Mary Simonsen - A Wife for Mr Darcy

“Do you have a request, sir?”

“Surprise me,” and then he thought of something Elizabeth Bennet had said about what constituted an accomplished woman: “You see, Mr. Darcy, we are of necessity more practical in the country. Jane and I have painted many screens, but when every fireplace has one, we stop. Even the largest house can only hold so many tables, no matter how beautifully painted, and when it comes to the matter of music, many of our friends are talented on the pianoforte. But if the truth be known, most people prefer an air or a jig to a concerto as we love to dance.”

After thinking about Miss Elizabeth’s comments, he asked, “Miss Montford, something lively, if you will,” and she searched among the music sheets before finally settling on a Scottish air, and while she was playing, he could not help but notice how many painted tables there were in the room.

While Letitia played, Darcy’s mind was flooded with visions of Elizabeth. How he would love to wrap his fingers around her dark curls while gazing into her coal black eyes and to trace the outline of her face with his fingers. His thoughts of the lady spurred him to action.

“Miss Montford, I do not recall if I mentioned that Mr. Bingley is hosting a ball at his home in Hertfordshire, and I have promised that I will attend.”

She showed no sign of unhappiness at his news, and after deciding that the visit had lasted long enough, he rose, bowed, and beat a hasty retreat, and when he got into the hackney, he loosened his neckcloth as he felt as if he was being strangled.

At supper, after interrogating her brother about his visit with Miss Montford, Georgiana pronounced it to be satisfactory.

“Since you are gone so frequently, perhaps you might consider writing a poem or love letter.”

“Please, Georgiana, I am not a romantic.”

“Flowers?”

“May we have this conversation after I return from Hertfordshire?”

“Yes, and I have a surprise for you, Will. I have been feeling guilty about not going to the country with you, so I have changed my mind. I shall attend the ball at Netherfield.”

Instead of the expected response, her brother put his head back and rubbed his temples as if fighting a headache.

“Georgie, would you pour a glass of Madeira for me? I have something unpleasant to tell you,” and he advised her of Wickham’s presence in Meryton.

It had been several weeks after Wickham’s attempted elopement before Darcy could speak to his sister about the events in Ramsgate, and he had only relented because Anne de Bourgh had written, encouraging him to listen to what his sister had to say. Georgiana had successfully convinced her brother that she would never have married without his permission and that she was ashamed of the romantic notions she had harbored.

“Will, surely, you do not think I would have anything to do with Wickham. I have learned so much from that unfortunate affair, and it has stood me in good stead this past season when I was able to recognize insincere flattery for what it is: an attempt to secure my fortune.”

“No, it is not that at all. I know he will not come to the ball as he is a coward and will not face me. It is just that the militia is always about in the village, and there is the possibility you might encounter him.”

Georgiana, whose clothes were made by the finest dressmakers in London, laughed. “I am going to Netherfield for the purpose of attending a ball, not to shop in Meryton.”

“Forgive me. I am tired. As an aside, you may be interested to know that after the ball, Louisa and Caroline will return to town, and Mrs. Crenshaw will come to keep house for Bingley.”

“Mrs. Crenshaw and her little band of ruffians! The same ones who put mud in my riding boots? I am convinced that it was Athena who actually did the deed, but she was put up to it by those monster brothers of hers.”

“I can easily believe it. When Bingley leased the house in Surrey, I saw Athena throwing rocks at the ducks. For such a little girl, she was remarkably accurate.”

“Why does Charles put up with their obnoxious behavior?”

“He finds them spirited.”

“Spirited! If they were in my care, I would spirit them away to the nearest woodshed for a proper whipping.”

Darcy reached out his hand, and his sister came and sat beside him. “I know you are eager for me to begin a courtship with Miss Montford, and I will do so upon my return from Hertfordshire. Since it is now certain the Crenshaws will take up residence with Bingley, I can assure you I will not be at Netherfield nor in Meryton nor in Hertfordshire when the Crenshaws arrive. I think I can safely remain in England. However, it is a good thing to know where they are at any given time,” and brother and sister shared a good laugh.

George Wickham was the talk of the village. Within three days of his arrival, everyone knew the basics of his biography. He had been brought up on a great estate in Derbyshire. After attending Cambridge, he had planned a living in the church, but his dreams went unrealized because the money that should have been available for such a purpose had been denied him. However, being a gentleman, he would not name the person who had caused him so much personal suffering, and the Darcy name went unmentioned. Fortunately, he explained, he had many friends, among them Captain Denny, who had assisted him in securing a commission in the militia.

Because he was so handsome in his regimentals, gracious in his manners, and possessing a fine baritone voice, Wickham had been inundated with invitations to dinners and card parties. As a result, he had appeared almost nightly at some social event in the Meryton neighborhood, including a card party hosted by Mrs. Philips, the wife of the local solicitor, and the sister of Mrs. Bennet. Out of curiosity, Lizzy decided to attend.

As Elizabeth watched the gentleman move about the room, it was easy to see why he had the village all abuzz. He showed a genuine interest in his company, and with his deep, resonating voice, he had a way of conversing that created an intimacy that had some of the girls, as well as their mothers, all aflutter. Lizzy made no attempt to engage him. She was there to observe, not to be charmed, but as soon as she had stopped playing cards, Mr. Wickham sought her out.

“I did not think you would ever quit the whist table, so that I might seek an introduction,” Wickham said, after sitting on the sofa next to Lizzy.

“But you did not seek an introduction, sir.”

For a brief second, Lizzy saw a flash of displeasure before he stood up and asked Mrs. Pritchard to do the honors.

“So, Miss Bennet, now that we have been officially introduced, I am no longer at risk of being denied the pleasure of your company.”

They chatted about topics that Mr. Darcy would have found to be tedious: the weather, Meryton, the next assembly, the vicar and the important role the church played in the lives of its parishioners, and other such drawing-room topics. After those subjects were exhausted, Mr. Wickham mentioned Mr. Darcy.

“I believe we have an acquaintance in common, Miss Bennet: Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”

“Other than that he has an estate in Derbyshire and a house in town, I do not know very much about him. He is of a taciturn nature and says but little.”

“I know Mr. Darcy very well, as I was brought up on the Darcy estate. My father was the steward at Pemberley, a truly wonderful man, as was the elder Mr. Darcy,” and as he said this, his tone softened to great effect. “I wish I could say the same for the son.”

With Mr. Darcy’s warning echoing in her mind, she sat quietly, giving him no encouragement, but Mr. Wickham was determined to have his say.

“You might ask why I do not hold the son in the same regard as the father.” Fearing that Lizzy might not ask, he continued, “It was my greatest desire to study for the church, and the elder Mr. Darcy, recognizing my calling, left me a bequest sufficient to purchase a living. However, his son gave the living to another.”

“That is a truly shocking statement, Mr. Wickham,” Lizzy said in genuine amazement. “For Mr. Darcy to go against his father’s wishes, I assume you and the son had quarreled.”

“I wish that were the case. Then I could understand his actions.” Mr. Wickham went quiet and a look of sadness came over him, and Lizzy had the impression she was watching a performance. “We were friends all through our childhood. Although it was true we did not see each other much while at Cambridge, when we were in each other’s company, I sensed no rancor.”