Teaching Eliza, page 10
This landowner, by chance, himself had a son some few years younger than Wickham senior, and when the old master passed from this world, the new master was pleased to have the man continue his position as steward of Pemberley.
Soon after taking up this position, George Wickham the elder married a young woman from a nearby village and before long had a son, whom the doting parents named George, after his father. This lad was born shortly before the new master’s own son, and seeing in him a smart and active lad, with his father’s innate intelligence and a charming personality, the master encouraged a friendship between his own heir and his steward’s son. And thus, the boy who ought to have been raised between the hedgerows grew up, instead, in the manor house of a large estate, was given an education fit for a gentleman, was allowed to mingle with the children of the aristocracy, and was even sent down to Cambridge with the golden child of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy himself.
But the young George realised that as much as he was elevated in the world from where he might have been, there were still heights to which he could never aspire. He would never be raised to the ranks of the nobility. He would never dine with his master’s brother-in-law, the earl, nor would he be paraded around the ballrooms of London as was the master’s son. He would never be looked upon by ranks of beautiful women of high birth, seeking to choose a husband as one might choose a pair of slippers. He would never be master of his own estate.
These vagaries of fate he could well live with. Being an earl entailed duties, headaches, and responsibilities that he had no wish to take up. George the younger had no wish to sit in the House of Lords and listen to endless and excruciatingly dull debates on topics he cared nothing for, nor did he need to be the subject of rumour and speculation on the part of every busybody in England. As for the parade of the ballrooms, that too was a fate better avoided. Being regarded by the silly daughters of overbred society matrons and impecunious lords as a means of support held no appeal to him; there was more fun to be had with the milkmaids and the wenches who worked in the shops and behind the bakeries than with the stiff and haughty daughters of the ton . Bedding one of those skirts would be almost as bad as bedding Fitzwilliam, he would think with a shudder: cold, quite unenjoyable, and completely distasteful. As for being master of his own estate, well, who needed that responsibility either? There was more amusement to be had in gaming, drinking, and wenching than in setting up crop rotation schedules and mending broken down tracks and hovels.
What he did desire, and what he believed he deserved, was the wealth that so often came with the status of land ownership or nobility. It was due to his father, after all, that Pemberley was so successful an estate. The ten thousand a year that Fuss-Drivelling Darcy was rumoured to have was only possible because of Wickham senior’s hard work and effort. And if Darcy was to benefit from his own father’s good decisions in hiring the elder Wickham, well, surely George Wickham the younger should benefit even more from having the astute man as his sire!
And that was when the trouble had begun. Young George had been offered the makings of a very good life. With his gentle upbringing and his excellent education, he was expected to find for himself a gentleman’s occupation, and the church seemed ideal for the smart and sociable lad. There was even a living attached to Pemberley that was offered to the young man upon his taking orders and the living becoming vacant. He might live very comfortably there, in the knowledge that his patron had done well by him, the son of a peasant-born waif from the dirt.
But a living required some effort and the lifestyle was not to George’s liking; nor did the income, comfortable though it might be, seem sufficient to the life George wished to live. His eye was to the thousands, the sort of wealth that would get him carriages and fine clothing, that would allow him to marry well, or better, install a mistress in some discrete apartments somewhere in town while he played the roué about the country. This was what he felt he deserved, and this was what he determined he must achieve. And somehow, he resolved, the Darcy family would finance his lifestyle.
The first forays into these attempts to secure a larger bank account took place at university. Wherever there are large gatherings of wealthy and bored young men, there will be shenanigans, and gambling is just one of the milder forms of trouble such a man can find. Wherever there were cards or a race upon which to bet, George Wickham was there, using some of his own modest allowance at first, thereafter announcing that his godfather, Henry George Darcy of Pemberley, would cover the debt. This, of course, was news to the senior Darcy, but he would not let his good name become besmirched by another, and consequently supplied the blunt to meet his obligations.
When gambling proved not to provide the income young Wickham desired, and more to the point, when enough establishments had received notice from Darcy senior not to accept his name as creditor to the young man, he sought other means to fund his existence. School was not to his tastes, and theology certainly not so. Shortly after both his own estimable father and Darcy the elder passed on, Wickham took himself to his old home to meet with his former playmate, now master in his own right of Pemberley and a handful of other smaller holdings around Britain. The new Master Darcy agreed at once to see his childhood friend, and expressed his hopes that, now past the tumultuous years of adolescence, George’s character might have improved.
He was proven sadly wrong. George informed Fitzwilliam Darcy that he had no inclination for the church, a sentiment with which Fitzwilliam agreed, and thereupon requested that in lieu of the living, at whatever time it might fall vacant, he be granted a large sum, with which he hoped to support himself for a time while studying law. To this, Fitzwilliam also agreed, and an arrangement was quickly reached wherein all rights to the living were ceded in favour of a bank draught to the effect of three thousand pounds.
The money lasted a year.
When an appeal for the now-vacant living met deaf ears, George realised he had only one more option. If he could not win, beg, or coerce money, he must marry it. His name, however, had become somewhat stained amongst the upper circles of society due to his checkered past and low birth, and so he needed to find a well-dowered lady to wed who might overlook these slight impediments. Fortunately, there was one close to hand, in the person of the sister of the very man who had denied him what he felt ought to be his: Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley. Although much younger than George and her brother, she too had grown up with George as a fixture around the manor house and viewed him as affectionately as a brother; possibly more so, because it had not been he who had assumed the stern role of father-figure and disciplinarian upon the death of her father.
And so, when George discovered that she was out of school and enjoying a holiday at Ramsgate with a companion whom he knew slightly, it was a matter of almost no effort to encounter her, seemingly by accident, woo her with words of love, bribe her companion, and convince the girl to elope with him. Georgiana Darcy was a sweet enough thing, if a bit dull, but her dowry of thirty thousand pounds was far sweeter still. At last, the Darcys would have given him what he clearly felt was his due!
These plans were dashed at the very last moment when Fitzsnivelling Darcy made an unannounced visit to Ramsgate and thereby discovered the planned elopement. His statement that the dowry would be forfeit if he and Georgiana’s other guardian did not approve the match was the final nail in the coffin, and Wickham, once more, was deprived of his birthright by the miserable man. Darcy even had the effrontery to criticise George’s accent, saying, “For all your education and time amongst good society, you still sound like a farmer.”
Wickham burned for revenge, but he could not think what avenue he had yet to try.
Then the perfect plan dropped right into his lap.
For want of any other means of survival, he had accepted a commission in the corps of a militia unit posted in some obscure village in Hertfordshire and was content enough for the time being. The work was not yet too onerous, and there were some very pretty girls in the area, although he had not yet met any whose fortunes might entice him into more than a kiss or a tumble behind the shrubbery.
Then Dame Fortune smiled upon him. One night, not too many weeks after he had arrived, his colonel had called upon a high-ranking officer from the Regulars to consult about a certain matter of discipline, and to his shock and initial horror, that other officer was none other than Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, cousin to the very Darcy Wickham hoped to destroy. Not wishing to alert the colonel to his presence, Wickham had stayed out of sight, but did begin asking very many questions, the answers to which fascinated him exceedingly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, rumour told him, was back in England after a lengthy sojourn in the West Indies, and was currently residing in the home of a local gentleman, whose other guest was none other than Darcy! Further, the rumours told him, Darcy had recently been acknowledged as courting a lady from the area. Where there is a courtship, a wedding must surely follow! The rumours were uncertain to exactly what this lady’s name might be, but Wickham was determined to discover her identity. If he could find her, he could woo her and win her, and if he might not break Darcy’s pocketbook, he might still break Darcy’s heart, which would afford equal satisfaction. A bit of bribery might also be possible. The clouds over his future were lifting!
To Wickham’s chagrin, the officers of his regiment had not been given quite the freedom they might have had in other times. Colonel Forster was a diligent commanding officer and had more than enough experience with men under his command who ran up debts and caused trouble. Trouble could, and would, occur, of course, but Forster hoped that by keeping a firm hand, he might minimise the damage. The officers were not quite prisoners, but they were kept under Forster’s sternest control, and socialising with the local elite was frowned upon; consequently, none of Wickham’s fellow officers were certain about the exact social hierarchy of Meryton. Nevertheless, Wickham was persistent in his quest to discover the identity of Darcy’s inamorata .
What he learned, from a lieutenant who had it from a private who had it from his girl who worked at the dairy behind the bakery in the village, was that the lady was from one of the first families of the area. When asked further about the families in town, Lieutenant Denny was able only to tell him, “The primary landholder here is Bennet, and he does have five daughters, all quite pretty. But to hear them speak, or to see them in the village socialising with the children of merchants and even farmers, you’d never know they were gentry, for they sound and act and behave just as all the other girls in the village. The mother is quite garish and unrefined, always going on about her nerves and trying to marry off her girls. She is quite loud about it, which is how I know. I’ve heard her in the streets when I’ve been at the smithy. She is from the area; her brother is an attorney in the village. There’s another brother who is a tradesman in Town. The youngest is a delightful flirt, but we have not had the chance to meet, for her family is planning two weddings soon, and the girls have all been needed at home.”
Darcy, with all his priggish and snobbish ways, would never allow himself to be linked with a family with such low connections—a family of brash matrons, of flirts with country manners and accents, of small town attorneys and shopkeepers—and consequently, Wickham knew he must look elsewhere for Darcy’s lady.
The other grand house in the vicinity was Netherfield Park, where Darcy was staying. This seemed a far more promising situation. The gentleman who was leasing the place had a sister, and a rather pretty one, he believed, and it surely must be she whom Darcy was courting! Why else would a man as fastidious as Darcy willingly sequester himself away in the wilds of Hertfordshire? It must be to court his host’s sister! All the pieces fit, and no detail seemed awry. A beautiful young lady of great fortune, and the sister of one of Darcy’s dearest friends… who else could it possibly be?
Why, he considered further, he might even attach the lady to himself to the point of wedding her! Her fortune would surely match Georgiana Darcy’s dowry; such a sum would be most welcome in Wickham’s own pockets. He could break Darcy’s heart and make his fortune with one sweeping action. It was perfect!
Two days later, Lieutenant George Wickham presented himself at Netherfield Park, humbly requesting an interview with Professor Darcy. He would not, he knew, gain entrance to the house without some credible business, and his history with the Darcy family was not unknown. Although loath to disclose his presence to Darcy, he nonetheless felt it necessary.
However, fortune smiled upon him once more. Surely his luck was about to change! The house was in an uproar, servants all buzzing about and in a tizzy, for someone had arrived most unexpectedly from London—he could not discover exactly who—and his or her arrival was cause for quite some excitement.
“I am most sorry, sir, but neither Mr. Bingley nor Professor Darcy is available to meet with you at this moment. Perhaps you wish to leave a card?” The butler was polite but insistent.
Not having cards, Wickham was about to make his excuses and leave when a very pretty and rather elegant young woman walked past the entrance hall, just inside the house. This must be Bingley’s sister! She turned to say something to the butler when she noticed Wickham standing on the stoop. Wickham knew he was handsome; indeed, his appearance was greatly in his favour, for he had all the best part of beauty, with a fine countenance, a good figure and a very pleasing address. His smart regimentals added to the effect to make him completely charming, and Caroline Bingley stopped in her path and smiled at the man.
At once, he knew that he had won; he need now only fight the battle.
~
She ought not to say a word. She ought not to acknowledge his existence. They had not been introduced, and it was quite improper to speak to a stranger thus. In London, with all the eyes of society upon her, she would never deign so much as to glance at him. But today she found herself acting rather out of character. Perhaps it was the country air, or merely the soldier’s masculine beauty and most appealing air; Caroline certainly had little enough encouragement from Darcy, and wished to have her own charms confirmed by another. She allowed her eyes to wash over the soldier, then threw all propriety to the wind and approached the door. “Sir, may I help you?” She dismissed the butler with a quick motion of her head. “My brother and his friend are both occupied at the moment, but perhaps I may be of assistance.” She kept her face serene and her expression disinterested, but she could easily read the interest in the handsome stranger’s eyes. This was the attention she desired!
“Miss Bingley? May I be so bold as to presume?” the soldier asked. She nodded and batted her lashes, allowing a faint smile to adorn her face. “I do hope you will forgive my forwardness and allow me to introduce myself. Lieutenant George Wickham, currently with the militia. Darcy was one of my dearest friends in childhood. His father was my godfather; he quite doted on me, almost as his own son. I had wished to renew my acquaintance with my old friend.”
At this, Caroline Bingley smiled more widely, clearly more at ease. “A friend of Mr. Darcy’s is no stranger here. Did you have particular business with Mr. Darcy?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Wickham said lightly. “But I see I am interrupting something; I should depart.”
“‘Tis merely Darcy’s housekeeper from Town; he can’t quite manage without her. It has always been this way. The poor man is quite lost without strong women to help guide his steps.”
“You know Darcy well, then?”
“Oh, yes, dear Darcy,” Caroline was eager to embellish upon the nature of her acquaintance with the stern and gruff man. His consequence was sufficient that any acknowledged connection must be seen as a social advantage. “We have been friends—very close and dear friends—for the longest age,” she gushed. Despite the unpleasant rumours concerning Mr. Darcy (of whom she felt quite possessive) and Eliza Bennet, she would not deign to dignify the connection with her acknowledgment of it. “He is a most cherished acquaintance, a charming man—quite wealthy, with a splendid estate, as I am certain you are aware.”
“Ah, yes, Pemberley!” Wickham matched her enthusiasm. “I spent many happy years there as a child. I quite long for the place when I cannot be there. My childhood memories carry me forward when times are difficult, and I always recall the paternal kindness of old Mr. Darcy. He remembered me always.”
This was interesting information! The words were simple enough, but there was meaning behind them. Might this beautiful officer be confessing that he was the natural son of old Darcy? That he had been left well-heeled with the old man’s money? That certainly was what he meant. His current occupation, as an officer in the militia, must be more for want of useful employment than for a want of money. Look at Colonel Fitzwilliam, after all. Surely the second son of an earl need not beggar himself to the king merely for food and lodgings. It was a matter of pride and status, to be sure. Such must also be the case with the handsome lieutenant standing before her.
It would be most inappropriate to invite him inside. She was a single woman, he a single man, and they had no common acquaintance hovering to satisfy the dictates of society. And yet, something in the man’s bright blue eyes, guileless expression, and wide, sincere smile left Caroline forgetful of everything she had learned. She simpered a moment longer, then dared, “Would you care for some tea? Perhaps Mr. Darcy can be coaxed from his present occupation.”
Wickham bowed most elegantly and Caroline felt her heart flutter at the sight. “I would be delighted, Madam,” he shook his head sadly, “but I will not impose upon your hospitality at this moment. Perhaps we shall meet again soon. I often exercise my horse on the common before noon.”
