Trouble With Wickham (10 page)

“She looks ill, Fitzwilliam. Get her a snifter of brandy and some smelling salts.”

When Mr. Darcy did not jump up immediately upon her command her eyes narrowed and she gave him a withering look and clapped her hands together three times in rapid succession and shouted, “Proceed!” with a tone of schoolroom severity. Only then did Darcy react, keeping his head proudly upright as he stiffly rose from the settee and motioned to a nearby servant that he wished to speak with him.

Elizabeth, who felt herself suddenly rendered speechless by the great lady’s hovering presence, found her nerves considerably shaken.

At that moment Hastings stepped into the room, concern clearly evident on his well-lined face. Immediately he headed in the direction of Lord and Lady Radcliffe. It was his quickened pace that drew Charlotte’s attention and signaled to her that something was amiss. Only a rare mishap could force the efficient Hastings to hurry.

Charlotte saw Hastings whisper to her parents, which resulted in looks of startled surprise and deeply furrowed brows, then watched as all three quickly left the room together. Charlotte wondered as to the nature of their sudden conference, and considered following them. However, with Mr. Darcy preoccupied in flagging down the help, and Lady Catherine breathing down her friend’s neck like a dragon, Charlotte was loathe to leave Elizabeth’s side. So instead she split her attention—watching for her parent’s return from the corner of her eye while simultaneously staying attentive to the conversation in front of her.

Lady Catherine was recounting a past episode where the young Fitzwilliam Darcy had accidently knocked over and broken a decorative vase in the hall at Rosings Park and opining on how his youthful rambunctiousness had caused her to be thankful she had no sons of her own.

“A home as grand as Rosings Park naturally needs constant maintenance.  I shudder to imagine the havoc a family of boys would have wreaked.” Elizabeth smiled wearily as Lady Catherine droned on. Charlotte’s concern for Elizabeth continued to grow.

Upon then observing the gathered guests, Lady Catherine blurted out, “Georgiana is here! What a wonderful surprise! Look Anne, your cousin! Oh I do hope she intends to play the pianoforte tonight! Now there is a young lady who benefitted from regular instruction by the best masters. I am anxious to hear her play. Elizabeth, persuade her!”

Elizabeth smiled weakly at her in-law but just at that moment her husband arrived with the smelling salts and a snifter of brandy. Elizabeth drank it duly, under the watchful glare of her new aunt-in-law. Pleased that her instructions had been followed Lady Catherine proceeded to the next topic on her agenda.

“Your cousin Anne is well, Fitzwilliam. Thank you for your interest in her.” The degree of Anne’s current state of happiness had not entered the realm of Mr. Darcy’s consciousness, yet he refused to be goaded into a defensive remark by his aunt’s obvious dig. He was sensitive to the fact that his aunt had long hoped, despite nary a shred of encouragement, he should marry his cousin and unite the Rosings and Pemberley fortunes. Still, he expected Lady Catherine to manage her disappointment with grace, ceding to him his God-given right to choose his own partner in life, and behave rightly in regards to the matter, particularly in front of his wife. With his typical good manners honed by years of proper breeding he nodded toward his cousin, who continued to stand mutely behind her mother, and with an outreached arm attempted to draw her closer into their circle.

“I am glad to hear it. I hope to visit with Anne presently, as she is a treasured cousin. Elizabeth is most anxious to become better acquainted with her.”

“We should have you all to Pemberley soon,” Elizabeth suggested. Lady Catherine puckered her lips, and shook her head no, as if Elizabeth had suggested they all vacate the drawing room and jump into the river. Gamely, she weathered the insult of the inconvenient invitation and replied stoically, “Such an invitation, were it to have been issued in the past six months, when the weather was tolerant, would have been immediately accepted. Sadly, I fear I must now refuse until the spring, at the earliest, as neither I nor Anne could possibly consent to travel such a long distance in the winter months.”

Elizabeth nodded sweetly, embarrassed by her mistake, and said calmly, “I perfectly understand.”

Charlotte quickly counted her blessings that her union with Guy did not include an overbearing aunt such as the likes of the one that stood before her.

Suddenly, a puff of cold breeze wafted gently into the drawing room and a voice even louder than Lady Catherine’s drew the attention of all gathered.

“Lizzie! Lizzie!”

Standing at the doorway were two unexpected guests: The former Lydia Bennett and her husband, the infamous George Wickham. Lydia shrieked with delight upon seeing her sister and darted towards her.

“Lydia, what are you doing here?” Elizabeth looked as if she would faint dead away. Wickham trailed shyly behind his wife, looking out at the company sheepishly from under a shock of stringy yellow hair. His eyes had a half-glazed look to them, and Charlotte could not tell if he was drunk or petrified, or maybe a little of both. A roomful of strangers, including Lady Catherine, could have that affect.

“Isn’t it wonderful to see us? And what a surprise! Pappa has been ill and cannot attend. And then Mamma is so kind that she said she would watch the baby for us and that we should come to the hunt in their stead! She knows that it has been forever since you and I have been together, what with Pemberley situated so far away.”

Hastings approached the new arrivals with a tray containing two crystal glasses of Madeira.

Wickham and Lydia accepted the drinks, Lydia cradling hers in her hand, Wickham tilting his to his lips immediately.

“You are as welcome as your parents would have been. What a delight to add another gay young couple to the party, and family members, at that. You must be thrilled at this opportunity to spend uninterrupted time together!” Lord Radcliffe said, beaming with a delight that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth could not reciprocate.

“Mr. Darcy, are you not surprised to see us tonight?” Lydia asked, oblivious to the awkwardness of the moment and kissing him happily on both cheeks. Wickham and Darcy exchanged begrudging nods of acknowledgement.

“I say being with Lizzie again is a great surprise! Is it not wonderful to meet in as grand a place as this! Of course living at Pemberley, I am sure you are not as easily impressed as us, for our quarters at Longbourn are quite contained.”

She rambled on without stopping to take a breath. “So this is the handsome husband I heard tell about. I say Charlotte, I too would have kissed him in public if given the chance!”

Charlotte smiled painfully. Ten minutes ago she would not have understood the awkwardness that the arrival of Lydia and Wickham caused Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. She was immediately thankful that Elizabeth had informed her of their past, and in such a timely manner. However, she watched worriedly as her mother and father, blissfully ignorant, naturally encouraged the two sides of the family toward each other, when increased familiarity was the last thing that Mr. Darcy wanted.

Charlotte decided that she, too, must feign ignorance, for she had promised Elizabeth her confidence. As much as she desired to let her parents in on the family dynamics, she knew she could not do so.  However, her mother would be horrified to know that she was causing her guests discomfort, and were she to be made aware of the elopement, Charlotte was sure she would handle it with the utmost discretion.

Oh, what to do? Betray her good friend or let her mother act the fool?

She decided, as she always did, to discuss the situation with Guy. Guy would see the situation plainly. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

Wickham, who earlier in the day merely nodded impassively when his wife informed him that they would be attending the hunt in Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s place, continued in that mode, standing stead silently in the drawing room, next to his chattering wife, staring off into space.

And in that space he saw Georgiana Darcy staring back at him.

It was the last face he expected to see that night.

When his eyes met hers she appeared to him as an angel from on high, her head encircled by a golden halo. It was his eyesight tricking him of course, as it had been the whole day. It was merely the candlelight emanating from the sconces directly behind her that gave her a heavenly affect.

A rush of long forgotten feelings flooded his heart and, so bewitched, his reflexes were no longer under his command. He relaxed his hold on his drinks glass, releasing it from his grip. The glass hit the floor, splitting the delicate stem from the whole, flinging drops of Madeira hither and yon, eliciting shrieks of alarm from those who saw it happen. Yet for a few short, still seconds, George Wickham’s mind failed to register the loss of his drink. He could only see Georgiana.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes followed Wickham’s across the room to his sister and his face lost all its color. It was said afterwards that in that moment Mr. Darcy’s legendary composure failed him, and he looked very much like a man who wanted to murder George Wickham.

Elizabeth quickly placed her hand on her husband’s forearm to calm him but to no avail, and he stomped off toward his sister, leading her gently away from the commotion, turning her back on Wickham.

“Are you alright?” he whispered. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and he dabbed them away with his handkerchief.

“Yes, please don’t make a scene,” Georgiana whispered back.

“I did not know he was going to be here.”

“Apparently neither did our hosts.” Georgiana looked back over her shoulder and smiled. She was not afraid of George Wickham.

Hastings and another servant arrived, waving off Wickham’s clumsy attempts to help, gingerly picking up the broken glass with their gloved hands. Lydia put her arm protectively around Wickham and made excuses, exclaiming, “Ever since he took a nasty fall on the horribly uneven pavement outside of the Meryton Arms he has not been himself. So clumsy!”

Hugh saw through Lydia’s excuse immediately. The pavement outside the Meryton Arms was no more uneven than any other section of Center street and he would know; he had exited the tavern sober and once or twice in his cups. Lydia’s subterfuge was a wasted art; Wickham was a known drunk, his recent fall was common knowledge and the topic of conversation earlier in the day in the tavern itself.

One would have to be blind not to notice Wickham’s feeble attempt to comb his hair over the ugly purple and black welt at his hairline—evidence that he and the hard ground had made their acquaintance. Although it was doubtful that Wickham even remembered his own tumble, thought Hugh. Never mind. There were witnesses enough who could fill Wickham in on the event, if he should ever inquire.

Lord Radcliffe, sensing the obvious tension of the moment but not completing understanding its origins, clinked his finger against the side of his glass and, with perfect timing, commandeered the attention of the party toward him.

“Hastings has just informed me that dinner is served. May we all move into the dining room please?”

Guy eagerly took his wife’s arm and began pulling her toward the dining room. “Let my father lead the way, as he must escort Lady Catherine first, as a good host should,” she whispered back. Guy, who was anxious that the party not dawdle, for his stomach’s sake, made sure he and Charlotte followed closely behind.

“T
here you are Georgie!” Lydia said as she settled her husband into his seat between Lady Catherine and Mrs. Mooreton. Her George was not his usual cheery self today, she noted; in addition to being a bit wobbly on his feet, he had more than once fallen into an unresponsive daze. A good meal with a nice red claret would set him right again, she was sure of it.

Lydia then moved across the table taking her place in the seat previously reserved for Mrs. Bennet next to the inveterate rake Timothy Mooreton. She was soon howling in hilarity at his ribald stories and merrily tearing into her partridge.

Georgiana Darcy, seated down the table from George Wickham and thus completely out of his line of sight, could not stop smiling to herself. Seeing George Wickham again, so unexpectedly, had surely twisted her brother’s breeches.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire!

She knew she was being uncharitable in her thoughts, but she could not help but see the humor in the situation. Her brother’s controlling ways had backfired, and in the most spectacular way possible. Never would he have willingly led her into the same company as George Wickham. Never! Oh how he must be kicking himself. She was planning to sit back and watch the fireworks.

As for George, he was clearly not the same beautiful boy she remembered. The intervening years had hardened his looks, the softness of youth replaced by full features that seemed not quite right for his face. Surely his looks had peaked years ago. In truth, she barely recognized him as the ardent man who professed his undying love to her in dark, empty hallways; undying only until a handsome deposit was made into an account in his own name, she snickered.

What a weak and inconstant fool George Wickham was!

Georgiana’s gaze travelled down the table to rest on Lydia Bennett—or Lydia Wickham, to be precise. The baby weight had not come off, she was round and red but nevertheless exceedingly high-spirited, as due her reputation. She next stole a look down the table at her brother Fitzwilliam. He was speaking animatedly to Charlotte in between mouthfuls. He must be relieved for the moment, she thought, as there was no chance that George Wickham’s presence could harm her during a well-lit dinner party full of table mates whose wealth and social standing must surely make Wickham shrink back into his chair.

Georgiana Darcy was also happy to be seated across the table from the captivating and, in her mind, slightly unnerving presence of the dashing young Mr. Radcliffe, a placement that she considered a stroke of good fortune. Hugh Radcliffe, heir to all she saw around her, had no need to be paid off. She felt a breathless thrill when his eyes met hers over the candlelight, connecting for a brief moment or two before one of them found it prudent to look away.