Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Ch 5: Do not forsake your friend or the friend of your father

Darcy sighed, pacing his room and tugging at his cravat. Anders had already scolded him for it just minutes before. Who decided that a cravat was a good idea? He pulled at the offending garment once more.

Glancing in the mirror, he sighed and straightened the white silk. It's my own fault, really. Why was I such a fool to allow Wickham to invite himself to dinner tonight? The Coopertons do not look upon him with favor. Two maids they lost to his antics! Edwards is no fan of him either since he was Bradley's greatest rival for the living. Heavily he fell into a chair by the fireplace.

"That man always seems to get what he wants," he muttered, reaching for the poker. "He knows just how to push and pull and come out with what he wants in the end. What does he want this time?" Distractedly, Darcy poked at the fire, watching the sparks rise. It's money of course. What else has he ever really wanted? It has always come down to money. How many times as boys here or at school did he come to me, making it look like he wanted something else but at the end of it all, he stood with his hand out waiting for it to be filled? Angrily he tossed the poker aside.

He rose to pace once more, stretching his arms, hands behind his neck. He must be in debt to levy such a demand. If he had time he'd be more subtle, like before. No, there must be outside pressure behind him. Perhaps he is anticipating a writ of debt. He must have lost badly at gaming and word of his ruin got to the tradesmen. He's trying to stay out of the spunging house. Darcy shook his head in disgust.

His father had instilled within him a distaste for the dangers of gambling. Looking out the window over the lands of his estate he remembered his father's words. Son, we depend on the land for our survival. Is that not gamble enough? Winds, rains, storms, fires, drought. We can predict these no more than the roll of the dice, the deal of the cards. You have seen the devastation that any of those can bring. The gambling table can bring the same. Is it not enough to have one such source of risk in our lives? Why would a wise Master go looking for more?

"Why indeed Father?" Darcy whispered, "Why indeed? I wonder if Bradley taught you that." He smiled to himself. "I'm not so sure I really understood you then. I thought I did. I thought you were talking about losing our good name, or standing among the Ton. But you were thinking about so much more, weren't you Father? You understood how many lives depended on you. You knew you would be gambling with their lives not just your own. I wonder if you really knew about Wickham's follies." Sighing deeply, he walked past the mirror once more to straighten the damage to his valet's careful work. "What would you say about your favorite's debts of honor?"

I cannot keep my guests waiting any longer. Bingley and his sister must be in the drawing room by now. I cannot neglect them. But his sister! With a shrug, he left his room.

To his surprise, the drawing room was empty when Darcy arrived. He took a turn about the empty room, taking a moment to notice the meticulous care his staff took in making sure each object in the neatly appointed room was in place and perfectly free from dust and disorder. I must remember to give Mrs. Reynolds my compliments. It is so easy to take her efforts for granted. The Master of Pemberley's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his house guests.

"Mr. Darcy!" Caroline gushed as she stepped into the large room. Her pale peach silk gown rustled as she walked, while the feathers on her turban bobbed slightly.

"Good evening Darcy!" Bingley exclaimed over her shoulder, looking as though he was driving her ahead of him.

Darcy had to choke back his laughter as the image of a hound puppy flushing a quail from the underbrush came to mind. "Good evening," he choked, looking away as he schooled his features into a more proper expression. "I trust you found your rooms acceptable?"

"Acceptable? You are indeed too modest, Mr. Darcy." Suddenly Caroline was standing much too close to the gentleman. "I can hardly think of when I have seen finer rooms…"

"Yes, yes! My sister is quite correct, old friend!" Bingley interrupted with eager excitement. "The rooms are quite fine! Quite. And the prospect from the windows, I have never seen such landscapes!"

The young gentleman could hardly restrain his smile. It is good to hear that others see Pemberley as I do. "I am glad you find them to your liking. How did you find the tour, Miss Bingley?" He inclined his head toward his guest even as he stepped back from her. What is that scent? Orange blossom water perhaps? Perhaps Mrs. Reynolds can find out for me. It is quite…overpowering…unpleasant for certain. Whatever it is, no lady who inhabits Pemberley will wear it! He took a step closer to the window, hoping for a draft to drive away the fragrance.

"However do you not get lost within these walls?" Bingley wondered aloud, glancing about the room. "I made sure to count the doors to make sure I could find my way back to my rooms!"

The two young men laughed, but Caroline stood aghast. "Charles how can you say such a thing?" She demanded with a furious blush.

"Darcy here knows well my penchant for misdirection. Remember when…" Bingley smiled widely, laughing gamely at his own foible.

"When you dragged me into town on the promise of finding that rare book seller?" the dark haired man finished for his friend, his dark brows rising.

"Indeed! We ended up…" He glanced at his sister, reconsidering. "Ah…we…ah…" A bright blush lit his pale cheeks.

"Quite lost and in unexpected places." Darcy finished smoothly. You are quite right, my friend, this is not a story for a lady to hear, not even your sister.

A footman appeared in the doorway. "Sir. Mr. Wickham." The burly man stepped aside to reveal the neatly dressed, smiling son of Old Wickham.

Swallowing hard, Darcy felt his cravat binding his throat. The sense of being strangled in his own drawing room only added to his irritation. Suddenly he remembered his role as host. "Mr. and Miss Bingley, may I present Mr. George Wickham."

Bingley's unruly eyebrows shot up as he cast a surprised glance at his friend. I remember Wickham from school. You could hardly tolerate his company. Why did you invite him tonight? It isn't like you to rub in the fact that you did not give him the living that Bradley has now. What is going on here?

"Miss Bingley," Wickham stepped forward eagerly, taking her proffered hand and bowing over it. "How lovely that Darcy has taken to entertaining such enchanting guests. I have never seen him exhibit such good taste in the past!"

Caroline blushed at the compliment. "You are too kind, Mr. Wickham." She fluttered her eyes at the attractive newcomer. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine indeed," Wickham glanced up at Bingley. "Is this charming young lady your younger sister?"

Caroline giggled girlishly.

"No. She is my elder sister. But since our father's death, she is under my protection." Feeling suddenly defensive, he took her arm in his. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he attempted to glare.

"Of course! How foolish of me, Miss Bingley!"

Darcy cleared his throat brusquely, breaking Wickham's smooth approach.

"And how is it that you know Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham? " Caroline asked innocently. "Do you have a nearby estate?" Perhaps Pemberley is not the only estate in need of a mistress in this neighborhood.

"We grew up together…" Wickham began carefully.

"He is the son of my father's most trusted steward, Miss Bingley," Darcy swiftly cut it. I see the game you are trying to play, Wickham, and I will not support such wiles under my roof.

Wickham looked up sharply, a brief flash of hatred in his eyes. Quickly he reigned himself in. "Alas that is true, Miss Bingley. The shameful truth of my birth is out." He hung his head with affected modesty.

"There is no shame in that! Our own father was in trade!" The normally calm young man bristled at the insinuation. Don't feed Caroline's distaste for her own roots. It's already bad enough now.

"And he wished to see better for his children," Caroline sharply corrected. "That is why you are here, to learn to manage the estate you will purchase. Soon." Green eyes narrowing, she turned back to the handsome steward's son. "Are you in the market for an estate of your own, Mr. Wickham?" Her implication was clear.

"I am afraid not, Miss Bingley," he smiled, shaking his head ruefully. "My father had no riches to leave me. I am destined to work for my fortune. Although I would have liked to take orders and settle in the living old Mr. Darcy promised his favorite godson." He cast an accusing look at Darcy.

The gentleman drew breath to retort, but was cut off by the arrival of his footman. "Sir, Mr. and Mrs. Cooperton, Mr. and Miss Lackley." As the servant stepped aside, he revealed two couples standing, awaiting entrance.

Darcy quickly strode toward his guests. "Welcome, I am so glad to see you have arrived." He ushered them in. "Cooperton, Mrs. Cooperton." He shook the gentleman's hand and bowed over the lady's. "Lackley, Miss Lackley." He repeated his greeting before turning to those already in the drawing room. "Mr. and Miss Bingley, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Cooperton and Mr. and Miss Lackley. The Coopertons and the Lackleys are neighbors on adjacent estates." With a sigh, he added, "Mr. and Miss Lackley, this is Mr. Wickham." Immediately Darcy noticed the mercenary glance Wickham gave the younger woman. "He was a long time resident at Pemberley, the son of my late father's valued steward."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Wickham said through gritted teeth, stepping up to take the lady's hand. What has happened to Darcy? He has never treated me like this before? How dare he! I have done nothing to warrant such disrespect!

I speak only the truth, Wickham. Bradley might not approve my method, but in your case, the assumptions they are making from your introduction are quite correct. I need to protect these ladies from the games you would seek to play with them. Lackley has no idea that he needs to protect his sister from your seductions. To fail to protect them when I know what you are would be a grievous thing indeed.*

An awkward silence followed, broken finally by Cooperton. Extending his hand toward Bingley, he said, "So, how do you know Darcy, sir?"

"We went to Cambridge together, sir. He took me under his wing and helped me make my way," Bingley boasted on his friend.

Caroline shot him a warning glance. It will not do Charles! Do not cast yourself in such a light! We should be working to impress these people, can you not see that? Stop calling attention to your many failings. It is painful enough that I must endure them.

"He is his father's son!" Cooperton laughed a warm, friendly laugh, his ample girth shaking with it. "Always seeking to raise up the younger men. A Darcy is indeed a faithful friend."

"So you knew the late Mr. Darcy?" Lackley asked carefully. The pale man's reddish blond hair fell across his face and he shook his head to remove it from his eyes, a look of genuine interest on his pleasant face.

"We were neighbors for many years, Lackley. He, Nathan King, the former owner of your estate, Edwards and I, we were quite close really." A wistful smile crossed his face. "Those were good days. You don't really know the value of a good neighbor until the storms come."

"Dear Anne and sweet Marian," Mrs. Cooperton sighed, "they were true ladies. So elegant! But they knew every need on all the estates. Not a sick child ever missed their notice. Such dear, dear friends." She retrieved a handkerchief to dab at her moist eyes. "I miss them so."

Darcy blushed at the kind references to his parents. "Was it not the King's estate…"

"Yes, it was Darcy," Cooperton nodded, turning again to Lackley. "About twenty years ago, there was a devastating fire on your estate. Destroyed much of the manor house, the main barn and a few of the out buildings."

"What an awful thing it was! They lost several servants in the fire, and their two youngest children!" Mrs. Cooperton choked back tears. "Poor Marian was devastated! But your father," she looked warmly at the young gentleman "and Mr. Bradley! They were there almost as soon as the alarm was raised. If I remember correctly, they went in themselves and carried out two of the children and their nursery maids."

"Yes we did," Bradley's somber voice came from the doorway.

"Sir." The footman blushed at the unannounced intrusion. "Mr. Edwards and Reverend Bradley." The two older men walked quietly into the room.

Darcy strode quickly to meet them. "It is good to see you," he exclaimed, extending his hand to each in turn. "Mr. Bingley , Miss Bingley. may I present. Mr. Edwards and Reverend. Bradley,

"My pleasure, Miss Bingley." Edwards took her hand and bowed his grey head over it. "Darcy has spoken often of you, Mr. Bingley." He extended his hand to shake Bingley's.

"Mr. Cooperton was just telling us the story of the fire on our estate," Miss Lackley explained shyly, a light flush on her cheeks. Her pretty blonde hair was swept up in a style fitting a young woman just now out in society, though a single curl escaped to grace the nape of her neck.

"Yes, I remember that," Edwards shook his head. "What a tragedy. Would have been much worse were it not for you and Darcy," he clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You never would take credit for saving those young ones."

Bradley shrugged modestly. "It was by the grace of the Good Lord alone, my friend. You know that."

Caroline stood at a slight distance taking in the scene. Why would Darcy invite such a man into his company, much less seek to honor him? Really! His suit is dreadfully out of fashion. He has nothing to recommend his person. He has been a curate for how many years? He must be poor as the proverbial church mouse. Even the living cannot possibly be more than six hundred a year. I cannot see why the Master of an estate like Pemberley would subject himself to such company. Were I mistress here, I would never consent to entertain such people. I must make Charles understand that when I am mistress over his home.

"The Good Lord's grace and the strong backs of two good friends," Edwards countered. Looking warmly at Cooperton, he added, "Those were some dark days for us all. To lose children in such a cruel way!"

Sighing, Bradley agreed. "They were, but we all saw each other through them and more. It is the greatest blessing to have friends to help you up when you are down. I pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up.**"

"We were more brothers than friends, were we not? Born for adversity+, I believe you would say, vicar." Edwards winked at his long time friends.

Across the room Wickham rolled his eyes.

"It seems you do not agree, Mr. Wickham," Cooperton challenged, noticing the young man's distain. Slowly he walked toward him, the group parting to give him way.
A brief look of alarm crossed his features. Wickham's dark eyes danced across the room as if assessing possible escape routes. "I would not argue with your far greater experience, sir." He licked his lips a little anxiously. "I have just found in my acquaintance that such friends are quite rare indeed."

"That I can quite believe," Cooperton muttered under his breath. Do not think I have for a moment forgotten what you are, young Wickham. You can be certain that I will not allow you to repeat your past in this neighborhood. I wish Darcy had the backbone to deny you this night. Your company is an embarrassment here.

"Indeed they are, Mr. Wickham," Bradley quickly agreed. "But let us not dwell on such thorny matters now. Before dinner is not the time for difficult conversations." Striding toward Bingley, he offered his hand, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Bingley."

"Indeed it is, Reverend Bradley. Darcy here has spoken so much of you. I feel as if I know you already!" The younger man pumped the vicar's hand vigorously. "He has shared much of your wisdom with me and I am a better man for it."

A wry smile lifted Bradley's lips. "My reputation precedes me, it seems." He laughed gently.

"Which is why we are here to honor you tonight, Reverend," Darcy warmly clapped the vicar's shoulder.

Blushing, Bradley sought to change the subject. "What did you decide about your sister? Will she join us tonight?"

"Given the occasion and the company," Darcy hesitated a moment, "I thought it would be appropriate to allow her to join us."

"I'm am glad, sir. Thank you. It seems far too rare a thing that I am able to keep her company."

"I gave Mrs. Reynolds instructions to see her sent down as soon as we were all assembled. She should be here…ah, there she is now. Excuse me," Darcy quickly made his way to the doorway to greet his sister.

"Good evening, brother," Georgiana looked up shyly, a flush of excitement brightening her cheeks.

"You are very pretty tonight, Georgiana," he smiled down a little nervously. I hope I'm making the right decision here. She looks like such a young woman tonight. I don't like the way Wickham was looking at Miss Lackley and Miss Bingley. If he ever looks at her that way I will call him out. I hate for my sister to keep company with him. But surely he would not consider such a thing. He looks on her too much as a sister. Doesn't he? A dark look crossed his face as he considered this new thought. Perhaps she should not attend tonight. Her dowry is certainly as attractive as Miss Bingley's or Miss Lackley's! Why did I never see this? No, she will not… He sighed as she blinked up at him in eager anticipation. But to tell you' no' now would break your heart, would it not? I will let you have your evening. But I will see you both watched very closely. You will not fall prey to him. Taking her arm, he quietly led her into the room.

As she was not officially out, he did not announce her to his guests, but rather took her demurely into the room. Since she knew the rest of his guests he brought her to them only briefly, then took her directly to Miss Bingley. "Miss Bingley, may I present my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy."

Georgiana curtseyed prettily. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bingley."

Returning the gesture, Caroline replied, "I am delighted to meet you, Miss Darcy." Such a young thing! Poor Darcy saddled with such a burden. He cannot possibly know what to do with such a young girl. She should be away at school. I must find a way to suggest that to him directly. He definitely needs a lady here to help guide his dear sister.

"I am so excited to see that your brother has allowed you to join us tonight," Miss Lackley gushed, quickly making her way to Georgiana's side.

"I am as well." The beaming girl replied.

Entwining her arm in Georgiana's, Miss Lackley led her slightly away from her brother. "I am so happy you are to join us!" she whispered. "I am so overwhelmed by this company. I feel so much better with you here, even if you are not yet out!"

Georgiana giggled softly. "Oh Rebecca!" She covered her mouth with a delicately gloved hand. "I would be so nervous now except to know that I have such a good friend here with me!"

"I do hope your brother allows us to sit close at dinner…" Miss Lackley glanced nervously back at Darcy.

"He has! He is so good to me! Mrs. Reynolds took pity on me and told me he had given her instructions to seat us together so I would not feel so uncomfortable. He is too good to me," the younger girl whispered back. She glanced up to see Wickham standing rather alone in the far corner of the room and sighed.

"Why do you sigh for him? He is a steward's son!"

"But my brother has treated him so cruelly! I do not understand. My brother is always so good to me, how can he be so unkind to poor George?" Georgiana's fair brow knit in distress.

"My dear friend, I think perhaps there are some things I must share with you," Rebecca glanced over her shoulder wondering if this was the time and place for this conversation.

"Shall we adjourn to the dining room?" Darcy announced. He stepped over to the two young ladies, taking his sister's arm again and leading his guests to their meal.

*JAS 4:17
**ECC 4:10
+PR 17:17

Chapter 6: Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks

Posted on 2010-09-05

Neither willing to insult his lady guests nor give Wickham the opportunity to escort his sister, Darcy handed Georgiana to Bradley. Taking Mrs. Cooperton's ample arm, the young gentleman watched as the other ladies were claimed by their escorts. Lackely approached Caroline and was received with a gracious smile. Bingley offered Rebecca his hand and was similarly accepted. Edwards nodded to Wickham, contented to know that Wickham had no access to any of the unmarried women.

The dining room glittered, candlelight sparkling off the mirrors and polished metals in the room. The long mahogany table already held a bounty of dishes displaying the best efforts of Pemberley's able staff. Rich red walls added warmth to the atmosphere, seeming to enhance the tempting smells that filled the air. The crackling fire in the elegant fireplace drove the last vestiges of the spring chill to the room, completing its welcoming aura.

"This is the kind of table Pemberley saw when your dear mother was here," Mrs. Cooperton whispered to her escort. "She and your father would be proud. They would have honored this occasion too." She smiled up at him warmly.

"Thank you." Darcy blushed under the praise.

Georgiana glanced unhappily over her shoulder to see George Wickham at the rear of their party. I so wanted to sit with him as well. Now I will not have the opportunity to speak with him as I had hoped. She sighed a little unhappily.

The gesture was not lost on Bradley, who immediately noticed her attentions toward the attractive young man. I wonder if young Darcy realizes he has already gone to work on his sister? The vicar glanced back as well, with a look of warning clear in his blue eyes. You will not have her, if it costs me everything, you will not.

"Mr. Darcy!" Caroline gushed upon seeing the elegant room. "I have rarely seen a room appointed with such good taste!" Her eyes danced about the room enthusiastically. How much more exquisite could this room become with the touch of a mistress' hand? Charles was correct, we two have very similar tastes.

Darcy escorted Mrs. Cooperton to the place of honor beside him at the head of the table. Since the table lacked a hostess, it was understood that Bradley would sit to Darcy's other side. As the rest of the guests arranged themselves at the table, Cooperton, Bradley and Edwards entered a silent collusion to insure that Wickham sat well away from the unmarried ladies and that Georgiana and her friend were seated together. *

Taking his place at the head of the table, Darcy nodded his quiet approval Their host cleared his throat. "On this occasion, it would seem most appropriate that I ask our new vicar to bless this meal." His broad smile enhanced his handsome features.

Georgiana caught Wickham's eye and rolled hers. He smiled bravely at her. How can my brother be so unfair to poor George? He should be the one we are honoring right now.

Bradley nodded at his host, then bowed his head. His rich, warm baritone filled with room. "We thank you, our Heavenly Father, for friends and family and food. In Your Grace you have allowed us to gather to celebrate Your Goodness to us all. We are humbly grateful. Amen."

A brief silence followed. Cooperton's affectionate laugh broke it. "You have once again revealed why we all hold you so dear! What is there not to love about a short winded clergyman?"

They all laughed, Bradley loudest of all.

How vulgar. Caroline turned aside to offer a sour expression to her brother. He glared briefly at her. Insufferable! Charles seems to see nothing wrong with such improper humor! Such company is bad enough, a steward's son and a cleric! But now to joke about it?

Darcy rose to begin carving a large joint of beef.

"You may laugh, Cooperton," Bradley began, glancing at his company, "but that reminds me of a very important lesson I learned at Cambridge."

At least he had a gentleman's education. That is something to be grateful for.

"And what would that lesson be sir?" Bingley asked gamely, his own warm smile matching the vicar's.

"That a man of too many words is usually a man of too little sense." Blue eyes glittered in the candlelight.

"Reverend Bradley!" Mrs. Cooperton exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand to cover her broad smile.

"Is it not said that even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent?**" Bingley remarked cheerily as he served the ladies beside him from the dishes nearby.#

"Indeed! Indeed!" Cooperton agreed heartily, performing the same service for Caroline.

"Charles!" Caroline reproved with a hiss. "My brother means no insult…" She turned to the vicar on her right. It does not suit to insult our host's guest like that, even if he is only a clergyman!

"There is no offense, Miss Bingley, I assure you," Bradley quickly soothed. "Your brother is only too correct. You cannot judge a man simply by the number of words that come from his mouth alone. By our words will we be acquitted, and by our words we will be condemned.+" He suppressed the urge to glance down the table toward Wickham. "So one is wise to count them carefully."

Cooperton and Edwards caught one another's eyes before taking a fleeting look at the steward's son.

"A man is only as good as his word, is he not?" Darcy's deep voice seemed to resonate in the room. "My father often repeated that lesson."

"Indeed he did," Cooperton quickly agreed. "In fact, I remember once when you were just a young man…"

Darcy looked aghast. "No sir," he firmly declared. "While I am host at this table, we will not engage in reviewing my boyhood foibles!" Although his words were stern, the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

At the other end of the table, Georgiana leaned toward her friend and whispered, "How can he insult my brother like that! How can he be so rude at our table?"

"Dearest, you are too easily distressed. Why must you continue to take offense on behalf of others? Can you not see that they are joking?" Rebecca laid a gentle hand on her friend's arm.

Georgiana's dainty lips pressed into a pout. "I do not think it proper to be joking about their host."

"Your brother does not seem to mind. Look, do you not see him smiling?" Miss Lackley glanced up to Darcy. He is indeed a handsome man. I wonder if he could ever see me as more than his sister's friend. Somehow, I think not. She sighed.

"I do not see his own behavior as so very proper tonight either. Have you not seen the way he is ignoring poor George at the end of the table?" The younger woman insisted petulantly.

"He is sitting at the far end table! Calling across such distances is rude!" Rebecca's patience was wearing thin. Perhaps he should not have allowed her to attend dinner tonight. She does not seem to be herself in this company. I wonder why, but I fear I have a good idea.

Overhearing the young ladies, Edwards frowned to himself. Sadly they are right. It is not appropriate to be discourteous, even to him. "So Mr. Wickham, what brings you back into our neighborhood after such a long absence?" The question sounded forced even to him.

Wickham turned to regard the grey haired man. "I had heard that Reverend Harris had passed."

"You came to pay your regards?" Lackley asked, now taking his share of the conversation.

"No," Georgiana cut in.

Rebecca turned to her friend horrified at her rudeness. "Georgiana!" she whispered. I have never seen her so ill mannered. She must know that she cannot speak out so!++

Ignoring the harsh look of her friend and the discomforted glances of Lackley and Edwards, Georgiana persisted. "He was promised the living that Mr. Bradley was given."

A hush fell over the table. None could ignore the grave expression that fell over Darcy's face at his sister's transgression.

Quickly Bradley jumped in, "My dear, Mr. Wickham has not yet taken orders. The living would have to remain vacant and the parish unattended for quite some time if Mr. Wickham were to have it." He has corrupted her thinking! How has he managed to spend time with the girl? Surely her brother would not have permitted it.

"I do not see how it is so very bad a thing that the parish should be without a rector." Georgiana persisted, oblivious to the appalled stares around her.

Wickham turned his face away from the rest of the diners to smirk quietly. Lackley forced his expression to remain neutral as he watched the man on his left, disapproving of what he saw. Noticing Lackley's attention, Wickham quickly schooled his features into a more proper expression of alarm. Wide eyes affected innocence as he turned back to his host shaking his head in protest.

"Except for Sundays, what does the vicar really do? Visit the sick and console with the old? Are those not done by the mistress of the estate as well? Is it so bad if those go unattended for a time?" A girlish frown creased her face as she turned to stare accusingly at her brother. "As for reading sermons…"

"Georgiana!" Darcy rebuked sharply, an angry vein protruding from his forehead.

Surely he would not expect the mistress of his home to attend to such things? To visit tenants -- sick ones at that? Surely he would never…would he?" Caroline added her own look of horror to the others on display at the table. His taste is surely elegant and the estate very fine, but if that is what he expects of its mistress, it would come at a very high cost indeed.

"It is all right," Bradley softly said, laying a hand on Darcy's forearm.

"No, sir, it is not. Clearly being in company has proven to be too much excitement for her." He stared apologetically at his vicar for a moment. Turning to his sister, he glowered.

He's never looked at me that way before! What have I done? The young woman lost the color in her cheeks. He's just a vicar after all. Aunt and Uncle Matlock say my brother thinks far too much of him for his own good.

"You may return to the nursery, Georgiana. I will speak to you in the morning." Darcy's pronouncement startled his company.

She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it upon meeting her brother's eyes. Tears sprang to the young girl's big blue eyes. Hurriedly she jumped to her feet and fled the room.

Shaking her head, Rebecca wondered what to say. How could you say such a thing and embarrass your brother so? And for the steward's son?

"Please, forgive my sister," Darcy turned, embarrassed, from Bradley to the rest of his company.

"Do not trouble yourself, my friend," Bradley smiled.

"The young do not always know of what they speak," Cooperton added, sharing a meaningful glance with his wife.

She nodded soberly at her husband. I will have a talk with her. The girl is old enough to know the truth now. It seems she has been left to her own, without a Mother's guidance, for too long. Forgive me Anne.

From the foot of the table, Wickham watched Darcy's discomfort with dark satisfaction. You cannot so easily dismiss me, old chum. Though you have made sure all here remember I am only the son of your father's steward, I will be certain you remember your father's promises to me, one way or another. He promised me the life of a gentleman. I will have that. I will have what I deserve, Darcy. You have no choice but to give it to me. I will see to it.

Darcy rang the silver bell, sighing when his servants appear to clear off the dishes from the first course and bring in the second. He could not help but be relieved that the conversation ebbed in the wake of their service. What has gotten into her? I have never seen my sister behave this way before. Tonight of all nights. How could she dishonor Bradley this way? How could she shame all of us with such conduct?

"Mr. Darcy," Caroline's nasal voice pierced through his distracted reverie, "you set such an elegant table, sir. Without a mistress, I must ask you, who plans your menus for you?"

For once he welcomed such an inane question, glad to leave more serious considerations behind. "Mrs. Reynolds, my housekeeper. She has been in this household since I was a child and was my mother's most trusted aid. She carries on the traditions of my mother."

"She does it so well, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Cooperton agreed. "Anne set such a beautiful table for her guests. Mrs. Reynolds has kept her ways alive and well despite her being gone all these long years. The touch of a good mistress can linger long in her absence."

"I believe my sister is looking forward to soon being mistress of my estate," Bingley glanced at his sister with warm amusement. "I expect she hopes to set as fine a table as this someday."

"So you have recently purchased an estate?" Lackley asked, a little relieved to be able to enter the conversation finally. "I have only recently purchased my own in this neighborhood."

"Truly?" Bingley grinned to find himself in like company. "I am just now in the market for one. Here I thought myself to be in the company of only old landed families like Darcy here."

Brushing his unruly hair from his face, Lackley shook his head. "I only wish that were so, but alas it is not. My own family just recently joined the gentry themselves. It was my father's dying wish…"

"Likewise my own!" Bingley exclaimed. "A kindred spirit indeed!"

"I thought that you and Lackley might have much to discuss, Bingley," Darcy finally admitted. "I believe his insight could prove valuable to you this season."

"Always looking out for me Darcy! I should very much like to talk with you Lackley."

"Then I must have you to tea and to tour my estate!" the young man readily agreed. "What say you, perhaps in two days? Give my sister a chance to practice as hostess herself?"

Rebecca blushed warmly under her brother's fond gaze. "I would be honored for your company, sir. Perhaps your sister might join you as well?" Expectant hazel eyes turned toward Caroline.

Startled from her own thoughts, Miss Bingley took a moment to reply. "Yes, certainly. Thank you." So he has not been landed long. I wonder how his estate compares to Pemberley. Surely it cannot be nearly so grand. He is very much like my brother though. That is not entirely a bad thing. His sister is very young, in her first season perhaps? She will not be unmarried long. I am sure. Especially if her dowry is ample. She glanced back at her host. I wonder if he is considering her? She is quite young, though. Certainly not up to the standards his mother set. Mrs. Cooperton seems to be making that clear. No, I think he will want a more mature woman to host his table. Yet, what of her dowry? That could sway him. I have heard nothing about that. I will have to find out. What impact will that have on her brother's estate? Will it unsettle his prospects? Or has he planned for its loss? You see father, you taught me more than you thought. Smiling to herself, she turned her eyes on Lackley now. He is a well looking enough man, but he can't be much older than Charles. His disposition seems easy, though. That might not be a bad thing. I wonder what his estate is like?

Caroline was left alone to her considerations for several minutes while the servants cleared the second course to bring in dessert and pour the sweet wine.

"You are far too kind!" Bradley exclaimed, noting the dishes that now graced the large table. "I am sure Mrs. Reynolds had no idea of my favorites. It is no coincidence that I see them all set before me."

Darcy blushed and smiled at his guest, a hint of sadness still in his expressive dark eyes. He rose to his feet and lifted his crystal glass. "A toast to our faithful friend."

"Here, here!" Edwards and Cooperton called in agreement, rising themselves, followed by the rest of the company.

"To Bradley. May his wisdom guide yet another generation in Derbyshire." Darcy raised his glass high.

"To Bradley." His guests agreed and sipped their wine.

The man himself looked down humbly, warmed by the affection of his friends. "If the good Lord wills it, I hope to know your children and grandchildren as well." I dearly hope we can set his sister to rights first though. I cannot let her father down. I promised to watch over her. How badly have I failed her?

The diners enjoyed the array of sweets Pemberley's kitchens provided, bringing the meal to a close.

Darcy noted his guests were sated, nodding to himself. "Since we have no hostess tonight, shall we all repair to the drawing room?" he offered, rising once more.

Poor man. Caroline looked sadly at the handsome gentleman. He so regrets the lack of a mistress. Surely he could use the solace a competent, accomplished woman could provide. Perhaps he just needs a little help to see that. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. But just what would he demand from her?

His guests rose. Taking Mrs. Cooperton's arm, Darcy led them from the dining room back to the drawing room. In pairs the guests filed out behind them, until Edwards and Wickham were left.

"After you sir," Wickham graciously bowed as Edwards walked through the door ahead of him. While Edwards followed the others towards the drawing room, Wickham turned down another corridor, unnoticed by the rest of the party.

*Regency Encyclopedia-At this time, guests at parties were not assigned seats for meals. Seating was determined by chance and no attempt was made to alternate men and women at the table.
** PR 17:28
#Regency Encyclopedia- It was not good form to ask a neighbor to pass a dish. It was equally bad manners for the ladies to help themselves; they had to be served by the gentlemen.
+ Mt 12:37
++Regency Encyclopedia-Prior to coming out, if a girl happened to be at the dinner table with adults, she was expected to remain quiet and to speak only when asked a question.

Ch 7: The last shall be first

Darcy smiled as he reached the door of the drawing room. Exactly as I wanted! Releasing Mrs. Cooperton's arm, he graciously seated her on the most comfortable sofa near the center of the room. He strode toward the handsome pianoforte at the far side of the chamber, opposite the fireplace. He paused a moment for his guests to settle in.

"Reverend Bradley, my good father long desired to see you placed as our vicar. He purchased this," Darcy lifted a violin which had been strategically left on the pianoforte by Mrs. Reynolds, "in anticipation of the day. I am grieved that he was not able to share this celebration with us. Yet, I know he would delight to see his wish come to pass. So please, receive this as his and my gift to you." Reverently he handed the instrument to Bradley as his friends softly applauded their approval.

Tears misted the cleric's eyes as he humbly received the gift. "He remembered," Bradley whispered a little hoarsely. "Many years ago, I had such an instrument, but had to sell it when my family came on hard times. Your father was quite cross with me for not coming to him for help instead. He promised that he would find a way to restore it back to me, one that I could not refuse."

"Well now," Edwards broke in, diffusing the momentary heaviness, "you must honor us with a song or three. The ladies will have their turn to perform; but you must begin the evening for us."

"Here, here!" Cooperton agreed enthusiastically, settling himself into a comfortable chair.

Darcy nodded and reached for a portfolio of music before his vicar could find reason to object.

"Very well then," Bradley conceded. "But it has been a long time since these old fingers have graced such strings. You may very well regret your polite demands." He laughed as he rifled through the sheet music. "Here are some that look familiar."

"Shall I turn pages for you?" the young gentleman offered.

"I would welcome it. That way you may take the music from me before I torment you all to madness with my inferior display." Bradley chuckled as he tuned the instrument.

Softly at first, then with growing confidence, he began to play. The gentle melody, though neither complex nor sophisticated, evoked a quiet peace and joy in the elegantly appointed room. All within agreed it was a mood most befitting the occasion.

Darcy could see the tears in the man's eyes as he finished the piece. You chose well father. This was indeed a perfect gift.

"Thank you, young master. I am touched by your thoughtfulness." He laid a heavy, warm hand on the younger man's broad shoulder, squeezing affectionately. Your father would be proud tonight.

"Play us another!" Edwards cried.

"All right, but you must come and sing with me," Bradley countered.

Edwards considered protesting but, encouraged by the Coopertons' nods, rose to join his friend. "I'll take the bass line, but we need a tenor as well," he noted, glancing over the music Bradley had put before him.

Together they looked toward Lackley and Bingley, knowing full well Cooperton could not sing at all. Bingley rose gamely. "I have sung a bit, perhaps I know the piece."

Caroline watched, mortified as her brother joined the musicians. It is irregular enough that the men are exhibiting. Please, Charles, have some sense of decorum.

As the men studied the music a moment, Mrs. Cooperton stood and took a turn about the room to stretch her legs. She stopped near the windows and sat down beside Caroline on the long sofa. "You are uncomfortable," she pronounced in a soft tone that brooked no argument. You think you are so sophisticated young woman, but your motivations and desires are so clearly written across your face.

Caroline sent her an aggrieved expression, opening her mouth to speak.

Mrs. Cooperton cut her off, "This is not a fashionable London drawing room, you know." She gestured around the room with her hand. "We are quite far away from them, here in the wilds of the North. Three days ride makes us quite a world apart, would you not say?"

That ring! I have never seen a ruby like that before. They must be wealthier than I thought. Perhaps she does have something to say.

The men nodded as Bradley struck up his opening chord. Soon, Edwards and Bingley joined in, offering a surprisingly good rendition of the chosen ballad.

"No, this is surely not London," Caroline muttered critically, watching her brother through critical eyes.

"Nor will it ever be. We are a simple gathering of friends, joined here to celebrate the good fortune among us," Mrs. Cooperton said wistfully. "The good Lord knows we have shared enough tears together." Her tone became serious as she lowered her voice to continue just above a whisper. "Miss Bingley, I can see you have your eye on Mr. Darcy."

Caroline gasped at the boldness of her companion and drew back in offense. This woman is insufferable! How dare she make such personal speculations? She has no right to converse with me so! She drew a deep breath to begin her protest.

"Enough." The older woman smiled, shaking her head gently. "You are a single woman of good fortune. He is a single, handsome man of good fortune and a magnificent estate. What woman in your place would not consider pursing him?" A knowing eyebrow lifted on her round face.

Somewhat mollified, Caroline retreated a bit. Still she presumes too much.

"You seem very dissatisfied by our familiarity and simple ways here. If you made an alliance with Darcy, you must understand this would be your lot."

Caroline's brows knit, perplexed. Surely she does not know what she is talking about. Is she not aware of his house in town? "But he has a townhouse. We have had tea with him there. He must spend much of the year there."

The girl does not believe me. Why would I set out to deceive her? I have no unmarried daughters and I myself am married. "Clearly you do not realize, your brother has not told you?"

"Told me what?" Charles!

"Young Mr. Darcy, like his good father before him, hates London. He goes as little as possible. He is not fond of the society there. I know many fashionable men spend most of the year in town, leaving their estates to their stewards. But Mr. Darcy is a far better master than that. His dislike of town is a benefit to all those in his sphere of influence here." Mrs. Cooperton raised her eyes momentarily to cast a motherly look toward the young gentleman.

"No! Charles has told me no such thing." Caroline was clearly taken aback. "He seems easy enough in company here, if anything too easy." She rolled her eyes slightly. "My brother has told me that when he attended London events with Mr. Darcy, he was everything that was proper…"

"That he spoke to few and only those of his own circle and maintained the most proper decorum and distinction of rank at all times?" Mrs. Cooperton nodded knowingly. "I suppose he also told you that Mr. Darcy has a great appreciation for fine things and is keenly aware of what is fashionable."

"Precisely." Caroline quickly agreed, glancing back at Darcy who was now smiling broadly at the musicians. "That is the very reason why my brother thought it good for us to meet. He thought us very much alike in that way."

This is precisely the kind of woman he does not need! The mistress of Cooperton's estate smiled a bit condescendingly. "Of course. I see now."

"See what? I do not understand." Her voice grew sharp as her ire rose. What does this impertinent woman believe she understands? I have never been so insulted…

"Your brother is seeking to purchase an estate. So you must be trying to leave your roots behind."

"Of course," Caroline blushed fiercely, anger clear in her eyes.

"I mean no offense, Miss Bingley. It makes perfect sense why you would want to be so attentive to all things proper. It is necessary to gain acceptance in the Ton." Shaking her head, Mrs. Cooperton continued. "But I am afraid your brother has quite misunderstood his friend."

Horrified, Caroline glanced back at the two men in question.

"Has Mr. Bingley not noted a difference in Mr. Darcy now that you are here with him in his home?"

Thinking hard for a moment, Caroline answered, "Yes, yes he has. He has been quite amazed at how amiable and easy Mr. Darcy seems here. Quite a changed man, Charles said, not at all the deeply proper and fashion conscious man that he knew in town."

"Quite," Mrs. Cooperton agreed. "Miss Bingley, I tell you this only to save you the grief of misplaced affections. The Darcy you see here is the real man. In truth he is very shy in unfamiliar company. He lacks the natural ease that others like your brother have. It is hard for him to speak to strangers and worse still to be in crowds. His consciousness of fashion and good taste is merely his way of avoiding giving offense and creating more uncomfortable situations. He has always been so and I suspect will always be. His good father was the same way. I suppose it is the mark of Darcy men."

Caroline's fine brows creased as she listened to the unwelcome words.

"The rules of propriety and decorum, well they are a means for him to cope in those situations that are uneasy for him. They are not a true reflection of the man." She could see Caroline's thoughts whirling behind her scowling eyes.

"Well an easy temper is not a bad thing in a man is it? My brother is an easy man…"

"An easy man to get your way with." The older woman finished with a knowing flourish.

"How dare you!" The offended heiress began to rise from her seat.I have had enough of this insufferable woman!

"Do not get your feathers ruffled Miss Bingley," Mrs. Cooperton took her hand with a gracious laugh. "I have been in society much longer than you. I dare say I know the way of things. A woman often wants things her own way. A woman of some means has rather more leisure in finding a man who will accommodate that, no?" Shushing the forthcoming protests, she continued, "That is another thing you need to know. I fear you have your eyes set on London drawing rooms, balls and dinner parties. Mr. Darcy's heart is at Pemberley. He will expect much of the mistress of this estate."

With some relief, Caroline sat back down on the elegant, sea green upholstery. She will see I am well able. "Certainly! He needs an accomplished woman at his side."

"What exactly are your accomplishments, Miss Bingley?"

Her narrow chest puffed with pride. "I can draw and paint and I write with an elegant hand. I sing and play pianoforte having studied under several masters. My bother has told me that I am the best dance partner he has ever had. My French and Italian are quite good, although at needlework …"

Mrs. Cooperton lifted her hand to halt the recitation. "I see, I see. You certainly have had quite an education." She has no idea! "I wonder though, Miss Bingley, do you know what is expected of the mistress of an estate such as this?"

Caroline paused to think. "Surely she must be his hostess, manage the menus and servants…" Her voice trailed off as she ran out of answers.

"While that is true, it is only a small part of the mistress' duties. I noticed you were distressed when Miss Darcy spoke of tending to tenants in need."

Her listener squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"The estate's people turn to its mistress in their distress." She studied the uneasy young woman carefully. "I heard your brother is here to learn from Mr. Darcy how to manage an estate. If you are to be his hostess, it is fitting that you should learn the role of mistress. After your visit with Miss Lackley, I should very much like you to come to visit with me for a few days. I would be pleased to show you the life of the mistress of a large estate."

Caroline swallowed hard, licking her lips nervously. "I am honored by your invitation, but I will have to consult with my brother…" I wonder? Have you a daughter you are intending for Darcy? Is that why you are singling me out so?

"Consider him invited as well. Mr. Cooperton is quite taken by him. Earlier I heard him offer your brother the help of our solicitor in finding eligible properties. We can let the men tackle that undertaking while we attend our own."

"I…I…I thank you. We will be pleased to visit with you next week."

"Excellent! I shall go inform my husband now." Gracefully, Mrs. Cooperton rose so seek her husband, leaving Caroline alone with her uncomfortable thoughts.

Darcy retreated to the fireplace to appreciate the offerings of the musicians and to take a brief break from his company. How could I have walked through these last three years without these friends? He sighed, warmth and contentment washing over him. What a relief it is to be with those who do not take offense at my need to retreat. Sometimes it is so hard to breathe even in this company! London…I am so glad to leave it behind.

"Do you know any glees?" He heard Bingley's enthusiastic voice ask.

He has been a good friend. School would have been so much more difficult without him to shield me from society. He carries the conversation himself and just leaves me to stand and nod. How I hate the mindless small talk. I never know what to say.

"One or two," Edwards answered with a smile that matched Bingley's. "And my friend here has a passable baritone. Anything I know, he does as well." He raised his brows at Bradley who just shook his head in surrender.

Soon the three men had chosen a piece and the room filled with the rich sounds of the male trio. A servant entered quietly to set out a coffee service. Lackley helped himself to it and wandered over to Darcy, steaming cup in hand.

"Excellent meal, Darcy, and the coffee is even better. Thank you for including us in your invitation tonight. We haven't been in Derbyshire nearly so long as the others. You have made us feel so welcome in the neighborhood."

"I am happy you could join us, Lackley. My father and his friends showed me the value of making your neighbors your friends and I mean to carry on that tradition in my generation." He paused a moment, to look over at the singing men. "Your sister has been a dear friend to mine. I am grateful for that. There are so few girls of her age here. I am still quite bewildered by her behavior tonight, though. I had so hoped to hear her on the pianoforte this evening, but after her performance at dinner, I can hardly allow her in company again." Darcy sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I confess, I do not always understand my own sister so well. There are moments when she seems a perfectly rational creature…"

"And moments when no amount of reason seems sufficient to persuade her?" Darcy finished for him.

"Indeed!" Lackley laughed, glancing back at Bingley. "I wonder if your friend has the same impression of his older sister, or if it is just the lot of those of us with younger ones."

Darcy's dark eyes flicked back to Miss Bingley sitting alone on the sofa, a decidedly thoughtful look on her face. That's a new expression for her. I have hardly ever seen her so contemplative. I wonder what she is plotting now. At least she is not staring at me again! That is some relief. "I do believe I have heard Bingley expressing his own dismay over the same things, Lackley. It seems we are bound by a common malady!"

Laughing, Lackley looked back toward Mrs. Cooperton who stood speaking softly to her husband. "It does leave one to wonder if our hopes are better for our wives someday, or is this just providence providing us a training ground for them?"

"Let us hope not!" Darcy chuckled, but his countenance soon became heavy. "It is indeed a sad thing that none of us have fathers with whom we can ask."

Somberly, the younger man nodded. The trio brought their glee to a close. "I suppose it is time for the ladies to exhibit, is it not. Who do you fancy to begin?"

"Well, I know Mrs. Cooperton will not be prevailed upon until the very end of the evening if at all. She always argues her performing days are past. But sometimes she will give in after the other ladies have had their chance. I suspect it is her modesty in action, though. She is such a superior musician she does not want to discourage the younger ladies from having their moment. That would mean that Bingley's sister should be asked." With a nod, Darcy strode purposefully toward the couch.

Noticing her host's approach Caroline looked up abruptly, a flush creeping across her cheeks, a pleased smile lifting her thin lips.

"Miss Bingley, your brother has often spoken of your skill as a musician. Would you be so good as to play for us?" Darcy asked graciously, offering his hand to help her from her seat.

Finally! I will be able to show him what an accomplished woman can bring to his home! "I would be honored, Mr. Darcy." She accepted his arm as he escorted her to the fine instrument on the other side of the room.

"Do play something lively for us Caroline!" Bingley admonished jovially. Not one of those dreadfully complicated pieces that everyone applauds and no one appreciates.

"In due time, Charles, in due time. I am sure Mr. Darcy has very fine tastes. I first wish to play a piece he is unlikely to have heard so far from London." Caroline kept her face neutral, but her eyes flashed with anger.

Mrs. Cooperton blushed for both the rebuke to Bingley and for Caroline's haughtiness. You will win no friends with that attitude, Miss Bingley. You are still a young woman. Let us hope you can change your ways before your plaster is set. If it is not already too late.

Darcy retreated to the fireplace once again, this time joined by Bradley.

"You have truly honored me this night, young master," the vicar spoke softly.

"I know you do not seek it, sir, but this is a night when the last should indeed be first." Darcy's dark eyes crinkled as he smiled, reminding his companion of the young boy he had once been. They turned their attention to the music once more.

"She plays a very intricate piece," Bradley observed.

"That is the fashion of London set right now," Darcy sighed. "Perhaps she will yet heed her brother's preference. She plays to please her own tastes, not those who listen."

Suddenly Edwards approached them, a concerned look on his face.

"What is it?" Bradley reached out to grab his friend's forearm as he recognized the degree of alarm in the widower's eyes.

"Have either of you seen Wickham since we left the dining room?" Edward's eyes scanned the drawing room.

Darcy felt his face grow pale and cold. "No, I have not. I confess I have not given him any thought since then. He has not taken my leave."

Bradley waved Cooperton over. "Did Wickham take your leave? Have you seen him at all since dinner."

"No." Cooperton's voice became strained.

"He must be found!" Darcy exclaimed, striding rapidly out of the drawing room, followed hastily by the three older men.

Caroline looked up from her instrument to see the men leaving. Though red-faced with shame, she continued to play. What abominable behavior! How dare they stomp out like that! I have never seen such rudeness! Do they not have appreciation for my music? She glanced at her brother, noting his concerned expression. At least he has the decency to be offended on my behalf! It seems his Mr. Darcy is not nearly the man I expected him to be.

The men paused in the hallway to regroup and consider their strategy.

"He knows this house well," Bradley stated. "He will waste no time in going after what he desires. You said he visited you this afternoon, Darcy. What did he want?"

"What he always wants," Darcy snapped. "Money. He always comes to me with an open hand and an equally empty wallet."

"You keep a strongbox in your study?" Cooperton wondered aloud. "Would he be headed there?"

"It is possible. I caught him perusing the papers on my desk while he was there unaccompanied." The young gentleman's thoughts went back to that scene, replaying it in his mind's eye.

"What papers was he looking at?" Edwards pressed uncomfortably, glancing at the staircase.

Darcy's brow knit with worry. "I'm not sure. The only one I could recognize from a distance was Father's old ledger book. I told my footman that Wickham was never again permitted in my study alone. I cannot think that Stevens or Davis would allow…"

"That ledger," Cooperton pressed softly, "what did it contain?"

"Records of the old accounts my father established," the young gentleman replied, puzzled. "There is no way for Wickham to access any of those accounts. What would be…" A painful realization dawned on his face. "It had record of my sister's dowry!"

Cooperton's frown grew deeper. "Your father made it a point to keep that value a secret to protect her from…"

"Wickham?" Darcy's tone was both incredulous and horrified. "Georgiana!" Without further word, he bolted for the stairs, the three older men hard on his heels.

In moments, he was at her bedroom, flinging the door open. The feminine room was lit only by the moonlight, neither candle nor fire burning. The curtains billowed softly in the spring breeze making its way through the open windows.

"Georgiana!" Darcy bellowed. His voice echoed off the walls. He saw no sign of her in the room. He dashed to the door leading to her sitting room. But that room too bore no sign of its occupant.
A sound from the window drew his attention. Throwing the curtains open, he saw two figures in the garden below. Whirling, he burst through the knot of men behind him. "In the rose garden!"

Following close behind their host, the three older gentlemen pounded down the stairs. Stevens and Davis having heard the commotion were waiting at the foot of the stairs. Their master said nothing, but they fell into place at his side as he dashed past them to the door.

Ch 8: Folly is bound up in the heart of a child

Posted on 2010-09-13

"You may return to the nursery, Georgiana. I will speak to you in the morning." Darcy's pronouncement startled his company.
 
Her face flushing in anger and humiliation, Georgiana rose and fled the dining room. She ran down the hallway, stopping at the broad, sweeping stairs.
 
How dare he? How could he dismiss me like that? He treats me like a child. I am not a child. When will he see that? I do not need to be in the nursery! I have every right to sit with company! I should be his hostess, mistress of this estate just as Miss Bingley is seeking to be her brother's. She fumed as she paced in front of the staircase. Why does he not treat me like Mr. Bingley or Mr. Lackley treat their sisters? They sit with company. They are mistresses of the house. Why not me?
 
I have as much right as Rebecca, she is but a year and a half older than me. More so for this is my home! How will I ever learn to be mistress of my own home if my brother never gives me a chance? She stomped her dainty slippered foot. I will not go to the nursery! This is my home, I will go where I please. He is only my brother, not my father. An unexpected sob caught in her throat. Why did you have to leave me Father? It's not right that God should take you, not now when I need you so much! She blinked back angry tears and glanced back toward the dining room. Crossing her arms over her girlish chest, she looked around and realized that no one was coming after her. Delicate white teeth caught her lower lip.
 
"I'm not going to the nursery," she declared to the empty hallway. "I'm going…" she looked around again, noticing the moonlight streaming in through the tall windows, "…to the rose garden! I've always wanted to walk the rose garden in the moonlight. Fitzwilliam has always said it is not proper for a lady to walk unescorted at night. I'll show him there is nothing at all improper about it. It is my mother's garden after all. What could be unseemly about taking a stroll there ?"
 
Squaring her shoulders triumphantly, she turned from the stairs. Quietly, she slipped out the door and furtively made her way into the garden. A soft spring breeze blew through the rose bushes causing them to sway animatedly.
 
"Oh!" She jumped, startled as a stray branch brushed her arm, catching a thorn on her wrist. Staring at the tiny trickle of blood, her heart raced. Stepping away from the edge of the path, she drew a deep breath, calming herself. It smells like mama out here! The fragrance is different during the day, not so much like her, too heavy. But now it is cool and fresh, like mama. I never knew. Why would he keep me from this garden, from remembering her? Why? What else is he keeping from me. What else is he denying me? Angrily, she stamped her foot in the dirt, wincing as a small rock bruised her heel. "Ouch!"
 
The sound of an owl in the distance silenced her. She paused, listening to the sounds of the night. So peaceful. With a life of their own, her feet took her down the path, winding through a wild looking tangle of thorny canes. She always liked her roses left a little wild looking. She said it gave them personality. Georgiana stopped before a bush heavy with blooms, their color indistinct in the silveery light. Carefully, she stooped to take in the heady fragrance. Mama, I miss you so! Silent tears slid down her cheeks. You would have understood. You would not have been so mean to me tonight. You would not have allowed George to be so mistreated. You always understood. Why did you leave me? Quietly, the young woman wept.
 

Wickham slowed his pace, watching Edwards enter the drawing room. Pausing for a moment to make certain that the older man did not look back for him, George counted his breaths. After the third, he felt certain no one was paying him any notice. He turned away from the drawing room and quickly headed down the corridor.
 
He frowned thoughtfully as he entered the foyer. No one is about! How can I take best advantage of this opportunity? Nodding to himself, he allowed his feet to carry him toward the master's study. He will never miss it. I doubt he knows how much is in that strongbox to begin with. The key is surely in the same place as it has always been. His father always kept it there, Darcy would never change that. He grinned smugly, reaching out to open the door.
 
To his great surprise, the doorknob did not turn. "Damn!" he muttered, cursing himself for speaking aloud. That miserable sod! He's locked the bloody door! How dare he? What has gotten into him? What has changed you Darcy? You used to be so easy? You will regret your transformation. It is not a good thing to vex me Fitzwilliam Darcy. He searched his mind for another way into the study. There's the servant's entrance, but my luck's been so bad today that I'm certain to run into someone there.
 
Turning away from the study, he looked over his shoulder uncertainly. I could go back to the drawing room. No. I am not going to leave here without what I came for. The staircase caught his eye. A slow, sly smile crept over his handsome face. Indeed, there will be something of value there. Bolting up them two at a time, Wickham made his way to the family wing of the house.
 
No sense bothering with the guest wing. I do not have time to waste and I cannot tell if those Bingley's have enough to be worthwhile. Darcy though… Quietly he slipped into Darcy's room. Knowing the careful habits of his old playmate, George quickly found his target. He will never even notice this missing from the rag* he has here. He grinned as he folded his quarry and stuffed it into his pocket.
 
Glancing about the neat, elegantly appointed room Wickham seethed. Why should he have this, while I have nothing? Nothing! Old Darcy love me, promised me the life of a gentleman. I will have my due. He opened another drawer, his face softening a moment as he recognized the gold cuff links worn by George Darcy. Without hesitation, he scooped them up and deposited them in his pocket. Losing these will drive him to distraction! He smiled in satisfaction.
 
Scowling, he scanned the room a final time, then slipped out into the hallway. His boot steps seemed loud in the abandoned corridor. His heart pounded with the same excitement he felt when he watched a horserace he had wagered on. Will this gamble pay off? His exhilaration rose even higher as he strode past Georgiana's open door, his mind suddenly racing with new possibilities. Pausing for a moment, listening for sounds of an occupant and hearing none, he entered the pale blue sitting room.
 
Efficiently, he searched the room, finding nothing worth his wile. Moments later, he gently opened the door to the bedchamber and entered, breathless with anticipation. His disappointment at finding no occupant only lasted a moment. Quickly, Wickham capitalized on the opportunity afforded by an empty room. She has not her brother's tidy habits. He laughed to himself. I wonder if her good brother knows of her lazy ways. Such an affront to the Darcy name! Bitterness welled up in his soul once again. His eyes caught a sparkle in the moonlight. Moving aside a tangle of ribbon, he found a silver necklace set with a pretty blue stone. Soon it joined the cufflinks in his pocket. It will be days before she notices that gone. Too bad I will not be here to comfort her in the face of her loss. Then again…
 
Without thinking, he stepped toward the window, looking down into Lady Anne's rose garden. A small figure stood, bathed in the silvery light, her shoulders shuddering in grief. A predatory fire lit his eyes and lifted his lips. Perhaps I will comfort her now. With renewed purpose, he left the bedchamber and made his way to the stairs.
 

"Did your brother not send you to your nursery?" Wickham's quiet voice over her shoulder startled the young woman out of her silent reverie.
 
"George!" she cried tearfully, turning to face him.
 
"Should you not obey your brother's direction? He is only interested in your well-being." The young man's dark eyes glittered in the moonlight.
 
"He was so cruel tonight!" she protested tearfully.
 
"But you know he cares for you, dear." Tenderly he wiped tears from her cheek with his gloved thumb.
 
"If he cares so much, then why would he send me away? Why does he treat me like a child?" Georgiana looked up at him with her big blue eyes full of hurt.
 
"He clearly does not see the young woman you have become, dear." Boldly he traced the line of her face with his fingertips. "And a very beautiful one at that." He smiled broadly.
 
"Tha…thank you," she stammered, blushing, her skin tingling where his fingers had been. "No one has ever even looked at me, I think."
 
"Then they are fools," he declared, taking her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. "Will you walk with me dear Georgiana? Allow me to escort you in the moonlight."
 
"Fitzwilliam has never allowed me to walk out in the garden at night." She stole a glance at her companion. He's so handsome. I wonder if my brother is jealous. Everyone has always liked George. How many people really like Fitzwilliam? He's so serious and grim all the time. Of course he's jealous!
 
"Your brother has not the heart of a romantic, dear one. Do not hold that against him. It is simply not his nature."
 
"But it is yours." She paused on the path, turning to look up at him, innocent adoration in her eyes.
 
"I am what I am, as you see me here, Georgiana. I can be no less, and no more." He spread his hands before her, a wistful expression in his eyes.
 
"I am so sorry, George, truly I am. My brother has been so cruel to you. I cannot understand it." Tears glittered in her eyes once again.
 
Carefully, he brushed a stray curl from her forehead, allowing his touch to linger on her face. "Of course you do not, dear one. What would a young lady like you know of the ways of the world? Such is the stuff of men."
 
"You are too good George." She reached up to lay her hand on his.
 
Tenderly he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. He sighed heavily, tucking her hand in his arm once more, walking them further down the path away from the house.
 
"Why do you sigh, George?" she finally asked.
 
He stopped and looked up into the moon. "My dearest Georgiana," he began dramatically, "there are things I should not say to you. I cannot…I must not." He swallowed hard, turning away his face.
 
"You can tell me! I am not a child! Don't treat me like a child!" she insisted angrily. "It is bad enough that my brother does, I will not have that from you as well. Tell me George."
 
Sighing sadly, he turned back to her, regarding her wide eyes. "You have such a fire in you, my dear, such a spark, a strength. Any man would be blessed to have you as mistress of his home."
 
Georgiana blushed hotly, her heart racing at his nearness. She fell into his gaze, getting lost in his eyes.
 
"Would that I could be that man, dear one. But I have nothing to offer you, no home, no prospects. Your brother…no, I cannot expose you to such thoughts. You must forgive me."
 
Her delicate brow knit in consternation. "What are you saying? I don't understand."
 
"So innocent." Tears glittered in his sad eyes as he stroked her face once again. This time, he allowed his fingers to drift down her neck.
 
"George, speak plainly to me. What are you saying?"
 
"I cannot, Georgiana, do you not see? I cannot ask you to be my wife, I have nothing to give you. Your brother would never allow it. I love you, dear one. I have loved you for so long. But alas, that will have to be enough for me, for both of us, as I can never claim you as my own." A tear trickled unbidden down his cheek.
 
"George! I never knew. I…I…" Her heart pounded in her chest taking her breath away.
 
"Shh," he gently laid his finger on her lips. "Say nothing, my dear. Say nothing." He stooped to kiss her forehead.
 
"Oh, George, I…" she began again.
 
"Shh, my Georgiana, say nothing. Nothing, unless…" he paused modestly, chewing his lip thoughtfully, "unless you are willing to elope with me, tonight."
 
Startled, her eyes grew wide as she stepped back. "Elope?" she stammered.
 
"There is no other way for us to be together, dear one. Your brother will deny us any other way." Hope filled his eyes as he stared at her with longing.
 
Confusion etched her face and knotted her stomach. Elope? He has asked me to marry him! He has offered for me! He loves me. But elope? What a scandal that would create!
 
"Make me the happiest of men! Come away with me tonight!" He took her hand and pulled her toward him.
 
Mother and Father always said I must not do anything to bring a scandal to the Darcy name! I cannot do such a thing! "George, I…I cannot…where would we live? Where would we go?"
 
Pulling her into his embrace, he whispered in her ear, "With your dowry, there is nothing to fear. You have enough to provide all that we could ever want." He pressed his lips to hers.
 
Fear overtook her naïve excitement. No one but Fitzwilliam and Richard knows the amount of my dowry. Father was so careful to keep that secret. He said it would keep me safe. How would George… She began to push him away. "No, no stop!"
 
I will not lose her now! "What is wrong my love?" He held her firmly to him, reaching a hand into her hair.
 
"Stop it, George Wickham! Let me go!" With surprising strength, she began to fight him, kicking his shins and pushing his shoulders.
 
"My fiery little woman. You will be mine tonight!" He growled, pressing in for another kiss.
 
"Wickham!" Darcy's voice roared in the garden, followed by the sound of many pounding feet.
 
Georgiana looked over to see her panicked brother running toward her, two burly footmen at his side. "Brother!" she cried like a frightened kitten.
 
A moment later, he pulled her from Wickham's hold, pulling her safely into the circle of his embrace. Stevens and Davis wasted little time in restraining Wickham's arms.
 
"Unhand me!" Wickham cried, fighting his attackers. His calls were silenced by Cooperton's fist.
 
"That is for the maids you ruined," he snarled as his victim sagged in the footman's grasp. Shaking his hand out, he added, "Been too long in coming!"
 
"Georgiana, dear, are you well? What did he do to you?" Darcy pulled back to try to see her face, but she clung harder to him and sobbed.
 
"I've compromised her, Darcy," Wickham whispered, shaking the stars from his head. "There's nothing you can do now. She must marry me." He laughed in triumph.
 
"I have seen no compromise," Edwards interjected.
 
"Nor I," Bradley readily agreed.
 
"I have seen nothing," Cooperton rubbed his balled fist in his other hand.
 
Davis and Stevens exchanged glances. With a nod from Davis, the other footman reached out to feel Wickham's pockets. Moments later he produced a wad of bank notes as well as the cuff links and necklace.
 
"Beggin' your pardon, sirs," Stevens began boldly, waiting on his master's nod to continue, "I believe what we have here is a common thief who has sought to impose himself on the young Miss Darcy."
 
"Indeed, sir." Davis confirmed seriously, glaring at the now struggling Wickham. "From the looks of it, he's took enough to get himself hanged."
 
He wouldn't call the law on me! Not Darcy. "I've kissed her! She has to marry me!"
 
"No," Darcy declared definitively. "She will not. There is no one here who has seen a compromise, none has occurred." Tenderly, he stroked the shuddering girl's hair. "As far as we are concerned, you have imposed yourself on her. She is safe from your machinations." Turning to look at his sister once again, he whispered, "you are safe Georgiana. You have nothing to fear."
 
"He kissed me brother," she sobbed into his chest. "He scared me. I told him to stop, I pushed him away. But he would not…"
 
"I know dear, I know. We have him now. He will not hurt you. You are safe," he crooned softly.
 
"Bingley and his sister will know!" the steward's son crowed triumphantly. He cannot escape my plans. "She will not hesitate to speak of it. Such a piece of gossip would prove too much for her to resist! Unless of course you pay her off, perhaps by marrying her!" He words were cut short by Cooperton's fist.
 
"They know nothing, just that we suddenly left." Edwards protested. "They need find out nothing."
 
Cooperton cut in, "I will go to them and tell them Miss Darcy is suddenly unwell and company is not safe for her right now." He stepped close to Darcy, laying his hand on the girl's shoulder.
 
"That is entirely true," Bradley quietly observed. "There is no untrue there. Were Miss Bingley to find out, it would indeed be unsafe for your sister." His troubled blue eyes met Darcy's, sharing the fear and sadness he found there. "Lackley has invited Bingley and his sister to visit with him. I will ask him if he is willing to take them to his estate tonight. I am sure he will readily agree. That will give us several days without company, they do not need to know anything more than the young miss is unwell."
 
Nodding his agreement, Cooperton added, "If you are agreeable, I will ask Mrs. Cooperton to stay here with the young lady. A girl will need a mothering heart at a time like this."
 
"And if you find it acceptable, I will take your footmen and Mr. Wickham to the manse. No one is using the place right now since Bradley has moved to the parsonage. We can keep to that house and none need know who is there," Edwards explained.
 
Darcy looked from one man to another, considering their offer. Although he detested disguise, nothing they suggested would force him into a lie. Hesitantly, he glanced at Bradley, his eyes asking his question.
 
Somberly, the vicar nodded, his heart seized with anger and grief. "I think this is the wisest path."
 
"Then, we will proceed as you have suggested." Darcy swallowed hard. He watched as his friends dispersed to carry out their tasks.
 
"I'm sorry, brother. I'm so sorry," Georgiana cried, looking up at him with red swollen eyes. She trembled in his arms, her lithe frame wracked with fear. "I thought…I thought…I did not know…"
 
"I know. You are safe now. We will talk more tomorrow. Tonight, I want you to allow Mrs. Cooperton to be with you. She was a dear friend to our mother and she will be a good friend to you now."
 
"I can't brother! I can't face her! What must she think of me? I can't!" She hid her face again.
 
"Gerogiana!" His voice was suddenly sharp. "You wanted to be treated as an adult, now you must act like one!"
 
His sudden sternness caught her attention. She gasped and stared up at him.
 
"Have you done wrong this night?" he demanded firmly.
 
"Yes." Her voice trembled as she looked away from him.
 
More gently now, he asked, "Do you wish to be forgiven?"
 
"More than anything else, brother! You all must hate me now!" She began to sob into her hands, hiding her face in shame.
 
"Then what must you do for that to happen? What have you been taught?" Bradley has only said it a thousand times in your hearing.
 
"I do not know! I do not remember!" Hysteria tinged her voice.
 
Taking pity on her, he drew her into his arms again. "Yes, you do, sister. You do. Has not Bradley often admonished us to take responsibility for what we have done, to confess our wrongs? Has he not said that when we err, we must do that and then find another path, commit to do different in the future? Is that not the true nature of repentance?" He held her as her tears slowed. "That is what you must do now. Go to those you have wronged and make it right with them. Our friends, your friends, they love you sister. They will be quick to forgive."**
 
"I must?"
 
"How else can you face them again, but for knowing they forgive you? " He brushed the tears from her face. "How will you forgive yourself without having sought that from them?"
 
"But what if they are angry? What if they don't want to forgive me?"
 
"They will. They have been our friends for too long to fail us in such a ways. But even if they will not, you are only required to ask it of them."
 
They heard footsteps down the path. Soon the Coopertons appeared. Before the distraught girl could utter a word, Mrs. Cooperton flung her arms around Georgiana. "My dear child! Thank heavens you are well!"
 
"I am so sorry," she cried into the matron's ample shoulder. "Please…please forgive me."
 
"I know dear, I know and I do forgive you. We have much to discuss. You are as dear to me as my own daughter. Come with me. All will be well." Gently she lead the distressed girl toward the house.
 
Darcy looked from the ladies to Cooperton who nodded encouragingly at him. Perhaps, somehow, it will all be well again.
 

*Paper money, bank notes
**Lk 17:4, Jms 5:16, 1 Jn 1:9

Edwards allowed Stevens and Davis to manhandle Wickham into the manse, now empty, as Bradley had removed himself to the parsonage. There, Wickham was bound to a chair in the small dining room.
 
Leaving the servants to watch their prisoner, he left the room, returning a moment later with a large bottle of port and two glasses in his hand. He knew Bradley, the son of a man who drank far too much, seldom indulged, but he always had a stock for his guests.
 
Edwards made a show of graciously pouring two glasses of the richly colored liquid. Moving behind Wickham, he released the bindings on the man's left hand. "Behave yourself with that hand or these good men will not hesitate to break it." He warned loudly enough for the footmen to hear. They grunted their assent.
 
"You are indeed a civilized man, Mr. Edwards." Wickham flexed and stretched his hand carefully before he reached for the glass. "Is all this really necessary?" He glanced down at the ropes that held him tightly.
 
"I think you will just have to humor us, Wickham. We are all a bit protective of the young Mr. Darcy and his sister." Edwards lifted his glass and took a careful sip, carefully judging the strength of the beverage. That will do nicely
 
Shrugging as best he could under the circumstances, Wickham took a tentative draw from his glass. "You have brought out the fine stuff, sir. What is this, the last pleasures of a condemned man?" He laughed scornfully. You make a good show of things, sir, but at the end, I know how it will be. You will deliver you heady warnings. You will rave and threaten. Then I will go on my way. I will play your game for now.
 
"You say that lightly, Mr. Wickham. You do realize that you are in a very precarious position right now." Placing his glass carefully on the table, Edwards leaned in on his elbows, steepling his fingers under his chin. "If I were you, I might think carefully about making so little of the danger you are in."
 
"What danger?" Wickham scoffed, tossing back the rest of the glass and landing it heavily on the table. "Darcy's not man enough to prosecute me."
 
Unobtrusively, Edwards refilled the glass. "What makes you say that? You have stolen from him tonight, both his property and his sister. That is no small thing."
 
"A few trinkets, nothing more – nothing that matters to him. Had he not seen them first hand, he would never have noticed. Those things are nothing to him." Wickham rolled his dark eyes bitterly, shaking back the dark, unruly curls that had fallen into his face.
 
"His sister? Is she nothing to him?" Edwards leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
 
Lifting his glass once more, Wickham savored its contents. "Ah, Georgiana. No, she indeed is something special. A rare young woman indeed."
 
"A rare woman or a rare dowry?"
 
Wickham smiled wryly with an enigmatic shrug of his broad shoulders.
 
"So what brought you back here? Were you not studying to take orders? Or was it law?"
 
"Studying does not appeal to me. I have not the dour temperament that supports the tedium. Whereas Darcy, that man could study for hours on end and find it endlessly fascinating," the bound man spat the words, emptying his glass again.
 
"So how then did you employ yourself, young Wickham? Your father always hoped…"
 
Slamming his hand on the table, he barked, "My father was a fool! He died with nothing to show for his life. Darcy's father favored me, not his stiff-backed son. He promised me the life of a gentleman, and I mean to have it." He reached for his glass again, not surprised to find it full once again.
 
"Ahh," Edwards nodded knowingly. "So you spent Darcy's legacy on a gentleman's lifestyle. Now you have debts of honor to repay, no?" You think you are far more clever than you are, young Wickham.
 
Dark eyes across the table narrowed dangerously but gave no answer.
 
"I would hazard there are a number of merchants, too, who would want their pound of flesh from you." Sipping his glass once again, the older man smiled through pursed lips. "What town's merchants are you running from, Mr. Wickham? Tell me, or will you have me guess?" He refilled the younger man's glass once again. Either way, I will know.
 
Absently, Wickham fingered his glass, but said nothing.
 
"You look more like your mother than your father," Edwards remarked idly.
 
"You knew her?" Wickham blinked hard several times as if trying to focus his eyes.
 
"I did. I know your father did not often speak of her. Would you like to hear my memories of her?" An unruly brow lifted in question.
 
"It seems as good a way as any to pass the time." Although he lifted his glass and drank nonchalantly, his companion could see the clear flicker of interest in Wickham's eyes.
 
Leaning back, Edwards began to speak of the remembrances he had of Lavinia Wickham. As he spoke, Edwards watched his companion's eyes. The young man's eyes betrayed an interest far deeper than he wished to admit. Lavinia had died just three years after her son's birth, so he had never really known her. She had delighted in her only child, pampering and spoiling him from the earliest days. George was indeed her pride and joy. Edwards spoke of her voice, her eyes, her peculiar mannerisms and tastes, glossing over the woman's greed and selfishness. He also failed to mention her near obsession with leaving behind her roots and becoming part of the gentry as Lackley and Bingley were doing.
 
Three more glasses of port later, Edwards finished his storytelling. He noticed Wickham's unfocused gaze and the lax expression that had spread over the younger man's face.Now we can begin. "So how long a ride did you have to get here, Wickham? You were quite the horseman, if I remember."
 
"Better dan Darcy, always," he slurred with a derisive toss of his head. "T'was not but a day and an hour's ride."
 
Manchester ! "Did you have a pleasant ride? As I recall, that town has a particularly unforgiving group of merchants. They have seen too many supposed gentlemen run out on their debts. They are quick to obtain a writ of debt." The older man lifted a knowing eyebrow.
 
"Da fools! Dey think demselves so clever! T'was child's play ta keep away from dem!" He laughed as he reached clumsily for his glass, knocking in over on the table. The few remaining drops slid slowly onto the white cloth staining it crimson. "T'was da gamers da kept me running! I 'spose I'll be runnin' agin soon." Impotently he pulled at his bonds, his left hand playing ineffectively at the knots.
 
"I would not expect so. That may very well be the last such ride you ever make." The threat in Edwards' tone was clear.
 
Clumsily, Wickham leaned his hand on the table, leaning forward to look the other man in the eye. "Donna' be threatenin' me now, sir," he slurred unsteadily, his head bobbing and weaving. "You willna' go tellin' da magistrate any more dan Darcy will." He struggled drunkenly to sit back in his chair.
 
"I suppose not, sir. There really is no need." Edwards contemplated him coolly. "I am the magistrate."
 

The look of fear in Georgiana's eyes and the smug satisfaction on Wickham's face shook Bradley to the core. It was all he could do to remain in their company while decisions were being made . Every part of him rebelled against standing there rationally, wanting alternately to throttle Wickham for his attempts to compromise her and to shake Georgiana for so thoughtlessly endangering herself by being in the company of that man.
 
I am overreacting, I know. Bradley reminded himself as he quickly made his way down the path his hands flexing into tight fists. Even so, his feet took him where he knew he would find solace. But how can I not? After where I have been, how can I not? He paused, staring up into the moonlight, drawing a deep breath before he began to move again. She is safe. Nothing happened! Nothing happened! He shook his head forcefully. But that is not true. Too much happened, much more than ever should have. Oh, what could have been! Breathless from his brisk walk, he stopped once more, face in his hands, breathing hard. She is safe and well, I know. She will be safe and that cur will never be near her again. I know! But just a few moments more and I have no doubt what that cad would have done! I have no doubt. How can this be happening all over again?
 
A few minutes later, a single candle lit the front of the church as Bradley paced. His footsteps echoed loudly in the otherwise empty building, his strident voice ringing against the walls ,all hopes at calming his violent reactions given up in the face of his tortured memories.
 
"How could you, Lord! How could You?" he demanded angrily, pausing to stare at the ceiling. "After all that You have put me through, how could You put me through such a thing again!" He slammed his fist angrily against the heavy wood of a nearby pew. "Was it not enough to take my Emily from me? How can You possibly have allowed this young girl to fall prey…" His voice broke with a sob as he fell to his knees.
 
"Could You not protect her? Was it not enough that You took her parents? Why would You not keep her from this? Were You not watching over her?" He rose to pace angrily again. "How could You have failed to protect her? Is Your arm too short to save? Did You not see what was going on? If You are so good, how could You fail me so!"
 
Heavy footfalls rang out against the stone walls as he turned on his heel away from one wall to head for the other. He stopped at an unadorned wooden bookstand that held his heavily worn bible. Angrily, almost defiantly, he pulled the book open. The pages parted to a well used place. As he looked down at the tear-stained words, Bradley did not even have to read them to know what they said. A crushing weight descended on his shoulders as he sank to his knees again. Face in his hands, ragged sobs heaved through his chest. He remembered.
 

Two men stood beside the fresh grave, the evening mist hanging heavily in the air.
 
"How could He take her from me?" the younger man demanded angrily. "Was it not enough that He demanded her mother from me when she was born ? How could He require my child from me too?"
 
"John…" The older man laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you are grieving…"
 
"What do you know of grief? You will go home to your wife and daughters! I had to trade my wife for my daughter! Now my girl is gone too! My home is empty today! Empty, do you understand! Empty as am I." His shoulders sagged as he covered his face with his hands.
 
"His ways are not like our ways, John, you must remember that. They are better than ours*"
 
Whirling on his mentor, Bradley cried raggedly, "How can you say that? How? My daughter, my only child, was seduced by that cur and made with child! Are those His ways? Now she has died in her confinement. You dare tell me that this is better? I cannot… No sir I cannot…" Turning his back, he stalked away, towards the gate of the now lonely grave yard. The older man watched him take several more steps, unsurprised when he abruptly turned and headed back.
 
"So, Reverend Allen, you seem to have the Almighty's wisdom today," Bradley challenged bitterly. "Tell me, how is this better than what I would have chosen for myself? How can I have faith in a God who would do this…" he spread his hand toward the grave as his voice broke, "…to me?"
 
Allen watched as his friend stood broken and panting, having exhausted himself in his tirade. Crossing the few steps to Bradley, he soon stood beside the grief-stricken curate. "John, I do not know. Truly I do not know."
 
"Then how can you… How can you expect me to still believe?" His fury spent, John Bradley's voice was barely above a whisper.
 
Taking the younger man's elbow, David Allen guided the curate to a small stone bench that stood nearby. Both sat, but said nothing for a long moment. The breeze, warm and moist, but with a hint of chill, caressed their faces and warned of a coming storm.
 
"John, I do not have answers for you. In reality, I know very little," Allen began softly, looking out over the curate's shoulder, not yet willing to meet the younger man's aching eyes. "Do you believe that she is, both of them are, in the arms of our Savior now?"
 
Bradley chewed his lip, frowning. Begrudgingly, he conceded. "Yes, I do. Were it not for that, I would go mad with my grief."
 
Nodding slowly, Allen continued. "Does not the Apostle Paul write for us that to live is good, but to die and join our Savior and heavenly Father is far better?** Perhaps we hold on too tightly to this life? Is it not better for her, she now knows neither sorrow nor suffering. She no longer has to battle with those who would condemn her, for He does not.***"
 
Tears trickled down Bradley's face as he thought of the rejection and judgment his daughter had faced and his own anger in the face of such self-righteousness.
 
"He does not take lightly the deaths of His saints+. He would not have taken her from you lightly." Shaking his head again, Allen looked down, his green eyes misting over with tears of his own, his throat constricting painfully. "John, I do not understand why this has happened. At the end of it all, there is only one thing I truly know, and it must be enough."
 
Seeking the vicar's eyes, Bradley demanded, "What would that be?"
 
"That God is good. Over and over and over again, I have read and I have seen that He is good." Allen watched as anger began to etch the younger man's brow. "Either He is always good, or he is not. Whether I understand or not does not determine His goodness. If His ways and His thoughts are not as ours*, is it any wonder that we do not understand? But you must choose. Is He good, and these things are beyond our understanding? Or is He not, and we cannot believe anything the Holy Scripture would tell us? As far as I can see, it must be one or the other."
 
Bradley's jaw set angrily as he weighed the two options in his mind. He did not like either; nor did he appreciate the older man's challenge.
 
Allen watched the curate consider his words. Patiently he brushed his own graying locks, weighed down by the mists, out of his eyes. "You must choose, John. I would say that you must make that choice now. Turn your back on Him and walk away now because you cannot trust Him and his ways. Or take that walk of faith and believe that He is and will always be good, whether you understand Him or not. Choose this day who you will serve, as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.++ Walk away now and find your comfort where you can, in honest work, in food and drink or the arms of a warm woman; find your comfort as you will. Or turn to Him and know that His grace will be sufficient for all you need. +++. Choose!" The vicar's challenge rang loudly through the deserted church yard.
 
"How can you ask that of me now?" Bradley gasped, shocked by his mentor's ultimatum.
 
"If not now, when?"
 
Angrily, Bradley sprang to his feet and walked away, leaving the vicar to watch his retreat.

The house seemed eerily quiet now as Darcy sat bleary eyed in his study, staring into the flickering fireplace. Bingley and Caroline had left with the Lackley's, with much consternation on Miss Bingley's part.
 
Was Georgiana thought to be contagious? Was she in immediate danger? Had the doctor been sent for? Packing had to be done. Where was her maid!Darcy shook his head to clear the echoes of her shrill, nasal voice from his memory. He laughed softly, remembering Mrs. Reynolds's rolled eyes and exasperated expression as she had watched the manic woman.
 
Shortly thereafter, he sat down to write a letter to Richard, asking him to come to Pemberley immediately to discuss what was to be done. He dispatched an express rider with the message. That done, the young gentleman found himself with little useful employment. Georgiana was above stairs with Mrs. Cooperton. Now is certainly not the time to intrude. She needs someone to mother her tonight. Edwards had Wickham firmly in his custody and Bradley was nowhere to be found.
 
Surely he is at the church. Yes, I see the light over there. Where else would he be? Darcy sighed heavily. Pushing himself up from his desk, he paced distractedly around the room, wishing for answers.
 
Father, how could you have loved him so? I do not remember you ever denying him any request. Why? I never understood. You found it quite easy to say no to me. The uneasy feelings of unresolved boyhood jealousy filtered to the surface. Why was I not enough for you, Father? Why was I so lacking that you chose to seek him out and favor him, creating a man who would do this to me today? He hung his head in grief, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.
 
Though he had never before given the thought words, Fitzwilliam Darcy had long wondered what was so deficient in him that his father would be so firm and unyielding at times. George Darcy was neither an unkind nor unfeeling man, but he did insist on a standard of excellence in all things for his son. When Fitzwilliam fell short, there were always consequences to be paid. But when it came to young George Wickham, all such standards fell by the wayside. Young George was allowed to do whatever he pleased, never experiencing the disappointment or displeasure of the senior Darcy. To his son, it seemed that Wickham could do no wrong.
 
"I always resented him for that," Darcy said very softly. "And you, father. I always resented you for that as well." An uncomfortable flush came across his cheeks as he spoke the words, a part of him waiting to hear his father's voice in reprimand. But it never came and the aching loneliness that followed settled into his gut like a cold stone. "I need your wisdom, father. What do I do now?"
 
Without realizing it, Darcy had wandered to the bookcase, his hand leaning on a shelf that contained several, leather bound tomes. Father's journals. Since George Darcy's death, his son had considered reading the volumes, craving his father's presence. He had not yet done so, somehow uneasy about exposing his father's innermost thoughts. As a boy, he had been a voracious reader, but he had been taught not to violate those journals, that they were his father's private expressions. Throughout his life, Darcy had honored his father's command. But now, in his permanent absence, Darcy yearned for his father's voice. Selecting the nearest one of many, Darcy removed it reverently from the shelf and settled into the large chair by the fire.
 
He hesitated a long moment before opening the tome, relishing the feel of the tooled leather cover under his fingertips. Tracing the patterns in the leather, he thought on his father's face, his voice, even his scent. He searched his mind to call to remembrance everything he could about George Darcy, hoping that by doing so, it would be as if his father was there in the room with him as he read the words his father had written.
 
Finally, he gently opened the cover. His father's familiar handwriting drew him in. George Darcy's voice speaking the words, he read in the first entry. Though it only told of the preparation for the spring plantings, his excitement over new farming methods to be employed that year and a minor tenant dispute, Darcy took comfort there. Entranced by the sense of communion with his father, Darcy continued to read. The next entry had a very different tone.

My dearest Anne is angry at me once again. In truth, I cannot blame her, and yet, I do not know what more I can do. Fitzwilliam came to her upset again.

My son came to me asking for favors--this time it was a horse. I know I should not have given it to him, but I cannot deny the boy anything. I presented him with the gelding, and Anne was dreadfully cross with me.
 
She tells me I am doing him no favors by giving him everything he asks for. She says I will leave him expecting that everything is his for the asking. She fears he will never make anything of himself. When I tell her he will be a gentleman, she simply looks at me with those eyes that break my heart every time. What have I done? What have I done?

* ISA 55:8-9
**Phil 1:21
***RO 8:1
+PS 116:15
++JOS 24:15
+++2CO 12:9
^ RO 8:28
^^2 Pet 3:9 .