Such Persuasions as These
Occupied though he was with the search for the detestable George Wickham, Fitzwilliam was not blind to the world around him. James had always teased him for his single-minded focus, jesting that if he ever set his eyes on the English throne, Prinny had better take care, for the odds were in Fitzwilliam’s favor. That always prompted the same response from Fitzwilliam, that he had no desire to be saddled with the monarchy, and that he had too much sense to wish to take it away from an addled old man and his prancing son. Fitzwilliam missed his brother, for he would welcome his advice.
All jests aside, however, Fitzwilliam was aware of the world around him; and, in particular, he could see something was bothering his cousin. The rest of the family was busy in the aftermath of Darcy’s announcement, either railing against his cousin’s choice—the earl and, to a much lesser extent, Rachel—or trying to calm the earl’s rants on the subject. Charity had defied her father’s repeated insistence on the girl’s unsuitability, proclaiming herself eager to be in Miss Elizabeth’s company again. It did not make for a pleasant situation, leading Fitzwilliam to take advantage of his cousin’s invitation and stay with him at Darcy's house. Business with his solicitor, his eagerness to end the earl’s scheming, if not his complaining, led Darcy to rush completion of the marriage articles as soon as may be. Fitzwilliam could not disagree with him if only to bring his father’s overt disagreement to an end.
Georgiana, however, was uninvolved with any of these family squabbles, preferring instead to sit quietly, more often than not, deep in thought. What such behavior might portend, Fitzwilliam was uncertain, but a suspicion led him to seek her out one morning to ensure she did not anger her brother if what he suspected were true.
“Good morning, Cousin,” said Fitzwilliam upon finding her alone in the music room. It was a predictable facet of her character that led her to practice often, for though she had never been explicit on the matter, Fitzwilliam thought playing calmed her.
“Oh, Anthony!” said Georgiana, apparently startled. As well she might be, for though she had been ostensibly practicing, Fitzwilliam had heard little more than her fingers trailing the keys, light tones accompanying her fiddling with little musical sense. “I did not know you were there.”
“That does not surprise me,” replied Fitzwilliam, stepping into the room towards the girl. “I have noted of late that you have been lost in thought more than usual and wondered if I might be of assistance.”
Though Georgiana should not have been surprised—the family was well aware of Fitzwilliam’s sometimes blunt style—it appeared he had caught her off guard. Then a blush settled over her countenance, which seemed to confirm his suspicions. Fitzwilliam waited while she gathered her thoughts, wondering how best to handle the situation. It would not do to berate her—Fitzwilliam believed that the carrot was usually preferable to the stick. If he was correct, a little firmness now would prevent problems later.
“Was it that obvious?” asked the girl after a long moment, darting a searching glance at him.
“The others are too busy with their own concerns,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I notice these things, however, so to me it was. Will you not share what is bothering you?”
Georgiana gave him a helpless shrug. “It is William . . . I wonder what . . . That is . . .” Frustrated, Georgiana huffed her annoyance with herself and blurted: “Is Miss Elizabeth truly suitable for my brother?”
Regarding her, his pointed look causing her to blush all over again, Fitzwilliam said: “Do you suppose it is your responsibility to judge?”
Her color turning high, Georgiana shook her head with a vehemence that amused Fitzwilliam. “No! I trust William. It is only . . .”
“Do you wonder about Miss Elizabeth when you think of your previous fascination with Wickham?”
Georgiana stared at him, leading Fitzwilliam to chuckle at her disbelief. “Perhaps you may not have thought of it in such terms yourself, but I sense you are struggling to understand why Darcy may marry someone society deems unsuitable, while you are not.”
“I do not regret William preventing me from marrying him!” exclaimed Georgiana.
“Nor do I suggested you did,” was Fitzwilliam’s even reply. “But you must remember the difference in stations, even casting aside Wickham’s lack of anything resembling morals or character. Miss Elizabeth, even if you think she is too low in society for your brother, is a gentleman’s daughter, regardless of her family’s prominence in society. Thus, by a strict measurement of societal norms, she is acceptable regardless of how my father blusters.”
“Yes, Anthony,” said Georgiana, a little impatience finally showing through her surprise. “I understand everything. Perhaps I might have harbored doubts about her suitability, but that is not my primary concern. Given her situation in life, I wonder if she truly feels for William what she claims. Might she not be affecting greater devotion than she feels to improve her situation?”
“Such as Miss Bingley might do?” asked Fitzwilliam.
Georgiana's mouth curled with distaste. “Miss Bingley is openly mercenary, and I do not like her at all. Miss Elizabeth does not give the same impression as Miss Bingley.”
“Then you have your answer,” replied Fitzwilliam.
Seeming unconvinced, Georgiana frowned, prompting Fitzwilliam to address her again. “I will give you two pieces of advice, Georgiana. The first is that you do not betray your doubts to your brother. Not only does he have enough with which to concern himself at present, but he would not receive it well, especially given my father’s behavior. You may disapprove of Miss Elizabeth all you like, but it is none of your concern. Your brother may do as he wishes.”
“Oh, I should never dream of it!”
Fitzwilliam knew she was telling him the truth. “The second thing I would counsel you to do is to act to better your understanding of Miss Elizabeth. The best way you can do that is to meet her with friendship, come to know her better. If you understand Miss Elizabeth’s character, you will be better able to judge her merit. If you do that, I believe you will not be disappointed.”
With a smile to show his affection, Fitzwilliam rose and made his way from the room. The last sight he had of his ward was her contemplative expression, as she thought about what he had told her. Though it was not in her nature to initiate a friendship with another, as long as she was open to the possibility, Fitzwilliam was certain Miss Elizabeth would do the rest. Content with the day’s success, Fitzwilliam departed from the room and fixed his attention on the other matter occupying him of late. It was time to make George Wickham pay for his deeds.
While all talk of the Bennet family had not ceased, the tenor of that gossip had changed, and for that Bennet was grateful. Whereas before there had been snide comments of the Bennet girls, with looks and sneers abundant, the talk turned to excited whispers about Elizabeth’s engagement and Jane’s position as the recipient of the attention of another man of wealth. Though Bennet might prefer their neighbors would give up their unseemly habit of gossiping, the change was welcome.
The one circumstance that had changed to a great degree—and this was, in Bennet’s opinion, an excellent development—was the alteration in the militia's behavior. No longer were redcoats seen on the streets of Meryton at all hours of the day, and while they were still a staple of local events, their profile was, in general, lower. While some ladies in the neighborhood lamented this change, most gentlemen appeared to approve. As Colonel Forster had promised, the officers settled their accounts at once, and those who could not meet their obligations—of which there were a few, though none so egregious as the absent Mr. Wickham—were experiencing the unpleasant sensation of forfeiting their wages until they paid what they owed.
Colonel Forster also made good on another promise he had made to Bennet personally, for Bennet had visited the man and informed him of what had happened with Lydia and the two officers. Though Mr. Wickham was, unfortunately, beyond the reach of their retribution at present, the other officer involved was still present. A few days after that eventful day, the colonel called on Bennet at Longbourn to share what he had done.
“It is unfortunate,” said he after they exchanged greetings and he shared the reason for his visit, “but I have little more than Sanderson’s word on what occurred that day with your daughter. Though it is possible he is lying, I am inclined to believe him when he informs me that Wickham provoked the unpleasantness.”
As it happened, Bennet did not disagree with the colonel’s assessment, having made Lieutenant Sanderson’s acquaintance himself. Sanderson was, Bennet noted, along with Mr. Denny, one of Lydia’s favorites, though since that day, he was not so certain any longer. Having spoken with the man himself, Bennet regarded him as a man lacking confidence, one who spoke with hesitation when he did not allow others to speak for him.
“I concur, Colonel,” said Bennet, nodding in response. “That fits what I know of the lieutenant, though I do not suppose it speaks well to his sense if he allowed Wickham to convince him to join such an endeavor.”
“No, it does not,” agreed Colonel Forster. “Sanderson claims he did not know what Wickham was about until he spoke to your daughter. Given the lack of any other evidence, there was little I could do other than to issue a stern warning that any other reports of misbehavior would lead to disciplinary action.”
“Then we must hope he takes your warning to heart,” said Bennet.
“He had best,” was Colonel Forster’s gruff reply. “Though I am naught but a militia commander, I have always striven to ensure the men under my command upheld the highest standards of behavior. That Wickham served in my regiment and concealed his activities from us all, I consider a black mark on the regiment. For the distress this has caused your family, I can only apologize, Mr. Bennet.”
“It seems to me,” replied Bennet, “Wickham owes an apology to the entire community. I appreciate you offering it in his stead, for he will never do so himself. Do not concern yourself further, Colonel, for I am satisfied with your actions in this matter.”
Colonel Forster released a pent-up breath he had been holding. “Thank you, Mr. Bennet. You are very generous.”
The return to a more normal existence in the neighborhood meant a return to their former activities, though they had never truly ceased. Typical of Sir William’s desire for an excess of company, the first event in the neighborhood after Mr. Wickham’s unmasking was one of his infamous parties. Sir William, though a good man, was one with whom Bennet did not wish to associate often, for he could be tiresome. But the Lucases were good neighbors, and Bennet did not wish to offend them by avoiding their party.
“I see your daughters are more restrained tonight,” said Sir William that evening when they were standing together. “It is good to see the talk has finally died down, for it was distressing to see it continually raised.”
“Aye, that it is,” said Bennet, sipping his punch and looking out over the company. “That Goulding has been silenced is also a boon.”
Though Bennet had not gestured at the unpleasant man, Sir William followed his gaze to where Goulding was standing in one corner, watching the proceedings, his habitual scowl in evidence. Bennet was not concerned with the man’s anger—his actions had resulted in the other gentlemen keeping him at arms’ length, a circumstance Bennet did not think would persist long, though long enough to keep him in line for a time.
“It would be good,” said Sir William, “if we could return to the state we were before. These rumblings of discontent and continual sniping are not good for the harmony of our neighborhood.”
Bennet suppressed a chuckle—civil man that he was, one who showed it on every occasion, he knew recent events had strained Sir William’s sense of what was right.
“No, I suppose it is not,” said Bennet. “But one must endure these situations from time to time. The gossips will ply their trade, regardless of what we do to dissuade them.”
“I suppose you are correct.”
As was his practice, Bennet stayed at the fringes of the gathering, not unlike Goulding, he supposed, though his solitude was by choice. Though he readily spoke with the other men in the room and exchanged a few more words with Colonel Forster, Bennet did not endeavor to engage others of his own volition. That Lieutenant Sanderson was quiet and unsure to the point of awkwardness, Bennet did not misunderstand, strengthening the colonel’s opinion of his officer. Sanderson did not approach Lydia or Kitty, and they paid him no mind, which put Bennet’s mind to rest on the subject.
There was an incident late in the evening, though Bennet was not close enough to hear the reason for it. All he could see was that there was some commotion among the matrons, perhaps some comment directed at his wife. After Mrs. Bennet snapped a returning jibe, she fell silent, showing them all a superior smirk, like she often did when she thought she had made a point. As nothing more came of it, Bennet decided against intervening.
It was no surprise when his wife raised the subject later that evening after they returned to their home and the girls had retired. Bennet, as was his custom, had gone to his bookroom to while away a few hours in the company of his beloved books when a diffident knock sounded on his door. Expecting such a knock from Kitty or Mary, Bennet was thus surprised when Mrs. Bennet entered on his command.
“Yes, Mrs. Bennet?”
Maggie hesitated in the door for a moment before squaring her shoulders and entering the room, easing herself into a chair in front of his desk. This hesitance was unlike his wife—she was more likely to rush in, heedless of any measure of restraint.
“Mr. Bennet,” said she after a moment of indecision, “my daughters are not ill-behaved Jezebels, are they?”
At once Bennet understood. Removing his spectacles, he eyed his wife and said: “Did one of the ladies make that charge tonight?”
Mrs. Bennet blushed, but she nodded. “Beatrice Goulding said it.” Pausing, his wife’s expression turned to satisfaction. “I reminded her she has no standing to cast shade, considering Deborah’s behavior. Then I reminded her of Lizzy’s engagement.
“On the matter of Kitty and Lydia, however, I said nothing other than to assert they were good girls.” Mrs. Bennet looked up at him, a pleading look demanding he assuage her fears. “I was uncertain of what to say. Surely they are not so bad as that.”
Bennet sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was clear now that his failings were heavy, for he should have brought Maggie into his office many years ago and explained the facts of the situation pertaining to her daughters. If he had taken their education in hand himself, they might have been able to meet the neighborhood with more confidence and better behavior. Bennet regretted that now, for he had not done right by his family.
“Your daughters are not bad girls, Mrs. Bennet, and you were correct to remind her about Deborah. But they can be exuberant and thoughtless. A young lady in our society must learn restraint; that is what our youngest daughters lack.”
Nodding slowly, Mrs. Bennet said: “You compared their behavior to Jane and Lizzy.”
“Consider them for yourself. Are Elizabeth and Jane not valued wherever they go? Do they run about giggling and carrying on, or do they comport themselves in a reserved, though in Elizabeth’s case, lively manner?”
“No,” said Mrs. Bennet. “They do not rattle on like many girls. It is clear to anyone who makes their acquaintance that they are proper and demure. Kitty and Lydia are not.”
“It is because we have never taught them, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet. “That is our lack, not theirs.”
“Then what do we do?”
His wife’s question was more than a little plaintive, and Bennet reflected that Maggie did not have the best grasp of propriety herself. It was more than likely that she found the notion of teaching her daughters proper behavior daunting.
“It is our responsibility to teach them.”
“Lydia will not like the restriction,” said Mrs. Bennet with a frown.
“Lydia will learn how to behave,” replied Bennet, “or she will experience difficulty in life. We must insist on it.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded. They sat for some time in Bennet’s study that night, Bennet attempting to explain what they must do and how his daughters must learn to behave, while Maggie listened and added suggestions of her own. Though surprised at the sagacity of some of her suggestions, Bennet attempted to refrain from allowing it to show. It would not do to destroy her confidence while it was fragile.
There was little Darcy wished to do more than return to Rosings. But there was little choice but to stay in London, for there were matters that needed his attention, the chief of which was the drafting of the marriage articles. Darcy meant to present them to Mr. Bennet at once, thereby removing any doubt of his ultimate path—with a signed document, Darcy would be committed, as Mr. Bennet would have the right to bring suit against him if he reneged. Perhaps then his uncle would desist.
The other matter of interest in London was, of course, the search for Wickham. Though Darcy was not involved with that directly, his interest was unquestionable. Fitzwilliam kept him updated as to the details of the search, and Darcy remained frustrated with the lack of progress, his cousin assured him of their ultimate success.
“Patience, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam on more than one occasion. “We shall have him sooner or later. Mrs. Younge’s information did not lead to him, but I am confident he will slip up eventually.”
“You should have allowed me to bribe her,” was Darcy’s sour reply.
“Why, when intimidation works just as well?” Fitzwilliam laughed at Darcy’s grimace. “Do not concern yourself, Darcy. Not only does Mrs. Younge understand what the price of continuing to consort with George Wickham would be, but Wickham understands her house would be the first place we would search for him. Approaching Mrs. Younge was more about due diligence than any expectation she would lead him to us.”
“Do you think it will take long?”
“It is impossible to say. Wickham is a rat, and rats tend to move in the bowels of the city avoiding detection. Eventually, we shall have him, for I have every shopkeeper, every street urchin and beggar in London aware of his description and the reward we are offering for information leading to his capture. We will find him.”
With that Darcy must be content. A quick word with Bingley—and a visit to the Gardiners’ home—informed the two men of what had happened in Meryton and warned them to take care for Miss Bennet’s safety. Bingley, it seemed to Darcy, had grown in the intervening weeks since he had sent his sister away. When Darcy returned to Rosings, he would be pleased to carry word to Elizabeth that her sister would be well settled and protected with his friend.
Which left the anticipated meeting with Darcy’s solicitor. The firm of Mortimer and Sons had been the Darcy family’s attorneys from time immemorial, the original Mr. Mortimer perhaps two or three generations in the past. The current Mr. Mortimer was a tall, spindly sort of man, all knobby knees and elbows, a shock of white hair standing upon his head. For all that, he was a fastidious man, always impeccably dressed, with nary a bit of lint to mar his appearance. He was also, concerning legal matters, a brilliant mind, and one as arrogant as any duke Darcy had ever met.
This is what made the man’s behavior that morning when Darcy met him, beyond anything he had ever experienced. His welcome was courteous as always, his manner businesslike. There was also in his conduct a hesitance Darcy had never witnessed before.
“I have the marriage articles you requested for your approval, Mr. Darcy,” said the man, reaching into a desk drawer and removing a folder. “Please take your time and read them over; if you need me to make any changes, I shall do so at once.”
Nodding, Darcy accepted the papers and went through them. Though he had never married before, Darcy thought they were very much the standard marriage articles, laying out his future financial life with Elizabeth, what her monthly allowance would be, provisions for the dowries of future daughters, and so on. There were a few minor points Darcy noted as he was reading, and when he pointed them out, Mr. Mortimer assured him they would be corrected at once.
“Is that all, Mr. Darcy?” asked the solicitor when Darcy handed the papers back to him.
“Everything I could find,” said Darcy. “As usual, your work is excellent, so I did not expect to find anything amiss.”
Mr. Mortimer was silent for a moment, regarding Darcy in a manner he could only call hesitant. “Excuse me if I speak out of turn, Mr. Darcy, but I would like to clarify, and if you must look it over again, I understand. When I received the note from my clerk, I created the papers according to your specifications, but I am concerned he did not get them correct. More particularly, I wish to speak of the numbers in the document. Are you certain they are correct?”
Understanding flooded through Darcy and he nodded. “Yes, Mr. Mortimer, the numbers are quite correct.”
“Well, that is a surprise,” said Mr. Mortimer. “I might have thought you would marry a woman with more to give. Your mother, for example, possessed a substantial dowry.”
“That is true,” said Darcy, “but my mother’s worth to my father was much greater than the sum of her fortune. Similarly, Miss Bennet’s worth is above all the rubies in the world, in my estimation; I am gaining much more from having her as my wife than I would if I turned my attention on some vapid woman possessing fifty thousand pounds.”
An unexpected grin settled over the solicitor’s face as Darcy explained his reasons. “There are few men in London, I think, who would judge as you do, Mr. Darcy, as most consider the financial and societal implications above all else. For that, you have my respect, for I believe you have proven you are your father’s son beyond any doubt.”
“Thank you, Mortimer.”
“Then perhaps if you will give me two days to make the changes, they will be ready for you to take to your miss’s father.”
“I shall return then.” Darcy rose and shook the gentleman’s hand. “Thank you again. As always, your work is excellent.”
A few moments later, Darcy exited the man’s offices, whistling a jaunty tune. In a few more days, he would sign the papers with Mr. Bennet and rejoin Elizabeth in Kent. The matter of the rumors was resolved, and his cousin was on Wickham’s trail like a bloodhound. The outlook, he thought, was growing sunnier by the day.