Trouble With Wickham (13 page)

She sighed, remembering how ardently George desired her. Her sisters were so old fashioned in their ideas of courtship. She found their approach to romantic love repressed, passionless and silly. She had not put up any resistance to George’s increasing physical advances, choosing instead to throw discretion completely to the wind in order to secure him as her lover. What an outdated fuss her sisters made about guarding one’s reputation! She surely did not care one hoot about her own and judging by how swiftly George had married her, neither did he.

No, she and her Wickham had married for love, and she was supremely proud of that fact. Without any significant dowry, she had landed the man on her charms alone. The youngest Bennet daughter, but the first to marry! What a triumph!

If only George had a bit of a fortune, and a small manor house, she would be perfectly content. Perhaps, if she had realized the power of her own charms earlier, she herself could have been the one to snare Mr. Darcy, instead of Elizabeth. She had no idea that his standards were so low. If only she had thought of that possibility on her own then she might be the mistress of Pemberley instead of her dour and unbending older sister, who irked her to no end by putting her husband’s wishes above those of her own blood.

What a cruel twist of fate that Elizabeth should do an about face, marry Mr. Darcy and then bar her and Wickham from Pemberley. No one would explain to her the reason why Mr. Darcy despised Wickham so. It was just Mr. Darcy’s mercurial nature, and she was probably better off to be removed from his company, Wickham told her. Serves Elizabeth right, Lydia thought, being stuck with an uncompromising spouse who was obviously no fun at all.

Wickham was no help, no matter how much she hounded him to press Mr. Darcy on the matter. Instead he only replied, “He is not the man you think he is dear wife. Better let him alone. If it is grand estates that you want to see then I will take you to Burghley or other houses equal to Pemberley.”

But Lydia would not be consoled. She was anxious for Wickham to gain a regular income, suggesting scheme after scheme, but very little progress was ever made toward securing new employment. He blamed deteriorating eyesight as the cause of his decommissioning from the regiment but Wickham was never seen sporting spectacles, prompting Mr. Bennet to suspect that the real cause for dismissal was a propensity towards drink and debt and warned his daughter of the problem. Lydia, naturally, laughed it off.

At this point, she did not care by which means Wickham increased their income, only that it be quick money. Meanwhile, she spent her days at Longbourn, with both Jane and Elizabeth married there were empty bedrooms. Her mother was delighted to have the young couple and the baby underfoot, but her father expected Lydia and Wickham to cover their own expenses. This was proving a daily challenge as the young couple spent more than was apportioned them and thus were overdrawn at almost every establishment in Meryton. What money they did have George was reluctant to part with. Wickham had a large unpaid tab at the Meryton Arms, a debt that Mr. Bennet refused to relieve him of.

“Mamma, I am overdrawn at the Meryton Millinery Shop. May I borrow some shillings?” Lydia asked, as another long day loomed before her unless she was able to distract herself with new ribbons and frills.

“Oh, I do not have money to hand out Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet complained. “Go look in your father’s money bag for whatever you need.” Defensively, Mr. Bennet had taken to hiding his coins, forcing Lydia to turn to her sisters to tide her over. Lately, she had been successful in convincing Kitty and Mary to go into the stores and buy items for her, but even they were beginning to balk when she pressed them. Lacking both initiative and discipline, Lydia and Wickham resorted to other, easier methods of procuring income, of which the many treasures in the Radcliffe’s luxurious home offered irresistible temptation.

She sighed and easily shook off her ruminations. Never did Lydia let regret distract herself from the appetizing snack in front of her. She finished off the small cup of roasted nuts sent up on the tray.

“This little silver cup is pretty,” she said aloud, as she examined it. Real silver, it would pay off a debt or two.

She got up from the bed and wrapped her worn, rumpled stocking from the day carefully around the cup, sliding the illicit bit of bounty in with her meager belongings to ferry back with her to Longbourn. Wickham already had managed to come away with a silver knife but a single utensil was worth less than a set; a teaspoon and a fork would maximize its value. She added the teaspoon from her tray to her souvenir set as well.

They could take a small trip to a pawnshop in York, or Leeds. They had done so before with other items that had been misplaced. It was not a proper source of income, she knew that, but it was not her fault that rich people did not keep track of their pretty things.

Besides, if George wouldn’t do anything about their debts then she would. She was not afraid to do what had to be done.

She stuck the tray under the bed, where it could be overlooked for a day or two.

Out of sight, out of mind.

She leaned over her husband’s head and poked her finger at his cheek. She loved to study the curl of his eyelashes when he was sleeping.

“Georgie, are you awake?”

He groaned and turned his face in the opposite direction. “Go away,” he pleaded.

Lydia smiled at her husband and climbed into bed, blew out the candle and drew the covers tight. In less than a minute she was happily asleep.

George Wickham, however, began to stir, slowly pulling himself up to a sitting position at the side of the bed, his mind a whir.

“H
onestly, it is not that bad Charlotte! I do not mind!” Guy climbed into the bed in the small chamber off of the nursery where Charlotte’s governess had slept, taking care not to bump his head on the overhanging eaves.

“But you are used to feeling like part of the staff here, and I am trying to make you feel like family. So doesn’t sleeping in my governess’s old room set my cause back?”

“I do feel like family. Except as I once was an employee, I have those memories within me as well. Rest assured I am not going to mistake myself for your governess by sleeping in her abandoned bed.

“Besides, is this my last and only overnight stay at Bennington Park? I think not! Since you keep telling me I am family here then I will happily sacrifice for our guests as you all do. Besides, we will never forget that your first turn as a married woman playing hostess was marked by an overnight stay in your governess’s room.”

Charlotte sat at the edge of the bed, combed her hair and laughed, and she remembered how she wished to seek her wise husband’s counsel on the matter of the Wickham and Darcy estrangement.

“Oh dear. I know that as a hostess I must keep my guests’ confidence but you do not count, do you dear?” she asked, hopefully.

“No,” Guy assured her, knowing that his wife was about to spill interesting details about their guests, details that he had no compulsion against hearing. “In fact, as my wife you are bound under God to tell me your secrets,” he encouraged her.

“Hmmm, maybe not every secret, for I do wish to appear slightly mysterious before you, but what I learned tonight is a matter of delicacy and weighs heavily on me. I have to tell you!”

She then told Guy the pertinent facts as Elizabeth had relayed them to her regarding the planned elopement between Georgiana and Wickham and of Mr. Darcy’s furor towards his former childhood friend.

“George Wickham? You mean the nasty drunk one?”

“Is there more than one George Wickham in our acquaintance?” she teased back.

“I hope not.”

Charlotte felt a rush of satisfaction as she saw the astonished look on Guy’s face as he processed the information. Spreading gossip could be such a thrill, and cost nothing. She understood better her mother’s pointed admonition against it and intended to behave rightly; she was a little thankful, she had to confess, that telling Guy didn’t technically count as gossiping.

“So my concern is that my parents might feel like fools for encouraging the family members towards each other, when no such familiarity is desired. But Mr. Darcy does not want the news released, either. Do you think it right to keep the news from my parents in order to keep Elizabeth’s confidence?”

“I see your point, however I can see no good reason to break a promised confidence. Character is everything, my dear; you must keep your word even if it costs you,” Guy urged. “I cannot imagine that any real harm can come from failing to inform your parents that seething hatred exists amongst their house guests. No, let your parents act as naturally as they normally would, assuming that all the parties will sort out their troubles on their own. Look how they left us to deal with the Earl of Buckland, and how that all sorted itself out.”

Charlotte sighed in relief. Of course Guy was right. It was not good to put oneself in the middle of situations. Her father had insisted that he could not run interference for her with the Earl of Buckland, and he would feel the same in this case, she was sure. Her mother might prefer to know the gossip, but then her mother always wanted to know the gossip, despite her admonitions against spreading it.

She changed the subject.

“I believe my brother has formed an attachment.”

Guy guffawed loudly.

“With Miss de Bourgh? I think not. Good grief I thought the woman was a mute upon our introduction.”

“Of course not with Miss de Bourgh you silly thing. With Miss Darcy!”

“Oh,” Guy replied, his eyes widening. “I hadn’t noticed. How interesting.”

“You didn’t notice how engaged they were with each other?

“No, I did not. I confess I am terrible at reading people.”

“You were probably too busy worrying about your stomach to notice anything that wasn’t meant to be eaten.”

“That is not true. How nice for your brother, for she seems to be a lovely young woman. But now that you bring up the subject, I am feeling a little peckish now. Would it be too much trouble to call for a bit of cake and some milk and brandy?”

Charlotte sighed. “You really should not be afraid to ring for yourself.”

“Please, just this one last time,” he begged. Charlotte gave in.

“Yes, I shall go down and find something for you but only because I love you,” she said, bumping her head on the eaves as she got up.

“Watch it my dear!” Guy cautioned.

Charlotte rubbed her head where it had hit the low ceiling. “I am fine. It is only a small bump. I do not think I will have a head wound the size of Wickham’s,” she laughed.

As she left the room and exited the hallway, making her way past the guest bedrooms and toward the main staircase, she was slightly startled to see what looked to her to be Mr. Darcy disappearing behind the door of her own bedroom, currently occupied by his sister Georgiana.

He must be checking up on her, she thought. Mr. Wickham must be making Mr. Darcy feel crazy, she chuckled.

G
eorgiana happily settled into her beautiful bedroom. The bed was made up with fresh-smelling linens and a generous mound of down pillows, the fire stoked and the candles burned brightly. Unfortunately for her brother’s nerves, most of the hunting party, including Wickham and Lydia, were led en masse to their rooms by the staff. Consequently Wickham knew where Georgiana slept, and had confirmation that she slept alone. His room was but two doors down.

Georgiana could sense that this arrangement unsettled Fitzwilliam greatly; she observed her brother’s jaw clench tighter and tighter as they climbed the stairs to the private chambers. But there was nothing she could do at this point. She did not fear Wickham in a large party of guests that included his wife. In fact she doubted he would pose any trouble to her at all, as courage was not Wickham’s strong point, and her brother Fitzwilliam was a large, foreboding man. She did notice, however, that Wickham’s eyes followed her movements throughout the course of the evening. Fitzwilliam would have noticed that, too.

Instead, she focused her thoughts on a more interesting subject—Hugh Radcliffe. Her placement across the table from him had afforded her the opportunity to meet his eyes several times in what she might modestly claim to be interested glances. She was not sure whether or not his smiles were borne out of politeness, or something more, but his was an acquaintance she much wished to further. She let her mind wander and dared to think of a happy ending with her and Hugh. Thank goodness she had consented to pack her warmer, outdoor clothes, as she would certainly need them if she wanted to spend the day tomorrow following the pack and keeping up with Hugh.

She heard a knock at the door. Before she had time to jump up a voice said, “Georgiana it’s me.” She recognized her brother’s deep familiar tone, ran to the door and opened it slightly.

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood outside in the hall, still dressed but holding his neatly folded nightclothes.

He pushed past her and entered the room. “Pack up your nightclothes and any other necessaries and bring them with you. There are two beds in our suite and I would prefer you not sleep alone tonight. I will occupy your room.”

“But brother, no,” Georgiana protested but Darcy was already walking about the room, gathering up her novel and sleeping cap.

“It is simply impossible for me to allow you to sleep without a chaperone with that man in the house.”

“Wickham? Why what do you imagine he will do? Assault me in my room while the whole house sleeps around us?”

“The man will be lucky that I do not murder him in his bed tonight,” he snarled. He stood at the door, and waited but Georgiana was resolute.

“I will not move.”

“Now Georgiana be reasonable.” Fitzwilliam refused to lose his patience.

“No.”

“Fine, then I will sleep here on the floor, in front of the door.”

He exited the room and was back minutes later with a set of blankets and a pillow. Years of experience had taught her that arguing with her brother when his mind was made up was always a losing proposition. The hour was late, her head was heavy with fatigue and she was too tired to mount an impressive enough argument to persuade him otherwise. She was planning to be up and out early in the morning, she didn’t want to delay her sleep.