Elizabeth excused herself immediately after dinner, saying that she would spend the remainder of the evening nursing her sister. She thanked her hostess politely, curtsied and departed; she had scarcely left the room before Miss Bingley began attacking her guest’s appearance and character.
Even Mr. Bingley had finally heard enough, and he bade his sister be silent. Miss Bingley flushed an ugly red, but held her tongue for the remainder of the meal.
***
Jane was asleep when Elizabeth crept into her room. Elizabeth had suspected this would be the case, but had been happy to cite tending Jane as an excuse to leave such unpleasant company. Be fair, she chastised herself. It was only Miss Bingley who was unpleasant. Mr. Bingley was pleasant enough, and Mr. Darcy was…well, it was hard to know, for he had scarcely said a word.
Elizabeth thought she might read to Jane when she awoke; perhaps she could make her way downstairs to Netherfield’s library without encountering anyone.
Chapter Six
Mid-Summer 1811
Georgiana Wickham was frightened. About a month ago, she had married a man she had known since childhood, George Wickham, over the anvil at Gretna Green. At the time, it had seemed terribly romantic, and her head had been filled with dreams of a beautiful future with an adoring husband at her side.
George had assured her that her brother would approve of the marriage once he saw how deeply in love they were, and that there would then be plenty of money for them to have the life to which she was well-accustomed and deserved: a fine house, servants, clothing, whatever she wanted.
But somehow, it had all gone terribly wrong and nothing was as she had imagined.
Georgiana had been enjoying a holiday at Ramsgate with her companion, Mrs. Younge. Apparently by chance, George Wickham, the son of Pemberley’s steward and a childhood friend, had been there as well. She had introduced him to Mrs. Younge, and soon the three of them found themselves spending a good deal of time together. George had then begun paying her compliments, saying he had always known she would grow up to be a beauty, but his imagination had fallen far short of the reality. Such golden hair! Such beautiful eyes! Such a clear andlovely complexion! And were they not meant for one another, his name being George and hers being Georgiana?
She had asked Mrs. Younge if this was all quite proper, given that her brother knew nothing of this rekindled friendship, but Mrs. Younge had assured her that she had written to Mr. Darcy and had obtained his approval for George Wickham to spend time with her. In fact, according to Mrs. Younge, Mr. Darcy approved of George wholeheartedly. How could he not, given that the three of them had been such good friends, growing up together at Pemberley? Thus reassured, Georgiana had no difficulty at all falling in love with George Wickham.
When an adoring George had proposed to her – very romantically, on bended knee! – she had been elated. “William would want us to be married from Pemberley,” she had told him, but George had begged her to come away with him directly. He had said that he had always dreamt of a romantic elopement to Scotland, but that of course they would bring Mrs. Younge along to preserve the proprieties.
Georgiana was eager to make her beloved’s dream come true, and with Mrs. Younge along – well, surely no one could say that she had done anything improper.
It had taken them several days to reach Scotland. Georgiana had been a little taken aback the first time they had stopped at an inn for the night. The inn was a dark, foul-smelling place, the room she shared with Mrs. Younge tiny and dirty, the mattresses thin and lumpy. It was not at all what she was accustomed to, but she did not want her betrothed to think her a spoiled little child, so she suffered these new conditions uncomplainingly.
Once they had arrived at Gretna Green, it had taken no time at all to find a blacksmith, and in a matter of just a few minutes, she was Mrs. George Wickham. George had taken her directly to an inn, right there in Gretna Green, and had – well, she did not have words for what had happened next and it had been quitepainful and more than a little embarrassing, but he informed her that now no one could part them, ever. This action had apparently made the marriage valid.
That very afternoon, Brother had found them at the inn. He had arrived on horseback, disheveled and covered in road dust. Georgiana, George and Mrs. Younge were in the main dining room, celebrating the marriage with a bottle of wine. Georgiana had been delighted to see William when he strode in. “Brother, you are just in time to help us celebrate! George and I are married!”
William had stared at his sister. His face bore an expression she had never before seen. He was frantic, that much was clear, but he was also – heartbroken? Horrified? She was not certain what the right word would be. She began to feel rather afraid.
“Georgiana, what in the name of God have you done?”
Georgiana protested, “No, no! Mrs. Younge wrote you and you said it was all right for us to be together! And she has been with us the whole time, everything was done quite properly!”
“Mrs. Younge! What have you to say for yourself?” Her brother had turned to face the woman.
“There is nothing you can do, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Younge had said, satisfaction in her voice. “She is wedded and bedded.”
William had stared at Mrs. Younge. “But I hired you to take care of my sister, not aid in an elopement!”
“I had no intention of being her companion for more than a few months,” she had replied.
“But your references?”
“Forged,” she had replied, gleefully. “You never checked them, did you?” And she took George’s arm and held it close in a manner that seemed overly familiar to Georgiana.
George had then said, “And now I would like those thirty thousand pounds, Darcy!” Georgiana had wondered at the tone in his voice. There was something there she had never heardbefore, a greedy, grasping quality. All that he needed to do was to rub his hands together and twirl his mustache, and he would have been just like a villain in a play.
William had shaken his head. “You cannot have it.” His tone had been flat.
“Not have it? What can you mean by that? She married me; what is hers is now mine.”
“You are sadly misinformed, Wickham. The money is not hers. It is held in a trust and may only be released with the written consent of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself.”
