Section I, Next Section
Once Upon a Time... Posted on Thursday, 11 March 1999
This story is dedicated to my parents: to my mother for giving me her love of reading and her bad eyesight; and my father for hooking me up to the internet where I found all of you.FYI, my parents are named Tom and Sandy, but they are nothing like I'm about to describe them here, so I should probably apologize to them even though they don't read these stories...
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single young woman in possession of little fortune must be in need of a husband, preferably a wealthy one." That was a popular saying of the time.
The sad truth was that there were few enough such gentlemen in the world to satisfy all the ladies that needed them. And for those who were unfortunate enough to come into contact with such gentlemen every day without a chance of ever winning one with their beauty and charm, the world was an unhappy place.
For these young women were the maids and governesses, the nannies and servants' daughters. Dream though they might that their handsome and wealthy masters would notice them, fall in love with them, and cause a scandal with the ton by marrying them, it never happened.
Except once, on an estate called Pemberley.
Thomas Bennet had long been renowned for his knowledge of horses. It was said that he could tell a horse's worth just by looking at the animal. Those who doubted this scoffed at the idea that a mere servant could be a better judge of horseflesh than any respectable gentleman, but when the horses that came from the Pemberley stables defeated theirs and the master of the house gave credit to his coachman, they came to believe.
Tom had been the coachman for Pemberley since his father had become too old to serve in the post. He was the fifth Bennet to take the reins and serve the master of Pemberley with pride, and unfortunately, he often thought, he would be the last, for Tom had no son to follow in his stead.
Tom's wife was a shrill, nervous woman named Sandy. Her name was actually Alexandra, but her brother Edward had tagged her with the nickname when she was a child and she never managed to shed it. Sandy was the head cook at Pemberley, a post she had sought for several years before finally achieving it. Although she spent many an hour planning meals, she rarely worked to cook them, leaving that to the charge of those who worked in her service. It made Sandy feel as though she were more than a mere servant, and Mrs. Darcy indulged her in this, for Sandy Bennet was a dreadful nuisance when she did not get her way.
The Bennets had five daughters in the course of their marriage, mostly born during the early years when they were happy together. This was the time before Tom realized that his wife was lazy and had a tendency to be a bit foolish, reading nothing but romance novels instead of books of a serious stamp. He didn't mind the occasional entertainment, but his wife tended to read those dreadful horrid novels which made her nervous and kept her up at night. This was also before Sandy discovered how involved Tom was with his work. The man lived and breathed horses, which she considered to be smelly beasts. So although they started married life in contentment, twenty-four years had changed their perspective.
Mr. George Darcy, upon the marriage of his good friend Tom and the pretty Sandy, had given the couple a lovely little cottage situated close to both the stables and the main house. The meaning of the gesture was not lost on either, and later, when they had their children, it became a necessity.
The eldest daughter was named Jane, by far the most beautiful of the five. Jane was possessed of a sweet spirit, and had she been born to the mistress of Pemberley, she would have had little trouble finding a wealthy husband. Sandy talked often of sending Jane to live with her brother in London so that she would have a chance to meet men who would have money, but Tom balked, as Jane was one of the two of his children that he could tolerate. Thus Jane remained at home, and learned to cook as her mother had done before her.
The second daughter was Tom's favorite child. Though not as pretty as Jane, Elizabeth had a sharper sense of the world. She was inclined to find amusement in the antics of the people who lived in a world she could never belong to, and of late, she had much to be amused with. The problem with Elizabeth was that she was too much her father's daughter. She had gleaned his knowledge of horses, and were it not for the fact that she had been born a female, she would be his successor. Sandy was quite frustrated with what her daughter was going to do with her life, for she clearly could not live in the stables, and yet Elizabeth refused to have anything to do with any other trade she might learn.
The other three Bennet girls were generally lumped together. Mary was plain as mud but very bright, and thanks to the generosity of Lady Anne Darcy and later her daughter, had learned to play the piano with great efficiency. Mary was the pride of her mother for becoming the governess for the Earl and Countess of Montrose's children.
Kitty, who had been christened Catherine but dubbed Kitty for her love of cats, was a bit of a dull girl. She had managed to become a parlor maid, but it was clear that she would never become anything else, nor would she aspire to be more than she was.
Lydia, the youngest, was still full young to have completely decided what she wished to do, but she had such a flair with hats that Sandy often considered asking her brother Edward if he needed a milliner to work in his shop in London. Tom mumbled on these occasions that Edward had more sense than to employ such a magpie, and Lydia had no interest in actually working. She wanted the impossible dream of marrying a rich man.
Tom had no idea how to get Lydia to understand that her dreams would come to naught, and her often discussed the matter with Elizabeth. On such occasions, Elizabeth grew rather quiet and said as little as possible, least she give away her own true feelings.
Elizabeth knew she had as much a chance of marrying the object of her affections as she had of inheriting a fortune, but she knew from the day she saw him that she wanted to be his wife. Even at the tender age of nine, she had known her destiny when she met it.
It remained to be seen whether or not Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam felt the same way about her.
An Auspicious Beginning Posted on Friday, 16 April 1999
If Elizabeth Bennet's life was hampered by her gender, it was one of the few impediments she encountered on her journey from childhood to adulthood. Indeed, most of the time she gave it little thought as more pressing concerns were given her attention. Problems like her mother despairing that she would never learn the useful skills needed to get a good position somewhere. Problems like her father occasionally becoming melancholy when he remembered that the daughter he was teaching everything about horses was still just a daughter. The worst problems she encountered came from the Young Master, Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Unfortunately, as Pemberley was to belong to him one day, Elizabeth saw him far more often during her early childhood than she would have liked. Mr. Darcy had done only one decent thing for her, in her opinion, and that was to bring Richard into her life. Had he known what that meant to her, however, he probably would have prevented that from happening as well.
It seemed to Elizabeth that young Mr. Darcy had always disliked her. She could never quite understand why, and yet the answer was well within her grasp. Elizabeth had been born six years after young Mr. Darcy, close to the same time that Lady Anne had suffered the stillbirth of a little girl. Almost immediately Lady Anne seemed to take an avid interest in little Elizabeth, and although no one ever said as much, young Mr. Darcy felt that Elizabeth should have been his mother's daughter. That she was not, and that his mother loved her as though she were, irritated the young boy. From the time Elizabeth was old enough to toddle around after him and his young friend George Wickham, the son of the steward, young Fitzwilliam disliked her. Elizabeth was a very bright child and she soon understood that her presence was not wanted, so she left them alone.
Lady Anne's interest in Elizabeth did not go unnoticed by the Bennets. Sandy thought that it was the best thing that could happen to Elizabeth, for even at an early age she did not show signs of being as pretty as her sister Jane. It seemed certain that Lady Anne would soon have another child, quite likely a daughter, who would become Elizabeth's friend. It did not seem unlikely to Sandy, for after all, the current master's father had sent his steward's son to college with his own son, and it seemed as though that tradition would continue with the current boys.
Yet it was not meant to be. It took another five years for the fragile Georgiana to be born...and as a result of the birth, Lady Anne died. Elizabeth had very little interest in the tiny, delicate baby, and thus her opportunity was gone. By this time, she was spending far more time in the stables with her father than she was with her sisters. It was a habit Sandy thought her daughter would grow out of in time to learn what was necessary for a girl of her station in life.
Perhaps she would have done so, had it not been for her ninth summer. It was the first summer she realized that there was a world outside of Pemberley, and that her role within it was limited. It was the summer when she realized just how much she detested young Mr. Darcy and his good friend, George Wickham (who insisted that she call him Mr. Wickham and boxed her ears when she did not). Fortunately for her, it was also the summer she met Richard Fitzwilliam.
Richard was a year younger than Fitzwilliam Darcy, and though he was not as tall nor would he ever be as handsome as his cousin, Richard was far kinder. The summer Elizabeth first met him, he was fourteen.
Young Mr. Darcy and George Wickham had left early that morning to meet with the young man. George Wickham seemed enthusiastic enough, but if Mr. Darcy was pleased that his cousin was coming to spend the summer, he did not indicate it by demeanor or action. Elizabeth was in the stables with her father when the two young men appeared to take their horses.
"Good morning, Tom," Mr. Darcy said politely, as he always did. He, like his father, had a great deal of respect for his coachman.
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth's father replied. "Getting an early start, are we, boys?"
Mr. Darcy merely nodded his head. George, however, made up for Mr. Darcy's seeming indifference by saying, "Fitz could hardly wait to get a start on this day."
Elizabeth, who was feeding her favorite mare, managed to keep from making comment and drawing attention to herself. She doubted that Mr. Darcy was as eager about his cousin's visit as George Wickham was. For the life of her, she could not understand why he was excited about the visit, as Richard Fitzwilliam, from everything she had heard, was only the second son in his family. She supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was the second son of an earl.
"Good morning, Eliza," George called, noticing the small girl in the stables.
Elizabeth sighed. She hated being called anything other than Elizabeth, and George Wickham knew it. "Good morning, George," she replied disdainfully.
George's placid complexion turned red, and Elizabeth knew he was dying to do something to her, but could not in the presence of her father. She knew she would be in for it later, but she stuck her tongue out at him when her father's back was turned.
Mr. Darcy put his hand on George's arm. "She is not worth your time, George," he said. "She is just a child."
"She is a brat," George muttered. "One who needs to learn some manners."
"That is true, but it is not our job to do so."
"As if either of you could possibly teach anyone about manners," Elizabeth shot back.
"Elizabeth!" Tom Bennet had been wrapped up in saddling the horses and had not paid attention to most of the conversation. Unfortunately for his daughter, he had caught her last statement. "Apologize to Mr. Darcy this instant."
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, especially after seeing the looks on the faces of the two young men. They were smirking at her.
"Elizabeth? We are waiting," Tom said.
"I...apologize," she said reluctantly. "And I would like an apology in return."
"Elizabeth!" Tom's mouth quivered, almost as though he wanted to laugh, but could not.
"An apology? For what?" George Wickham demanded. "We do not need to apologize to you."
"You do, sir. You called me a brat. And you, sir, called me a child who was not worth your time."
"You can expect your apology around the same time you marry a king," George Wickham said, climbing onto his horse and galloping away.
Mr. Darcy remained behind for a moment, looking into her dark eyes with some disdain. He did not apologize, either, but merely mounted his horse, thanked Tom, and left.
"Elizabeth, we need to speak," Tom said, leading his daughter back into the stables. He sat her down on a bale of straw and sat across from her.
"I think I deserved an apology," she muttered, looking at her mud-spattered boots.
"Perhaps you did, my dear," Tom said quietly. "But I would not expect one from the likes of Mr. Darcy."
"What makes him so special?"
"Money, for the most part. Position. Pemberley. There are a great many people who would forgive young Mr. Darcy anything, because they are not in a position to do otherwise. It is the way the world works, my child, and there is nothing you can do to change it."
"Then why did George Wickham not have to apologize? He has no money. He has no special position, nor a great estate, or anything that makes him better than I. He is what I am, the child of a servant."
"George's father is educated, and George shall likely accompany the young master to university in time. George is likely to occupy a far greater sphere than you or I, dear. He is Mr. Darcy's particular favorite."
"That still does not give him the right to box my ears."
Tom frowned. "When does he do that?"
"Whenever I do not call him 'Mr. Wickham,' and quite likely the next time we are alone."
"Does Mr. Darcy countenance this behaviour?"
"I presume he does. He is never around."
Tom stared at the path the two young men had taken. When he returned, he intended to have a chat with George Wickham about punishment, with a strongly worded warning that he would go to Mr. Darcy if it did not stop.
"I do not see why money should matter one way or another. I am a person just as they are. I have feelings and I do not appreciate being called a child, or a brat, without manners."
Tom laughed. "My dear Elizabeth, that is exactly what you are. You are still a child, and you do have a tendency to forget your manners. I suppose a good heap of blame falls on my shoulders, for you should even at this moment be with your mother and sisters. Yet I cannot let you go. Of all my children, you are the one most like me."
"Then why must I be with my mother and sisters? Why can I not stay with you?"
Tom sighed. They had had this conversation before. "Because you are a girl, Elizabeth. The world would never accept you doing what I do."
"Then the world is wrong," Elizabeth said. "Old Mr. Darcy does not seem to mind my being here."
"It is unlikely that he knows you are here. If he did, he would probably ask me to limit you to our little cottage. Then you would be under your mother's rule, and you would learn what you should be learning. Perhaps that is a good idea."
"Papa, please do not do that! I want to stay out here with you...and Lucy...and Star."
Tom smiled, and thought, The girl is only nine. There is time enough in the future for her to learn the necessary skills to survive her lot in life. For now, she should enjoy her childhood.
"You may stay," he said.
Elizabeth threw her arms around her father. "Thank you, Papa! Promise me I shall never have to leave."
Tom held his daughter firmly and said, "You shall never have to leave--unless you want to leave."
Elizabeth laughed. "Do not be silly. Why should I ever want to leave?"
Tom could think of one very important reason, but he did not wish to dampen her improved mood.
Elizabeth was sitting by the Pemberley Pond, reading a book, when she heard a rider approaching. She closed the book and looked up.
Flanked by young Mr. Darcy and George Wickham, he rode with such skill that even Elizabeth was impressed. His hair was a medium brown, the sun lightening it further. She could not see his eyes from here, but she could tell from his face that they were probably very nice. He was smiling, and not the smirks that his friends wore, but a genuine smile.
The trio stopped at the edge of the pond.
"Well, well, if it isn't the brat," George Wickham said. "Come here, you. I have a surprise for you."
"I can well guess what any sort of surprise you might have for me is," Elizabeth said. "And if you wish to deliver it, you shall simply have to cross the pond."
"Who is she?" Richard Fitzwilliam asked.
"That, unfortunately, is the daughter of our coachman."
"I am Elizabeth Bennet," she corrected.
Richard smiled. "I am Richard Fitzwilliam, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet."
"Just call her Eliza. We do," George said. "I am not wading across that pond after you, so you had best stay there until I get there."
"What surprise do you have for her?" Richard asked.
"He shall strike me," Elizabeth said in a sugary voice. "He always boxes my ears when I displease him, as though he were my father and allowed to do so. Well, my father says that if you ever do it again, he shall tell the master and--"
"I do no such thing," George said, turning red as Richard and Mr. Darcy turned to stare at him.
"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, remembering to curtsey.
"Please, just call me Richard, if I may call you Elizabeth."
"Please do."
Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Amazing. Just this morning, she was a brat, and now she's bowing and being polite as though it is something she does every day."
"Perhaps I took your advice, sir, and learned some manners. You should try it some time," Elizabeth said.
Richard chuckled. "Sharp as a tack, that one."
"Too sassy. She shall have to lose that quality if she is ever to be of any use to anyone," Mr. Darcy said.
"I am already of great use to a number of people," Elizabeth snapped. "I do not appreciate being talked of as though I were not present, sir."
"You should have a care, Eliza, or you may someday find yourself in serious trouble," Mr. Darcy replied.
"Darcy, good grief. The girl is but a child, and an enjoyable one at that. Do not wish her to be some lackwit or one of those simpering misses our own age."
"Would you encourage her to be wild, Richard, and never able to find employment? 'Tis bad enough that her father allows her to help him in the stables. She shall never succeed him, you know."
"I am not suggesting that she should never settle down. I am merely pointing out that she is still full young to understand the ways of the world. In time she will realize more and will change accordingly. Until then--"
From the other side of the pond, Elizabeth gave a shriek. The other three, being engrossed in their conversation, took no notice that George Wickham had sneaked away to chastise Elizabeth. He was a menacing presence as he prepared to strike.
Richard shouted across the way, "Stop this instant!"
George froze, and Elizabeth, never one to miss an opportunity, shoved with all her might. George, caught off balance by Richard's command and Elizabeth's push, stumbled a moment before falling into the water.
Elizabeth stayed around just long enough to see the expressions of the two men standing on the other side. Mr. Darcy looked displeased, but Richard was grinning. He winked at her just as she left.
And in that moment, she knew she was in love with him.
The Way of the World Posted on Tuesday, 20 April 1999
Word of Elizabeth pushing George into the pond quickly reached Sandy. In a fury, she told her stubborn second daughter that she was forbidden to set foot outside for a week. Tom had little choice than to abide by his wife's wishes, for Sandy had been insistent about the punishment. He had, however, been extremely proud of his little Elizabeth for her courage in gaining revenge against her antagonist, and very amused. Yet he knew Elizabeth wouldn't have pushed him into the pond had she not feared that he would harm her again, and so Tom went out of his way to catch up to George Wickham and warn him to never again lay a hand on his daughter, or suffer the consequences.
Elizabeth spent three days sequestered in her home, forced to watch over her three younger sisters and not allowed to read, for her mother had not only forbidden her the outdoors but also books. Sandy and Jane spent their days in the Pemberley kitchens. Elizabeth soon became bored senseless, as Mary spent all of her time reading or sneaking off to the Pemberley pianoforte without even bothering to share her books with her older sister, and the younger two, being a mere eleven months apart, spent most of their time together plotting to make her life more miserable than George Wickham could imagine. (She could not prove that they actually plotted, but she suspected.)
On the fourth day, just following the noon meal, Elizabeth saw a solitary figure approaching the cottage. She had been trying to encourage Lydia and Kitty to run outside so she would have a legitimate reason to go out and was therefore quick to spot Richard as he made his way to the front door.
"Good morning, Mr. Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said politely, making her bow with a surprising measure of calm. A person would certainly not be able to tell that she had spent the past three days daydreaming about him.
"I believe you agreed to call me Richard," he said. "And did you not tell me I could call you Elizabeth?"
"As long as you do not call me--"
"Eliza. Yes, I remember how you dislike the name." He smiled. "I was wondering why I have not seen you in the past couple of days. My cousin tells me you are forever underfoot, and yet I have not seen you since our first meeting."
"I try to stay out of the young master's way as best I can," Elizabeth mumbled. "But the reason you have not seen me is because my mother heard about the incident at the pond the day we met. She has forbidden me to leave the house."
"Are you allowed visitors, or are they forbidden as well?"
"Mamma said nothing about visitors, so please come in."
Richard's smile broadened. His cousin had thought him mad when he had asked where he might find the girl, but Darcy had informed him about the Bennet cottage. Richard had been unable to tell him why he had asked for her direction, for he was uncertain of the answer himself. All he knew was that something in the pretty little girl's eyes fascinated him. It as not every girl who would have the courage to push an older boy into a pond, especially one who had a history of teazing her.
It was also not every servant's daughter who could be found reading by the pond.
Richard took a look at Elizabeth's home. It was kept quite clean, hardly surprising for a family in servitude, but it did surprise him because there were four young children about.
"I would offer you something, but I am uncertain--"
"Do not concern yourself with such trifles. It is not as though this were a society call. It is merely that of a friend." Richard seated himself in a chair.
Elizabeth felt a bit disappointed, but reminded herself that she was not as adult as she would wish, and it would be years before Richard might feel something more for her than friendship. After all, she was nine and he was fourteen. There would be time for that later.
Her disappointment faded fast in the face of her curiosity. Richard was the first visitor to Pemberley who had bothered to seek her out to talk, and she was always interested in knowing more about the world. "Do you know much of society?" she asked, sitting in the chair next to him.
"Not much, I fear. My family divides their time between London and our family estate in Devonshire, and when I am with them, they are on the estate. I have spent the bulk of my life at Matlock or at Eton."
"What are Matlock and Eton?"
"Matlock is the name of my family's estate."
"Is it as big as Pemberley?"
Richard grinned. "Larger."
Elizabeth was astounded. She had thought Pemberley to be almost a country unto itself, being so grand, and here was Richard telling her there was a place larger. "Is Eton the name of another estate?"
"No. Eton is where I attend school."
"Do you enjoy going there?"
Richard shrugged. "It is necessary. All Fitzwilliam sons attend Eton, then Cambridge."
"Is Cambridge another school?"
"Yes."
"Why do you have to go to another school? Can you not stay at Eton?"
"No..." Richard began to understand something about the nature of Elizabeth's questions. They sounded horribly naive, and had he been his cousin he would undoubtedly have laughed at them. She was a very intelligent girl who had experienced so little of the world that she was hungry for any sort of knowledge. It explained why he had first seen her reading. "Eton is a school for boys. Cambridge is for men when they have finished at Eton."
"Oh." Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I read a book recently in which a character had just finished his schooling and wished to go to university. Is Cambridge a university, then?"
"Yes, it is."
"It seems to me as though boys spent a great deal of time getting an education. I would like to know more, but I do not think I would like to spend so much time having to get it. Does it seem like a long time to you?"
"It certainly seems so at times. However, there does come a time when education is finally finished and I shall have to make my way in the world."
"What will you do then?"
"I do not know. Were I my brother, I would eventually become the Earl of Matlock. As I am not, 'tis the army, the clergy, or the law for me."
"You do not sound eager about any of those. Why can you not be an earl like your brother? I think you would make a nice earl."
Richard wished he could laugh, but he got the impression that Elizabeth would become greatly offended if he did, so he controlled himself. "That is the way the world works. The eldest sons inherit everything, younger sons are left to scrounge for themselves." He sighed, all traces of humor fading. "You are correct, however, in stating that I am not particularly inclined to any of the choices suited to my lot in life."
Elizabeth sniffed, "I hate that phrase. 'Lot in life.' It is as though because you were born to a role, you must never wish to leave it. Or even if you do, you are not allowed."
"That is not necessarily true," Richard said. "There have been instances--not often, mind you, but I have heard of them--in which younger sons are successful in creating a happy life for themselves. Often, this is because of some elderly bachelor relative dying and leaving them a fortune. I have often wished that I had an elderly bachelor relative, but unfortunately my family is limited. On my father's side, I have my aunt Lady Anne, who has children, and my aunt Lady Catherine, who has a daughter she looks to marry off to my cousin. I have often joked that if Darcy does not marry Anne de Bourgh, I shall be more than happy to do so."
"Why would you do that?" Elizabeth asked.
Richard looked at her. "Anne is the heiress to Rosings and a great fortune. Should I marry her, then I shall be the master of Rosings."
Elizabeth nearly lost any and all admiration she had for Richard right there. "You would do such a thing?"
He laughed. "Absolutely not, to the disappointment of my mother and father. I fear I am like my cousin in one respect of which I am quite proud."
"And what is that?"
"I wish to marry for love."
It was an almost absurd statement to come from the mouth of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet he said it with such solemnity that Elizabeth could not help but believe him. "I did not realize that Mr. Darcy wished to marry for love."
Richard nodded. "He shall settle for nothing less. He has seen how his parents loved each other and feels that he deserves the same. As for myself...well...I have seen my parents, who do not love each other, and I do not wish a fate on myself. My poor brother shall undoubtedly marry whomever he is told to marry, but as for me, I shall marry where I please."
Elizabeth was most pleased to hear it. "I think I shall do the same," she said. She then returned to their original subject, and asked, "If you do not like any of your choices in the future, what shall you do?"
"Oh, I dare say that I shall eventually choose one of them. I just wish that I did not have to do so. I do not particularly like the idea of risking my life in the army. I barely manage to stay awake in church now, so I do not think a clergy calling is in my future. And as for the law...well, perhaps there is a possibility that I would go into the law. Of course, lawyers get very little respect."
"Perhaps you could go into trade, as my Uncle Gardiner has."
"Your uncle is in trade?"
Elizabeth nodded. "My mother is extremely proud of him. She calls him a 'self-made man,' for he was the son of a blacksmith, just as my mother was, and only recently he had got himself a house in Gracechurch Street in London."
Richard sighed. "A position in trade is unfortunately not an option for me, Elizabeth. My family would never allow it."
"Whyever not? There is nothing wrong with it. 'Tis a good, honest living, my mother says. Quite profitable. She says that if her brother does not marry that all his money shall go to her, for her sister married a lawyer and there is no need for her to get any."
"My family would see being in trade as a degradation."
Elizabeth felt her temper rising, and though she knew that this was not Richard's opinion, she could not help but feel upset at the young man. "It is not a degradation--"
"You mistake my problem. Elizabeth, I am the second son of an earl. Earl's sons do not make their living in trade, however profitable it may be. They become clergymen or attorneys or soldiers, and they manage to survive in these positions. These are considered honorable choices. A person in trade is looked upon as somewhat vulgar. My parents would consider it an embarrassment that a son of theirs chose to make his living in such a way. It is the way of the world."
"I do not like the world. My uncle is quite respectable, I assure you."
"I have no doubts as to that." Richard smiled. "After all, he has you for a niece."
Elizabeth recognized the compliment and beamed. "Thank you, sir."
"I am not saying that all people would see his profession in the same light my parents would. I am merely reflecting the views of those with position in society."
"Then I do not like society, either."
"You cannot go around disliking everything, you know. If you do, your life shall be vastly narrowed."
"Hmpf." Elizabeth knew he was correct, but she would not bring herself to say it. "I still think it most unfair that the world is this way."
"You are right, it is unfair. Yet there is nothing we can do to change things."
"Perhaps we could escape to America! I have heard that all men are equal there, and presumably all women. I could work in the stables as my father has and not have to worry about learning 'women's work.'"
"I do not think America is much better than England. Indeed, it is far less civilized."
"That was my point."
Richard chuckled, and for a wistful moment wished he could keep this precious young girl this way forever, at this age, with the innocence and outlook of the world that she had. He knew that his cousin had been correct when he had said she would have to lose much of her charm in order to survive in this world. Future employers would not look kindly on her dislike of their rules and society's edicts.
"I wish it were that simple," he told her.
There was a pounding on the door, and Elizabeth stood up quickly. "I wonder who that could be," she murmured, for a visitor to the Bennet cottage was extremely rare. She opened the door and frowned.
Young Mr. Darcy stood there, with George Wickham standing just behind him.
"Good afternoon, sir," she said without bothering to bow. She made no greeting to George, who was glaring at her, as usual. "Did you wish to speak to my father? For if you did, he is not here."
"I came to collect my cousin. Richard, did you forget that we were going fishing this afternoon?"
Richard reached into his pocket for a watch. Glancing at it, he smiled. "I confess that I had lost track of the time, Darcy. I was having a most interesting conversation with Elizabeth. We were discussing school and society."
"I fail to see why she would be interested," George said. "After all, she shall never be a part of either."
"Perhaps that is why she is so interested," Richard said coolly. Elizabeth's high opinion of him rose as she quickly grasped his own dislike of George Wickham.
"You should not encourage her. It shall only serve to make her think higher of herself than she shall ever be able to be." George gave the girl a contemptuous glance.
"I would think you should be more concerned about such a difficulty than I," Elizabeth said tartly. "I am not hoping to aspire to something more than I can ever achieve."
"What exactly are you implying?" George demanded.
"Everyone talks about how you are getting above yourself, George. Pretending that you are the master of the estate. I have heard tell that you boss plenty of younger children around, not just myself. You think yourself to be something more than what you are--which is merely the son of the steward."
Mr. Darcy answered before George could. "And you, miss, are the daughter of the coachman and the cook.," he said calmly. "Yet you sneak into my father's library and filch books, you do not bother to learn what you should when my father has been so generous to your parents, and you have yet to control your tongue. You should perhaps take a look at your own behaviour before criticizing another on theirs, for it is clear to me that you are not the better in the comparison."
Elizabeth felt tears stinging her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I think perhaps you should leave." Her voice was a cold, controlled whisper.
Mr. Darcy looked as though he had something to say, but Richard cut him off, saying, "I think she is right. If we do not get started soon, the fish will think it too hot to come to the surface and we shall catch nothing. Come, cousin."
Richard escorted his cousin and George Wickham away from the Bennet cottage. He turned back to take one more look at Elizabeth, who still stood in the doorway, looking at her scuffed slippers and undoubtedly crying.
"That was quite arrogant of you, Darcy," Richard said. "Why did you say such things to her?"
"Richard, you mollycoddle that girl and I cannot imagine why. If she does not learn her place in the world soon, she shall never accept it. What should become of her then?"
"I think Richard likes her," George said slyly.
Richard turned to look at him. "You are correct. I think she is a charming, funny little girl. She is also quite bright and I am certain she knows her place in the world already. Should she wish to have something more, I do not see why you should teaze her about it. Coincidentally, she is correct in saying that you should not be getting above yourself, sir."
George's jaw tightened at the rebuke, but he did not say anything. He knew quite well that Richard was correct, and he could not be drawn into argument. It would not look good.
And if there was one thing George Wickham had learned in his fourteen years, it was how to look good--and make your enemies look bad. It was something he would never forget.
The Will of George Darcy Posted on Wednesday, 28 April 1999
Much of that summer was spent in similar fashion. Richard would spend his mornings with Elizabeth either at the Bennet cottage or at the pond whenever Mr. Darcy and George Wickham had not commandeered it. Inevitably, both of the boys would come to collect Richard for an outing and would insult little Elizabeth in the process. No matter what Richard said to his cousin or his cousin's companion after, the outcome remained the same. Slowly, Richard realized that as much as she tried to fight it, Elizabeth was beginning to crack. In early August, she stopped asking him to bring her books from the Pemberley library, for she no longer bothered to get them herself, Mr. Darcy's censure of her borrowing from it still in her mind. He heard her father comment that Elizabeth was not spending as much time in the stables as she had before that summer, but Tom also thought that Richard had a great deal to do with that and was saddened, but not upset.
Richard knew that his visits to Elizabeth were doing her more harm than good, yet he could not help but think that she might miss them if he did not see her. Still, he decided that perhaps a little distance would not hurt, as he was due to leave soon. He sent her three books paid for out of his own pocket with a small note, saying that they were hers to keep.
He did not realize that in doing so, he lifted her spirits greatly. Not only did she have books of her own, but she did not have to endure any antagonism from Mr. Darcy and George. She cherished the three books. She sent Richard a very nice little note thanking him for the gesture.
Richard wrote her a letter in response, begging her pardon for not being present to see her joy in the gift, and promising that he would write her as often as he could.
Richard left the following week, having made arrangements for one new book a week to be delivered to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He did not tell his cousin what he intended to do, for he knew that Darcy would only teaze him. By the time they had returned to Eton, Richard was quite frustrated with his cousin and his attitude. He had never recalled Darcy to be so malicious, and certainly never cruel to a servant--or a servant's daughter. He could not understand what it was about Elizabeth that brought it out in him, and he did not think he wished to know.
Richard was unable to return to Pemberley for six years. His schooling prevented the trip for most of the year. The next summer, he was obligated to visit his aunt Lady Catherine in Kent, a miserable trip and, in the opinion of both himself and his cousin, a completely wasted holiday.
George Wickham spent but two weeks with them at Rosings before being sent home to Pemberley, where his father had taken ill. After George left, Richard noticed a rather interesting change which came over Darcy. He was less proud and opinionated. Richard would not go so far as to say he was warm and outgoing, for his cousin would never become that, but the change was nothing less than remarkable.
Indeed, one afternoon, when Darcy came across Richard writing a letter to Elizabeth, he merely asked, "Do you still send the girl books and letters?"
Richard immediately felt his spine straighten. "I do. She enjoys them both. You shall be happy to know that she has attempted to learn to cook."
"I know already," Darcy said. "My father wrote me a rather amusing tale about how she managed to catch the kitchen on fire. Sandy was practically in tears, and Eliza apologized profusely, but Father seemed to think that she had done it deliberately so her mother would cease trying to teach her what she does not wish to learn."
Richard thought Darcy was insulting the girl again, but when his cousin chuckled, he realized that his cousin was as amused as he himself had been when Elizabeth had written to him. He would not betray the girl's confidences that Mr. Darcy was correct about her motives.
"I dare say she's back in the stables with her father, where she is happy."
"Darcy, you astonish me," Richard said, setting aside his letter.
"Why is that?"
"Because last summer, you spent all your time telling her that she needed to learn everything a girl should learn. You were rather cruel to her, cousin, and yet you can now sound as though you were relieved that she is precisely where she was last summer."
"Well, I happen to like Pemberley the way it is. If she burns it to the ground, it shall be impossible to duplicate." Darcy sighed. "I have given serious thought to my behaviour of last summer, and it troubles me. I am not saying that Eliza Bennet does not need to learn respect for her betters in society, for she does. I am not saying that it is fine for her to continue on as she has been."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I should have been far more polite about it. I was most critical, Richard. My father sent me a letter soon after we returned to school, which is when he suggested that we spend the summer here at Rosings. He said that he had heard about Eliza, and he said that my behaviour was very bad, indeed. He told me that if one wishes to have respect and confidence in the staff, he should not treat them in such a manner. I have thought, often, of writing the girl a letter apologizing for my actions. Yet every attempt I made sounded as though I were still criticizing her, and that would not have helped matters at all."
"You are quite right about that." An idea was beginning to take shape in Richard's mind, an idea that struck him simultaneously as being completely insane and yet rather rational.
Every time Darcy had seen Elizabeth, he had been in the company of George Wickham, who it could be said did not like the girl at all. Had George, for whatever reasons, exacerbated Darcy's opinions of the girl?
Rubbish. Utter rubbish, Richard. Your cousin has a mind of his own and in no way could George Wickham influence him. Indeed, George is far more likely to be influenced by Darcy than the other way around.
The idea, however, would not go away, and so in his letter to Elizabeth he mentioned that Darcy sent his well wishes and an apology for his behaviour over the previous summer.
When she received the letter at Pemberley, Elizabeth scoffed at the notion that Fitzwilliam Darcy would ever bother apologizing to someone like her. More likely, Richard was just being diplomatic. She respected him for the effort but saw through it.
Richard spent the next four summers with his family in Devonshire. By this time, he was only writing to Elizabeth on occasion, and her responses were few and far between as well. He had become quite involved in the university life, not to mention that he had finally felt a patriotic stirring of sorts because the army had started to become appealing. He still had another year to go at Cambridge, but he had almost decided that once he was finished, he would join the army.
Elizabeth missed his letters greatly, and she longed to see him. The old saying was that absence made the heart grow fonder, and in Elizabeth's case it proved to be true. Not having seen Richard Fitzwilliam in five years made her recall with vivid clarity that summer in which she had endured what she considered dreadful torture and had experienced her happiest moments.
The best moments of that summer sustained her when she had to face her mother's increasing anxiety about her future, her father's increasing sadness because she was growing older and he knew he should no longer allow her to spend her days with him in the stables, and her sisters' endless stream of fights, servants' gossip, and daydreams. Elizabeth longed for escape.
She longed for a world in which she could be proud that she could pick future racehorses better than her father could. She longed for a world in which the fact that she was a girl meant little in the face of her having a fine mind. Most of all, she longed for a world in which George Wickham was sent off to some foreign land like America and Richard Fitzwilliam returned to marry her.
Instead, it seemed quite likely that Richard was going to be away from Pemberley a great long time, and Elizabeth might never see him again. She knew from his letters that he was excited about the prospect of joining the army. He would, thanks to his connections, likely rise through the ranks quickly. Someday, she figured, he would be a commander or general or whatever they called them these days. (She avoided military stories like the plague once she realized where Richard's interests lie.)
Just when it seemed that she had reached her lowest point, something happened of an unexpected nature which brought her greatest wish to fruition--but also made her worst fear a reality.
Mr. George Darcy died the following summer after a long illness.
"I wish I could take joy in his return," Elizabeth confided to her sister, Jane. Jane was a full year older than her and quite gentle, but she was also trustworthy. Jane was the only person who knew the truth of Elizabeth's feelings for Richard, though her father had guessed accurately. Elizabeth knew his opinion of servants who dreamed of marrying far above their stations, and thus the topic was never brought up between them. "But I would never wish a person's death merely so I could see him again."
"It is a tragic time for all of us," Jane said prudently.
The two were in the kitchen that morning, Jane preparing lunch under her mother's watchful eye while Elizabeth whittled potatoes down to little nubs. Sandy Bennet was still determined that Elizabeth learn to cook, but she kept her daughter away from activities which would require her to do much more than she was now. Elizabeth escaped such duties whenever she could, despite the fact that was now fifteen.
Sandy frowned as she saw her second daughter's work. "Honestly, Elizabeth, can you not even manage to peel a potato without ruining it?"
"I have told you many a time before, Mamma, that cooking is simply not something I can do. Perhaps I should try something else," Elizabeth replied.
"You have tried everything else," Sandy said through gritted teeth. She had no idea why Tom loved and favored this child so much, as she was so much trouble that Sandy could hardly understand how such a child had been born to her.
Elizabeth reached for another potato, but her mother snatched it out of her hand and shooed her out of the kitchen. Disappointed that she would be unable to continue talking to Jane (when her mother could not hear) about Richard, Elizabeth wandered toward the house, found one of her cherished books from Richard, and walked toward the pond.
It was a beautiful June day. It seemed most unfair that the weather was as nice as it was, almost as though the passing of a truly great man such as Mr. George Darcy mattered little. Elizabeth supposed that in the scheme of the world, it did matter little, but she felt that perhaps a grey sky would be more apropos to the occasion. Something to indicate that the heavens were weeping for the man.
When she reached the pond, she sat on the ground and opened her book. Try though she might, she could not seem to become engrossed in it as she normally would. Her thoughts were too flurried for concentration.
Richard was coming to Pemberley. That was the main thought. Richard, whom she had not seen in six years, was coming back to her at last. Elizabeth could almost picture the way he would look now, so handsome and mature. She had grown a great deal herself, or so she felt. She was not so pretty as Jane, but she did think she was rather nice-looking, on the whole. Her father always told her she had the prettiest eyes in all of England, and the best smile. Would Richard notice? Would he notice that she looked much like a woman should look? Would he still care for her as much as he had seemed to six years ago? Could their friendship progress into something more meaningful?
That was what Elizabeth wished. As she read more, and became more aware of things in the world, the more she wanted for Richard to love her. At nine, she had had only a mild understanding of what she wanted. At fifteen, she knew that what she wanted was to be his wife. She would do anything to achieve that goal...and yet...
She knew how unlikely it was that she would ever achieve it. Her father would have an apoplectic fit if she even dared tell Richard how she felt, much less did something to achieve it.
And with her luck, the two hell-demons coming home from university with Richard would discover her true feelings and then she would never hear the end of it. That was the next thing that was revolving in her mind. With Richard came the new master of Pemberley and his friend, whom Elizabeth had not seen together since that summer six years ago. Mr. Darcy had come home upon occasion by himself, and George Wickham had also come home alone when his father was sick and three years ago when he died. Though Mr. Darcy seemed to be nothing more than distant when he saw her, and certainly nothing like he had been that dreadful summer, George Wickham continued his antagonism of her.
It seemed to Elizabeth as though he searched her out to specifically harass her, and if he no longer boxed her ears, he still wounded her spirit with his endless taunts about how she was an unnatural girl, how she would never amount to anything. His worst comment was that when Mr. George Darcy died, Fitzwilliam would take great pleasure in dismissing the entire Bennet family from his employ because of Elizabeth's wayward behaviour. He painted a bleak picture which stayed with her for a long time.
And now, it seemed, that prediction may very well come to pass. The attorney for Mr. George Darcy had arrived at Pemberley yesterday and was now staying at the Inn at Lambton. He had stopped by the Bennet cottage and requested the presence of Tom and Elizabeth at the reading of Mr. Darcy's will. Though Tom had seemed surprised and a bit pleased, Elizabeth knew that something was going to go wrong. After all, had not George Wickham sworn that the Bennets would be no more should young Mr. Darcy become the master? Was he not the new master's friend? Had he not been the old master's godson, and particular favourite?
Elizabeth had not repeated her fears to her father, but she was dreading the following afternoon.
"Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth looked up from the book she had been trying to read. Across the pond from her stood Richard Fitzwilliam, looking as handsome and as wonderful as he had six years ago when they had met in this very spot.
"Richard?" She closed the book and stood up, realizing that she was not making the greatest of impressions by looking like a bedraggled child.
Richard smiled. "I wish I could say you have not changed at all, but it is not the case. You have grown up a great deal."
"Some things change, but others remain the same. I always thought that a rather dull cliché, but in this case I believe it to be true," Elizabeth said. "And so you have caught me reading at the pond once again. Only this time, the book belongs to me and not the Pemberley library."
Richard dismounted from his horse and led it around to the other side of the pond. After he had tied it to a tree, he walked over to Elizabeth and hugged her. Elizabeth, startled by the intimate act and by the startling reaction her senses had to his touch, almost forgot to put her arms around him.
"Well, well, well. What have we here? The ever-perfect soon-to-be Lieutenant Fitzwilliam being caught dallying by the pond with a servant girl? Richard, I never thought you had it in you," a sardonic voice said behind them.
Elizabeth stiffened before Richard did, and they both turned to face George Wickham. Richard frowned at the young man and said, "Considering your long history of dallying with the servant girls, I am not surprised that you interpret a friendly hug of consolation as something more intimate."
"If you wish to call it consolation, you are certainly free to do so." George gave Elizabeth a look which made her shiver in disgust. "She is a rather pretty girl. Well-chosen, Richard...and if you are truly uninterested in her, or when you are finished with her, I would not mind having a go at her. Yes...a rather pretty girl indeed. Just the sort for--"
Elizabeth knew what George was insinuating, which indicated that he did not recognize her. She had changed a great deal in three years, but she did not think she had changed that much. "'I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me,'" she quoted from Shakespeare. "Especially a man such as you, George Wickham."
George did not recognize the quote, but Richard did. His lips quirked in his efforts not to laugh. George, however, saw something he soon recognized in the young woman standing beside Richard.
"Eliza Bennet."
"One and the same, George. I see I must have changed a great deal for you to suggest that I would ever be interested in your affections, but you have not changed at all. Indeed, I dare say you are as you were...six years ago."
George glanced at the discarded book lying on the ground. "I see you still think yourself above your station," he said. "Still stealing books from the Pemberley library. I would not count on that continuing for much longer. You...have not forgotten everything I warned you about, have you?"
Elizabeth refused to show her fear to him. "I care not for idle threats," she replied. "And for your information, sir, I stole this from no one. 'Tis my own book."
"And where did a servant get the money to pay for a book? Especially one who does nothing to earn money?"
"I do not see what business it is of yours where I get my books."
"I was merely curious. You are a rather pretty girl, and I imagine that you could make some decent money if you took up--"
"George, that is enough," Richard snapped. "If you can do nothing but insult the girl, I suggest that you continue on to the house."
"Ah...I see you are still enraptured by her untamed spirit," George said with a smirk.
Elizabeth could not prevent the pleasure she received from that comment. Richard, enraptured with her? She could only hope it to be true!
Richard's eyes traveled past George to see his cousin approaching. Fitzwilliam outwardly looked much as he always did, but in his eyes Richard could see the devastation he felt over his father's death. And only Richard knew that Fitzwilliam had spent an hour alone in his room crying. George had been elsewhere, not that Richard had cared. George would only have jeered Darcy's grieving, and even if he had not, Richard got the impression that Darcy would not have welcomed his old friend's presence.
Indeed, in the past eighteen months, there seemed to be a rift of sorts between the two friends. Whereas George had not changed, Darcy had matured a great deal. Richard had grown to respect his cousin much more than he had in the past, and the two had become close.
"It seems we are forever destined to meet you at this pond, Eliza," Mr. Darcy said calmly. "It is good to see you."
"I wish it could be under better circumstances," Elizabeth replied, for lack of anything better to say. "Mr. Darcy, please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss."
"Thank you," he said. "George, Richard, let us continue to the house."
"Shall I see you later?" Elizabeth whispered to Richard.
"I can only stay for three days, and then I am to report with my new commander. I was planning to write and tell you that I have accepted a position with Colonel Taggert's company. I am to be Lieutenant Fitzwilliam, I believe."
"Promise me that we shall talk before you leave," Elizabeth said.
"I promise." Richard patted her shoulder, then walked away to catch up to his friends.
Mr. Grainger observed the motley group which had gathered together the following afternoon. They were the people who were mentioned in Mr. George Darcy's will. Not three hours before, the gentleman had been laid to rest, and now they were to read his will. Mr. Grainger saw few problems within the will itself. It was standard, if he did say so himself.
"Please be seated," he said. "We shall get this out of the way as quickly as can be managed."
Elizabeth sat between her father and Richard, who had been rather surprised to see her but had not the opportunity to question her.
Once everyone had settled down, Mr. Grainger read the will. He started with all the legal bits which negated any other will Mr. Darcy had ever drafted, and assured everyone that the gentleman had been of sound mind and body at the time his will had been written.
"To my godson, George Alfred Wickham, I leave a legacy of one thousand pounds. He has, in the past, indicated to me that he is interested in perhaps pursuing a career in the church. Should he choose to do so, I would wish that the first available living be given him. I leave this to the discretion of my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy.
"To my faithful servant, Thomas Bennet, I leave a legacy of two thousand pounds and my prized racehorse, Sweet Liar. Tom, you and your family have served the Darcy family well over the years, and it is my deepest regret that no one has ever thought to reward you in the manner you deserve. It is my hope that you shall continue to work for my son, for no one knows the stables as you do."
There was a stunned silence as Tom realized his great fortune. Two thousand pounds...one could live quite comfortably on an income of one hundred pounds a year, especially if he remained at Pemberley as Mr. Darcy had wished him to do. And in addition to the money--Sweet Liar! The three-year-old was the prize of the Pemberley stables, probably worth as much as the legacy left him.
"To Miss Elizabeth Bennet I leave a legacy of one thousand pounds and her choice of any twenty books from my library for her very own. I would also wish that the library always be open to her as long as she is at Pemberley. The legacy is to be placed in trust for her, to be administered by her father, Thomas Bennet, and my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy, until such time as she reaches the age of one and twenty. Eliza was always a great favourite with my dear wife, Lady Anne, and I do this in her honour."
Elizabeth was even more stunned than her father had been. She could barely recall Lady Anne, yet the woman had been the cause of her receiving a legacy of her own. One thousand pounds!
She squeezed her father's hand and looked over at George Wickham to see his reaction to the news. He looked none too pleased.
The remainder of the will left his estate to his son, a fine inheritance and substantial dowry to his daughter, and left the guardianship of Georgiana to Mr. Darcy and Richard. Richard was also given an annuity of one hundred pounds a year to last his lifetime, to his surprise and pleasure. The annuity, combined with the bit of money he received from his family and the income he would have from the army, would last him quite well.
The will having been read, the group dispersed.
"I cannot believe it," Elizabeth murmured. "I am most grateful to Mr. Darcy, but I never suspected..."
"Nor I," Tom added. "'Twas most generous of him."
Fitzwilliam Darcy glanced at the two, and the three servants who had been given generous pensions under the conditions of his father's will. He wondered if, when he died, anyone would consider him to be most generous.
"Well, Eliza, I would imagine that you would wish to peruse the Pemberley library for your choice of books," George Wickham said snidely.
"I would not wish to inconvenience the family at such a time," she replied tartly. "It would be a great show of disrespect to the man who has been so generous to me."
Darcy almost smiled, but George, having turned an ugly shade of red, approached him. "Fitz, I realize that this is probably not the best of times to talk about this, but I was wondering if we could discuss the terms of your father's will."
Darcy nodded curtly and escorted George to his father's study. Once the two had seated themselves, George got straight to the point.
"You know, as well as I, that I have no intention of entering the church," George said lazily. "There are far too many demands of a man of God, and I somehow do not think I am temperamentally suited to it."
Darcy thought of the women who paraded into and out of George's life with such speed that Darcy could not recall many names. He doubted if George could remember many of them, either.
It was one of the many things that Darcy now found repugnant about his old friend.
If Darcy had been asked to pinpoint when his distaste of George Wickham had formed, he would likely say that it had been following the death of George's father. George had thought there would be money left for him and had been bitter that none would be forthcoming. George's mother had spent well beyond the family's means during her life, and Arthur Wickham had just managed to pay off his debts when he died.
George had returned from his father's funeral furious with the man for not leaving him anything. Darcy had been horrified at George's lack of remorse at the death of his father. Indeed, it seemed as though he, Darcy, grieved more for the kindly old steward than his own son.
The problems built up from there, and now Darcy marveled that he had ever liked the young man who sat across the desk from him.
"I believe you are correct," Darcy said. "So what is it that you wish to do?"
"I have not quite decided. The law seems rather interesting, even if it does mean having to get more education. I would like to be a lawyer. I imagine they make a pretty penny. But...you realize that one thousand pounds shall not be nearly enough to pay my expenses."
Now we come to it, Darcy thought. "All right," he said. "What sum did you have in mind?"
"Well, I have been giving it some thought. I suspected that your father would offer me the first available living, and I figured that it would be Kympton."
Naturally he would choose the richest plum my father had.
"So...I figured how much I would earn in income a year, and figured that about five thousand pounds would cover what I shall be sacrificing."
"That was only should you choose to take orders, and should the living become available. You may have had to settle for Lambton, whose living is much less substantial," Darcy replied. "I think five thousand pounds might be a bit too high."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Two thousand five hundred."
"Four."
"Three."
"Done!" George knew quite well that the living probably would not be worth much more than three, but had not wished to go lower. He smiled. "To be added to the thousand-pound legacy left me in your father's will. That should generate an income of some circumstance. I might well seek a place in society for myself. I dare say I shall be quite a catch to some ladies."
Darcy could see George Wickham's future as certainly as though he had already lived it. The four thousand pounds he was about to give him would probably not last long, to be spent on spirits, women, gambling, and other such vices. George might attempt to enter society, but it would not work out for him.
Still, giving him the money would insure that he left Pemberley swiftly, hopefully never to return. Darcy opened a drawer in the desk. In short order, he wrote George Wickham a cheque for four thousand pounds, wished him well, and watched him leave.
George stopped just long enough to run into Georgiana. He gave the ten-year-old's hand a quick kiss, gave her a little smile, and left.
Darcy frowned at the scene, but did not bother noting his sister's reaction to the dashing young man who had kissed her hand and smiled at her. Had he noticed, it would have troubled him greatly.
Moonlight and Daydreams Posted on Wednesday, 12 May 1999
"Well!" Sandy said with a gleam in her eyes that evening. "A hundred pounds a year! Think of what we shall be able to do with that sum, my dear!"
Tom had been thinking of little besides Sweet Liar all evening. He could hardly believe his good fortune in being given the horse. He was thinking of what he could do with him. He could make a great deal of money, and Sandy would hardly notice.
Tom knew his wife quite well. Sandy would spend every cent of the two thousand pounds they would receive from the legacy. But perhaps, he thought, he could make money off of Sweet Liar and put that money away, for his children someday. Elizabeth had her own money, but a mere fifty pounds a year was not much.
"Yes, dear," he said.
"I believe I shall turn over things in the kitchen to Jane," Sandy said. "Or perhaps I shall just have her leave as well, and we could take that money and use it as a dowry of sorts. I am certain that if we could send her to my brother Edward in London--"
"Absolutely not," Tom said. "That money is not to be spent on just one child. There should be plenty enough for all five."
"If we could marry Jane to a wealthy man, dear, then the others would have plenty of money."
Tom sighed. So Sandy still clung to her dreams of having one of her daughters marry well. It was what came of reading all the time, he thought. He was far more realistic. He knew Jane was quite beautiful, but that young boy training to be the new master's valet, what was his name, Bingley, was the best she could expect to do. Jane certainly seemed to be smitten with him, although at sixteen Tom did not think she knew her own heart well enough to marry. The last thing he wished her to do was to make the mistake he had made in marrying.
"--and then what pin-money she shall have!" Sandy was saying. She had ignored the lack of response from her husband.
"Suppose Jane falls in love with someone else?" Tom asked. "Someone who is not wealthy? What becomes of Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty and Lydia?"
"Elizabeth, for whatever reasons, now has her own inheritance. I am certain that it shall provide for her quite well, even though I do not think she deserved it one whit."
"Then what of your other children?"
Sandy had no answer.
"In light of your inability to answer, my dear, I suggest that we close the discussion. The money was left to me, though I have no objections to your spending it as you see fit, so long as you do not spend more than one hundred pounds per year and distribute it equally among our children. If you do not wish to give any money to Elizabeth and therefore increase what you may give the other four, I am certain she would have no problems with that. Mr. Darcy has assured me that she shall have the interest from her own inheritance."
"I suppose you are far more interested in that silly horse you were given than in the money," Sandy grumbled.
"I must confess, dear, that you are correct. Sweet Liar is a precious gift."
"'Tis a horse, nothing more," Sandy scoffed.
"I suppose it is, but you know how I adore horses. They tend to be so much more amiable than people at times."
Sandy was too excited about the prospect of having more money than she had ever had in her life to object to his comment.
Elizabeth was again sitting at the pond, watching the sun set over the water. She had been thrilled to discover that George Wickham had left Pemberley soon after his private meeting with Mr. Darcy. The servants had been just as pleased to have the unpleasant young man go, and had been admirably horrified at his callous treatment of the Darcy family during this tragedy. They recalled his behaviour following his own father's death, and said that it should not have surprised them as it did.
"This is quite beautiful at night," she heard a voice say behind her. Elizabeth turned to see Richard. She smiled.
"Quite beautiful," she repeated. "I like spending sunsets here, when the sun hits the water. I sometimes think that I would never like to leave Pemberley, for I could see all of nature's wonders from right here."
"You should see some of the Society balls I have seen," Richard said. "There are some wonders there, though not all come from nature."
Richard took a seat upon the ground close to her. Elizabeth could feel her heart racing at his proximity. Try not to reveal a thing. Allow him to speak first if there is anything to be revealed here tonight.
"I guess you have heard that George is gone," Richard said.
"I have. I cannot say the news distressed me in the slightest. He was rude and unpardonable, and Pemberley's shades were being quite polluted by his presence."
"I dare say my cousin agreed with you, else he would not have agreed to whatever demands Wickham made of him."
"Your cousin? I thought the two of them to be such great companions."
"Perhaps six years ago."
"What has changed?"
"You have not seen them together the way I have, Elizabeth. I think Darcy has come to realize just how worthless an individual George Wickham is."
Elizabeth made a small sound of disbelief. Richard looked at her with a frown. "Did you not get my letter with Darcy's apology?" he asked.
"I did get the letter, but I know that it was not the truth. He would no more apologize to someone like me than he would allow his sister to marry his valet." She smiled at him. "Though it was quite lovely of you to try to mend the breach."
"I would not lie to you. Darcy did wish for me to send his apologies."
"I also knew it was a lie because if he did wish to apologize, which was highly doubtful, he would have done so himself."
"He was afraid to apologize because he thought you would misinterpret..."
"He would apologize and continue to criticize me!"
Richard sighed. He had forgotten how quick her mind was. Better, he decided, to change the subject altogether. "I presume you spend a great deal of time here," Richard said.
Elizabeth nearly laughed at his obvious ploy, but decided that it would be best if they talked of something else. She might end up insulting his cousin and that would not do at all. "I do. Especially at sunset. Most of the time, I just take in the surroundings and daydream."
"Daydream about what?"
Elizabeth felt herself turning red. Richard chuckled.
"What are you laughing about?" she demanded.
"From the colour your face has turned, I think you dream about a young man." When Elizabeth only blushed further, his smile widened.
"All right, I shall confess. It is a young man I think of when I come to this pond."
"Let me see if I can guess who it is..."
"Richard, do not make a game of this, please."
"Come now, Elizabeth. We have not seen each other in six years, and I seem to recall that you said you would never marry anyone because all the men of the world were annoying. I felt rather honoured that you were willing to make an exception for me."
"I think that was because I did not see you as a man." The words were out of Elizabeth's mouth before she could stop them, and she knew that the truth would be no less awkward. She had not seen him as a man because she had seen him as so much more. Naturally, there would be no telling him that.
"I ought to take offense at that, you know."
Elizabeth wanted to bash herself in the head with the book she had brought. Foolish, silly girl! Talking in such a manner to him! You are trying to charm him with your feminine wiles! Enchant him with your maturity! Entice him with...well, whatever would entice him! Instead, you talk about foolish childhood things and insult him!
"I did not mean it--"
"No, it is all right. I realize that you considered me to be above the other men of your experience."
An understatement.
"Of course, the 'men of your experience' was rather limited to your father, Mr. Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and George Wickham. Given my cousin and George's rather barbaric treatment of you, I can understand why you thought that way at the time."
Elizabeth sighed. Why did it seem as though they were doing nothing but reminiscing about the past? She did not wish for him to keep remembering her escapades as a young girl. For the first time, she could see herself through the eyes society would judge her with, and she knew that some of the things she had done would draw great disapproval.
Better not to dwell on that. "Are you excited about joining Colonel Taggert's regiment?" she asked.
Richard nodded enthusiastically. "I have heard that it is the best in all of England. I should consider myself quite lucky to have a commission in it."
"Are you not a bit afraid of having to go to war and possibly dying?"
"Absolutely petrified, and never let a man tell you he is not. Every person on this earth fears dying, and I am no different from the rest."
"I think you remarkably brave."
"Brave?" Richard laughed. "But I have done nothing to be considered brave. Indeed, there may be no need for my services at all."
Elizabeth's cheeks flooded with colour again, and she hoped that the waning sunlight would hide her reaction. Is he laughing at me?
"I merely thought that admitting to your fear and still planning to join the army was a rather brave thing to do, that is all," she mumbled.
Richard quickly realized that he had wounded her, but he could not imagine why. He had not been laughing at her. He had merely thought her comment a bit odd. "I am sorry, Elizabeth," he said. "I did not mean to seem as though I were amusing myself at your expense."
Elizabeth immediately felt better, for here was the return of the Richard she knew. "'Tis all right," she replied. "I suppose it was a rather silly thing to say."
"Nonsense. It was very kind." He grinned. "Do not think you have managed to distract me from my original purpose. I am still going to winkle the name of the young man you fancy yourself enamoured of."
Elizabeth hoped the smile on her face was a becoming one. She hoped she was appealing to him as a mature young woman. She hoped he was thinking of how good a wife she could make him.
"It seems hard for me to believe this, though," he was saying.
"Believe what?"
"Believe that you are old enough to be in the middle of a romance. All this time, I have continued to picture you as the little nine-year-old girl who filched books from the Pemberley library and pushed George Wickham into this very pond. Even now, though I am sitting beside you and you are fourteen--"
"I am fifteen, Richard," she said, offended.
"I apologize again. You are fifteen, and yet I still see many shades of that young girl."
Elizabeth looked out at the horizon, willing herself not to say anything. "I do not believe you shall ever guess," she said coolly. "Therefore, you should not go to the trouble of bothering to think of a name."
This conversation was becoming confusing to Richard. It seemed as though every other remark he made offended her. He was saddened, for he felt that it was the differences in their station in life which had caused the problems they were having this evening.
"All right, then, keep him a secret. I shall not intrude upon your privacy," Richard said. "I think I should return to my cousins and see how they are faring. I probably should not have left, but you did say you needed to speak to me with some urgency."
"I did?"
"Yes. You made me promise to speak with you before I left for Colonel--"
"Oh, yes. Well, I merely hoped we could have some time to talk...before you left. To...to..." Elizabeth wanted so desperately to say that she had wanted to confess that she loved him, but she would do no such thing. "I guess it does not matter now. Things have changed far too much for us to return to the old way of talking."
Richard sighed heavily. He knew she was right. He had known that one day, she would learn to master her rebellious spirit and then she would not be as special as she had been. He supposed that that time had finally come. "Elizabeth, please know that if you ever need anything, you may write me. I do not wish to lose your friendship."
"Thank you," she replied. "Good evening, Richard."
"Good evening, Elizabeth." Richard walked back to the house.
Elizabeth turned to watch him go, tears in her eyes.
Well, I managed to make a right mess of all this. So much for trying to impress him by looking adult and womanly in the moonlight. He wants me to still be that amusing little child I was six years ago.
Elizabeth looked back at the pond. She thought with no small degree of sadness, I shall never leave this place. I shall never experience anything such as I read in novels. I shall never have someone as wonderful as Richard in my life, and I shall never be truly happy doing anything.
So much for my daydreams.