Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 12

On the Road to London

The Next Morning

Darcy stared out the window of the carriage as it rolled smoothly toward London. The weather was clear and cold, but the two occupants were well wrapped in rugs, with hot bricks at their feet. Darcy was far too generous a man to make his prisoner freeze while he himself was warm.

Wickham, seated on the rear facing bench, sat with his face averted, his handsome features twisted into a sullen pout. His hands, covered by a rug, were bound with rope; Darcy found binding his enemy somewhat repugnant, but he knew that Wickham was desperate, and he did not want anyone else in the carriage with him to guard the prisoner. Wickham had, apparently, spent the last hours trying to tell anyone who would listen about Lydia Bennet’s folly, and only through the care of Mr. Harding, and the faithfulness of Bingley’s servants, had prospective rumors been quashed.

It was truly despicable of Wickham to try to ruin a girl who was attempting to free him, but it was not surprising, either; the man was concerned only for himself, and even marriage to Lydia Bennet, who was poor, was preferable to being thrown into debtors’ prison.

“So tell me, Darcy, why are you, the high and mighty master of Pemberley, so interested in the merchants in Meryton?” Wickham demanded suddenly. “You have never cared before about my trifling debts.”

Darcy, whose thoughts had wandered, as was all too common, to Elizabeth Bennet and her quick mind and fine eyes, took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I cared,” he said, “but not enough to do anything about it, and that is a poor reflection of my own character. I should have dealt with you long ago, and more so after your attempt to run off with Georgiana. I felt restrained by my father’s love for you and set aside the reality that my father has received his reward in Heaven, while you have been busy destroying the lives of those around you here on earth.”

“Destroying lives? A few pounds here and there? Absurd, especially since you can pay those off with ease! You have no idea what it is like, Darcy, to be poor, you who have always lived in the lap of luxury, with your ten thousand pounds a year!”

“What of the women you have ruined?” Darcy demanded, leaning forward with angry eyes and clenched fists. “What of the servant girls and tenant daughters, whom you tricked into giving up their virtue, only to abandon them when they fell pregnant with your children? What of them?”

Wickham stared back in astonishment and then guffawed and leaned back against the squabs. “Servants girls? Tenant daughters? Why would you care about them ? None of them are of any importance except to serve their betters, and indeed, if they are fool enough to give up their virtue, that is their fault, not mine! As for their brats, why should I care if they starve…?”

Darcy, to his own surprise, leaned forward at this moment and swung a long arm to punch his former friend. Wickham jerked as Darcy’s gloved fist smashed his lips, and he cried out in shock and pain. Darcy’s breathing was rapid, and his heart beat rapidly in his chest. How could such a man, his old playmate, the son of a respectable steward, the godson of George Darcy himself, be so cruel and indifferent to the struggles of others?

“Prison will suit you very well, Wickham,” he said coldly. “Plain water and stale bread and rats and fleas and dirty straw for your bed. It will be very good for you. I expect you will yearn for someone – anyone – to care about your plight.”

/

Cheapside

The Next Day

The carriage slowed down as the amount of traffic increased, and Elizabeth looked out the window, relieved that, barring an accident, they would reach the Gardiners’ home on Gracechurch Street within the hour. She and Lydia had been blessed with a chilly but calm day, with no rain or snow, and the horses had walked and trotted sturdily, and the carriage had not inconveniently broken a lynch pin.

But while the journey itself had not been difficult, the first hours had been exhausting thanks to the unremitting whining and complaining of Lydia. The girl, after spending two days locked in her room, had been bundled downstairs and into the Bennet carriage as the rising sun painted the eastern sky a golden pink.

The decision had been made, after much talk, that Elizabeth and Lydia would journey to London together, on the pretense that Mrs. Gardiner needed their help. This was not, in fact, a falsity; the lady was newly pregnant with a fifth child and not feeling well at all. Lydia would be of no help with the children, of course, but as soon as the arrangements were made, she would be sent off to boarding school.

Elizabeth herself would remain in London until just before her eldest sister’s wedding day, sharing a room with Lydia, watching over her, and generally making certain that her youngest sister did not do anything ridiculously stupid.

Bingley and Darcy had agreed to search for an appropriate boarding school for the youngest Miss Bennet, with both agreeing that it must be one somewhat isolated from any large towns and with strict discipline.

Lydia herself had been told nothing of these plans, but that did not mean she was silent throughout the journey. No indeed! The girl had railed against being locked up like a common criminal, and the general cruelty of Bingley, Darcy, Elizabeth, Jane, and the general populace for imprisoning George Wickham, and expressed an impious hope that God would strike someone with lightning for letting such a dreadful, barbarous thing take place.

Thankfully, Lydia had finally fallen asleep, and Elizabeth was enjoying the blessed silence. She was tired and worn, but she was also sensible enough to be grateful for God’s mercy on their family. If Mr. Darcy had not been there, if Wickham had agreed to run away with Lydia — well, the entire Bennet family would have been plunged into dreadful scandal. As it was, Jane would shortly be married to Bingley, and Lydia would be packed away at a school where, everyone hoped, she would learn some sense.

/

Darcy House

London

The Next Day

Mr. Bexley,

Thank you for your prompt response. Your council on the matter of investing in wool is greatly appreciated. I do wonder if it would not be wiser to put off this change until the coming spring, as…

Darcy tapped his pen on the rim of his inkwell, then blotted off the excess before returning it to the paper in front of him. It was a quiet day at Darcy House, and Darcy was working his way through a backlog of correspondence that he had neglected for a time while dealing with his childhood playmate.

Wickham was being held in an attic room, guarded by two of Darcy’s more muscular employees. Darcy was reasonably assured of the sense of his female servants, but he also knew of Wickham’s silver tongue, and as such had ordered for him to be guarded and attended by male servants only.

The latch on the door clicked, and Darcy looked up just as his butler entered the room, a tray in his hand upon which rested a fresh stack of folded letters.

“Your post for the day, sir.”

The butler set the letters on the desk before him, and Darcy nodded his thanks. He lifted the first letter from the stack as his butler retreated and was pleased to find it addressed from Mr. Selkirk, a foremost expert in education, who had been at Oxford with Darcy’s father. Darcy trusted Mr. Selkirk’s judgement and had written him from Hertfordshire asking Selkirk to recommend a boarding school for Miss Lydia Bennet.

It occurred to him, as he slit the seal with a letter opener and set it aside, that he was putting a good deal of effort into the well-being of a family with which he had no ties or connections. Bingley, however, did, with his upcoming marriage to Miss Bennet. Darcy was fond of his friend, and happy to help him avoid potential scandal and gossip in London. He was also quite fond of certain members of the Bennets themselves, primarily Miss Bennet, who was a handsome and charming woman and would make Bingley an excellent bride, and…

Darcy set down the letter, unable to focus on the text. He was not in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, surely not. He admired her, yes, and if she had a higher societal standing, he would have offered for her hand already. Whether she would accept, with her obvious disdain for him, was another question, of course.

In any case, she was a country gentleman’s daughter with connections to trade. Unlike Bingley, Darcy was unable to look past that when it came to selecting a potential wife.

The door opened, and he looked up to observe his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam of the Regulars, dressed in his red coat and sporting a grin on his rugged face.

“Richard!” Darcy exclaimed. “You are a day earlier than I anticipated. Come in, come in, and warm yourself!”

“I spoke to my general and obtained leave to depart Brighton early,” Fitzwilliam replied, stepping into the room, shutting the door behind him, and striding over to warm himself by the roaring fire. “I could not wait to come, Darcy; is it true that you have Wickham locked up here in Darcy House and are having him imprisoned in Marshalsea?”

“It is true,” Darcy said with grim satisfaction. “I also punched him in the face during the journey here.”

Fitzwilliam turned to stare in wonder at his cousin and then meandered over pour himself from a bottle of wine sitting on a tray. “Did you indeed? I am certain he deserved it, but you have not been so passionate since I stole the last cherry tart from the kitchen at Pemberley! What changed?”

Darcy sighed, wrinkled his nose, and wandered over to pour his own dram of alcohol. “It is a long story, and I must ask for your silence on the matter.”

“You have it, of course.”

The master of Pemberley gathered his thoughts further as he took a few sips of Madeira and then began. He spoke of his own interference into Bingley’s courtship of Jane Bennet, and the subsequent breakdown of the friendship, and then Bingley’s approach about a servant girl in Hertfordshire who had been ruined and impregnated by Wickham, and the decision on the part of both Bingley and Darcy to deal with the man in a permanent fashion. Then the arrest, and Lydia Bennet’s attempted interference, and Darcy’s determination to haul Wickham safely to London, away from the sharp ears and gossiping tongues of Meryton.

Richard Fitzwilliam listened silently and attentively, and at the end of the recitation he asked, “Is it possible that you are in love with Bingley’s fiancée, Darcy?”

Darcy, who had just taken a sip of wine, choked and spit out a small mouthful. He coughed three times, forcefully, and then lifted an astonished gaze on his cousin. “With Miss Bennet? Of course not!”

The colonel chuckled and handed over a clean handkerchief, which Darcy used to wipe his mouth and the part of his coat adulterated by the wine. “My apologies, Cousin. I am merely bewildered at all this activity on behalf of a humble tenant girl. Not that I am arguing, certainly, but I still cannot fathom why you are dealing with Wickham now!”

Darcy set his glass down and wandered over to stare at the blazing fire before dropping into a blue wingbacked chair and bowing his head low.

“It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, not Miss Bennet,” he croaked.

The colonel stared at his wealthy cousin in astonishment. “Miss Elizabeth?”

Darcy lowered his hands and leaned back in his chair. “The second Miss Bennet. Bingley’s fiancée is very beautiful, but Miss Elizabeth is intelligent, and vibrant, and enchantingly lovely, and her eyes are so fine…”

He trailed off and groaned aloud. “She is tantalizing and I find I cannot forget her.”

Fitzwilliam walked over and poured another half cup of wine for his cousin, handed it over, and said, “Drink up, Darcy.”

Darcy did so, rather miserably, as his cousin took a seat across from him and held out his hands towards the crackling fire.

“So what exactly is the problem?” the colonel asked. “If she is so wonderful a lady, why have you not offered for her?”

“Marry her?” Darcy demanded. “It is quite … Fitzwilliam, her mother is a vulgar solicitor’s daughter, and her father is an intelligent but lazy country squire whose heir is Lady Catherine’s rector, of all people, and her youngest sister just tried to run off with Wickham.”

“Georgiana did too.”

Darcy ground his teeth and waved an indignant finger at his cousin. “It is not the same, and you know it! He would have married Georgiana, at least.”

“Because she has a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, yes,” Richard agreed in a dry tone. “But if she did not, once she was in that carriage, she was at his mercy, and you know it. He could have ruined her.”

This was so undeniably true that Darcy was tempted to rush upstairs to the attic and punch the man again.

“But that is neither here nor there,” Richard continued. “Darcy, I have never heard you speak of a woman in such a way, and unlike me, you have no need to wed an heiress. Marry the lady and be done with it!”

Darcy looked up suddenly and for a moment his heart soared. Could it be as simple as that? He loved her, and it was true, he had never loved a woman before, in his entire life. But no, it was not that simple.

“I cannot, and you know it,” he said with a frown. “I am Darcy of Pemberley, with an earl for an uncle and a young sister who will need my wife to assist her in managing the demands of the ton. I must wed a lady who has excellent connections and is at ease in the company of the highbrow ladies of society.”

“If that is the case, I suggest that you not marry our Cousin Anne,” Richard said drily. “She is sickly and has not been to Town in more than a decade.”

“I will not,” Darcy agreed soberly. “If nothing else, my fascination, my infatuation , with Miss Bennet has showed me that a marriage to Anne would be a disaster. We are both too quiet. I need a livelier wife, and she needs a livelier husband.”

“And you expect to find a lively wife among the daughters of the nobility and haut ton?”

“I have not thus far, it is true,” Darcy confessed, “but surely there must be some woman out there amidst the Upper Ten Thousand who is well connected along with being lively and intelligent?”

His cousin stared at him thoughtfully for a long minute and then said, “Tell me, Darcy, what it is that you like about Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

Somewhat to Darcy’s own surprise, he promptly began a panegyric of the lady’s best qualities, starting with her intelligence, arch wit, and beauty, and finishing with her loyalty to her often unworthy family, and her willingness to debate Darcy about anything and everything.

“She argues with you?” the colonel demanded with a raised brow.

“About every topic worth discussing,” Darcy replied fulsomely. “You must know how rare that is, Richard! Most ladies agree with me about everything – I could say the sky was green, and they would agree without a second thought. Miss Elizabeth has a far more astringent quality to her. She not only argues, but she does it well. She has managed to change my mind more than once. Indeed…” and here he sighed, “she really does not even like me very much, though I hope that I have succeeded in improving her opinion somewhat after a difficult start to our relationship. I was rude and overbearing and, well, in any case, she is the first woman I have ever met who does not cater to me.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes and said, “Really, Darcy, a woman who would not accept you simply for your wealth and connections? She sounds perfect!”

“Yes, but her connections…”

“I know, I know, her connections. Very well, if you are going to be this stubborn and, frankly, foolish, I have a suggestion.”

“I am all ears!”

“Look elsewhere for a bride, Darcy,” Richard said, his usually genial face oddly grave. “Look for a woman who haunts libraries, and is interested in philosophy, and even charitable endeavors, perhaps. That kind of woman is far more likely to have the intelligence, at least, of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Darcy stood up and wandered over to the window to stare outside at the bare branches of the trees behind Darcy House. “A Bluestocking, you mean.”

“If you like,” Richard replied.

Darcy considered this with some reluctance. He did not think of Elizabeth – of Miss Elizabeth – as a Bluestocking. The lady was intelligent and well read, certainly, but she was also vigorous and lively, and his image of intellectual women was that of ladies sitting near fires talking endlessly of art. Nonetheless…

“I have tried the normal route of finding a bride,” he remarked, turning to face his cousin, “and failed. I will give your suggestion much thought.”

“Excellent,” Richard said, rising to his feet. “And Darcy, if you cannot find a woman in a reasonable time, marry Miss Elizabeth, I beg you! It hurts me to see my usually stoic cousin so lovelorn.”

“I am not,” Darcy began, and then grimaced at the sudden grin on Richard’s face.

“In truth, you are nearly as stoic as ever,” the colonel teased. “But come, I wish to speak to your reluctant guest now. Indeed, I insist, given that you had the fun of capturing and punching him, that you allow me to haul him to Marshalsea myself.”

“Certainly. Thank you, Richard. I am rather busy at the moment with delayed business.”

“It is most definitely my pleasure,” the military man replied with a feral grin.