Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 6

Longbourn

Late February, 1812

It was a time of great joy at Longbourn. In spite of the dreary weather outside, where a cold rain presently drizzled over the grounds and trailed down the window panes, the manor itself was filled with warmth and laughter as all five Bennet daughters helped prepare for the wedding of the eldest.

It was ten days until Jane was to marry Mr. Bingley, a fact that Mrs. Bennet would not allow any of her daughters to forget for even a moment. Even now, she sat in the drawing room with all of her daughters, exclaiming over the dress that Jane had purchased for her wedding.

“Oh, my dear Jane,” Mrs. Bennet breathed as her daughter turned around to show her sisters the lace on the back. “What an absolutely radiant bride you will be! Married at two and twenty, and mistress of Netherfield at that! Oh Jane! I never had any doubt!”

“Your dress is so lovely, Jane,” Kitty said reverently, reaching out to touch the lace along the tailored cuff of her sleeve. “I hope that when I marry, I will have one just like it!”

“I am glad you like it, Sister,” Jane said cheerfully, “but fashions change, you know! I am certain when the time comes for you to wed, you will wish for your own dress and will look beautiful in it.”

Jane’s dress was a lovely sky blue that matched the color of her eyes, with white lace that ran along the neckline, sleeves, and hem. It was fitted at her sleeves and under her bust, and the skirt swept the tops of her shoes. It would make a splendid wedding gown and would be suitable for other events following the blessed event.

Lydia, who had remained wide-eyed and silent for an almost alarming amount of time, finally took her chance to speak up. “Mamma, I want to have a new gown as well!”

“A new gown!” Mrs. Bennet scoffed. “Whatever for, you silly girl? It is Jane who is being married, not you!”

“But Mamma!” Lydia whined. “All of my gowns are out of fashion now. Perhaps if I had a new one, I could win an offer from one of the officers!”

Elizabeth, who had been sitting by and watching her sisters with a smile, felt her stomach lurch at the thought. She and Jane knew, of course, that some of the officers absolutely could not be trusted, especially the charming George Wickham, but they had yet to inform their younger sisters.

Mr. Bingley had told Jane, and Jane had told Elizabeth, that Bingley and Mr. Darcy had a plan to be rid of the miscreant, for which Elizabeth was very thankful. Evidently Wickham had a penchant for racking up considerable debt wherever he went, and slipping away before he could be forced to pay them back. Mr. Bingley intended to use this information to send him to debtor’s prison.

Though she still had a low opinion of Mr. Darcy and his conceited attitude, Elizabeth was grateful that the imperious master of Pemberley had chosen to assist them in ridding Meryton of Wickham. Once again, she admonished herself for ever being taken in by George Wickham and his charms. She really ought to have known better, but she had been proud of her own discernment, angry at Mr. Darcy for his insult of her beauty, and duped by Wickham’s truly remarkable good looks and pretty speeches.

“Perhaps you will, perhaps you will not,” Mrs. Bennet said briskly, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back to her mother. “You are only fifteen, and Jane will be very well married, so there is no great hurry for the rest of you! We are saved from being cast into poverty upon your father’s death. Moreover, any extra funds will be going into the wedding meal now; I have no intention of letting my most beautiful daughter be married without the best breakfast that money can buy!”

Lydia stuck out her lower lip in a pout, and Elizabeth turned an admiring look on her mother.It was rare for the Mrs. Bennet to ignore Lydia’s whining.

“Now put that away safely, Jane dear,” Mrs. Bennet cried out, “so that it will be clean for your wedding day. A daughter well married! I am so happy!”

/

Meryton

Pig in the Poke

The Next Day

The clouds overhead spit a few raindrops as Charles Bingley approached the Pig in the Poke, the pub in the center of Meryton, where the militia officers were fond of taking their meals. It was nine o’clock in the morning, and they were unlikely to be up at such an hour, as by all accounts, most of them stayed up late playing cards and drinking. Thus, it was an excellent time for Bingley to put his plan into action.

He pushed his way inside, making a quick sweep of the dining room to ensure that no red-coated officers were within. As he had expected, the coast was clear. The pub contained a number of denizens – farmers and shop keepers and a few servants, all enjoying their morning meal to the dull hubbub of polite conversation.

Mr. Bingley sought out the proprietor, Mr. Smythen, and soon located him as he emerged from a back room. Bingley approached him with a pleasant smile and called out, “Good morning to you.”

“Mr. Bingley, sir!” Mr. Smythen set down the pitcher in his hand, beaming at the master of Netherfield as he neared. Mr. Smythen was a muscular man, who sported dark curly hair which matched his dark eyes. “My heartiest congratulations on your upcoming wedding, sir. I am sure that you have made Miss Bennet a very happy woman.”

“No more happy than she has made me,” Bingley assured him. “I look forward to becoming more acquainted with the people of Meryton, of becoming an important member of the community. Actually, that is part of the reason why I am here this morning. You have, I am sure, a regular clientele of members of the residing militia?”

“I do indeed, sir,” Mr. Smythen told him, nodding enthusiastically. “It is a great boon to all of us that we have so many extra customers this winter.”

“A boon or a bane, depending on the officer,” Bingley said drily. “It has come to my attention that some of the officers have made a habit of running up debts during their residences, then leaving without paying them.”

Mr. Smythen’s face grew hard at these words.

“Is that so?” he asked.

“It is,” Bingley confirmed. “As the master of Netherfield, it is of great importance to me that the business owners in Meryton not be harmed by unscrupulous officers planning to run from their debts.”

“As it is to me, I assure you.” Mr. Smythen rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I will no longer offer credit to those men who are not in permanent residence, and demand payment of all debts before they are served again. Between the lot of them, I am owed many pounds.”

“I am sure it is no small sum,” Bingley said. “I will leave you to it. And if you should find that any of them give you trouble, report the matter to me, and I will do my best to assist you in recovering the money.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Bingley.” Mr. Smythen said with obvious gratitude. Bingley nodded, turned, and exited the pub.

Bingley lifted a hand to shield his face from the now steady rain as he looked around the town square. His next stop would be the baker, and after that, the haberdashery. Bingley was well aware that, upon being refused service, Wickham would be forced to disclose that he had no money to pay his debts. Bingley would then be free to purchase his debts and have the man thrown into Marshalsea.

Given the nature of Wickham’s crimes, Marshalsea was a light sentence for such a scoundrel, but it would allow for the conniving man to be taken off the streets of Meryton posthaste, and without risking the reputations of the young women who were his victims.

/

Pig in the Poke

Noon

The rain had stopped, and the sun was at its zenith by the time that George Wickham darkened the doors of the Pig in the Poke. He was in high spirits as he sauntered inside, flashing a winning smile to Jenny, one of the barmaids within. He selected an empty table and sat down, putting up his polished boots on the adjacent table while he waited for a girl to come and take his order.

He was entirely pleased with his time in Meryton thus far. His fellow officers were always happy to oblige him with a game of cards or dice, and the local merchants never hesitated to extend him credit thanks to his red coat, fine form, gentlemanly manners, and charming speech.

The town was filled with pretty girls, some of whom were more than willing to engage in a night of frivolity with him. He was at present courting a certain Miss Mary King, who had a dowry of ten thousand pounds, but that did not stop him from seeking out a bit of additional companionship on the side. He would, of course, never marry a member of the lower classes; he was the godson of George Darcy, and he deserved to wed a wealthy lady. It was a pity about young Sophia Cooper, as her pregnancy meant that she was no longer available as a lover, but there were plenty more stupid girls who would believe his soft words of admiration and allow him into their beds.

Wickham smiled up at Jenny as she came over to his table, her skirts swishing and a flirtatious smile on her face.

“Good morning, lieutenant,” she said cheerfully. “How can I serve you today?”

“A plate of ham and eggs, with a cup of ale, if you please.” Wickham said, sitting up straight, folding his hands, and resting them on the table. “And, if your employer can spare you for a moment, some lovely company to enjoy it with.”

Jenny giggled behind her hand. “Oh, Mr. Wickham, you know I cannot. But I will be available after my shift, should your offer remain, I would be pleased to spend time with you.”

Wickham raised his brows with a smirk. “Oh, I look forward to it.”

With that, Jenny swept away, and Wickham sat back to wait for his meal.

He had, for some while, been uneasy upon his arrival in Meryton, when it came to his attention that his old enemy Darcy was in residence at nearby Netherfield Hall. Fortunately, it seemed as though Darcy was as eager to avoid a confrontation as Wickham was, leaving him to have his merry way with the people of Meryton. And then Darcy had gone to London with his friends some three months previously, relinquishing the field to Wickham, which was even better!

“Mr. Wickham?” A man’s voice made him turn, and his smirk faded at the sight of the pub’s proprietor, Mr. Smythen, approaching his table.

“Good morning!” Wickham said cheerfully, pasting on a sunny smile. “It is a lovely day outside. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Good day, sir.” Mr. Smythen replied, his face stern as he stopped a few feet away. “I am here to discuss a recent change in policy.”

Wickham’s smile wavered. “Yes?”

Smythen crossed his burly arms across his chest and said, “From this point forward, no militia officer will be permitted to dine at my establishment without having paid off any account that they hold with me, and there will be no further credit extended.”

Wickham sat stunned for a moment, his smile frozen on his face.

“I assure you, Mr. Smythen, that you have absolutely nothing to fear from me,” he finally said, infusing as much charisma into his voice and face as possible. “For I am a man of integrity, and I would never leave a debt unpaid. You may ask my fellow officers if you wish to...”

“If that is so, then you will have no issue paying me now,” Smythen interrupted, unmoved. “I will not amend my policy for the sake of one man, regardless of how honest he claims to be. You must pay me what you owe, or you will not be served.”

Wickham’s smile faded at that, and he fought back a bitter remark. Instead, he offered, “I’m afraid I do not have my purse at hand. I will return presently to pay off my debt.”

With that, he pushed back his chair and stood, leaving the pub with considerable unease as Smythen glared at his back.

Wickham scowled as he stepped out into the sunshine, setting a course back towards the militia barracks. His stomach reminded him with a loud protest that he had not yet eaten this day on account of sleeping long past the sunrise, and he reasoned with substantial ire that he would be forced to dine with his fellow officers in the mess hall. The militia fare was not nearly as fine as the food that he had become accustomed to, but it appeared that today he would have to bear it.

What on earth had inspired such paranoia in the pub’s owner? Wickham had never encountered such a thing in Meryton. He did not, of course, have the money necessary to pay off his debt, so it seemed that he would be unable to dine at the Pig in the Poke for the remainder of his residency. Unless he could convince one of his fellow officers to cover it for him … but even then, he would be forced to pay for his meals and would quickly be rendered penniless again.

If Darcy were not in London, Wickham would be quick to blame him for Mr. Smythen’s sudden change of heart, but Darcy was many miles away.

It did not truly matter that much, he mused, his spirits rising. There was one other pub in the village, not quite as convenient, but the food was good enough. He would be well.