(Read the prologue: Somewhere in Hertfordshire, July 1790)
Part I: 1811-1812
Without thinking
highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it
was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small
fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest
preservative from want. – Pride & Prejudice
At Christmas, when everyone is
consumed by a mad desire to bring the outdoors in, festooning their windows and
doorways with that greenery usually reserved for the landscaper’s manipulation,
one need no particular excuse to deck the halls, garland the banister, and
indulge in the abundant gaieties typical of the season. When that most joyous
of all occasions – a wedding – happens to correspond to this festive time of
year, the merriment must needs be all the more splendid.
The Bennet family had nothing
less than outrageous good fortune to celebrate. Had you asked Mrs. Bennet a
mere six months past what she required to achieve perfect contentment, she
would have unhesitatingly declared, “Might I see just a few of my girls
comfortably settled, I should have not a care in the world.” As having one’s
heart’s desire so expeditiously fulfilled could render even the most staid character
deliriously happy, Mrs. Bennet might be reasonably expected to attain heights
of exaltation never before achieved by mankind.
Marrying off more than half
one’s excessive number of daughters was no everyday occurrence, particularly
not so very advantageously. Mary’s match might not be the monetary windfall of
her sisters, but by breaking the entail she far exceeded all her family’s expectations.
This ball, held by Mr. Bingley in honor of his future wife, was merely the
first in a season of continuous festivities, to culminate in the annual Twelfth
Night celebrations at Pemberley. It was an event Elizabeth would host as the
new mistress of that very fine estate, though she had never yet placed a foot
upon its grounds. Mrs. Bennet’s triumph should be complete, and though it must
in no way be underestimated, for it was excessive indeed, discontent besmirched
what ought to have been a perfect occasion. What could cause such irritation to
maternal feelings? A not unreasonable sense of indignation at seeing the honors
of the evening usurped: “I know not how Jane can bear to dance so complacently
on Mr. Wickham’s arm, when it is she who should be leading the set. I have a
strong notion to tell Mrs. Wickham precisely what I think of her behavior, Mr.
Bennet!”
“By all means, my dear. If the
bride can summon no shame for herself, why should you not be the one to supply
the deficit.”
“But it is intolerable! If any
daughter of mine were to abandon all her friends and elope, making herself and
her relations the talk of the neighborhood, she certainly would at least know
better than to flaunt her actions so shamelessly! The lady ought to have remained in Scotland, or anywhere else, at least
until after her brother’s wedding.”
“For once, Mrs. Bennet, we
completely agree. It would have been a great deal more convenient, but Mr. and
Mrs. Wickham, who might not be as enlightened as you and I, do not seem to have
taken such considerations to mind when making their plans. As they are here,
and Mr. Bingley cannot deny his sister the rights of a bride without fueling a
great deal more gossip than that with which he must already contend, I commend
our daughter in making the best of her situation.”
“Dear Jane always behaves just as
she ought, but I know not what such graciousness under so much provocation will
do to my nerves!”
Mrs. Bennet was not alone in her
irritation. Elizabeth, despite her determination to relish the dance, could not
be blind to the feathered headdress of Mrs. Wickham, which seem to constantly
intrude itself upon her line of vision. For abstract reasons, its presence
reminded her of the changes ahead, and her struggle to remain in the moment
failed against visions of the grandeur to come. Becoming Mrs. Darcy was no
small undertaking, and while Elizabeth maintained no delusions that a Miss
Bennet was bred to the task, she did have faith in her ability to succeed, even
flourish, with Mr. Darcy assistance. He had already shown a great desire to ease
her transition, and it was for this reason the new year would begin with a
Twelfth Night party at Pemberley, rather than the customary ball. Mr. Darcy could
not be so cruel to either himself or his new wife as to interrupt the first
weeks of their marriage with hundred of guests. He already worried that
entertainment on any scale might overwhelm her, knowing far better than she the
true size and scope of her future home, but Elizabeth was insistent. “By your
own admission, this event has only been cancelled on two occasions in your
lifetime: both when the house was in mourning. This is a happy occasion, and I
will not let it be associated in anyone’s mind with times so opposite.” And
with many reassurances that the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, would bear the vast
share of the burden, a point on which he could have no doubt, the matter was
settled that it should be a small party, only family and their nearest
neighbors.
With such joyful intimidations
before her, Elizabeth still had depths of emotion to bestow upon the new Mrs.
Wickham – haughtily leading the steps on her brother’s arm, betraying not the
slightest bit of shame for her behavior, and acting just as if she deserved the
honors assumed – but as Elizabeth had herself instructed Mr. Darcy to pay
neither she nor her far more offensive husband the slightest bit of mind, it
would not do for her to betray her own indignation at the former Miss Bingley
now. She must not be allowed to spoil the evening.
Turning a teasing smile towards her
partner and catching his eye, she began to laugh. “Oh no, Mr. Darcy! This will
never do!”
He gazed at her contentedly. “Whatever
could you mean, my dear? I have never before so enjoyed a ball.” He looked
around in confirmation of the sentiment. In one corner of the room he saw
Georgiana giggling with Kitty Bennet, behaving just how ladies their age ought
at a ball. Though he could not say so much for Lydia, he was pleased to see her
father standing over her, ready at any moment to intervene. If he could
overhear Mrs. Bennet’s laments, he was also able to ignore them, and the image
of Mr. Collins and Mary sitting in the corner, no doubt discussing some deep
topic no one else could ever find the slightest interest in but themselves,
inspired a sensation that everyone had their perfect someone in the world, and
those in the room were a testament to the fact. The Wickhams were like specks
on the wall in the presence of his Elizabeth, but he could even be optimistic
about their uncertain future. Though they were sure to prove a burden to Bingley,
he felt Caroline might very well prove the making of Wickham, as she would both
hold the purse strings and insist he conduct himself respectably. Never before
had he looked on the world with such beneficence.
“But we must pay some care for
our audience. We have expectations to meet, Mr. Darcy.”
“I thought we were performing
quite nicely. Do you not see Sir William’s pleasure?”
“Oh yes, Sir William Lucas is the
great arbiter of the art! It must be his invaluable time at St. James that
renders him such a worthy judge. However that may be, I referred not to the
accuracy and grace of our steps, which I have no doubt are sublime, but the inescapable
notion that this is but the second time we have ever danced, and again we commence
in total silence. We really must have some conversation, even if it just regarding
the weather, lest the neighborhood conclude we already have grown tired of one
another.”
Now he laughed. “Impossible!
Anyone with eyes may instantly perceive my delight!”
It was true, and those persons
in the room who knew Fitzwilliam Darcy best – those possessing that insight
into a character only a shared childhood can provide –
knew how truly anomalous was his
current mood. To Georgiana Darcy, her brother’s joy was her own, but the same
could not be said for George Wickham, who found it galling that Darcy should
have wealth, position, and love to boot. He had no such delight in his own
bride, though pleased enough with his catch. He barely even knew Caroline, and
beyond a shared yearning for Pemberley and dislike of its master could not say
what they had in common. But a thousand pounds a year was no small gain, and as
it was very pleasant to enjoy the smiles of his future sister, he found
pessimism hard to sustain. He would capitalize, as he always had, upon his old
friend’s blessings. Having quite lost any hope for their personal relationship
after foolishly pursuing Georgiana, he now saw an opportunity for restoration,
as soon he would be forever linked to the family through marriage, however distantly.
This time he was determined to put the connection to better use.
Another in the room had not
dissimilar thoughts to George Wickham, though hers were born of far better will.
Charlotte Lucas had closely watched as the extraordinary happened to the
Bennets – a total reversal of fortune – while her own prospects remained
abominably bleak. She too wished to make good use of her connection to the
Darcys. She was invited to the wedding at Pemberley, and she was determined to make
the most of the opportunity.
There was no reason to suppose
Charlotte would not prosper in her cause, but Mr. Wickham was that very evening
to encounter a stumbling block in his pathway to paradise. Mr. Darcy, always
mindful of form, asked the new Mrs. Wickham to stand with him. Though the
lady’s gloating insinuations and abhorrent lack of shame disgusted him, he was
determined to dance with her, and for reasons compounding more than mere
formality. Pride and familial duty were at stake. No one must think he bore any
ill will towards the new couple, for the sake of not just Georgiana, but
Bingley as well.
If Mr. Darcy’s emotions were
complex regarding his partner, hers were fantastic. Mrs. Wickham (who was
feeling very smug in her elopement and, as so many had noted, not in the least
ashamed) knew it was he had who warned the fathers of Meryton to keep their
daughters away from George Wickham, and more abominable behavior she could not
comprehend. To think that Mr. Darcy could treat so shabbily he who ought to be
most dear, as Wickham had been to his father before him, caused her resentment
to swell. This was a troubling sensation, as she needed Mr. Darcy; his
consequence must be as dear to her as her husband’s, irrevocably connected as
she believed them to be. Something ought to be done to rectify such wrongs, and
she had enough self-righteous anger and personal interest to make the attempt.
“Is it not felicitous, “ she
began insincerely, “that two such friends as you and I should discover happiness
in such an out of the way place as Netherfield?” He politely, but silently,
acknowledged this sentiment. “My brother too! You remember that I was not in
favor of his engagement, but I cannot now censure another for following their
heart, not after having done the same myself.” She sighed in happy affectation.
To this he could easily agree.
“When one meets the person most suited to themselves, social consequence proves
little barrier.”
She tried not to grimace. “I
doubt that had even such similarities of circumstance not formed a natural relationship, our friendship
would find solidity in the close connection provided by your and my brother
marrying two sisters.”
He looked quizzical. “Indeed? It
is precisely the kind of connection most would term distant.”
“Come, Mr. Darcy! Surely we must
put the past behind us. Your misunderstanding with George can be of no
consequence now, and though I completely understand that you may not
acknowledge the true nature of your association before the world – indeed, how
could I want you to? – it is well past time for my husband to be restored to
those rights and privileges due to him, especially now that Charles’ union eases
appearances.”
Darcy could barely contain his
ire. To hear his sister’s misuse dismissed so casually! “If you refer to the
living at Kympton,” he said with forced calm, “your husband seems to have once
again failed to remember that he was generously compensated for the holding’s
worth, when he professed himself inclined towards the law. If he has squandered
the money since, it cannot be a concern of mine.”
“Oh!” resentment broke through
her facade “How can you be so cold! You should be ashamed, Mr. Darcy, to treat
your father’s son so infamously! I scarce believe it, but I do think I must
pity Miss Elizabeth her future husband!”
Though the content of this
conversation had done much to distress him, it had not previously caused him to
miss a step, but the magnitude of what Mrs. Wickham had just alluded to stopped
him still on the dance floor. Instinctive breeding came to his rescue, and he
quickly recovered himself, but just because his feet began to move once more,
do not think the shock of her words had dulled. He knew not what to say or how
to respond, and his silence led her to believe she had struck a blow. With
bravado she persisted: “I see my words have caused you pause, and I am sorry to
have interjected such a personal matter into a ballroom conversation, but
Justice will demand her dues.“
“Mrs. Wickham,” Mr. Darcy
hastily interjected, before his partner could be suffered to proceed any longer
under such delusion, “I will not engage in supposition regarding whom has
imposed such fantasy upon you, but it is my duty, as your friend … “ he paused,
not knowing how he might delicately say what needed to be expressed. He thought
of how Elizabeth would proceed under like circumstances, and a rather
inappropriate smile overtook his mien as he formulated his words. “Forgive me,” he began, as she looked at him
with suspicion, “but I must tell you of your husband’s revered father, Mrs. Wickham,
whom I knew from the moment of my birth until the time of his death. He was a
thoroughly good man, and a great friend to my own honored father. Our families
were perhaps on terms of greater intimacy than is typically the case in such
relationships, a stunning example of which is the presence of many a Wickham’s
countenance amongst the collections of portraits at Pemberley. Surely you
remember seeing the likeness of the late Mr. Wickham when you visited last? It
is just a small watercolor, done by my mother in her first years at Pemberley,
and I would not typically expect a guest to recall it, but as it bears such a
striking resemblance to his son, perhaps you might?”
She blinked at him blankly, and
the color began to drain from her face.
“Are you alright, Mrs. Wickham?”
Mr. Darcy asked with real concern, all humor gone. He could not know to what
degree her husband’s misrepresentations had influenced the socially conscious
Miss Bingley’s decision to flee to the border with a man lacking in gentility,
but the distress of his friend’s sister was perfectly clear. He escorted her
from the floor and towards her brother, but Mr. Wickham intercepted him, a
worried look on his face.
“Caroline?” he questioned,
looking between his pale wife and Mr. Darcy nervously, suspecting that his
prevarications had just been exposed. If so, married life was about to become
far more difficult than he had planned. “Is everything all right, my dear?”
Mrs. Wickham surveyed her
husband with a sinking sensation. He looked very well, so much must be said for
him, but without the Pemberley connection it was all empty packaging. She had
never before been so angry before, and she vowed to have her revenge upon him, but
she also knew she had little recourse but to make the best of her
circumstances. He was educated and had every appearance the gentleman. No one
need ever know he was the steward’s son. Forcing herself to remain passive
while George claimed her arm from Mr. Darcy, she thanked her partner in a cold voice,
intended to convey all she could not say to either him or her husband, and
allowed herself to be led towards a quiet corner of the room.
Mr. Darcy almost pitied his
nemesis, so effective was the chill Mrs. Wickham’s ire had cast, but his
amusement would not be long suppressed. It was yet another example of a perfect
match, for surely no two people could deserve each other more than the
Wickhams. Finding Elizabeth sitting on the far side of the room from that
unfortunate couple, whom he happily cast from his thoughts, he readily made his
way to her side. There he learned he actually owed Mr. Wickham a debt of
gratitude, for so determined had Elizabeth been not to show that same favor to
him as her fiancé had bestowed upon his wife, that she declined his hand when
offered, claiming fatigue. Thus it was that Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam
Darcy had no compunction in sitting out the rest of the night and never leaving
each other’s side.
Charlotte smiled from across the
room at the man’s obvious devotion to her friend. Such attachment was very
charming, undoubtedly, and when it came to an end, as it was most certain to
do, they would have abundant good fortune to keep the inevitable aggravations
with each other to a minimum. Perhaps the greatest blessing of a large house,
she mused, was the freedom such space provided from inconvenient company.
