Teaching Eliza, page 18
“I have spent many glorious days at Pemberley,” the lady batted her eyes, “which you must know so well. It is a magnificent estate, and I look forward to many more days amongst its splendours. We hope,” she added conspiratorially, “to make the connection more formal before long.” There was a sly and knowing look in her eye, and Wickham felt emboldened. She did not love the man, of that he was certain, but she dearly wished to be mistress of his estate.
He pressed on, eager to learn more. “Unless he has changed from when last we were together, he is not an easy man to be around. His manners can be quite… abrupt. Is he much improved in your company, Miss Bingley? For only those of us who have known and cared for him from childhood have a true sense of the man inside.”
She gave him a coy smile. “His manner is, it is true, difficult for those unaccustomed to him. Charles puts him in his place, and he is always most attentive to me. I do not fear his curt and uncivil ways.”
Wickham smiled. This would be an easy conquest indeed. Darcy seemed to care for the lady, especially if the rumours of the courtship were true, but she cared only for his wealth. He would have no difficulty wooing and seducing her and then using the scandal to break Darcy’s heart—assuming the man had one. He could even offer to protect the lady’s reputation afterwards… for a price! This would be a revenge Wickham could enjoy most thoroughly.
As he had imagined, Caroline responded perfectly to his machinations. He had dropped further hints as to his whereabouts on specific days, and she had happened to be about. He had discovered her own habits and managed, remarkably, to be where she happened to be. He politely held doors for her and handed her into carriages and over thresholds to shops and tea houses, and when, at last, he had whispered words of affection to her, she had looked him directly in the eye and smiled.
After her brother’s wedding, she had sadly left Meryton. Her stay in London was short, before she had been forced to spend the frigid months of winter with her aunt in Scarborough. But he had her direction; through a young maid he had bribed, he sent notes to Caroline’s own maid, who then delivered and dispatched letters between the two lovers. The affair had grown in intensity despite their separation, and now, at last, Caroline had returned to London, where she had been forced by her brother to take apartments with a companion. The companion, fortunately, was easily evaded through some little mistruth or another, and Wickham had arranged to meet with her here, in the park, whence he would carry her off to his discrete rooms in a less fashionable part of town and complete his seduction. No doubt Caroline still thought to marry Darcy, but her heart would not be broken by his rejection of her. As for Darcy himself, neither lover spoke of him at all. It was enough to know that the man was there in the background, ready to be destroyed by the knowledge of his intended’s betrayal!
His reveries at an end, Wickham waited some time more by the gates, until the carriage he awaited arrived. It stopped, and a footman helped a lady descend from its interior. And there she stood, lovely and elegant in the weak light of the cloudy day, eyes glowing with the anticipation of their tryst. He stepped forward and bowing deeply, intoned, “Miss Bingley.”
She saw him and smiled, then replied, “Mr. Wickham. Shall we walk?” She dismissed her carriage, asking the footman to return at the appointed time, before taking Wickham’s arm. He led her most properly down the main path, then onto a smaller one, and finally, into the deeper wood, where she flung herself at him and kissed him passionately. “George!”
“Caroline,” he responded between kisses. “Come with me, my darling. I have a carriage waiting at the other gate, where no one will see us. Oh, Caro…”
ELEVEN — JOURNEYS
~
THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE SOCIETY column of The Times , proclaiming to the world the engagement between Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire and Professor Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, was published the following day. It was the source of much discussion and amazement in the breakfast rooms of the elite, and a collective sigh of despair could be heard from every match-making mother and single young lady of suitable age in the city. The chatter was everywhere: Who was this girl? Had anybody heard of the family? Someone’s sister’s brother-in-law had seen Darcy with some girl at the theatre—might it have been her? Was she a great beauty? Exceedingly wealthy? The buzz would not cease.
The one man in town who did not read the announcement was, by a twist of fate, George Wickham. After his tryst, after he had returned Caroline Bingley to her carriage, her hair perhaps not quite as perfect as it had been before, her frock slightly in disarray but unnoticeable under her cloak, he had chanced to come upon an old friend from the gaming tables some years back. A gab on the pavement near the entrance to the park became a longer gab at the Fox and Firkin over some good ale, followed by an impromptu journey out of town to where the horses were being prepared for the first race of the season.
Ale and brandy were consumed in quantity and money was wagered and lost even more liberally, and by the time Wickham returned to his rooms in London three days later, his purse empty and his head full and pounding, the immediate ado over Darcy’s engagement had subsided, to be replaced by some scandal from the palace and a rather cryptic article about the Duke of S’s wife and the Earl of P and some unusual event at the recent races.
It was two days after this that Wickham’s head and stomach had settled sufficiently for him to contemplate a visit to his usual drinking spot, and at last, he finally the news.
“D’ye hear the news, Georgie boy? Yer old pal, Darly or sompin’ like dat, he’s gettin’ hisself leg-shackled!” Wickham knew the man only as Higgins; he was some ten years Wickham’s senior, a retired petty naval officer on half-pay, and a regular denizen of the tavern. Although often somewhat in his cups, the man was usually clean and well-enough dressed that he was not to be thought of as a complete reprobate. Mrs. Higgins, whoever she might be, took some care of her wastrel husband, it was clear. Wickham had spent many an evening relating his tale of woe to all who would listen, and Higgins, a good-seeming soul behind his drunkenness, was happy to listen. In turn, he had told his own story, dwelling on the battles he had seen and the final assault on his ship that had left him with his injury, but Wickham had not bothered to pay more attention than was needed to nod, frown, or comment suitably. This was one of Wickham’s most valuable skills, he considered: the ability to listen only to what he felt was important, whilst leaving the appreciation of the details and specifics to those whose smaller intellects might need them. A smart man such as he could always supply the details from his imaginings, if ever they were needed.
Taking his flagon over to the table where Higgins sat, Wickham grabbed a chair and placed himself upon it. The man’s news intrigued him. “Darcy, you say?”
“Aye,” came the affirmation.
“Getting married! Well, this is news indeed! Tell me what you know. I have been out of… town for some days, and had missed this item!” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the low wooden table, bracing himself above his ale, encouraging his companion to speak.
Always happy to relate gossip, Higgins grinned, belched, and threw back a large gulp of his own ale, before relating all of his meagre information. “‘Twas in the newspapers some days back—yesterday, day b’fore, p’rhaps. I didn’ read it none meself, but I done hear the nobs talking.” The tavern was a fairly respectable spot, as often frequented by gentlemen on their way to some slightly unsavoury entertainment or gaming house as by the more presentable of the underclasses, such as Higgins. Its location, just off the streets that housed more acceptable establishments, with its not-quite-reputable character, allowed these ‘nobs’ the conceit of feeling they were bashing at the walls of society, living rough, and taking wild risks, all the while never really leaving the safety of their fashionable part of town. It was, in short, a marvellous place to hear gossip.
“So, as I was sayin’” Higgins continued, “these nobs was talkin’ ‘bout yer man, Darcy, being engaged for a shackling, and how the other one’s sister had best start lookin’ elsewhere, as should everyone else’s.”
Wickham suppressed a snicker. Caroline had said nothing at all about this, the little minx! Had she known he would ask when they last met? Or had it been so inconsequential to her, in the light of being with him, George Wickham, that she had not thought to comment? Oh, how Darcy would suffer! “What do you know of the girl?” Wickham asked, feeling he should make the appropriate inquiries, all the while celebrating his triumph.
“Some little thing from the country, they was sayin’. Father or brother or someone has an estate out not too far from Town. She must be sompin’ mighty pretty to catch his eye like that, and mighty wealthy too! From all ye’s said of the man, he wouldn’t let hisself go for less than his sister’s dowry.”
“Then let us raise a glass to him, Higgins,” Wickham proclaimed with all good cheer. This was certainly Caroline. His Caroline, the woman he had tumbled only short days before, and whom he would have again, and again, before her wedding… and if he had his luck, even after! Ah, yes, at last things were going his way!
~
Plans for the ball which would introduce Elizabeth into London society as the future wife of Fitzwilliam Darcy were, by necessity, delayed due to the requirement for the lady to attend her sister’s wedding. Mary was, at long last, to wed her cousin, Mr. Collins, after which she would remove to his home at Hunsford in Kent. By a great coincidence, the sort of which was most often expected in novels, but which occur in actual life with a frightening regularity, the living which Mr. Collins held was under the patronage of none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, aunt to Darcy, Richard and Freddy, sister to the Earl of Malton. It was Lady Catherine’s daughter whom Darcy most specifically did not desire to marry, hence his scheme with Elizabeth.
Therefore, it was not considered unusual or unexpected for Darcy to accompany his betrothed to her home in Hertfordshire, where he would reside at Bingley’s still-abandoned estate. For the sake of propriety, the couple were accompanied on their journey by Mrs. Pearce and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had made several pointed comments about looking ever-so-forward to revisiting some former acquaintances in Hertfordshire. Lizzy pretended that she did not realise he was talking about Charlotte Lucas, but she also knew, by off-hand comments and questions about her childhood, that he had not stopped thinking about her friend during the last months in London.
The journey from London to Longbourn was not long: a mere half day in Professor Darcy’s large and comfortable carriage saw the party sitting comfortably in the Bennets’ sunny front parlour, awaiting tea and biscuits. The professor had insisted upon requesting permission of Lizzy’s father concerning their engagement, even though the older gentleman had reluctantly agreed when the plan was first conceived, and even though the announcement had gone out in the newspapers the week before. Afterwards, Darcy related to her in whispered tones the essence of the interview. “Your father seemed quite perplexed at my request,” he stated with maddening equanimity. “He granted his second permission easily enough and was almost friendly, offering me brandy, but then he reiterated his threat, namely that I should never sleep easily again were I to hurt you in any way.” He sipped at his tea, his eyes fixed on some distant and invisible point. “Why on earth should he think that of me?”
The Bennets were all agog at the transformed Elizabeth. Jane, who was by now accustomed to Lizzy’s new speech and manners, was not able to attend the wedding, citing some minor ailment that had all the ladies whispering and tittering in corners; thus there was no one to deflect attention from the phenomenon of the New Elizabeth Bennet. Mary exclaimed at her tales of visiting the museums and the libraries and asked what services were like at Professor Darcy’s church. Lydia, echoed by Kitty, gushed and cooed over her gown and bonnet. “Oh, Lizzy, is that silk? Not just the bodice, but the skirt too? Do you wear any muslin at all? How many yards of ribbon are there on the skirt? Look at those tiny satin flowers. Each one would take me a day to make. Is there any lace left at all in the shops after what’s gone into this dress? Does everyone wear yellow in Town?”
Mrs. Bennet looked pleased to have her daughter back with her, but perhaps more to triumph over her that it was Mary, two years younger, who was being married, and not Lizzy herself. The matron cast an envious eye at the beautiful frock her daughter wore, and at her finely made pelisse and bonnet, but commented only on her daughter’s deportment. “Well, aren’t you the high and mighty one now, Lizzy, sounding like a fine lady and acting too good for the rest of us with your society manners? I’m sure we aren’t nearly good enough for the likes of you anymore, are we?” It was only much later that she offered her begrudging congratulations to Lizzy and Darcy, well after the latter’s interview with Mr. Bennet, when the engagement was announced. “I’m sure you’ll be happy in his large estates. Think of the pin money you’ll have, and the fine carriages! Do you think Lady Grant will now sponsor Kitty and Lydia for a season instead of you, for you hardly need one now!”
Surprisingly, it was Mr. Collins himself who broke the tension building in the room with a suggestion for a walk. “The weather is fine, most fine today. Even my noble patroness, the honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would declare that this is as fine a day as ever she has seen, and I would not be ashamed to be seen with my bride and her three beautiful sisters.”
Indeed, it seemed to Lizzy that she was not the only one to have changed over the past few months. Now that he had found a lady well suited to him and equal to him, Mr. Collins had improved noticeably. He still scattered carefully constructed compliments before him like breadcrumbs before a flock of pretty birds, but they were strewn out of habit and not out of a need to ingratiate himself before everyone. His silly and pompous tone was somewhat more sedate and considered, and more than once, Lizzy saw her sister murmur something into his ear, immediately after which he would blush a furious red and then correct whatever behaviour it had been that had drawn her ire. He would never be a clever or a well-considered man, but under Mary’s quiet tutelage, he might be a tolerable one, and he would be, by all appearances, good for her and good to her. It was a most satisfactory alliance!
The day was, in fact, quite lovely, and the stroll under the blue and cloudless sky soon drew the small gathering down the lane towards Meryton. Lydia and Kitty hurried on ahead, hoping to see some of the officers in their red coats about town. The two girls had been most unhappy to have been kept to the house in preparation for the weddings whilst the militia officers were still arriving in town and before their serious training had begun. Although they had been unable to meet any of the dashing young men, they might still look and enjoy the sights. Mary and her future husband walked sedately after them, and Lizzy could hear Mr. Collins as he commented ceaselessly over the blossoms, the height of the corn, the straightness of the hedgerows or the particularly precise flight of the birds in the area as she walked behind him, with Richard on one side of her and Fitz Darcy on the other.
Unsurprisingly, Charlotte was waiting as they walked into town. She must have been alerted by the noisy arrival of the two youngest Bennet sisters, for she had donned her own bonnet and walking boots before leaving her home. She greeted Lizzy with a great embrace, then turned to the gentlemen and curtseyed.
“Professor Darcy,” she greeted him with civil politeness, although her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Then she turned to the colonel and her face began to glow. Her cheeks blushed a becoming pink and her eyes sparkled as they echoed the pleased and shy grin that took control of her mouth. Lizzy thought she looked almost pretty. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she dropped a slightly lower curtsey, and rose to find Richard beaming back at her. Lizzy fought valiantly to suppress her own grin at this silent conversation.
Charlotte pulled her attention away from the colonel and focused it once more upon her friend. “How fine you look, Lizzy! How elegant. Oh, do let me hear you speak! I long to hear what the professor has taught you!” With a laugh, Lizzy obliged as they wandered slowly down the high street, and some minutes were spent in amazement and delight at the transformation. When Lizzy mentioned her engagement to Darcy, the delight was even greater, and the conversation was moved to the small drawing room at Lucas House.
They sat for a short time before Mary suggested it was time to return for dinner, a comment repeated in the most elaborate terms by Mr. Collins.
As they stood to depart, Richard whispered a request to Lizzy, and she nodded. “Charlotte,” Lizzy turned to her friend, “we would be honoured if you would accompany us back to Longbourn and dine with us this evening. I fear poor Colonel Fitzwilliam will find no sensible conversation amongst any other member of our present company.” She glanced at the colonel, who in turn winked teasingly at Darcy.
Charlotte accepted immediately and ran up to dress. Lizzy smiled at her friend’s fortune, but wondered how the countess would accept her son’s choice. As an officer in the regulars, Richard drew a respectable salary—not one that would suffice for a lady of his rank, but more than enough for the comfort of a sensible woman like Charlotte, accustomed as she was to her father’s modest income. However, should he wish to sell his commission, as he might well do upon taking a wife, he would then be reliant upon his family’s charity or his wife’s own fortune. There was no purpose to be gained in finding trouble, however, and Lizzy was determined that her friend enjoy whatever friendship Richard might offer her. Taking a moment when they were left in some privacy, Lizzy whispered into Darcy’s ear, “You may have a new student before long.” He frowned at her and said nothing.
Dinner was pleasant. The Bennets cooed at Lizzy’s new manners and speech, and even Professor Darcy proved himself to possess the social graces that he so proudly taught to his students. When, at last, he and his companions from Netherfield departed, taking Charlotte in the carriage to drive her home, the family at Longbourn at last sat together to talk over the evening.
