Authors: Elizabeth Ann West
George Wickham slammed the door to the small boarding house run by Sally Younge, causing Mrs. Younge and the maid she was instructing to flinch. Mrs. Younge dismissed the maid to continue her duties, and with a frown, she approached the young rake now helping himself to brandy in her sitting room.
Swiping the bottle from him, she gave him a stern glare and placed the bottle on a side table. As she approached him, George Wickham collapsed into an armchair, gulping the brandy he’d managed to pour into a glass lest she take that away, too.
“So? What information did you find?”
“It’s useless. The young girls were spirited away to Matlock House just as I grew close enough to weasel my way in. Darcy is out in Hertfordshire. Can’t lurk out there. Too many would recognize me.” Wickham finished his drink and carelessly let the cup drop from his hand to the floor with a clatter.
With a swish of skirts, Sally Younge snatched the glass from the floor and shoved his legs off the table where he had reclined them. “You ain’t quite current on the bill here. Have a mind not to consider yourself too comfortable like.”
“I’m ruined. Throw me out tomorrow. Throw me out tonight. There’s no difference, madam.”
Returning the brandy and glass to its proper place, Sally took a moment to consider the situation. She’d seen Wickham fall into his depressive moods before. He was in such a state last summer when she’d coaxed him into trying to elope with Georgiana Darcy. This time the revenge was for both of them.
“You’ll just have to think of another way to get at him. You’re always so clever, there must be some way. . .,” she trailed off.
“It’s useless. My only hope was to grab one of the girls, either Georgiana or that scripture speaking Mary, as collateral. But with Lydia out of reach, they’ll never have her marry me now.”
Sally Younge frowned as the young maid returned from answering the door and handed her mistress a card. The widow laughed as she read and turned her eyes back to the bounder in her parlor. “Looks like you can earn your keep while we figure out a new plan. Mrs. Clayton finds she has need for a companion this evening.”
“Not the fat one, Sally girl! Her dogs yip and yap something awful.” Wickham continued his pout from the chair, and Mrs. Younge dismissed the maid.
Taking one finger to run up his arm to his shoulder and to finally rise up and caress around the edge of his ear, she felt his body tense at the attention. “Come now, Georgie. You give Mrs. Clayton some friendly attention, and I’ll only keep half of what you take in.”
“A quarter.”
“Half, and that only be beginning to make a dent in what you owe me.”
Realizing he had no choice, George Wickham took the card from Sally and bowed. She clucked her tongue, and he replaced his dour expression with his normal charming demeanor. Giving her a peck on the cheek, he grabbed his hat and left the house, on his way two blocks over to earn his keep.
After a week of sleeping in a strange bed, Mary Bennet’s eyes popped open in the darkness for the seventh night. The initial panic of wondering where she was abated within a moment, but this time she wasn’t still groggy. Allowing her eyes to adjust, the coals in the fire and moonlight spilling in from her window overlooking the courtyard granted her enough illumination to light the candle on her bedside table. Gingerly, she tested the floor boards and sucked in her breath as her bare feet objected to the coolness until she could find her slippers.
Donning her robe, she felt confident she could find the library. She hated to admit it, but the novels Georgiana was introducing to her were far more enjoyable than the sermons she used to read. She mostly enjoyed passing moral judgment on the heroines in the novels and determining the exact moment when their decisions led to their folly.
The dark wooden door to the library was ajar and light seeped out into the hall. When Mary pushed the door open, she saw the fire was still fairly healthy as though it had been recently tended and a number of candelabras remained lit on the tables.
“Hello? Lord Matlock? Lady Matlock?” Mary asked timidly in the night’s quiet. With no response, she tiptoed into the room and closed the door behind her.
She didn’t take but five steps when a large snore made her nearly jump out of her skin. She couldn’t help it, but she called out, and the snorer began a frantic snorting as he awoke and popped his head up from the sofa in front of the fire. Mary covered her mouth to prevent a further scream and the hand holding her candle trembled most fiercely.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed his eyes and looked at the vision before him of Mary Bennet with her hair loose and her porcelain features hauntingly beautiful in the candlelight. “Miss Mary. Good evening.” He cleared his throat of the last congestion from sleep interrupted.
“I-I, good evening, sir.” She quickly curtsied. “I came for a novel, but clearly I’ve disturbed you. Please forgive me.” She curtsied again and turned to leave.
“Wait!”
Her hand on the door knob, Mary let out a sigh. This was just like those silly novels she had been reading. Every voice in her principled mind screamed she should open the door and not look back. This was that moment that would be her downfall. Instead, her heart smiled and told her to have an adventure for once. Besides, no one would believe that the pious Mary would sneak to a secret meeting with a man in a library in the middle of the night. “Colonel, this is highly irregular. I really shouldn’t stay.”
The colonel rose from the sofa and tugged on his regimental coat. “Miss Mary, you can trust that I will behave as the perfect gentleman. This is my mother’s house, and I would never dare to dishonor her or her guests, and never a lady as gentle as you. I simply didn’t want you to run away from me.”
Mary’s heart melted a little as she took a good long look at the man who was cousin to her future brother-in-law. He was tall and a built fighter. She found his face to display a hardened look she suspected served more to protect his private feelings than to actually reflect a granite heart. “I cannot sleep. I suppose I can sit for a few moments with you.”
The colonel smiled. “We are two of the same. I can rarely fall asleep in my own bed. Mrs. Henry swears the maids love that they need never to tighten my ropes, but the footmen hate the mess I make when I fall asleep with a drink in my hand, or worse, a cigar.” He laughed lightly.
“You really mustn’t! What if you burn the house down?”
The colonel shrugged. “If you’d seen what I have, you wouldn’t be so hasty to judge.” He handed her a small pour of brandy and Mary sniffed at it. “Never had the stronger stuff, eh?” She shook her head. “Well, sip slowly,” he said as he sat in the arm chair to allow her space on the sofa.
Mary took another sniff and raised the glass to her lips. Just barely allowing the amber liquid to wet her tongue, she pulled back and made a sour face. The colonel laughed. “It tastes better with practice.”
For a few moments they were quiet as Mary was at a loss for words. Here she was in a grand library with a dashing man, alone, at night. Her mind was busy wondering what her mother and sisters would think about such a situation when finally, the colonel broke the silence.
“You know why I can’t sleep. What causes your insomnia?”
She shrugged. “Since Papa died, I haven’t had a full night’s rest. I was never his favorite, nor Mama’s, but so much has changed . . ., I don’t ever feel safe.”
The colonel nodded, which surprised Mary. She expected him to laugh at her again.
“You are wise beyond your years, Miss Mary.” The colonel took another large gulp of his own drink, prompting Mary to try another sip of hers. This time her tongue was better prepared, and she could taste the sweetness after the burn.
“Mr. Wickham is dangerous, isn’t he?”
The colonel’s eyes widened. “Like I said, wise beyond your years.” He lifted his glass to toast her cleverness.
“That’s why we’re here. Lady Matlock didn’t truly desire my company.” She twisted her mouth wistfully and looked down at her lap. the colonel reached forward and lightly touched her hand. Startled, she looked up at him and after a moment, gently moved her hand away.
“My family admires you very much, Miss Mary. The fact that you are here for your safety bespeaks just how much my mother cares for your well-being. You don’t see other young ladies of London invited, do you?”
Mary immediately let out a small laugh, followed by more giggles. Setting her glass on the table in front of the sofa with most of the liquid still in it, she rose from the sofa.
“I think I will be able to sleep now.”
The colonel nodded and watched as the young woman retrieved her candle and left the library. Yawning and stretching, he finished off the last of her drink and blew out the candles, except for the one he took with him. He would sleep in his own bed tonight, if only to make sure there’d be no talk if one of the servants had seen Mary enter or exit the library. If they had, the last thing he wanted for himself or the lady was for him to be found in the morning, snoring on the sofa.
The Gardiner household was very quiet without the Bennet girls and Madeline Gardiner missed them most acutely. She had maintained correspondence with Elizabeth and heard all about the dinner at Netherfield, the house hunting and her struggles to accustom herself to being engaged. On a rare Tuesday, Mr. Gardiner returned home for luncheon to find his wife reading the latest missive from Hertfordshire and laughing out loud.
“What has Fanny done now?”
“No, not Fanny. It appears Mr. Darcy was a little high-handed with Elizabeth and she served him a taste of ‘careful what you wish for’ or in his case, demand.”
Mr. Gardiner placed his napkin on his lap and helped himself to part of the meat pie. His brows furrowed. “He isn’t mistreating her, is he? I won’t let any of my nieces marry a brute.”
“No, no! Nothing like that. He just demanded to be present when Charlotte Lucas, now Collins, visited recently. Elizabeth writes that she made sure to directly ask Mr. Darcy his opinion on every subject the ladies discussed. By the time they began the topic of lace, she says the gentleman suddenly remembered a promise he made to Bingley!”
The two Gardiners laughed heartily at the predicament and tears began to form in Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes. She inhaled a few deep breaths so she could continue her letter. Mr. Gardiner, having spent most of the morning working hard on receiving the first of his vessels this quarter, wasted no time in finishing his first portion of meat pie and helping himself to another.
“Oh dear. She writes that not much has progressed for Jane. I agree with her that Jane’s serene manners might not serve to encourage Mr. Bingley.”
Mr. Gardiner held his fork for a moment in thought, then took the bite. After swallowing, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I confess I don’t think too much of that Bingley fellow. He doesn’t appear to be a steady sort. Can’t say I see him as a suitable match for our Jane.”
“Be that as it may, with Lydia’s situation, the girls would suffer if he should break off the courtship.”
Mr. Gardiner nodded and sighed. He checked his pocket watch and shook his head. He needed to return to the warehouses before too long. Silently he prayed his oldest daughter, Amelia, would slow her growth. Though he felt strongly for his nieces, he knew when his own daughter’s time came, it would be a hundred times worse.
“What does Elizabeth say about their plans? Are they to marry from Hertfordshire?”
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. “No, their plans are not yet set, and it looks like she has received some guidance from Lady Matlock. They are planning to see Fanny settled and then return to London for presentation to society before celebrating Easter in Derbyshire at Matlock.”
“What a brave new world our Lizzie has fallen into.” Mr. Gardiner reached over for his wife’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Mrs. Gardiner looked up at her husband and blushed, while her other hand reached down to touch her stomach. She couldn’t be sure, but the signs were that a fifth Gardiner child was on its merry way to the world. “Perhaps after they marry we will have a chance to visit Lambton.”
“I fear we may have to wait until winter or next spring, Husband.” Mrs. Gardiner raised her glass of wine to take a drink.
“Is it? Is it certain?” he asked hopefully.
She shook her head. “Not yet, but soon.”
Mr. Gardiner smiled and rose from the table. “You are as beautiful as the day we met, Madeline.” Leaving his wife to blush even more, Edward Gardiner felt light as he headed back to his dusty warehouses and the crates of goods he still needed to see dispersed throughout the country.
Chapter Five
“Mama! Please, be reasonable! The cottage is ready,” Elizabeth Bennet pleaded with her mother for what felt like the hundredth time in a week.
“You don’t understand these things, Lizzie. You’ve yet to run your own household. Yes, a few more days, perhaps a week and the final details attended to, and Lydia will . . . “
Her mother continued to fritter on, but Elizabeth had stopped listening as frustration began throbbing in her ears. Her heart raced, and she focused on taking a few calming breaths. For three weeks Elizabeth’s mother had dragged her feet, and now that she had been invited to Matlock for the Easter holiday next month, she desperately wanted to return to London to prepare her trousseau. Her future aunt, the Countess Matlock, had made it plainly clear that this holiday would begin her transformation from a small country squire’s daughter to the illustrious Mrs. Darcy.