Mr. Darcy's Promise (5 page)

“Mr. Darcy, you are unbelievable! You mock me and my family, are mortified by any public interaction with them, nearly throw me into the carriage to avoid any other humiliating occurrences, and you think you can just apologize? I think not! Now give me my book, NOW!” She reached for her book and snatched it away but in doing so her bookmark fell out. It was a white crocheted bookmark that Jane had made for her two years ago. She reached down for it at the same time Mr. Darcy did, but he was quicker.

“Your bookmark, Miss Elizabeth. But please, do not take my thoughtlessness as any sign that you should not head my warnings about
Wickham
.” The way he said that bastard’s name was more like a curse. He recalled himself and stiffened. “Pardon me, Miss Bennet. I truly apologize for any offense I may have caused you.”

She was taken aback by this level of disdain from even Mr. Darcy. Was there really some reason to be careful around Mr. Wickham besides Darcy’s pride? What had he said? “He is not to be trusted. You must avoid his attentions at all costs.” She had had quite enough of Mr. Darcy! Who was he to determine that Wickham was not worthy of her attention? All her previous confusion abated as she gazed at him. In spite of any kind attention he had given to his sister, Mr. Darcy remained as prideful as ever. Especially when it came to his so-called social inferiors, she thought. She was biting her lip, but even that couldn’t hold back her next remark. “Well, perhaps Mr. Bingley should not invite the officers to the Netherfield Ball he promised next Tuesday! Then I would not have to choose between a man that has a selfish disdain for others and a man who is charming
and handsome.” She snatched her bookmark and marched towards Longbourn.

The look of scorn on Elizabeth’s face was grave indeed.
Selfish disdain? Charming and handsome? It didn’t take him long to figure out which man was who.
She hates me.

*****

I must do something! But what? Elizabeth will not listen and I have already tried to warn her.
Remembering her words, “It is not for you to decide who I am to be acquainted with,” he knew she was right. He had tried to warn her but it was not his place to do so
.
Perhaps I could warn Mr. Bennet.
But not in person— a letter would have to suffice. But could he trust Mr. Bennet to keep the story of Georgiana in confidence? It was a story that, if widely known, could ruin Georgiana. Darcy did not know Mr. Bennet well, and although he looked like a sensible man, he was still married to Mrs. Bennet. An anonymous letter would be best. He sat down on his writing table and started writing out the most painful memory of coming upon Georgiana and Mr. Wickham a mere day before their planned elopement. As he wrote, the pain became fresh all over again. It hurt to think he had procured the services of Mrs. Younge without truly looking into her references. It pained him that he had been so impressed with outward manners that he did not recognize the special needs of Georgiana at the time. It pained him that Wickham, who was one of his closest friends growing up, could be so inherently bad. Even his own father had been deceived by the charming ways of Wickham. There were several times since his father died that he felt that each experience with Wickham would be the last, but he was always wrong. He doubted that this time was any different. Somehow he felt that Wickham was up to something. At least this letter would help protect Elizabeth. He continued writing until he was spent. He couldn’t quite figure out how to close the letter. He had decided to make it anonymous, but how should he sign it? He decided that “a concerned observer” would suffice. He sealed it without his usual crest and sent it by way of express.

He then pondered all that had happened in the last two days. Miss Bingley said that the Bennet sisters came home with officers. Wickham was an officer now stationed here in Meryton. Both Miss
Bingley and Elizabeth mentioned an introduction of some sort. The level of distress Georgiana had was great indeed. It suddenly hit him. Wickham must have been one of the officers at Longbourn! That would surely explain Miss Bingley’s description of how quickly and “nearly rude” Georgiana had left. Yes, poor Georgie ran into that blasted Wickham! He now understood why Georgiana was so distraught. Wickham! How could one man bring such turmoil in his life? And now he was influencing Elizabeth! Charming and handsome indeed!

No matter the degree of anger he felt for Wickham, he could not stop the heartbreak he felt upon hearing how Elizabeth thought him prideful and how he had a “selfish disdain” for others.
Selfish disdain? He had never had the ease that Bingley or his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had in meeting new people. He never seemed to smoothly grasp the importance of a conversation when he was not familiar with the other party. He wasn’t witty and rarely even teased his own sister! Yet he was drawn to these types of people. Richard, Bingley, Elizabeth, and if he was being honest, at one time, even Wickham. They all seemed to have the social ease to talk freely and without restraint. It seemed to him that their confidence was far greater than his own. But how could she interpret his lack of confidence and social shyness as pride? It didn’t make any sense to Mr. Darcy. No easy answers came to him, no matter how long he thought on it. One thing was for certain, Elizabeth didn’t know him well enough; she needed more time to get to know him. Perhaps the better explanation for her interpreting his behavior as prideful was that he didn’t know her well enough to feel comfortable and be relaxed. It was so much better at Netherfield. He felt more comfortable in a small setting and especially with Georgiana there. Perhaps a small setting was the answer to this problem. If he was going to show Elizabeth that he was indeed pleasant he would have to have more interactions with her. Now that he had admitted his feelings for her, thanks to Calypso, he wouldn’t avoid her anymore. Fighting the feelings that were stirring in him was the only reason he didn’t seek her out as often as he would have liked at Netherfield. 

*****

Mr. Bennet didn’t usually get letters by way of express. It came late in the evening and he went to his study. No identifying marks or crests were on it which made him all the more curious. Who could be sending something of an urgent manner at this time of evening? He opened it and read:

Dear Mr. Bennet,

It has come to my attention that a certain officer named George Wickham is stationed in Meryton. I have a long standing relationship with the man and I feel I must warn you on behalf of your daughters. It pains me to reveal an incident that occurred in spring this year, and I must impress upon you my strong desire for your continued secrecy on the matter.

I had employed an older lady to be a companion for my fifteen year old sister. It was not long before the two took a holiday to the beach at Ramsgate. Mr. Wickham schemed with this companion to encourage private meetings and
unchaperoned walks, which led to my sister feeling very much in love. Mr. Wickham then enlisted the companion’s help in convincing my sister to elope, all the while promising the companion a handsome share of the thirty-thousand pound dowry given upon said marriage. I happened to surprise her the day before the proposed elopement and she confided in me. If I had been just one day later he would have succeeded! Mr. Wickham had only mercenary motives as he left her heartbroken as soon as I made it clear that he would not get a farthing. He is not to be trusted! I cannot emphasize this enough!

I recognize that this may be difficult to hear, but I am under the impression that he has been calling on your daughters. I pray you will be prudent in your decisions on this matter.

From a concerned observer

Mr. Bennet folded the letter back up. He placed it carefully on his desk and wondered about this man Wickham. If Wickham truly was mercenary then there was no harm to his daughters as they had little dowry and all of Meryton knew that! The masculine handwriting
never mentioned any other motives or dangers besides financial ones. He had heard his Lydia mention Mr. Wickham, but only about how charming and handsome he was. Perhaps he had better look into Mr. Wickham and meet him himself. He picked up his book and relaxed back into his chair.
Perhaps another day.

*****

“Well, Denny! I think Meryton has many prospects that will be quite the source of, shall we say, entertainment? I can think of a few muslin skirts around here I would like to be raised,” and then as an afterthought as he saw the barmaid was near enough to hear, “in dance, that is.” Mr. Wickham smirked and brought the whiskey back up to his lips. He knew he was well into his cups but his heart was light. Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, here in Meryton!

Mr. Denny said, “To the young, beautiful ladies of Meryton!” He raised his glass and heard the crack of glass against glass as they toasted. Denny wasn’t raised the son of a steward of a wealthy land owner like Wickham, nor did he go to Cambridge like Wickham but he had seen his fair share of “society.” He had been raised in a shady inn along the road to London since he was six years old. Although born to a gentleman, his mother was widowed early on and none of his “gentlemen” relatives took them in. His mother was forced to work as a barmaid just to have food on the table. And growing up with a mother as a barmaid meant he’d been drinking whiskey almost since he could remember. This was why he could keep his head about him during high stakes card games like this. Not with Wickham, however, for that man could keep his wits about him when he drank.

Growing up, Denny had seen gentlemen come in their fine clothes on their way to London and stop at the inn and “accidentally” brush up against his mother or outwardly grope her as she served them. He saw her place coins in her breasts and sneak out to the alley where soon enough, so did the said gentleman. No, he did not have any respect for those who called themselves gentlemen. He chose the militia so eventually he could give them their marching orders! So far his six months had been time well served. It seemed the red coat was quite useful with the ladies and he’d met many friends that seemed to have the same taste for women that he had.

“Denny, I feel my luck is changing!” Wickham looked at his cards in his hands and the last few coins he had in front of him.
Well, maybe not at this game tonight, but it is changing.

Denny was a little nervous as he looked at his own hand; it was good, but not a sure bet. He had already bet quite a bit hoping for that ace or jack to come along. His winnings were substantial and Wickham already owed him six months’ salary! If he didn’t know where Wickham was day and night, he would certainly be demanding payment. Wickham must have a pretty good hand to feel his luck was changing.
“Luck? Who needs luck? It just takes knowing your enemy’s weakness to make your own luck!”

Wickham smiled mischievously.
“Too true, too true. To knowing your enemy’s weakness!” He raised his glass and clanked it with Denny’s before he drained it in one swallow. He called for another round of drinks.

“And who
gonna pay for it mist’a, you already owe me for them last two weeks!” the barmaid said.

“I am feeling quite lucky tonight,
Velda! Now off you go!” Wickham said.

He had asked around town about Mr. Darcy and his friend. It seemed his friend, Mr. Bingley, was amiable and well liked, but not Mr. Darcy. Surprise, surprise! The man didn’t have a charming bone in his body. But for Darcy to submit himself for such a long time in a small country town was unusual indeed. With further investigation it seemed that his friend Bingley was quite smitten with the eldest Miss Bennet. And the young Miss Darcy was calling on both Miss Elizabeth and the eldest Miss Bennet which left only Miss Elizabeth. Was Mr. Darcy enamored with Miss Elizabeth Bennet? He smiled again. Yes, she was quite beautiful and amiable. Surely she wouldn’t fall for a man like Darcy unless . . . yes . . . she must be mercenary. Rumors that Bingley was having a ball at Netherfield were spreading and he and the other officers were invited. It seemed they needed a few more gentlemen. Perhaps the ball would be the answer to this conundrum. He looked up to Denny who had just drawn his card and his lip twitche
d.
Oh no, looks like I have lost this round again
,
Wickham thought. That twitch was a poorly disguised smile that Wickham noticed on Denny every time he got the card he wanted. But losing one card game wasn’t going to spoil his mood tonight. Darcy might very well be in love and that was going to be his ticket to the easy life.
Finally!

Finally,
Denny thought!
A jack!
The whiskey came and Velda left. Denny then said, “Are you going to draw or fold?” It was already one o’clock and he knew soon they would be asked to leave.

“Me? Give up? I think not! Not until I get what should have been mine long ago. There was a time, Denny, when I had my sights on a lady with a dowry so large that I would have never wanted for a thing. That plan was spoiled by our dear Mr. Darcy. Like I said though, I believe my luck is changing. I have had an idea that will pay you double what I owe you if you are interested.
Double or nothing?” Wickham put down his poor hand of cards and saw Denny look at them and smile.

“Well, sir,” said Denny, reaching for his winnings at the same time flashing his better hand of cards in Wickham’s direction, “double or nothing is my kind of game. From that smirk on your face it seems there is a handsome lady involved?”

“Indeed, indeed.”
More importantly, Mr. Darcy would finally get what was his due. And it seemed money wasn’t the only weakness of this particular enemy.
No, losing that hand was worth getting Denny’s help, and he would need it this time.