Young Wickham: Part Two

READ PART ONE

Young Wickham was to share Edward’s tutor, an arrangement thought to be of no burden as Tom would no longer be studying at home. Mr. Carson saw it rather differently, having heard gossip of the Wickhams, and dreaded taking on an untutored, undisciplined dunce, so it was of all George’s new acquaintances Mr. Carson who was most pleasantly surprised by the lad. The children had all been granted a short holiday from their lessons that they might become better acquainted with their cousin, but Mr. Carson still presented himself at his new student’s quarters, located not far from his own, no more than an hour after the boy’s arrival. Offering to help him get settled, the tutor perceived none of the coarseness of manner nor lack of education he feared. George did not bring many possessions to Pemberley. His trunk was only partly filled, containing an adequate supply of sloppily tended garments, some letters and pictures drawn by his younger siblings and given as parting gifts, and a small selection of books. Mr. Carson could not help but inquire where he had come by them, and George explained that a neighbor, Mr. Wilkinson, had a large library to which George was granted access. Over the years, he had occasionally gifted his young friend a volume, and they were George’s most prized possessions. He had a collection of Cowper’s verses, Paradise Lost, a few volumes by the requisite French philosophers, and a selections of orations by Cicero.

“You read both French and Latin?” Mr. Carson questioned.

“Some” he casually replied. “Mr. Wilkinson taught me.”

“What other schooling have you had?”

He blushed. “Nothing formal, I am afraid. My mother would not allow me to attend the church school and could not afford to hire a tutor. Mr. Wilkinson very kindly undertook to educate me and I ran errands for him in exchange.”

“He was a gentleman?”

“Yes. A younger son of someone or another my mother thought very impressive. It never mattered much to me. He has been the best of friends to me for as long as I can remember.”

“He is a friend of your parents?”

“No. They know him through me.”

“And how did you meet him?”

George grinned sheepishly. “I wanted to ride in his phaeton. As my mother was too busy to properly see to me and my nurse rather easy to evade, I presented myself to Mr. Wilkinson, just as bold as a three year old can be, and demanded he take me up beside him.”

“And he acquiesced?” Mr. Carson asked in surprise.

“Not for a few years! Eventually he even taught me to ride, but upon our first acquaintance he  admonished both my nurse and my mother for allowing me run untended through the streets. He took an interest in me after that, addressing me when we saw each other about. Some of my earliest memories involve him stopping me in the park and asking my plans for the day, and Nurse far too scared to say or do anything more than curtsey a half dozen times. At some point he petitioned my parents to allow me to visit him and learn to read and write, which turned into the more formal arrangement I described to you before, with me running errands in exchange for lessons.”

“Your mother never taught you the rudiments?”

“Only my alphabet. She is an excellent correspondent, but I never saw her with a book in her hand, unless she was removing one from mine.” He smiled fondly in remembrance.

“What of your siblings?”

“I taught them what Mr. Wilkinson taught me, or at least the basics. None of the others had much interest in history or languages, you see.”

Mr. Carson nodded, taking stock of the impressive young lad before him. While Edmund showed aptitude for higher learning, Master Tom was not studious. The tutor was confronted by the pleasing aspect of much more productive and advanced lessons than he had yet been able to conduct. By now the unpacking was complete. George had even pinned the childish drawings brought from home to the wall above his bed. “I see you are settled now and will leave you to the agreeable task of getting to know your relations. We will have time soon enough to assess your aptitude and develop a course for your instruction.”

“Thank you for taking me on, Mr. Carson. I can promise you shall find me diligent in my studies and most anxious to learn. I shall require all the schooling I can attain to someday be entrusted with management of such a great estate. I do not wish to disappoint those who have provided me with this extraordinary opportunity,” he confessed.

Mr. Carson gave him an encouraging pat on the back. “I believe you will do just fine, Mr. Wickham. The Darcys are good people. You could not be in better hands.”

George smiled enthusiastically at this news and thanked his new teacher before being pointed in the direction of the conservatory, where he would find the family gathered for tea. On his way he met Edmund, and the two boys fell instep together.

“I am not a dead bore, you know,” Edmund assured him, “despite what Tom says.”

George chuckled. “That is too bad, for I am a dead bore, or at least so my nearest and dearest inform me, and I was hoping to find myself in like company.”

“Are your siblings a torment to you, too?”

“Oh no, for I am the eldest, you see. We first born sons quite naturally rule the roost.”

Edmund sighed. “I do not begrudge my brother his position. I just wish he was not so quick to belittle mine.”

“You must not take it too seriously. It is in our province as big brothers to be a bit harsh at times. I am sure he means nothing by it.”

Edmund smiled doubtfully but with appreciation for the sentiment.

The rest of the family were already assembled when the two cousins arrived. Mrs. Norton was on hand and immediately made herself known to her nephew. “Well, you must be poor Lydia’s boy. I am your Aunt Norton, and your mother and I were the best of friends as girls. You have something the look of her at your age, though not so blooming, but I fear you more closely resemble your father, and a pity it is. Do you miss him a great deal?”

George, who had paled during the course of this greeting, replied without his customary warmth of manner, “I am afraid I did not know my father very well. He was rarely home. His death was, nevertheless, a terrible blow to my family.”

“Of course it was, my dear,” Mrs. Darcy said soothingly, taking him by the arm and leading him over to the table upon which Mrs. Reynolds was overseeing the arrangement of such a variety of delicacies as to make the hungry boy’s mouth water. He was soon settled with a cup of milk and a heaping plate on a frighteningly elegant sofa beside his male cousins. The girls were settled at a nearby table with their governess, and the adults sat across from the boys. George watched nervously as the others elegantly managed to converse and eat simultaneously. He strived to imitate their ease.

“I trust your journey was uneventful,” Mrs. Norton said to George. “I thought to meet you in Derby but Mr. Norton is suffering from one of his gouty complaints, you know. However, had it been a niece my sister was sending to us, I should not have hesitated to make the journey regardless of Mr. Norton’s gout. I should have thought nothing of the inconvenience to either him or myself, were you a niece. A young man, like yourself, can be trusted not to fall into a scrape on his own. How did you come?”

“I took the mail coach.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “I should like to take a journey by the mail coach. Do tell us: were any of your travelling companions quite detestable?”

“There was an old farmer who ate onions throughout,” George replied with a smile.

Tom shuddered dramatically. “Oh the horror!”

The two boys laughed, but Edmund could not share their mirth and frowned. “Perhaps he has some ailment for which they serve a medicinal purpose. It is unkind to mock him for it.”

“Edmund is destined for the church, you see, and has already assumed the gravity of a rector at his tender age,” Tom informed George in a false whisper.

“Tom,” Mrs. Darcy said warningly.

“Yes, Mama,” he easily replied. “I shall try to be kind, though it is a trial. I want to hear more about the mail, Cousin George. If you can manage to travel on it and come to no harm, I do not see why I cannot be trusted to do so when I go to school.”

“Because you have the benefit of a private coach and can be there in a fraction of the time,” his father explained.

“And with a fraction of the adventure,” Tom countered.

“I suspect adventure sounds much better in books and fairytales than the reality should prove,” Edmund said.

“Very true,” Mrs. Norton nodded. “There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.”

“I have found that some degree of adventure will inevitably befall us all in life. One need not court it,” Mrs. Darcy offered, hoping to ease her eldest’s disappointment.

“This has been an adventure,” George confessed. “Not the journey, so much, though there was much to see, but being here, amongst you all. Pemberley is even more grand than my parents suggested. My father spoke of it very fondly.”

While Mr. Darcy shifted uncomfortably, Mrs. Darcy said, “There is a miniature of your father as a young man that you would like to see, I am sure. If you boys are done, you may take your cousin to your grandfather’s room and show it to him.”

George could have eaten more, and he suspected so could his cousins, but the two instantly rose and bowed so he followed in kind. The little girls were likewise soon dismissed.

“This is not a very promising beginning,” Mrs. Norton commented once the adults were alone. “I thought he would have behaved better. He must know his father was unwelcome here. To purposefully bring him into the conversation! I had not expected him to be so bad.”

“It was you who first brought him up, Mrs. Norton,” Mr. Darcy reminded.

“So I did, for someone had to offer condolences. He is still in mourning! It that not enough of a reminder of his father to inflict upon you, my dear Mr. Darcy?”

“You are ungenerous, Kitty.”

“I am sure I do not mean to be. I hope this budding friendship between him and Tom does not lead to trouble.”

“Why ever should it?” Mr. Darcy questioned. “Tom is a steady lad, or at least as steady as one can expect a thirteen year old to be. He will be a positive influence on young Wickham.”

“Edmund is far steadier and a full two years younger,” Mrs. Darcy said.

Mr. Darcy frowned. “Yes, but Edmund is not a typical young man. I worry about him. When last did you hear him laugh? Tom is right to try and shake him out of his sober mood, though I cannot always approve of his methods.”

“I imagine you were just such a serious youngster,” Mrs. Darcy retorted with a sparkle in her eye. “How would you have felt if an elder sibling had been around to forever tease you on the matter?”

“I had my cousin, Richard.”

“But he was not always at hand.”

“Perhaps I would have learned to laugh more if he were.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded and sipped her tea to hide her amusement.

_________________________

Come back tomorrow to read Part Three!

A Twisted Austen Giveaway:

Stop by, read the story, and enter to win! Increase your chances of winning by leaving multiple comments (be sure to include you email address in at least one). At the end of the event I will randomly select two grand winners. Each will receive copies of all five Twisted Austen ebooks, including Young Wickham, plus a set (six each) of these adorable decorative clothes pins, purchased at my local grocery here in Switzerland. Two runners up will receive Young Wickham ebooks. This giveaway is open internationally. Extra entries for social media shares, but you must mention them in your comments for credit. Good luck to all who enter, thank you so much for reading, and have a very happy Halloween!

Young Wickham: Part One

Welcome to Twisted Austen 2018! For the next eight days we will countdown to Halloween with Young Wickham, a Pride and Prejudice sequel and Mansfield Park mashup. Read along and enter to win prizes (more info below). Thanks for celebrating with me!

About two-hundred years ago, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, with only a thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, in the county of Derbyshire, and to be thereby established as a lady of society, with all the comforts and consequences of a handsome house and large income. All Meryton, the town nearest to Longbourn, exclaimed on the greatness of the match, and her uncle, the attorney himself, allowed her to be at least four thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it. She had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation; and such of their acquaintance as thought Miss Bennet and Miss Catherine quite as handsome as Miss Elizabeth did not scruple to predict their marrying with almost equal advantage. Other voices disagreed, but they were quieter. Only in whispers were the words “scandal” and “Wickham” spoken, but they lingered in the townspeople’s minds, despite Miss Elizabeth’s most fortuitous marriage and her elder sister’s similarly advantageous match. 

There certainly are not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them. Miss Bennet, at the end of half a dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to her uncle’s clerk, and Miss Catherine wed the Rev. Mr. Norton, a friend of Mr. Darcy. The matches were not contemptible, and Mrs. Bennet could rest in comfort, knowing she had successfully disposed of all five of her daughters. The rest of the family could never quite forget that her youngest, Miss Lydia, had married, in the common phrase, to disoblige her family, absconding from her chaperones in Brighton with a lieutenant of the militia. The two spent weeks together in London, unmarried, before Mr. Darcy tracked them down and forced a union, saving the reputation of the entire family. The couple had been welcomed once to Longbourn before departing for Mr. Wickham’s new assignment in the North, after which there was a veritable breech between the sisters, the natural result of the conduct of each party, and such as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces. Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each other’s existence, but Mrs. Norton must have kept a somewhat steady correspondence with her estranged sister that she was able to have the power to tell them, as she now and then did, that Lydia had got another child.

But arrived when Mrs. Wickham could no longer afford to cherish pride and resentment, or to lose one connection that might possibly assist her. Now a widow with a large family and very little income to supply their wants, she was eager to regain the sisters she had so carelessly sacrificed, and she addressed Mrs. Darcy in a letter which spoke of so much contrition and despondence, such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost everything else, as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. She was, furthermore, preparing for her ninth lying-in, and after bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance as sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how important she felt they might be to the future maintenance of the eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited fellow who longed to be out in the world. Was there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Mr. Darcy in the concerns of his estates? His grandfather had been steward at Pemberley, and Mrs. Wickham could not consider the position as beneath his descendant.

The letter was not unproductive. It reestablished peace and kindness. Mrs. Darcy dispatched money and baby linen while Mr. Darcy proffered friendly advice, though he could not so easily consent to take young Wickham under his wing. He suggested the boy might be more suited to follow in his father’s footsteps and pursue a military career, a path he pledged to assist. Mrs. Wickham replied with professions of gratitude, but thought her second son better suited to such a life. George, she insisted, though formerly having described him as spirited, was too delicate for adventure. The boy was not sickly, just sedentary and studious, or at least so his mother described him. It was all she could do, she complained, to get him out and about instead of burrowing his nose into some book or another. It was this unfathomable habit of reading that clearly qualified him for the task of stewarding Pemberley’s vast interests. Surely Mr. Darcy would not care to waste the burgeoning talent as his disposal.

“Lydia certainly paints a mixed picture of the boy,” was Mrs. Darcy’s first comment. 

Mr. Darcy’s was more to the point. “If it were anyone else, Elizabeth, you know I would not hesitate.”.

“I know,” she replied, folding her letter with a sigh. “We are fortunate that none of my other sisters are in such need, but it would be far easier were it Mary’s child.”

“John would be an admirable apprentice for Mr. Thompson,” he nodded, “were he not interested in pursuing the law.”

“An endeavor you have so kindly offered to finance.”

“I would do almost anything to assist our relations, but this – this is no light undertaking.”

“No. That it is not,” she agreed.

“We would have to be very careful and deliberate when bringing any young person into our household, but this child, however innocent of his parent’s sins, particularly demands we only proceed with the utmost caution.”

“It is to his detriment that he is said to closely resemble his father.”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes spoke to his conflict. “How is it that Wickham continues to plague me from beyond the grave? But the boy is not just his child, he is his father’s grandchild, and as such the honor of my own father’s memory demands something be done for him, to say nothing of his relationship to you. Perhaps Mrs. Norton would undertake to house him?”

“My dear Mr. Darcy,” that lady, who sat beside her sister knitting socks for distribution amongst her husband’s needier parishioners, “what am I to do with a boy? Mr. Norton’s indifferent state of health renders such an arrangement quite impossible. He could no more bear the noise of a child than he could fly. I think nothing of the inconvenience such an addition to my small household would cause. I should be happy to do my share to assist poor Lydia, and perhaps if Mr. Norton should ever get well of his gouty complaints, he would enjoy the companionship of a bookish young man, should he prove to be so. That is, of course, were the boy intended for the Church. As he is not, I should think he would do much better off living on the estate, perhaps with some tenant.

“He is my nephew, Mrs. Norton, and yours as well,” Mr. Darcy sternly replied.

“It would be cruel to bring him here and then treat him as an inferior, Kitty,” Mrs. Darcy explained.

“Cruel? I think not. Securing employment at Pemberley is a great honor.”

“Your feelings illustrate the complexities of the arrangement Mrs. Wickham proposes. We must be mindful not only of our personal feelings but also those of the world. A family member, established for life at Pemberley yet in its employ, is awkwardly positioned socially. It is a point of great delicacy. Should he be introduced into the company of my children, not even the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation ought to be tolerated. Though they cannot be equals – their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations will always be different – but I should like them to be very good friends.”

“Perhaps he will prove his parents’ superior and be to our boys what his father failed to be to you,” Mrs. Darcy suggested.

“That would be wonderful. The  child is not accountable for his father’s sins. Should his disposition be good, I should like nothing more than to be of service to the boy, but should it be really bad, we must not, for our own children’s sake, continue him in the family.”

“I perfectly comprehend you, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Norton said. “You are thinking of your daughters, but that is of all things upon Earth the least likely to happen, brought up, as they would be, always together like brothers and sisters. It is morally impossible. I never knew an instance of it.”

“I assure you I thought nothing of the sort, though there is some truth in what you say. I only meant to observe that should the boy’s residency prove problematic, we will still be duty bound to provide for him. Should he not be destined for the role of steward, we must see that he has an alternative trajectory to pursue. He will be our responsibility.”

“It sounds like you are agreeable to sending for him,” Elizabeth observed.

“I am not sure I would say ‘agreeable,’ but yes, under the circumstances, I do not see how we can in good conscience reject Mrs. Wickham’s request.”

“You are certain?”  she pressed.

“Only that we take him on a trial basis. I will write to Mrs. Wickham myself to explain my reasoning and assure her that we will undertake the boy’s upbringing, whether at Pemberley or not.”

“I am sure Lydia will be most grateful for your care and consideration, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Norton.

He smiled uncomfortably in reply. From what he recalled of his sister-in-law, he very much doubted it.

§§§

The little boy performed his long journey in safety. George Wickham was at this time just eleven years old and possessed of all the charm to which his lineage entitled him, a first impression that did little to ease the concerns of Mr. Darcy. Though tall, he was lean for his age with pallid skin, both conditions that life at Pemberley should shortly cure, and the rest of his appearance was assessed favorably by his cousins. There was nothing timid or shy in the boy’s demeanor, and though clearly overawed by the grandeur of his new circumstances, he expressed his admiration with an innocent candor devoid of those vulgarities one might look for in Mrs. Wickham’s child. His Aunt Darcy, with features he instantly loved for bringing his own mother before him, was necessarily the less awful of the strangers into whose care he was being thrust. Mr. Darcy’s gravity of deportment was intimidating, and George felt instinctively that the great man did not like him. Holding this fear well-guarded, he smiled good-naturedly when Mrs. Reynolds introduced him, expressing his gratitude to his aunt and uncle with becoming sincerity. He was embraced by his aunt and shook hands with Mr. Darcy before being presented to his cousins. Despite his honest desire that the children befriend one another, Mr. Darcy could not suppress the uncomfortable knot that built in his chest as he watched his first born clasp his arm chummily about the boy who so closely resembled the old family nemesis, proprietarily conducting the remaining introductions.

The eldest Darcy child was thirteen years old and beginning to take on the physical attributes of manhood. He was mere weeks away from his entrance to a well-known public school, an event he anticipated with great glee. Some boys might have reason for trepidation when confronting such a transition, but Thomas Darcy, the capable and handsome heir of Pemberley, had little to fear. Acceptance amongst his peers was inevitable, and he went in the company of his best friend and cousin, Mark Bingley. His father and mother had both, in turn, impressed upon him the importance of making George feel welcome, and it was with an air of importance and swagger that he presented his younger siblings. “This is Edward. He is eleven, too. I should predict you to be tight as thieves if he were not a dead bore. Meet Maria. Maria, this is George. She is seven years old, but don’t think poorly of her for it. It is a trying age that she shall soon overcome. And here is Julia. She is only five. You needn’t think of her at all.”

“Mama!” Julia protested. “Tom is being mean.”

“The commentary is unneeded, Tom,” Mrs. Darcy admonished.

“Forgive me, Mama,” he said with a bow and a cheeky grin. “Of course, I should never go on so before anyone else, but Cousin George is family, and it seemed only fair to give him some notion of what to expect from such a ragamuffin crew as my siblings.”

George turned grateful eyes up at his cousin and gazed on him with admiration. The restriction in Mr. Darcy’s chest loosened. George Wickham could do no better than to take Tom for a role model.

_________________________

 Come back tomorrow to read Part Two!

 A Twisted Austen Giveaway:

Stop by, read the story, and enter to win! Increase your chances of winning by leaving multiple comments (be sure to include you email address in at least one). At the end of the event (giveaway open through November 7th), I will randomly select two grand winners. Each will receive copies of all five Twisted Austen ebooks, including Young Wickham, plus a set (six each) of these adorable decorative clothes pins, purchased at my local grocery here in Switzerland. Two runners up will receive Young Wickham ebooks. What if you already have all the Twisted Austen books? Enter anyway. We'll work something out. This giveaway is open internationally. Extra entries for social media shares, but you must mention them in your comments for credit. Good luck to all who enter, thank you so much for reading, and have a very happy Halloween!

NaNoWriMo 2018: Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice!!!

Announcing my NaNoWriMo novel for 2018! Da da da da! Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice. Yes, that's the name of the blog, as well as the name of the trilogy that comprises my first three novels: First Impressions, Second Glances, and Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters. The paperbacks are now out of print and, though still available for Kindle, all three stories are badly in need of proper editing. My plan is to rewrite the entire story and rerelease it in one volume. First Impressions, though in the worst condition of them all, remains, by leaps and bounds, my best selling book. So I will probably will not stop selling the original books, just offer this as an alternative to readers. Here is the preliminary cover (and a new blog banner to compliment it). What do you think?

Since I'm kind of cheating this year - working with pre-existing material - I'm hoping to make up for it by writing three times are much. Instead of 50,000 words, I'm shooting for 150,000. This is probably insane, but it fits my profile. Wish me luck!

Twisted Austen 2018! Young Wickham

Oh, wow! This is super last minute. Somehow or other, I have managed to finish this story in time for Twisted Austen to start (on time!) on October 24rd. This year's story is, as always, a bit of a brain tease. It's called Young Wickham, is a Pride & Prejudice/Mansfield Park mashup, and will certainly defy your expectations. I can't wait to hear what readers think!

As usual, the story will be posted in eight parts, the final on Halloween (check out my Twisted Austen page above for information on previous years). Along the way we will have a few giveaways, including free copies of the ebook, some of my other books, and these super sweet Halloweeny clothespins I purchased here in Switzerland for the occasion. Please check back for all the details and thank you for joining me for the party!

Correction: Sometime or another, I apparently forgot how to count. I originally listed that start date for posts as the 23rd. The correct date is October 24th. I am sorry for any confusion and none more so than that in my head.

Meet the Darcy family fifteen years after the conclusion of Pride and Prejudice. Anxious to assist a sister in distress, they invite Lydia's eldest son to come live at Pemberley. Can young Wickham rectify the wrongs of the past, or is history doomed to repeat itself?