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Chapter 20: A Splendid Tête-à-Tête
Alexander Darcy's fond wish was fulfilled later, when he rode downhill from Ridgemont to Bittle's Inn at the village to join his cousins for supper. Mrs. Knightley graciously placed him between his beloved Isabella and his sister Lizzy.
With such excellent company, supper proved to be delightful. If not their matchmaker, Lizzy was certainly an active promoter in the cause of her brother. Throughout the meal, she ensured that Alexander spoke to Isabella as often as he could -she even tried to forward their conversation if she felt that there was an awkward pause.
Alexander found himself more enthralled with Isabella than ever before - her every word, her every gesture seemed to lull him into rapturous joy.
Isabella, in turn, found her new fascination towards Alexander increasing with each passing moment. Her heart fluttered violently, and she was sure that her cheeks were of the deepest blush whenever he turned to smile at her, which he did so frequently.
She finally realized that her attraction towards him was beyond the mere physical. It was much more than his kisses that had stirred her heart, and she was not being a wanton like Aunt Lydia Wickham when she responded so willing to him!
The simple but astonishing truth dawned upon her - she was falling in love with Alexander Darcy! She did not try to resist such glorious emotions anymore, nor did she wish to!
After such realization, other matters, which had been but shadowy concerns, now became paramount ones: How she longed to know his every thought, and how she wished to be a vital part of his life! Most importantly, she now wished to be the one who would contribute to his happiness and his welfare - to multiply his joys and lessen his sorrows . . .
Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Knightley, being newlyweds, were the first ones to recognize the growing symptoms of love between the young couple. They were immediately sympathetic, and at the end of the meal, they signaled for everyone in their party to leave Alexander and Isabella alone.
Silently, everyone filed out from the private dining room, each glancing back with barely suppressed giggles. Alexander and Isabella were so involved in their earnest conversation that they were entirely oblivious to their surroundings except for each other's presence. They barely noticed that everyone had taken leave!
They talked endlessly, touching on all subject matters, finding common interests, and debating amicably over points of differences. At times, he stubbornly stood his ground, but he proved to be open-minded and patient when he gave her his full attention as she expounded her eloquent arguments in support of her own views. She, in turn, was happy to find that he was neither arrogant nor callous, but modest and considerable.
They enjoyed such easy camaraderie. Although she allowed herself to admire his handsome face whilst he talked, she was equally if not more intrigued by knowing more of his mind and true temperament. She noticed endearing gestures which indicated his various moods - how he would toy with his signet ring whenever he was in deep thought or when he was embarrassed, how a subtle sparkle of mirth would emerge from within the depths of his dark eyes if he was about to tease her, say something amusing, or share his private thoughts.
He recalled minor anecdotes of their mutual childhood that both of them had quite forgotten until this night. Small, insignificant details suddenly became vivid memories - as if he had unwittingly secured such precious moments in his mind for the sole purpose of conversing with her presently!
"Remember that summer when you were about twelve years old? I was home from Eton, and we had a fishing contest at Pemberley? You triumphed over all the boys by catching the most trouts!"
"Your father helped me with the baits," she conceded with a merry laugh.
"Afterwards, you insisted on gutting the fish so we could cook them ourselves."
"I cut my hand and made such a mess of things! James and Henry were quite merciless in their teasing of me!"
"Yes, they earned quite a scolding that afternoon!"
"You were very kind to me though," she recalled suddenly with a deep blush. James and Henry had made her cry, but Alexander had bandaged her hand, dried her tears, and made her smile. And he had promised her that he would always be her protector and friend.
He seemed to have the exact memory in mind as well, because he remarked somberly, "I have not lived up to that particular promise to you, have I? I have made you cried since."
He almost reached over to grasp her hand, but stopped himself in mid-action. Instead, he looked at her intently, and said, "I am truly sorry, Isabella, for causing you pain through my words and deeds!"
"Whatever your motivations might have been, I have long forgiven you, Alexander," she smiled to reassure him.
"Yet, I still suffer from . . . your indifference."
"No, not so . . . not anymore!" She added almost audibly, "I am far from being indifferent to you now . . . and I do . . . like you . . . exceedingly well!"
He beamed her such a grateful smile. He felt as if an entire mountain had been lifted off his broad shoulders!
He took a deep breath before he asked tentatively, "Perhaps, it is time for a fresh start? Braving a new step - beyond our platonic friendship?"
She smiled shyly, and nodded her head in affirmation.
Neither one of them made a move to touch each other, as if this new understanding was too fragile to be disturbed. They were content to smile at each other warmly, and resumed their conversation.
Inspired by this new spirit, they spoke with greater candor and mutual appreciation. Easy smiles and hearty laughter were frequent in this lengthy discourse between two kindred spirits and brilliant minds. They were utterly amazed to find that they had literally spent the entire night talking!
Dawn was breaking when Alexander finally turned his gaze from Isabella's face to look at the windows behind her. A rooster was crowing in the near vicinity, and the faint rays of a clear dawn were filtering through the curtained windows.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It is dawn!"
Isabella was equally shocked. She was also unaware of the long passage of time.
"We have talked throughout the entire night!" she said incredulously.
Neither one of them felt weary or fatigued at all, and the tankards of ale left on the supper table had remained half full.
Alexander shook his head in disbelief, but feeling remarkably well. "We have been alone together in this dining room these many hours - without a chaperone!"
"Perhaps we can consider the innkeeper's cat our vigilant chaperone," she smiled as she pointed to the fat calico cat asleep by her chair.
He shook his head, but added with a light chuckle, "I fear that your brother may have to call me out for a duel - to defend your honour!"
She did not make any immediate reply as the implications of his light-hearted remark sunk in. Her honor was unblemished, of course, but they were truly in an awkward situation!
He remained silent as well. He toyed with his signet ring for a few reflective moments before he drummed the tabletop absently with his fingers. He glanced back at her, and saw her steady gaze upon him. He smiled in embarrassment, acutely aware that she had bore witness to his nervous fidgeting.
"I . . . hmm . . . I am very sorry that I have placed us in a rather awkward circumstance. I should have make note of the time."
Isabella received his apology with a tender smile. She leaned towards him shyly as she brushed her fingertips against his drumming fingers. Then, purposefully and distinctively, she rested her left hand upon his right hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
It was the first time they touched since they sat down together for supper last night. Her feather-light touch - bare hand upon bare hand - sent such shock wave through him, and the resulting tremors seemed to reach the very core of his being.
"I shall not let Henry harm you!"
"Well, Scotland is but a stone's throw away," he muttered quietly, half teasing and half-serious.
She laughed at this. "Oh! Surely there is no need for a mad dash to Gretna Green! I trust that our individual good sense is stronger than our . . ."
She paused in mid-sentence, too embarrassed to voice the potent word "passions." Yet, at that moment, her feelings of passion for him did rage within her heart. When she looked at him, her vivid blue eyes held the clear promise of requited love for him.
Alexander felt as if he had finally caught hold of that precious lifeline! Like a drowning man in a violent storm, he could not comprehend the fortuitous reality at once. He wondered if he were merely dreaming - an illusion resulted from lack of sleep?
He gazed at her silently, trying desperately to find the proper words to express himself. Somehow, his mouth had suddenly became bone dry, his heart clenched in his chest, and his mind seemed to have gone completely blank, as if he had exhausted every thought in his head during their long talk!
Isabella smiled at him encouragingly, patiently waiting for him to speak.
Visions of their first kiss flashed through his mind, making him even more nervous. She had not been in love with him then, but surely, she seemed to welcome his attention now. More than welcome . . . she was smiling . . . waiting . . . expecting his declaration.
Why was he behaving like an addled-minded idiot?
"Isabella . . ." he began with agonizing slowness, as he put his other hand upon hers, enveloping her dainty hand between his own. He leaned ever so slightly towards her, and said solemnly, " . . . you must allow me . . . to tell you . . . how ardently I admire and."
Before he could finish declaring his sentiments, he was interrupted by the innkeeper's rather boisterous entry into the dining room.
"Good morrow to you, my lady, and to you, sir!" exclaimed the portly innkeeper cheerfully, his ruddy cheeks embellished by an impressive mustache. "You have arisen very early this day!" he continued as he bustled about them, drawing back the curtains, and opening the windows to let the fresh morning air in before turning to his patrons again.
"Would you care for breakfast, my lady? Sir?" he asked with ceremonious courtesy. "My good wife makes a hearty meal - the best in these parts!"
Jack Bittle, alert and fussy, took great pride in his tidy inn and in the care of his patrons. If it seemed extraordinary that the couple sitting before him had spent the entire night talking in the dining room and had not been sleeping upstairs in their comfortable lodging, he paid no heed to it.
Alexander hesitated for a moment, realizing that his unshaven chin must be quite a sight.
Isabella, however, smiled easily at the jovial innkeeper, and said, "Yes, indeed. A light breakfast and some hot coffee will be greatly appreciated."
The innkeeper bowed respectfully again before he bustled from the room. Alexander and Isabella remained silent, and they could hear the innkeeper's cheery shout to Mrs. Bittle, "Oi! Little wife! Bring out two morning trays with steaming hot coffee! Hurry! The Quality is already up!"
Isabella had withdrew her hand discreetly the moment they were interrupted by the innkeeper, and Alexander felt a sudden coldness, as if he had been deprived of a wondrous, nourishing warmth.
She got from her chair, stretching out her stiff limbs rather gingerly as she had been sitting all night. He hastened to her side to help her.
"Your ankle!" he said with great concern. "Can you stand? Walk?" He braced her back with one hand as he steadied her with his other.
"I am fine, thank you!" she said, feeling rather shy as he was standing very close to her. She waited for a long moment, giving him a chance to finish what he had started to tell her before they were unexpectedly interrupted, but he did not seize the new opportunity. He stood in rigid silence, staring at her unblinkingly instead.
Good God, he thought to himself, she was so beautiful! Not mere physical beauty, but such beauty in her inner nature. The past several hours of honest discourse had given him an unprecedented opportunity to admire her in every aspect. If he had ever suffered any romantic illusions before - in regards to feminine arts and allurements - he no longer did. He knew now, with absolute certainty, that he was in love with the true essence of her being, regardless of her appearance or circumstance.
At that same moment, he suddenly realized the secret of his parents' blissful union. The radiant glow of his mother - that elusive element which made her so beautiful - came from within her heart. From where he was standing, he could see such radiance in Isabella as well. He had longed despaired of finding such a person to love him, but now, she stood before him!
Why did he not speak, Isabella wondered? It was rather maddening, and certainly unnerving, to be the object of such intense scrutiny from him!
"Alexander? Is something the matter?" she asked softly, almost afraid to startle him.
He gave her the most splendid smile, and tightened his hold upon her.
"Isabella," he finally spoke, as solemn as he ever was, "please allow my most sincere plead to reach your tender heart. You are the most remarkable . . ."
"Bella!" Henry Bingley's clear strong voice filled the room as he strolled in purposefully. His entry made Alexander's second attempt at declaring himself equally futile!
"There you are, my dear sister! Your maid is rather frantic! She had fallen asleep awaiting for you last night, and found your bed quite empty this morning."
Henry avoided the indelicacy of mentioning that the bed was not slept in as well! He was not a man who would incite a scandal when calm reasoning would carry the day.
At those words, Alexander instinctively tightened his protective hold upon Isabella. Henry took notice of it, and shot him a quizzical look.
"Good morning, Henry! Alexander and I spent the entire night talking," explained Isabella as she eased herself gracefully from Alexander's hold. "We simply lost track of time."
"Talking?" repeated Henry, in a low but even voice. He continued to look at them intensely. "The entire night?"
"Yes," insisted Isabella warmly, "and Alexander was assisting me just now - because of my injured ankle."
"So, how is your ankle?" he asked, more sternly than he actually felt.
"It's much better now, thank you. And now, dear brother, I beg to be excused. I should like to freshen up a bit before breakfast," said Isabella as she decided that the situation would become even more awkward when the rest of their family joined them. They were to make an early start for the next leg of their journey, and had a prior agreement to wake at dawn. She wished nothing more than make a hasty exit from the room. She needed time and space to gather her thoughts and wits.
She turned to Alexander briefly, smiled and expressed her appreciation for his pleasant company. Her vivid blue eyes conveyed much warmer sentiments than her words did. He gazed back at her longingly, and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss upon her hand.
"The great pleasure has been mine," he murmured as he bowed deeply.
She curtsied demurely, and left the room without a backward glance.
Henry frowned after his twin sister in puzzlement. "So, the two of you talked?" he repeated his question in a sterner tone to Alexander. "The entire night?"
"Yes," smiled Alexander with reassurance, "your sister has an amazingly erudite mind. We sat and talked all this time. We did not get up from the dining table, not even once. The night flew by as if it was merely an hour or so. I could not recall a more enjoyable evening."
"Talking to a female?" repeated Henry rather dumbly. He did not doubt that Alexander Darcy was a man of honour, and that Isabella was virtue itself. He was simply trying to comprehend how they could talk unceasingly for so many hours with such strict probity
"My dear cousin," Henry decided to cut through all niceties, and to stab directly at the heart of the matter, "from James's assertion, and from my own observation, I believe that you have very strong feelings towards Isabella. Are your intentions honourable? I must warn you that I am more protective of my sister than I have ever been in my life. She is more vulnerable than she let on. I have had every trust in your brother James, and he has hurt my sister by his most sudden change of heart!"
"Henry, I understand you perfectly. I do the same duty for my own sisters. I assure you that I have the utmost respect and admiration for Isabella, and I intend to secure her heart. We started off on the wrong footing last Christmas, and I have no intention to repeat such a grave mistake again. I swear to you that I shall conduct myself with the strictest code of honour."
Henry Bingley regarded his cousin steadily for a long while. He might not be as well acquainted with Alexander Darcy as he was with James Darcy, but he knew instinctively that the better man stood before him at that moment. He offered his hand, and said simply, "Good luck, then."
Alexander seized his hand gratefully, "Thank you, Henry."
"Best to get a shave, my dear fellow, before the others parade in for their breakfast," added Henry in an afterthought. "We plan to leave here very early."
Alexander ran a hand on his chin, feeling the rough stubble of beard. He chuckled lightly, "I must look horrid. I hope I did not frighten Isabella too much."
Henry's jovial laugh rang out loudly, his customary jaunty spirit fast returning. "You look like a rakish pirate, Alexander! However, in such a way that ladies usually find to be maddeningly dashing rather than horrid! I cannot say I comprehend the female mind at all!"
"Nor can I entirely," admitted Alexander. "But I shall endeavor to try my best."
A quick wash and shave, and Alexander was back in the dining room. All his cousins were already enjoying Mrs. Bittle's famous cooking, and his sister Lizzy waved him to the empty seat next to hers.
Polite and cheerful greetings were exchanged by all, although Alexander could discern the curiosity behind each amicable face around the table. He glanced at Isabella, who was sitting between Henry and Emily, and was promptly rewarded with a welcoming smile from her. Her gaze was steady and meaningful, and she did not shy away from his direct attention.
Alexander's spirits soared, as he realized that Isabella was not putting up any false pretense or artifice before her family. By her sweet smiles, she was acknowledging that she had granted him her special attention.
Everyone, nevertheless, was exceedingly polite; even Henry Bingley refrained from his habitual teasing. They seemed to consider this new turn of events as fragile as fine bone china, and they were mindful of their own manner. The conversation during breakfast centered on their travel plans, and their return to London within few weeks' time.
All too soon, it was time for departure. Each of the party shook hands with Alexander, and exchanged a few remarks before they ascended into the carriage.
Mr. & Mrs. Knightley expressed their praises of Ridgemont yet again, and their regret of such a short visit.
"Since you cannot spare the time to make the journey with us to the Lake District, we shall send you some famous Cumberland ham and sausages once we reach our destination," said Henry with a smile as he gave him a brotherly pat on the back.
"You will come down to London soon, won't you?" asked Lizzy Darcy. "And write often in the meanwhile?" she added as she gave Isabella a meaningful glance. "I shall be regular with my correspondence - to keep you abreast of all the news at Keswick and London."
"Of course," Alexander smiled, with perfect understanding of her words. "Take care now, Lizzy."
"We shall surely see each other at James's wedding," laughed Emily as she gave Alexander a sisterly kiss.
"Yes, indeed," he smiled at Emily before he turned his full attention to Isabella.
They were standing within a respectable arm's length of each other. He could see the regret in her bright blue eyes - this fateful visit had been far too brief!
Since they both started to speak at the same time, they ended up with an awkward laugh instead.
"May I . . . call on you when I am in London?" asked Alexander rather formally.
The Darcys and the Bingleys had such close family ties throughout the years that their respective households had been like an extension of one another, instead of two distinctive homes. The cousins had always spent ample time in each other's company, and often dropped in for impromptu visits. He was behaving as a proper suitor would, however, and she appreciated his consideration.
"Yes," replied Isabella, looking back at Alexander with such radiance in her blue eyes. "I'd like that very much!"
Alexander smiled at her, with all the love he felt. No open declaration of mutual love was made during their long talk, but none was necessary. She knew his heart now, and she was receptive to him at last! There was no further hindrance that might bar their happiness - time itself was the only requirement needed for his proper courtship of her.
"Until we meet again then," she murmured shyly as she leaned up to kiss his cheek in a cordial manner.
He had turned his head slightly at the precise moment, but it was without any premeditated motive. The happy coincidence resulted in her sweet lips brushing lightly against his mouth instead of his sun-bronzed cheek.
He felt her momentary hesitation, but in less than a heartbeat, she pressed her soft lips decidedly upon his month to complete her goodbye kiss.
Their kiss was a brief and chaste touch, so fleetingly that no one else present was aware of it except for their own two selves.
She stepped back slightly from him, and smiled in embarrassment, whilst he recovered from the dazzling effect of her feather-light kiss.
She looked deeply into his eyes, seeking an affirmation that he understood the critical significance of her gesture. He was keenly aware of it - the kiss itself might have been the briefest of kisses, yet it held within it the gift of forgiveness, and the promise of a future together.
He nodded his dark head solemnly, with utter adoration in his eyes as he returned her gaze. Their mutual understanding was splendidly clear now - they would each make the most earnest attempt when they meet again - to come together - two hearts as one.
They did not speak - there was no need for further conversation. He grasped her gloved hand to assist her into the carriage, happily enjoying every subtle gesture and discreet look she was bestowing upon him. Her dainty hand remained in his for a moment longer as she turned back to glance at him with loving appreciation. As she stepped into the carriage, she leaned backwards against his other hand which he had placed upon her back to ensure that she did not lose her balance.
It was like an elegant ballet of courtship, and the two of them were so perfectly matched in its muted but harmonious tempo.
Alexander did not think his hands would ever release their hold upon Isabella, but for Henry Bingley's jaunty laugh that jolted him back to reality.
Feeling a hot flush coming fast upon his own cheeks, he hastily bolted the carriage door shut.
"Adieu, Alexander!" Everyone called out as the carriage itself lunged forward. The team of handsome chestnuts was impatient for departure, and the coachman responded immediately to Mr. Knightley's shouted command, "Spring them!" The second carriage - carrying the servants and sundry luggages - followed hastily behind the first one.
Alexander Darcy stood alone outside the inn, until he lost sight of the carriages in the distance. He felt rather bittersweet at this parting because it would be three weeks before he saw Isabella again! Both of them had their own obligations and responsibilities to their families: hers was to remain with her family until their return to London; his was to his family's business and the people of Ridgemont.
As he mounted his own horse, and turned slowly towards Ridgemont, he began to make grand plans of various kinds - all entirely inspired by the lovely vision of Isabella in his mind. As he took a leisurely canter back to Ridgemont, he whistled "Ode to Joy" jauntily. His heart was near bursting with joy at the prospect of courting her - but time itself would move as slowly as a snail until their reunion in London!
He smiled to himself as his family motto echoed in his mind. His patience had not been in vain! Isabella had initialed a kiss - a chaste and feather-light kiss that carried such greater significance than their first kiss did. He relived the precious moment over and over again in his mind, and he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
By God's grace, Isabella Bingley would be his at long last!
Chapter 21: The Bard of Ridgemont
Miss Elizabeth Darcy was enjoying a superb double ice treat at Guther's with her favourite cousin Isabella Bingley. These two tireless young ladies had had a busy morning with their charity work at various local orphanages, and they decided to spend a lazy afternoon together, enjoying each other's company.
It was a sweltering August afternoon - too hot to be riding at Hyde Park or browsing through the fascinating selection of books at Hachard's. Guther's was chosen as the ideal place. Their chaperone - Mrs. Edward Gardiner - readily agreed as it was a delightful rendezvous place with her grandchildren as well. She quickly dispatched an invitation to her daughter-in-law Mrs. Philip Gardiner.
From the moment of their arrival at Guther's, the large brood of young Gardiners proved to be a rambunctious lot, and they kept their mother and their grandmother fully occupied. Lizzy and Isabella took a smaller table in a secluded corner, far away from the general commotion, and had the advantage for private conversation in a very public place.
As mutually agreed, they decided to ease their mind from serious matters, and indulged themselves with more frivolous topics that their contemporaries favoured - namely the latest fashions and the merits of various young gentlemen in Town.
Being considered "Incomparables" had been mixed blessings as they themselves were very much in the center of the ton's attention. Lizzy had resolutely refused to grant anyone the status of being her special beau, but it did not stop gossip-mongers to speculate. Isabella had long placed herself "on the shelf," and it was fortunate that the ton had yet to learn of the recent turn of unexpected events that had altered her mind irrevocably.
For Isabella Bingley, being in love was an entirely novel experience, and the depth and intensity of her own emotions amazed her. The image of Alexander Darcy had occupied her thoughts throughout the day, and dominated her dreams at night. She marveled at the naive notion that she could have considered herself truly happy before she had his love!
"My brother has written again," declared Lizzy with mock solemnity as she held several pages of correspondence in her dainty hands. "When he first arrived at the Ridgemont mine, he hardly wrote home except for those dutiful reports to Papa. After our recent visit, he had been very dedicated in his correspondence. Each time he posts a letter, it is always Express delivery! We received two letters this morning - one for me and one for our parents."
Isabella smiled, suppressing a hearty giggle that threatened to disrupt her demure ladylike countenance.
Lizzy made an impish face as she scanned the content of Alexander's lengthy letter before she added, "I sincerely look forward to that delightful invention by Mr. Morse being implanted in our country. My oldest brother would surely be the first customer!"
"Oh, do you mean Mr. Samuel Morse's telegraphic invention - messages sent in dots and dashes? I can readily imagine the incredible transformation of our world if we can be linked by such means of rapid communication over vast distances!" agreed Isabella, pretending to be as nonchalant as she could about this latest letter from her beloved Alexander. As they were not engaged, all their private correspondences had to be sent through his sister. Lizzy was a very sympathetic facilitator, but she liked to tease and have her fun in the matter. His letters home were written in the manner of a devoted brother, but they always included a poem or sonnet for the purpose of "general enjoyment amongst dearest friends."
"In the meanwhile, Lizzy, I hope your brother reimburses you for his extravagant use of the express riders service," said Isabella mirthfully.
"Papa reassures me that he will take it out of Alexander's inheritance," replied Lizzy with genuine amusement, "whilst Mama points out that my brother's habit of prodigious letter-writing is merely a hereditary trait from Papa! She teases that my Papa should bear the entire cost instead!"
Isabella could no longer suppress her giggles, but she soon regained her graceful poise. "So, what is the latest news from Ridgemont?"
"Everyone is in good health . . . coal production is up . . ." replied Lizzy in an equally off-handed manner. "Our banker Mr. Baring has written a personal letter to my brother to congratulate him on the latest reports . . ."
"That is wonderful news," nodded Isabella thoughtfully, "worthy of an Express delivery."
"Of course," sighed Lizzy with a very dramatic flair, "along with the mundane news, there is the usual attachment of a sonnet - composed by the Bard of Ridgemont."
"The Bard of Ridgemont?" asked Isabella curiously.
"I have decided to dub the poet of these tediously long sonnets with such a title!' laughed Lizzy merrily. She pointed to the long attachment to the letter to prove her point.
"This is yet another overly sentimental piece written for the enjoyment of my very exclusive 'Poetry Club.' Such nonsensical odes to moonlight and music, to endless horizons and the pinnacle of majesty mountains! Such foolish notions about being each other's haven and two hearts beating as one! Moreover, this last stanza - written in Italian - of lush green meadows and Tuscan sky - reeks of absurdly romantic overtures! Wasn't the Bard's last sonnet written in French? My Italian is certainly not as fluent as yours to appreciate its subtle meaning! Here! Read it! Judge for yourself, Miss Isabella Bingley - the solo member of my Poetry Club!"
Isabella felt her cheeks blushed crimson, but she stoically took the letter from Lizzy. Her eyes perused over the bold handwriting eagerly, each stroke of his quill upon the parchment was like a gentle caress upon her face, and the effect of each word upon her heart was dazzling.
She never imagined that his noble heart was capable of such sweetness, such tender thoughts, and such hidden passions as well! He, who had such faith and patience, who had loved her in silence for so long, now professed his profound love for her in such exuberant and celebratory words of joy.
Lizzy's clear voice drew Isabella back from her blissful world. She leaned closer and spoke very softly. They had the foresight to choose a secluded corner at Guther's for private conversation, but prying eyes and eager ears were ever present to pick up the latest tidbit of gossip for the ton.
"My dear cousin, we should put together all these love sonnets, and find a publisher for them! They are quite brilliant and romantic! Such rhapsody of words! I can readily see their popularity! Think of the throngs of admirers who will line the boulevards to catch a glimpse of you on your wedding day! The truest love match of our generation!"
"Oh, please, Lizzy! Don't tease!" pleaded Isabella earnestly. "We have yet to embark upon our first true steps of courtship!"
"For reasons that defy logical explanations, I can vouchsafe to declare that both of you are of the same nature - that once you give your hearts, it is forever. Nothing can stand in the path of true love! Did you not hear the heavenly trumpets and the angels' laughter when my big brother rushed forward to save you from tumbling down the hill that day at Ridgemont?"
"No!" protested Isabella firmly, and she blushed deeper as she confessed, "Not at that particular moment, but I did hear such heavenly sounds the next day, when he smiled at me as I bid him goodbye."
"He should have seized you into his arms!" remarked Lizzy with a bemused laugh. "The two of you stood so rigidly still - staring at each other. He helped you into the carriage, and did nothing more! Consequently, my poor brother has gone quite mad - he writes incessantly to pour his heart to you. One splendid kiss would have saved him a lot of money from express rider charges!"
"I . . . I like his sonnets!" replied Isabella as she clutched the precious parchment closer to her heart. Her vivid blue eyes shone with happiness.
"My brother writes beautifully," said Lizzy solemnly, no longer in her teasing mood, "because he writes from his pure heart. However, words upon parchment do not suffice for a person's actual presence! Do you not wish Alexander to be here, reciting his sonnets to you in person?"
"Of course I do!" confirmed Isabella shyly.
"Well, my dearest friend," whispered Lizzy earnestly, "my brother signed this letter with a postscript, saying that his arrival in Town would be in a matter of days!"
Isabella gasped in delight at this piece of marvelous news!
"Shall we order another ice treat to celebrate?" suggested Lizzy with the brightest smile.
"Of course," laughed Isabella in agreement. In her mind, she was already busy counting every passing minute. Her heart fluttered with great anticipation of their impending reunion.
They were about to retire to bed when Mrs. Darcy asked her husband, "My dearest Will, did you read Alexander's latest letter?"
"No," Mr. Darcy shook his head wearily, "I had a very tedious day with my bankers. How is our son?"
"He is very well! Shall I read it to you?"
He smiled at her gratefully, and she began to read the letter aloud. He rested comfortably and contently by her side. He yawned and closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing had the deep, even rhythm of sleep.
"Will?" Mrs. Darcy nudged her husband gently, "Are you asleep?"
"Of course not, my love," he answered her immediately, but kept his eyes closed. "I am enjoying the great tranquility the angelic voice of a beautiful woman can render to one's soul."
"Hmm," replied Mrs. Darcy thoughtfully, "if you think a fancy compliment can exempt you from your duty to pay full attention to me . . ."
He laughed aloud at this, and moved to enfold her entirely in his arms. He bestowed a tender kiss upon her brow, and sighed, "It is a duty I never wish to shrink from! I am completely yours, my darling Lizzy!"
"Thank you!" she laughed merrily as she returned his kiss. She gathered the pages neatly in her hands again, and resumed her reading. It was a surprisingly lengthy and confidential letter - almost confessional in its tone and content - a pleasant surprise from a habitually taciturn offspring to his beloved parents.
Mr. Darcy kept his eyes open for the duration, for the dual purpose of gazing at his wife with utter adoration and being attentive to the content of their son's letter.
"Amen," he murmured when his wife finished the last word. "I can readily comprehend Alexander's sense of relief and joyous hope! I felt exactly the same way the first time you smiled across the music room at me - playing and singing Mozart's aria "Voi Che Sapete" during your visit at Pemberley with the Gardiners! By your significant smiles and meaningful looks, I felt like a doomed man being pardoned and granted a new life!"
His recollection was so vivid that he exclaimed quite emotionally, "Oh, my dearest and loveliest Elizabeth! When I arrived at the Lambton Inn the next day, with an engagement ring in my pocket, I was ready to beg you again for your hand in marriage. I was in such high hopes! When you told me of Lydia's elopement, I fell from the highest pinnacle of hope to the lowest pit of gloom - until I gathered my wits and found a solution to the quagmire!"
"Truly my knight in shining armour!" she whispered as she caressed his handsome face. "Sometimes, I still wonder if I truly deserve you!"
He stopped her lingering doubts with a loving kiss. "You deserve every happiness and more, my darling. You are my raison d'être."
She allowed herself to accept such exulted praises. She murmured, "As you are mine," before she rendered to him such ardent kisses to express her abiding love in return.
After a long moment of meditative silence, she added, "Isn't it marvelous, Will, that marriages nowadays are increasingly formed upon the basis of true love, rather than being arranged for the sake of expediency and convenience, based solely upon wealth, consequences and familial expectations?"
He acknowledged her austere comment with a hearty laugh, "We were quite defiant in our days, weren't we? We must claim a small but significant credit in the promotion of love matches in Society - we have set quite a trend for a quarter of a century, my darling!"
"A quarter of a century?" she exclaimed in mock horror. "Now, my dear husband, you have succeeded in making me feel very ancient indeed!"
"No, my darling wife! You are forever young," he proclaimed as he captured her sweet lips in another kiss.
Within the walls of another palatial townhouse, domestic bliss was sorely lacking.
Lord Braunfield was in a tempestuous mood. He glowered at his parents, the high state of his malcontent was well evident.
"Mother, you should have the foresight to secure the marriage whilst Isabella Bingley and I were still in our cradles!"
"My dear William! I never imagined that your heart would be attached in such a way to one of your cousins," purred his mother Lady Paxton with a patient smile. "Even if I did, I highly doubt if my brother Charles would have been receptive to such an arrangement."
"Yes, indeed," incurred Lord Paxton. "My brother-in-law still likes to boost of how he and Mr. Darcy traveled to Hertfordshire and found their perfect brides!"
"Perfect brides?" repeated Lady Paxton with an air of disdain. "Mrs. Charles Bingley, I grant you, is very lovely and sweet - a good wife to my brother and a fine mother to their children. But Mrs. Darcy is . . ."
"Mrs. Darcy is a paragon of womanhood," declared the aged Earl, knowing that his wife still harboured such unfounded jealousy towards the guileless Mrs. Darcy.
From his own observation of Mr. Darcy's exemplary conduct, and Bingley's private testimony, Lord Paxton had long realized that Mr. Darcy was entirely blameless in the matter as well. His wife Caroline suffered from self-delusion and unrequited love - still pining away for someone whom she never had any justifiable claim upon!
Lord Paxton turned to his son William, and said, "The youngest Darcy daughter is the very image of her mother - in temperament, and character as well. As wonderful as your cousin Isabella Bingley may be, I still believe that Miss Darcy would make a better match for you."
"Elizabeth Darcy?" exclaimed Lord Braunfield. "She is a prickly handful - too fiery and outspoken! I prefer the demure beauty of my sensible cousin Isabella."
Indeed, it was more than a whimsical preference. He had grown quite obsessed with Isabella these many weeks!
"Whoever you prefer, my son, it seems highly unlikely that you will win her heart!" remarked Lord Paxton. "It is high time for me to be a stern father. It pains me to declare the truth, but it must be done because I do love you so dearly, William. I have had such high hopes for you, but you are an insufferable and vain young popinjay! Unless you give up your profligate habits and resolve to better yourself in every way, you may never find a truly worthy young lady as your viscountess!"
"Arthur!" exclaimed Lady Paxton in stunned surprise. "How can you speak in such a way to our beloved son?"
"Caroline," replied Lord Paxton in the calmest tone, "It is best to speak the painful truth now - whilst we still can - than to wait until it is beyond our power to do so!"
William Warring, however, did not heed his father's words. His fury grew a fever pitch, and he stormed out of Paxton Hall in the foulest of mood. . .
Chapter 22: Mr. Wickham
George Wickham glared at his own reflected image with disgust. His brown eyes, which could look so guileless and sincere whilst hiding his treacherous nature so well, were bloodshot and weary; and his once handsome face was bloated and haggard - the testimony of a life of debauchery. He let out a string of vile curses, and took another gulp directly from his liquor flask. He would have hurled the flask at the mirror, but he could not afford to replace either item in his current state of misery.
A quarter century of wasted efforts and unfulfilled ambitions!
Wickham could scarcely believe the quick passage of time. He had been such a dandified young buck, he reminisced ruefully, and had the world at his pleasure. Whenever he smiled and employed his considerable charm, he could curry favours with almost anyone.
So many sensible people had been willing victims of his careful manipulations, reflected Wickham with satisfaction. His own godfather - the esteemed Mr. George Alexander Darcy of Pemberley - had thought the world of him, and had loved him as if he were his own flesh and blood. The late Mrs. Darcy - Lady Anne - was kindness itself. She had always overlooked his many boyhood transgressions, and had unfailingly encouraged her own son Fitzwilliam to be magnanimous in his forgiveness as well.
Yes, thought Wickham proudly, many ladies with tender hearts had smiled upon him with approval. Images of lovely, agreeable faces flooded his drunken mind, and lulled him into a smug sense of achievement.
Of the many young women whose heartstrings he had once preyed upon, there were two unforgettable ones: Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley, and one particular Miss Bennet of Longbourn. Sweet and naive, Georgiana had almost eloped with him - if it had come to pass, he would have been lounging in a palatial townhouse, sipping French champagne and had such gold in his pockets! Elizabeth Bennet, now the esteemed Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, had smiled upon him with such approval once, when he had spun such a tale about Darcy! Mrs. Darcy remained the most alluring and vivacious woman in his mind. Her fine eyes, her quick wit, and her genuine heart continued to enthrall all those around her. These ladies were, of course, merely his innocent admirers, and he regretted that he never practiced the arts of true seduction upon them the way he did so freely with barmaids, harlots, and bored wives of so many of his fellow officers . . .
The great injustice, reflected Wickham, was that the Almighty had chosen to bestow all the blessings and good fortune of life upon one man - Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley - and had forsaken poor George Frederick Wickham in His wrath.
George Wickham's seething anger was not directed at the Creator, but to mortal men instead. He poured the remaining liquor down his throat. The fiery liquid caused him to cough violently, and added much to his malcontent.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy has been the root of my every misery and every failure. If old Mr. Darcy and his Lady Anne never had a son!" cursed George Wickham aloud. He flung the empty flask down on the floor, and unlashed another torrent of curses. The tiny room vibrated with the force of his vehemence.
It did not matter a whit to Wickham that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley had been the most generous, steadfast and patient benefactor anyone could possibly pray for in one's life. Even in his most somber moments, George Wickham had refused to admit that his failures had been entirely of his own making, and that Mr. Darcy was not only blameless, but had been the sole source of saving grace in his miserable, insignificant life.
If Wickham had had any scruples, he had long lost them between his gambling binges, drunken brawls, and countless of dalliances with women throughout these years. He had squandered more money than he could ever earn, and owed more pressing debts at the gaming hells than he cared to account for.
Wickham cursed Darcy yet again as he grabbed another bottle of cheap liquor from the table. Getting inebriated on an empty stomach was an awful habit, but it was one he could not break.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy!" shouted Wickham aloud to the dark emptiness of his sordid London lodging, "Universally admired - seen by everyone as the paragon of manhood and virtues! Your very name makes me nauseated!"
The heir, now the Master, of the vast Darcy fortune had been his childhood playmate - an extraordinary blessing that he had always taken for granted with unabashed complacency. As the son of old Mr. Darcy's trusted steward, why should he not be cherished as part of the Darcy family? Was it not due to the tireless efforts and prudent diligence of his father Frederick Wickham that the Darcy estate continued to prosper steadily over the years? Even after his father's early death, the Darcys' generosity continued unabated. Were those benefits not signs of the Darcys' gratitude in recognition of their late steward's invaluable service - benefits owed to the son now that the father had passed away?
Moreover, reasoned Wickham with irritation, did those benefits not represent supplemental compensations for the suffering he had to endure as the faithful companion of the Darcy heir? Throughout their early years together, Fitzwilliam Darcy had been the constant voice of Reason and Virtue, and young Wickham had felt so stifled and frustrated by him. The rigid code of high morals and standards of achievements that young Darcy lived by, and insisted upon imposing on his companion, was quite intolerable, thought Wickham. Why should he reform himself when the Prince Regent set such a grand example of being a philanderer, when a life of debauchery was deemed fashionable, and so many in Society gloried in their own exploits?
Matters took a worse turn during their last few terms at Eton - when he discovered such forbidden delights with a couple of comely harlots in the village nearby, and young Darcy had threatened to expose his immoral and irreligious conduct. Yet, laughed George Wickham aloud, the young heir could never bring himself to hurl such a wounding blow to the generous heart of the Master of Pemberley.
Wickham was able to indulge in his profligate lifestyle to a greater degree when they were at Cambridge. His own personal charm and good looks, coupled with the lure of his seemingly gentleman status, and had curried greater favours with him amongst the daughters of local merchants.
Wickham reflected fondly about his college years, and of an education conducted beyond the harrowed lecture halls of Cambridge! His pockets were never lacking for the want of gold because old Mr. Darcy was the most generous and indulgent of godfathers.
On the other hand, mused Wickham, there were unduly serious-minded young gentlemen who had chosen to be fools instead. Fitzwilliam Darcy was certainly one of them! Such disciplined and celibate life Darcy had led - might as well be in preparation for a religious life in the Church!
Wickham laughed uncontrollably as he recalled one particular outing to London with Darcy and a group of school chums during their first term at Cambridge. After hearty rounds of boxing at Gentleman Jackson's, they ended the day by visiting the most famous of London bordellos! Everyone, except young Darcy, was eager to savour the local charms. Failing to convince his school chums to make an immediate departure from Madam ______'s, Darcy chose to cool his heels at the foyer, and sat down to read a book instead! He had stayed because he felt duty bound to his friends in case they had need for assistance from a somber mind after a night of wild revelry!
It was incredulous! Afterward that incident, Darcy made friends with vastly different group of school chums. He avoided Wickham, except on occasions when Wickham had required his intervention to bail him out of various troubles.
Indeed, when Wickham was informed of Darcy's wedding to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he had felt a fleeting moment of rare brotherly concern! Whatever lack of experience Darcy might have suffered, however, did not seem to affect his connubial happiness, thought Wickham with envious disgust, as the images of the blissful couple flashed before his weary eyes. He saw the Darcys but several weeks ago - at Margaret Bingley's wedding - and they had looked as if they were still newlyweds!
Most intolerable! No one deserved such happiness!
The bitterest medicine to swallow had been his own forced marriage to Lydia Bennet. His resentment was still high after the passage of so many years.
Their elopement had not been his fault entirely, reflected Wickham. He was obliged to leave Brighton because of his heavy gambling debt, and he had no qualms about taking the innocent chit along because she literally threw herself into his arms!
Lydia Bennet proved to be a lively companion, and their illicit liaison was quite enjoyable, at least in the early days. If Lydia had convinced herself that she was in love with him, and had believed that they were headed to Gretna Green in Scotland, he did not bother to enlighten the foolish girl for her misconception. He never considered honourable matrimony with her - with her father's estate being entailed away, Lydia had a very paltry dowry, and her incessant chatter was fast becoming tiresome. Young chits such as the freckly and petite Mary King was far more desirable due to her inheritance of ten thousand pounds . . .
Wickham was near despair in finding a way out of his heavy debts and the likelihood of a court martial for his unauthorized departure from the militia when Fitzwilliam Darcy came knocking at the door of his sordid London lodging near St. Clements. How Darcy ever managed to track him down was a question that still haunted him!
After failing to convince Lydia to return to her family, Darcy saw no alternative answer but matrimony. Darcy saw through Wickham's false bravado at once, and made an irresistible offer: All sundry debts would be promptly settled, a regular army commission to be purchased, and a very generous marriage settlement to be made in favour of Miss Lydia Bennet. A marriage sanctified by the Church would save Lydia from infamy and the Bennet family honour from utter ruin.
In his dire needs, Wickham had no choice but to yield to Darcy's insistent demand for him to marry Lydia Bennet.
With Darcy looking like a self-appointed avenging angel of God, and marching him to the altar to exchange marriage vows with Lydia, he had been quite overwhelmed. Wickham lamented that he should have read the lengthy legal documents before he affixed his signature to them! Darcy had made the terms of Lydia's marriage settlement ironclad - neither Wickham nor Lydia could withdraw the principle amount of ten thousand pounds directly! After all the debts and sundry expenses were paid out from the principle, the sizable residue sum was deposited into an account at Barings under the custodianship of Mr. Edward Gardiner - Lydia's maternal uncle and Mr. Darcy trusted friend. They could draw only an annuity from the principle as supplemental income to Wickham's regular army pay and Mr. Bennet's annual allowance for Lydia.
If they had not been so extravagant with their personal habits and had learned to manage their finances better, they would have little want for money and could have led a comfortable life together. A certain measure of domestic felicity might be attained as well!
Yet, reality had always been so drastically different from good intentions. They lived beyond their income constantly. When their mutual passions had cooled to indifference within a year of their hasty marriage, Wickham strayed from Lydia with increasing frequency. His infidelity, coupled with his incessant gambling and drinking, finally led to a permanent estrangement a few years later. Lydia maintained the respectability of being a married woman, but she moved back to Longbourn, taking young Freddie and baby Georgette with her.
Wickham had resented losing his only son to his estranged wife, and he took his sweet revenge by showing up at Longbourn frequently unannounced - to spend time with his son, and to demand from Lydia whatever money that he could lay his hands upon. He never failed to get his way because his in-laws avoided his company during these brief visits. Mr. Bennet usually stayed in his private study, Mrs. Bennet's poor nerves prevented her from leaving her bedchamber! He and Lydia would get into serious arguments at times, but he always had the upper hand. Lydia was not endowed with a strong character, and she knew that she could always appeal successfully to her sisters Jane and Elizabeth for additional assistance.
Well, thought Wickham in a rare moment of honesty, he had to admit that the Darcys had done much for him throughout the years - to advance his career, and to bail him out of trouble. His children had gained an education, a comfortable and respectable life from the Darcys' magnanimity. Doors had been opened to him in Society at his mere mention of being "Mr. Darcy's brother-in-law," but those same doors had slammed with equal swiftness when it was discovered that Mr. Wickham's true character was not even a fraction of the worthy Master of Pemberley.
Being shunned by the Darcys should not be a surprise to Wickham, but he suffered nevertheless. He was barred from Pemberley permanently, and was never welcomed to the Darcys' townhouse in London whenever the Fitzwilliams were in London. He had set foot in that magnificent mansion only a few times these many years, and his reception there was always of frosty politeness. The message from the Darcys was very clear, although it was never declared aloud: "We can spare you our gold, but do not try to weasel your way into our tranquil family life!"
The Bingleys, on the other hand, bore Wickham's company with greater cordiality and patience. He was never formally invited to any family gatherings, social routs or grand balls, but he was never turned away at the door if he did show up. There were times Wickham attended dinner soirees simply for the pleasure of fine wine and food. Mostly, he attended them with various scams in mind - to entrap some gullible fool who was too quick to part with his money. Wickham always got his monetary reward because he chose his victims with care - in the end, they were universally too vain to admit to anyone else of their own stupidity in throwing away so much blunt at some wild harebrained investment schemes concocted by Mr. George Wickham!
"Alas! I am running out of gullible fools," complained Wickham to himself. Even Mr. Bingley's brother-in-law Mr. Hurst - the perpetually drunk - had shied away from him at Margaret Bingley's wedding. It felt utterly miserably, thought Wickham, to lose such a source of petty but reliable extortion in the bulky form of Mr. Hurst!
Draining the last drop of whiskey from the bottle, Wickham decided that a desperate man must undertake desperate measures if he wished to preserve his own life and limbs. Those hellhounds of his debtors would brook no mercy this time! He needed to secure a vast sum of money as quickly as possible. Although his mind was addled by alcohol, he still retained enough control of his mental faculty to cast about for the best scheme that would yield the most likelihood of success.
He stared at the miniature portraits of his two children as he tried to concentrate. His son Freddie bore a very striking resemblance to him, although he felt that Freddie's character suffered from the lack of a fatherly authority and the overwhelming presence of feminine nonsense in his life. Yet, thought Wickham, there was a slight glimmer of hope left. Freddie still displayed proper filial respect whenever he paid his visits - he might know about his follies, but certainly not the entire truth of his treacherous past. Indeed, Freddie seemed to believe that it was a pious and honourable duty to love one's father when such a father suffered from grave faults and miserable failings!
His daughter Georgette was quite a beauty as well. She lacked the intellect and grace of her exulted Darcy and Bingley cousins to be sure, but she was well endowed with feminine arts and allurements. Indeed, she could be quite an enticingly attractive creature.
George Wickham smiled with self-satisfaction as a nefarious plan began to take root in his mind. The plan held very high promise, surmised Wickham, as he began to appraise it from various strategic angles. Proper planning and swift execution were prerequisites, of course, but the chances for success were equally high, and the result would carry such rich rewards!
Wickham roared with laughter, and congratulated himself.
There was an added bonus to his scheme, he mused. With such a plan, he would exact the sweetest revenge against Fitzwilliam Darcy at long last!
Chapter 23: A Nefarious Plot
Friday
10th August, 1838
London
Alexander Darcy, habitually a calm and quietly contemplative man, was being very impatient. He was tired of looking out of his carriage window, and he could not settle down to rest. He fidgeted constantly, and checked his pocket watch umpteenth times to see how much closer he was to London.
Coxwell, his dutiful valet these many months, watched his young master with carefully veiled bemusement. Old Briggs, who had served Master Alexander so faithfully these many years, had imparted very useful advice to the younger valet when they were last in London. Whenever the young master seemed unsettled, it was best to keep as quiet as possible. Such incidences were rare, as there were few men as capable as Master Alexander, but every great man had his moments of agitation!
After checking his pocket watch again, and making some mental calculations, Alexander tapped the roof of the carriage three times with the solid silver handle of his walking cane. The prearranged signals of communication allowed the driver to know that Master Alexander wished to make a stop at the next carriage stop.
Seeing the look of relief on his valet's weary face, Alexander told him firmly, "Coxwell, we are merely stopping for a light meal and to exchange for a fresh team of horses. We shall continue to make all haste towards London. I intend to arrive by late afternoon!"
Coxwell was greatly puzzled by this mad dash from Ridgemont to London. They had been travelling in such haste these past few days! Perhaps the young master had a certain wager with his friends? Or, perhaps he wished to test the endurance and speed of the Darcy harness horses currently boarded at various stables from Derbyshire southwards to London? If they should suffer any mishap due to such speed, there would be ample time to recover, thought Coxwell placidly. Master James Darcy's wedding was set for the last day of August, and it was merely the tenth this day . . .
As the outskirts of London came into view, Alexander Darcy heaved a sigh of great relief. For the first time in many days, he relaxed and smiled.
"Today is the Feast day of St. Laurence," remarked Alexander in an amiable tone.
"Sir?" responded Coxwell in puzzlement. His mind drew a blank, and he did not know what the current conversation would entail.
"St. Laurence suffered martyrdom about 250 A.D. Whilst his Roman tormentors roasted him over a blazing fire, he stoically asked them to turn him over as he was quite well cooked on that side!"
"How agonizing and gruesome!" Coxwell grimaced.
Alexander nodded thoughtfully as he quoted a memorable passage from an old Roman rite, ". . . The torment-bearing instrument, the gridiron of his suffering, roasteth his very viscera, but he laugheth it to scorn. The martyr sweateth in his agony, in hopes of crown and recompense which is allotted those with faith, who struggle for the sake of Christ . . ."
He paused for a meditative moment, and added, "None of us are likely to face the extreme sufferings and ultimate sacrifice of St. Laurence, but we should be justly inspired by the saint's faith and undaunted spirit."
"Aye, sir," agreed Coxwell solemnly. Master Alexander liked to expound upon serious matter such as philosophy, history and science. He had learned much from this young master, mused Coxwell, but he also missed Master James's irrelevant humour, and his preference for sports and the social life in Town.
Alexander Darcy closed his eyes briefly, greatly relieved that his long suffering was almost over. His pains, however torturous, were so insignificant when compared to the martyred St. Laurence, but he could, nevertheless, claim a small measure of pride in himself. His own forbearance during these many months was commendable.
Indeed, he could rightfully rejoice this very day! He was almost home - almost in the welcoming arms of his beloved Isabella! He had no doubt of her warm reception of him, of her approving smiles, and of such sweet kisses that would surely follow!
Tonight, after supper, perhaps she would consent to a stroll in the garden. Unlike their last moonlight talk, he would enfold her in his arms and rhapsodize his love for her in his newest sonnet. He had saved the best one to recite to her in person.
His own darling! She had inspired such tenderness in his heart. He realized that he hardly deserved such blessings, but he would humbly and gratefully accept them.
The memory of their brief kiss outside Bittle's Inn flashed through his mind yet again. His handsome face took on a dreamy look at this sweetest of memories. Master Alexander was besotted with love, thought Coxwell, as he easily recognized the dreamy look. It was a familiar sight on another handsome Darcy face these two and a half decades past - that of the Master of Pemberley whenever his "bride" was within sight!
Those whispered comments below stairs at Pemberley seemed to be true after all, reflected Coxwell. It was high time that the young master placed his own happiness before the happiness of others! He could hardly wait to inform Briggs - it would warm the cockles of the old fellow's heart!
Jane and Lizzy Darcy, along with their cousins Isabella and Emily Bingley, were in very jaunty mood. They had a very successful morning - their petitions to the MPs of their respective home districts were well received - and they had high hopes that the MPs would bring about a debate in the House of Commons before the end of the current session of Parliament.
After a celebratory ice-treat at Guther's, the four young ladies joined their mothers at Pall Mall for another shopping expedition and dress fitting session at Madame Chantelle's. Preparation for James's wedding was reaching its last hectic weeks.
Isabella, in particular, was in very high spirits. This was the date Alexander had promised to be back in Town, and she could barely contain her eager anticipation. She wondered what their first words to each other would be. A greater part of her appreciated his gentlemanly restraint thus far, but a small but vital part of her heart longed for him to be more demonstrative of his love. As she was now assured of the nobility of his heart and character, she would not mind it so much if he should sweep her into his arms after a brief and polite greeting! As Lizzy had unabashedly insisted, such a determined course of action would certainly save the mutual parties from the initially awkward steps of courtship!
"Bella!" called Lizzy gently, giving her cousin's hand a shake. "Madame wishes to know if you want the neckline of your ball gown lower a bit more."
"Oh, I am very sorry! I was wool-gathering!" replied Isabella in deep embarrassment. She glanced at her own reflection in the dressmaker's tall mirror for a moment. "Hmm . . . the neckline is fine as it is!"
"English misses! Always too modest," murmured Madame Chantelle with a frown, as she made a few tailoring marks, and signaled her assistants to help Miss Bingley out of her ball gown. The famous dressmaker was a perfectionist, but her dark eyes reflected her genuine approval of the young ladies standing before her. Amongst her extensive clientele, Madame had long regarded the daughters of Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley as the most amiable and promising young ladies of the ton.
"Mama, may I make a small detour of my own - to Hachard's - before we return home? I can walk ahead now, and return here directly," said Isabella to her mother. She wished to purchase a special gift for Alexander, and he loved nothing better than good books.
"To purchase yet another book?" smiled Mrs. Bingley. "My dear Bella, of all my children, you are most like my sister Lizzy - constantly improving your mind by extensive reading!"
"I shall accompany her, Aunt Jane!" exclaimed Lizzy. "May I do so, Mama?"
"My dear Bella and Lizzy!" said Mrs. Darcy. "We can stop by Hachard's on our way home."
Isabella was about to agree with her aunt when Lizzy spoke up.
"Oh, Mama! Harchard's is not so far away - we can safely walk there, and we can take a Hansom cab home. Goodbye!"
"Take one of our footmen with you, Lizzy!" called Mrs. Darcy after her daughter. She was wrapped up in yards and yards of fine silk and laces, and could hardly make half a step forward.
The two young ladies were, however, out of earshot. Mrs. Darcy sighed, and remarked rather ruefully to Mrs. Bingley, "It is rather difficult to strike a proper balance. One wishes for one's offspring to be confident and assertive, yet one fears for their safety at every turn!"
"Indeed, Lizzy," agreed Mrs. Bingley wholeheartedly, "your own namesake is a very independent minded young lady! My son Henry laments that he has not the sharp wits to keep up with any lengthy conversation with her!"
"I pray that maturity will bring her more disciplined decorum," admitted Mrs. Darcy truthfully. Turning to her own daughter Jane, she added, "Dear heart, can you instruct Jenkins to follow your sister and cousin? To keep a discreet but protective eye upon them!"
"Yes, Mama," said Jane obediently.
Lizzy gleefully linked arms with her cousin as they walked leisurely towards their favourite bookseller.
"You have gathered enough wool to weave a greatcoat, my dear cousin!" laughed Lizzy. "But I shall not begrudge you for it - as you have shown such excellent judgment in your choice of beau!"
"Oh, Lizzy!" pleaded Isabella. "You will not tease Alexander too severely, will you?"
"I promise to be exemplary in my behaviour," reassured Lizzy. "I shall not risk any faux pas with my big brother even though he is unfailingly patient with me!"
The two cousins shared a merry laugh. Isabella glanced over her shoulder briefly as they continued their walk. A sudden uneasiness welled up within her. It felt as if she sensed danger itself - a vague, nameless, shapeless feeling of extreme anxiety that grasped her consciousness. She had tried to ignore it before, but this time, she could not.
"Lizzy! I have a distinctive feeling that we are being followed!" she whispered urgently to her cousin.
"Oh, it is probably trusty old Jenkins or one of our other footmen!" replied Lizzy nonchalantly. "Mama is being a mother hen again - she is of an older generation that requires a trusty chaperone at every turn!"
"There is much wisdom in such precautionary measures!" said Isabella.
"Perhaps, but this new generation of young ladies - namely us, dear cousin - are very capable creatures. We shall not faint at the first sight of blood, or swoon when someone employs an indelicate word!"
"Nevertheless," insisted Isabella, "I have had a feeling that we have been under surveillance for several days now! Not constantly, not when we are with our families, but when we are out together - the pair of us with a lone chaperone as our companion - I have felt curious eyes staring at us!"
"Nonsense, Bella," complained Lizzy, "you are being overly dramatic! Your striking beauty always draws such attention wherever you go! Moreover, who can do us harm - in broad daylight - on one of London's fashionable streets? I can safely wager you ten ice-treats that the pair of observant eyes behind our backs belongs to one of our servants, sent by Mama to do his duty!"
Lizzy proved to be correct in her estimation, for as soon as they emerged from the bookseller's, the faithful Jenkins stood ready to escort them home. He bowed as he gestured to the waiting hackney cab on the street.
"Thank you, Jenkins," said Lizzy and Isabella in unison. They had enjoyed their short spell of unchaperoned outing, and it was time to return home. Jenkins helped them into the carriage before he hopped up to the seat atop, next to the driver.
"Bella, you should come directly home with me," urged Lizzy. "Do not be a coquettish miss now! It is perfectly acceptable if you wait for Alexander's arrival at my parents' house instead of your own!"
"I should like to change into a different gown," smiled Isabella shyly, "and I have drawn a tidy portfolio of vignettes for Alexander as his homecoming present in addition to the book we just purchased. I would like to have the portfolio on hand when he arrives."
"Oh," said Lizzy in resignation, "you may go home. My dear brother might be entirely unconventional - he might not head home directly, but might pay his visit to your parents first! Judging from his most recent sonnet, I cannot vouchsafe for his sanity of mind anymore. He is entirely besotted with love - madly and hopelessly!"
Isabella laughed, feeling extremely embarrassed, but managed a rebuttal, "I look forward to the day when I can tease you just as mercilessly about your special beau, Miss Elizabeth Darcy!"
"Until I find someone as noble and as handsome as my big brother Alexander, I doubt if such a day is close at hand!" replied Lizzy.
"There is one or two amongst your current suitors who may qualify. . ." teased Isabella, guessing that Lizzy might habour warmer sentiments towards them.
"They smile too much!" declared Lizzy with a mock look of criticism.
"Well, being silently brooding can be a very intriguing trait. One can be inspired by a genuine yearning to understand the enigmatic nature of the subject," agreed Isabella.
"You should know!" laughed Lizzy as she collapsed into a fit of helpless laughter.
George Wickham had summoned his son for a critical meeting. All the strategic pieces of his plan were in place, except for the two principle pawns.
Pawns? Why did he ever use such terms? Why, the young couple should be grateful to him for bringing them together!
"You wish me to seduce my cousin?" repeated Frederick Wickham incredulously.
"Yes, Freddie, yes! A hundred times, yes!" exclaimed George Wickham impatiently. "Seduction first; respectable marriage afterwards!"
"Do you want our elopement to follow the seduction, or do you wish me to seduce her first, and then elope?" asked Freddie as his mind continued to function rather slowly after the shock of hearing his father's plan!
"No! No! No!" Wickham literally shouted at his son. "You have not listened to me carefully! With such a grand scheme, you must pay attention to every detail, and listen to my every instruction!"
"I did listen, Father," replied Freddie rather warmly. "I simply wished to clarify matters in my own mind!"
"Good!" said Wickham as he heaved a deep sigh to regain his composure. "Seduction, elopement, and marriage - in this neat order! Can I safely assume that you are quite experienced with the arts of love?"
"Yes, Father," confirmed young Freddie. "Generally, older women have been more receptive of my attention."
Wickham shared a hearty laugh with his son. "You do me proud, Freddie! I can share stories of my own adventures - when I was a handsome young buck like you! I shall regale you with such remembrances when I toast you upon your successful return from Gretna Green with your bride! Now, let me repeat the details of my scheme so that we understand each other perfectly, Freddie."
"Before you begin anew, Father," said Freddie, "Please allow me to ask a very important question!"
"Yes, Freddie?"
"Why do we have to undertake such complicated actions when I can approach my Uncle directly to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage?" said Freddie in his youthful bravado.
Wickham would have roared in laughter if he did not take pity on his only son.
Did the young fool actually believe that he could be considered a worthy suitor and a suitable son-in-law in such an exulted match? Surely, Freddie could not be so lacking in intellect and judgment, wondered Wickham silently!
There were some undeniable merits in Frederick Wickham. He was very tall and handsome, and he cut a very dashing figure in his regimentals. He had made better use of his Cambridge education than his own father, and enjoyed the continued patronage of the Darcys. Yet, what gentleman of rank would look favourably upon a young man with such insignificant lineage and paltry pay of a junior army officer? What father would entrust the happiness and well being of a beloved daughter to a young man with a reputation for women and wine around Town? Moreover, the young lady already had scores of admirers - worthy young gentlemen with noble character, impressive lineage and immense wealth. Wickham himself had witnessed how those young suitors vied for her smiles and attention. His own son Freddie had no hope of success at all against such a field of gallants.
"She has always been kind to me, Father," insisted Freddie. "If I catch her at the right mood, she may well grant me her consent!"
"If by some miracle that you can convince your cousin to have you, my dear Freddie, you shall never have her father's willing consent. Therefore, we must make your marriage fact accompli to force his acceptance of it! It is the only way! When his daughter is compromised beyond redemption, when the entire world knows of her lost virtue, and that she has forsaken her family and friends for an elopement, her father will have to welcome you with his open, albeit reluctant, arms as a son-in-law! I know the man well - he will make a very generous offer in your marriage settlement - but we shall drive an extremely hard bargain this time! Since we shall hold the trump card in our hands, we can demand extra compensations of great monetary value - without any provisional strings attached! You and I shall be our own masters then!"
"You speak with perfect logic, Father," conceded Freddie gloomily. He did not like to dwell on his own inadequacies too much. "I can readily see your insistence upon my seduction of her as the most important first step!"
"In return for your frankness, Freddie, I must confess that I shall require you to carry through my scheme even if your cousin is the dullest and ugliest creature alive! But, my son, you are very lucky indeed! The great bonus, Freddie, is having such a beauty for wife! What conjugal bliss you shall have!"
"Father, you have more confidence than I! You seem so certain that your scheme will succeed!"
"It has to succeed, Freddie, because you are my only salvation!" confessed Wickham in great emotion. "I did have another scheme in mind, but the chances for your sister's success would be much slimmer than yours!"
Wickham did not divulge more information than necessary. He knew how to manipulate Freddie's natural scruples with his artful words, and he knew how to exploit Freddie's numerous weaknesses for his own advantage.
In the end, Wickham raised a glass for an early toast of success. He could have chosen either daughters of the great man for his son Freddie, but he simply could not resist the tremendous irony in his choice of the youngest daughter.
Elizabeth Darcy as the new Mrs. Wickham! How droll it sounded!