not? And I was vain and foolish! It is fortunate we complement the other, is it not?

Such thoughts could bring a pained laugh to her lips, but she could not, of course, share it with him. In any case, she had much with which to be satisfied; his willingness to amend his behaviour could not help but gratify her, especially as it portended a good omen for their future happiness.

Saturday, April 25, 1812: Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Upon returning after a walk with Darcy in the garden, Elizabeth heard Lydia’s voice speaking excitedly in the dining parlour, and she instantly knew they had happened upon some new and enticing bit of gossip. Since she had no desire to subject William to such an objectionable episode, she attempted to make her way to the front parlour, only to be espied by Lydia.

“Lizzy, come quickly,” Lydia cried, stepping out into the hallway.

“Lydia, I want to sit down; I have no interest whatsoever in delving into the proclivities of our neighbours.”

However, Lydia would not be denied. “Have you not heard the news? Mr. Wickham is returned from Scotland with his new wife!”

“I do not believe there can be too little said on
that
subject,” Elizabeth said coolly, only to be surprised as Darcy spoke unexpectedly.

“I am rather surprised he had the temerity to return to Meryton.” As he spoke, his tone was so fixed and emotionless that Elizabeth glanced at him worriedly.

“Well, why should he not?” asked Lydia. “He has many friends, both in Meryton and in the Regiment; why would he go elsewhere?”

“To escape his creditors,” Darcy said sternly, “as he has on several previous occasions.” His statement drew a sharp glance from Elizabeth but had little impact on her sister.

“But come; step into the dining parlour, both of you!” Lydia appeared not to have even heard what Darcy told her. “Maria Lucas walked to Meryton with us, and she can tell you whatever Kitty and I cannot.”

Darcy and Elizabeth looked at each other and shrugged uselessly before following Lydia into the dining parlour.
I would tell this childish girl a portion of the truth about Wickham,
Darcy thought acidly,
if I thought it would do any good. But it would not; she would ignore what I said as she just did, and I cannot trust her discretion.

Mrs. Bennet looked up as they entered, putting aside the menu for the wedding breakfast, which she was revising for the sixth or seventh time.

“I hope you enjoyed your walk, Lizzy!” she said fretfully. “I needed your help with this menu after your father insisted I exercise more economy. I will need you with me when I explain the absolute necessity of…”

And off she went, in her own world while everyone ignored her.

“Captain Denny told Maria that the Colonel is so wroth with Wickham, he will not even see him!” Lydia was exuberant as usual in possessing news she imagined everyone wanted to hear.

“That sounds reasonable,” Darcy said. “Even in a militia regiment, the commander does not want its reputation besmirched.”

“How could Mr. Wickham’s marriage harm the regiment’s reputation?” Kitty asked.

“Kitty, act your age,” Elizabeth said. “You know that an elopement is not socially respectable.”

Kitty clearly would have pursued the topic further, but Maria Lucas now stepped into the conversation.

“Mr. Wickham and his wife have gone to the home of his wife’s aunt,” Maria said. “I stopped by to see her, and she was so excited, telling me all about the journey to Scotland and how gallant Mr. Wickham has been. She is so proud of her ring; it is really beautiful.”

Then it must have been purchased with borrowed money,
Darcy thought, though his emotionless face did not disclose the disparaging nature of his thoughts.
Wickham likely has little left from the three thousand pounds I gave him. I still cannot understand why he ever took a militia commission. True, it cost him nothing, which is not the case for a regular commission, but I do not think it pays anything at all. It is very strange.

“Captain Denny said Mr. Wickham may not be allowed to take up his duties again,” Maria said.

“That will not be to Mr. Wickham’s liking!” said Lydia. “Aunt Philips says the regiment may be sent to the continent soon to help win the war in Spain. Mr. Wickham could not bear to miss out on the excitement!”

“Militia regiments cannot be sent outside the country.” Darcy spoke without thinking, unable to believe how uninformed some people were. “It is against the law. They are raised only to relieve the regulars from the requirement of maintaining order and suppressing rebellion.”

“I am sure that is not true,” Lydia said mulishly, and Elizabeth was enraged by the careless manner in which her sister dismissed the opinion of a man far more knowledgeable than herself. However, Darcy forestalled her intention of setting her sister straight by gentle pressure on her arm, and she pressed her lips together. They had heard more of this sordid episode than could be justified, and by unspoken agreement, they took the opportunity to quietly slip from the room.

“Perhaps we might return to that garden bench in the shade,” she suggested quietly, which gained Darcy’s instant agreement, and the noisy conversation continued while they silently departed.

Monday, April 27, 1812: Meryton, Hertfordshire

Lieutenant George Wickham was a rather satisfied young man as he sat in his new aunt’s small dining parlour, sipping a cup of tea following a quite pleasing breakfast. The only matters causing him trepidation were his uncertainty about his reception at the regiment and a certain uneasiness regarding his necessary meeting with his wife’s uncle.

His trepidation concerning the regiment derived from his conversation with Denny the previous night in which Denny urged caution. “Colonel Forster is still quite furious with you, and I cannot predict his reaction when you report for duty. Certainly, you are due for a tongue-lashing for eloping as well as marrying without his knowledge. It would probably be best to report as soon as possible; you do not want it to appear as if you had something to hide.”

It was good advice and was the reason Wickham was in his uniform, needing only to don his red coat and stovepipe shako before leaving the house.

As for meeting Mary’s uncle, Wickham was more uncertain. On the one hand, Mary described him as exceedingly kind and considerate, but Wickham had heard of his anger upon learning of Mary’s elopement and his subsequent pursuit. The result was that Wickham did not know what to expect, and he planned, as was his usual manner, to talk his way out of any difficulties.

His confidence was not depressed by watching his wife bustling about, helping her aunt and re-filling his cup. She made a pleasing picture, her freckled cheeks pink with excitement, and he remembered the energetic handful she turned out to be in his bed.

Who would have thought such a meek girl would turn out to be so lusty and willing to entertain any suggestion I made?
he thought in remembrance.
It is too bad I shall have to leave her somewhere once I have control of her fortune, but there is no help for it. Even ten thousand pounds will not last a lifetime. But it will support my travels to the continent. I have to keep up appearances to achieve the connection I deserve.

His reverie came to a sudden end as he heard Mary’s voice raised in excitement. “Uncle Nicolai! We have been waiting for your arrival!”

Wickham only had a second to wonder what kind of name Nicolai was before a bear of a man who almost filled the doorway enfolded Mary in his arms.

“Ah, my Marianskaia Mikhailovna!” the bear-like man said, his deep, rumbling voice seeming to come from deep in his chest. “How be you, little one? Are happy?”

“Oh, yes, Uncle! Come, I want you to meet my husband!” she said merrily, pulling the giant over to the table where Wickham had reflexively come to his feet.

Wickham was still in shock at hearing the girl he thought to be “Mary King” referred to as
“Marianskaia Mikhailovna.”
Had he fallen into some kind of eastern European folk tale?

“Uncle, this is my new husband, Lieutenant George Wickham. George, this is my uncle, Nicolai Vladimirovich Noskov. He and my father were brothers, and they escaped from Russia together and came to England.”

“Da!” Noskov said happily. “Just step ahead of Czar’s police! Middle winter, snow up to backsides!”

Wickham found his hand enfolded in her uncle’s giant paw, and he could not restrain a wince since he expected the burly man to crush his hand thoughtlessly. However, his worries were for naught since the man only laughed and shook his finger at him.

“Bad to break hand of husband of favourite niece!” he said chidingly and laughed again. He looked around to find Mary’s aunt coming out of the kitchen, and she ran happily to the man; she was similarly enfolded in those giant arms.

“How are you, Nikolai Vladimirovich, you rascal!” she said, once she was released. “You stormed out of here like a band of avenging angels! I was afraid you were going to catch up to them and make Mary a widow before she was even a wife!”

She got a sheepish grin and a shrug from Noskov, who only said, “Some surprises lead man like me to angry response. Anger gone now. But need to talk to new nephew. Private talk.”

“Oh, certainly.” Mary’s aunt nodded, understanding that he needed to talk with Wickham about Mary’s fortune. “We will walk down to the milliners. They should be getting some new deliveries any day now.”

“Good, good. One hour is all I ask. Come back then?’

“Certainly,” she said. “Come, Mary, your uncle and your husband have some business to discuss.” Mary nodded, and they both left the house within five minutes.

Noskov watched them walk down the street for a few moments then said, “Brandy, Lieutenant? I am going to have one, and I dislike drinking alone.”

Wickham started, for the words were spoken in the cultured tones of a British gentleman, not the immigrant patois he affected in front of Mary and her aunt. Noskov said nothing, merely went to the sideboard and filled two glasses to the brim before handing one to Wickham.

“To your health, Lieutenant Wickham,” he said, then took a prodigious swallow of the fiery stuff and grimaced. “If you were Russian, I would probably have said ‘Vashe zrodovye,’ but it would be too much to expect familiarity with Russian toasts despite the fact you have undoubtedly noticed that my English is much better than my niece and my brother’s sister believe it to be.”