Page 38 of Penned By Mr Darcy
I received word from Georgiana that they are having a very pleasant time in Ramsgate. The hotel I arranged is well kept, she says, and the sea air most invigorating. Her letter was brief but informative. I suppose that she is simply too busy to pen a long missive to her brother, but I found myself missing the rambling letters she often sends me when we are apart.
My aunt has once again continued to behave as though her long-desired betrothal between Anne and me is an assured prospect. She states, as she always does, that my dearest mother (rest her soul) desired this above all things.
She is certain that the marriage will go ahead, as she and my mother discussed long ago. No amount of protestation will sway her determined mind. I believe my mother had no true intentions of seeing me wed Anne, but I do not think there is aperson alive brave enough to argue with Aunt Catherine. She grows fiercer and more stubborn with each passing year.
I will not be forced into an unhappy union. I know it would be such, for Anne does not seem to particularly enjoy my company, nor anybody else’s – she is far happier in solitude, and I would not steal that contentment from her. If I were to take a wife, I believe she would have to be quite an extraordinary sort of woman.
Marriage seems to me to be entirely undesirable; I see nothing at all to endear the arrangement to me. I have seen many marriages that seem to contain nothing but animosity and loathing.
And then, when I am alone in the dark of night, I think how nice it might be to have a warm body beside me; a fanciful notion that marriage could come from love and adoration. My parents were in possession of such a union, but it is a rare thing – as rare as a diamond, and as valuable.
I have begun to question whether I shall ever meet a woman I could truly admire. Society parades before me countless eligible ladies, each more polished than the last, yet none have stirred anything in me beyond polite indifference. Their accomplishments are rehearsed, their laughter practiced, and their conversation... uninspired.
Sometimes I wonder if it is I who am lacking. Perhaps I yearn for a woman who does not exist. Perhaps my heart is too guarded. But I cannot believe it is so wrong to hope for more. More than beauty, more than lineage or propriety. I want wit, intelligence, warmth. A woman who sees the world with clarity, who speaks not only to be heard but to be understood.
I long for someone who might challenge me - who would not flatter or fawn, but meet my gaze with confidence andconviction. Where is such a woman to be found? Does she even exist?
She could not help but recall all the times that she had felt his eyes upon hers, nor the heat that rose within her when he did so. She shook her head; she truly must be ill, for she was surely not thinking of Mr Darcy in any sort of romantic manner! She turned the page, noting that the date was far later than the previous entry. She frowned; such a lapse was remarkable, for there were times he made two entries in one day – what could have happened that caused him to miss more than an entire week?
1stSeptember 18--
I cannot believe what I am about to write. The very thought of committing these events to paper sickens me, but I must – lest I go mad.
Wickham has committed an unbearable crime against my sister. He has betrayed any loyalty he might have owed to my father, who gave him so much. I have never felt such anger, such disgust. I am not a violent man by nature, but this past week, I have understood why men kill.
I do not know where to begin. I suppose the most logical place is the beginning.
As you know, Georgiana is passing this last month of summer in Ramsgate; the idea was first suggested to me by Mrs Younge. I see now that I was lured into a trap. I was too trusting of a woman I know now to be nothing more than a villain.
Georgiana wrote to me every few days, and I did not know that anything was amiss. And then something about the tone of her correspondence changed. I do not know what possessed me, butI left for Ramsgate at once. I cannot say what I expected to find, but I certainly had never imagined the horror that awaited me.
When I arrived in Ramsgate, ostensively to enjoy a pleasure trip with my sister but really to ensure that she was not being mistreated by her companion, I found her at the lodgings I had arranged for them. What I had not expected was to find Wickham sitting on the settee alongside Georgiana, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he whispered into her ear. I have never seen a sight so repulsive; my stomach turns just to think of it.
Georgiana leapt from her seat as soon as she saw me, rushing forward to tell me her happy news. It seems my arrival was just in time, for ‘George’, as she so casually called him, had asked her to marry him and they were to elope the very next day. Wickham, the coward, tried to move unseen from the room as she spoke, for he knew that everything about this situation was wrong. I am sure he had not anticipated Georgiana’s honesty, for she has never been capable of telling a lie in all of her fifteen years.
I am grateful for her honesty.
I cannot recall with any great clarity what happened next, for my blood roared in my ears and I felt rage that I did not think possible. I know that he protested, of course, as I pressed him to the wall, saying that Georgiana was confused. For one who lies so often, he is exceptionally poor at it. I could tell by the twitch in his eyebrow that he was lying, and it was at that moment that Mrs Younge intervened.
The deceitful woman had the audacity to defend him. She claimed that Georgiana was in perfect command of her faculties and that her affections were freely given. As though a girl of fifteen, barely out of the schoolroom, could possiblycomprehend the implications of such a decision. I turned on her with such vehemence that she paled and withdrew from the room at once, muttering about a headache. Cowardice cloaked as delicacy.
Georgiana burst into tears at once, the whole story pouring from her at once. I had never seen her so distraught - not from punishment, nor illness, nor grief. But it was not the tears of a wounded innocent. It was shame. Even then, she understood what Wickham truly was. I saw it in the way she would not meet my eyes, in how she clutched at my hand, begging me not to hate her.
I could never hate her. I would see the world burn, if only it meant that she would be safe.
As for Wickham, he tried his very best to place the blame for his despicable actions on my shoulders. Pleading innocence. Accusing me of jealousy. Suggesting that I had long desired him to fail. He presented himself a victim. A victim! Of my father's generosity, of my own! He has seldom had to work for anything, but he loses every penny he has ever had within his possession.
I confess, here in the privacy of these pages, that I struck him. I did not anticipate such brutality. My hand moved before my reason. He stumbled backward, more from surprise than force, I think. He did not retaliate. No, he simply laughed. That soft, oily laugh that I shall remember until my dying breath.
“I suppose this means the wedding is off,” he said, as though this were a farce, a jest to be shared later with his fellow scoundrels over cards and stolen wine.
He cares less for Georgiana than he does money, and of course he found his way to blackmailing me for more. Never mind that he had what was due to him last year – I knew long ago that itwould not last him long. Lost to the gambling halls of London, and the houses of Covent Garden in particular. How my father would weep to see him squander what he was left – how he has shunned God and all that is moral to live a life of sin. And now, Georgiana, my most precious sister, is his newest victim.
I demanded he leave Ramsgate by nightfall. I gave him enough money for passage, though I believe it to be a mistake I shall regret to the end of my days. I should have left him penniless. No, I should have ensured he was carted back to London under guard, exposed for what he is. Debtors prison would be too good for him – transportation, banishing him from England and from our lives forever would have been the ideal outcome. I could not risk Georgiana’s reputation, even in whispers, with such a public punishment. Wickham would find a way to ensure the story became public. Society would devour her over a rumour – if anyone suspected the truth, I could not bear to think of her pain.
She is safe now. I will take her at once to Pemberley, where she will remain until she is herself again. She cannot speak of him – she can barely speak at all. I do not ask her to.
I will never forget the crime Wickham has committed against my sister. He has ruined her innocence – perhaps not in the physical sense (and I thank God for that, though I would love her no less), but he has broken her heart and destroyed her faith that there is good in all people.
