A Most Respectable Elopement, Part Twenty Seven

The happiest day of George Wickham’s life is just around the corner, and he has enlisted two stout-hearted gentlemen to assist him in making merry. Nothing but the finest will do, whether one is luring out spies or celebrating his impending marriage!

Catherine Curzon and Nicole Clarkston

Catch up on previous adventures here! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve,Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty One, Twenty Two,Twenty Three, Twenty Four, Twenty Five, Twenty Six

Standing before the mirror, George Wickham turned first one way then the other, the better to admire the brand new suit in which he was dressed. Not that he wasn’t a fine specimen in the rudest clothes, he reminded himself, but he was just that touch finer now. With the unwelcome appearance of Lieutenant Bell and his gun, Wickham’s dedicated guards had been duly doubled after a furious visit to Whitehall and he felt like quite the safest man in London now.

Safest and finest.

In fact, he could rather get used to a life of espionage. There was a certain intoxicating glamour to it. That glamour faded somewhat when bullets were flying, but if it brought suits like these, then perhaps it might have its positive points too. Tonight was not a night for bullets though, for tonight was to celebrate his forthcoming marriage, a little drink or five to see him off into the arms of matrimony, and he was ready to paint London a very vibrant shade of red.

Upon hearing of this newest plan, his paymasters had blanched. How might they watch him in taverns and alehouses, in the houses Covent Garden or worse, the streets themselves? How many would be with him at this gathering? What were their names? Their backgrounds? For a man with a dislike of administration it was all rather too much and George Wickham agreed to a gathering of just two. And what two could be better than Darcy and Gardiner?

Now he awaited their arrival, ready to get the party going and the brandy flowing. Happy indeed, therefore, was the moment when a manservant announced the arrival of the two guests he expected. Gardiner, that stalwart bastion of decency and respectability, was conservatively clad in what might be deemed classic apparel for a tradesman. Darcy, on the other hand, had paid some tribute to the occasion by wearing his red waistcoat and new breeches.

Gardiner was as genial a fellow as Wickham had ever met. Though their relations had begun on a bit of a tense note, those days visiting Lydia in his house had convinced the man at least that he intended no harm. Whether Gardiner would ever come to admire him as much as he clearly did Darcy was a matter of speculation, but what was this evening for, if not to forge the familial bonds between them?

Darcy, brusque and orderly as always, spoke first of the two. “I presume you have a destination in mind for the evening?”

“I do, my friend,” Wickham told him brightly. “And you need not fear, for it is eminently  respectable. Your reputation will not be smeared!”

Gardiner seemed to sigh, his tight shoulders dropping to a more relaxed posture which better reflected his years. Darcy flicked the older man a glance which spoke clearly, See? Nothing to worry about.

“Then let us away,” Darcy suggested. My carriage is waiting.”

“As are the ladies I have procured for the evening,” Wickham told them before adding jovially, “I jest, gentleman, have no fear!”

For what use did George Wickham have of procured ladies nowadays, when soon he would be wed to the finest lady of them all?

In fact he had chosen a location at which some extremely respectable men might be found drinking away their cares. With a doorman welcoming each caller by name, there was no threat tonight from even the most determined Lieutenant, for this was a night for celebration. And drinking.

The ale was as fine as he remembered, and the host happy to oblige with a little extra cordiality when he learned of the occasion. Wickham’s guests began the evening looking as though they had been summoned to a whipping by their school masters, but after the second round, Gardiner was lounging comfortably at Wickham’s left, and Darcy was meditatively swirling his drink at his right.

“I say,” Gardiner cleared his throat, by way of beginning a conversation. “I understand you are bound for Newcastle after the ceremony? My dear sister, Mrs Bennet will surely lament that, but I think it… it is a logical location.”

Darcy kept his own counsel, merely lifting a brow toward Wickham as both waited for his answer.

Newcastle for now, at least that was the official tale, but from there, who knew? Why, by next week they could be on the continent, infiltrating fearsome rebels, or bound for America, with Crown secrets in their care or simply in Newcastle, still in bed as newlyweds surely had every right to be?

“We are indeed bound for that fair city in the north,” Wickham assured him. “And our next adventure, whatever that might be!”

He offered the men a bright smile then took a drink before adding, “Lydia shall write often, I am sure, with all the news of ribbons she might wish to share.”

“Her dear sisters will miss her very much,” Gardiner sighed. “You would not think it, sir, but the five girls are very close to one another. I believe Lydia’s closest correspondent is her sister Catherine, but the elder girls will feel her loss keenly.”

Darcy shifted in his seat, stifling some kind of grunt which he covered smoothly by taking another swallow of his brandy.

Gardiner’s gaze went swiftly to the other gentleman, then, for the first time, he looked to Wickham with a spark of cordiality. A smile glimmered in his expression, a twinkle lurked in his eye, and he continued his thought. “Of course, Mr Wickham, perhaps I have not been as close to the younger girls as I ought to have been. These few days with Miss Lydia in my house have been my most intimate contact with her alone. That fault is none but my own, of course. I have spent more time with Jane and with Elizabeth, perhaps because they were my first nieces. I must extend an invitation to Mary and Kitty soon. Jane, of course, has stayed many times with us, and Elizabeth accompanied us on a tour to Derbyshire just recently.”

Gardiner pretended not to notice as Darcy’s ears began to turn red and he hastily drained his drink. The glass did not sit idle for ten seconds before it was replaced with another, and its owner was giving it his full attention.

“Darcy has always found much that appeals to him in Derbyshire, isn’t that right?” Wickham asked, feeling delightfully Puckish this evening. His companion’s ears grew redder still and he couldn’t help himself but add, “I believe he finds it a most attractive county, with much to recommend it.”

“I heartily agree,” seconded Gardiner. “I have been to Derbyshire on several occasions, but I daresay this most recent visit has been the most… enlightening. I have never appreciated the sights half so much as I did this summer. I have Mr Darcy to thank in part, for his trout stream added much to my enjoyment of the countryside, but I think it was the company which I found the most delightful.”

“It sounds utterly perfect,” Wickham replied. Then he looked to Darcy and asked, “Did you pass an enjoyable summer too, Darcy? What did you get up to?”

There was just the slightest hint of cheek in his words, get up to loaded with unspoken meaning. They might be boys again, teasing and nudging, no harm intended beyond a little embarrassment, and what could be more fun than that?

Darcy slid his gaze over to Wickham, drew another deliberate swallow from his glass, and set it aside with finality. “Nothing out of the ordinary. My sister requested some time at Pemberley with a small family party, and I was happy to oblige her. Bingley accompanied us, and only departed four days ago. I might have still been there myself, but for some rather pressing business in Town just now.”

“And what could be more pressing than drinking fine brandy in good company?” He smiled and took a sip. “Shall we try another bottle? Believe me, sirs, they have the most exquisite treats hidden away in the cellars. One simply needs to know what to ask for.”

“Oh,” Gardiner held up both hands in a modest gesture, “do not let me stop you, but I must know when to stop. My dear Mrs Gardiner never takes kindly to too much drink on my part. She always waits up, do you see, and I do not like to disappoint her.”

“Not even a little?” Wickham dropped his voice to a whisper. “What if I tell you it was liberated from Napoleon himself?”

Gardiner’s eyes widened. “Well, why did you not say so to begin with?”

Darcy’s complexion had faded once more to its normal hue, and he offered Mr Gardiner a half-smile. “I hope Mrs Gardiner is not overly annoyed, sir. I would not like to offend such a fine lady as she.”

“I believe she is one of the finest ladies I have had the misfortune to meet,” Wickham agreed. He glanced to Darcy, all innocence once more. “Her nieces speak most highly of her and they are most agreeable young ladies in their turn. Wouldn’t you say so, Darcy?”

Darcy lifted his glass again, shooting Wickham a glare which could have scorched a swamp.

“Indeed, all the girls are fine young ladies,” Gardiner agreed. “But it is probably Jane and Elizabeth who have felt Mrs Gardiner’s influence the most. I have been blessed these many years by her, and I am certain that one day, some lucky men will be likewise fortunate in their choice of bride.”

Darcy rose, excusing himself with some muttered reference to having imbibed too much.

Gardiner frowned down at his glass. “Oh, dear. Mr Wickham, I believe I ought not to have accepted that last round, for I spoke too freely. I hope I have not offended our friend.”

“I believe it is not offence that occupies our friend,” Wickham replied in a low, confiding voice. Yet there was that mischief again, every word rich with it. “Far from it, my good sir.”

A twinkle of inspiration lit Gardiner’s face. “Ah. Then I was not incorrect, after all. But just the same, I ought to have no more to drink. Mr Darcy is a fine fellow, and I do not wish to jest with him in vanity. I think he does not like it.”

“I think it will do him no harm,” Wickham confided. “A little humour can widen one’s horizons, I find.”

At about this time, Darcy returned to his seat, and looked somewhat startled that his drink had been refilled by the industrious help during his short absence. He settled into it without complaint, but after the first few sips, he flexed his shoulders and glanced about the room.

“This is a perfectly agreeable establishment. I had not patronised it before. I shall recommend it to Fitzwilliam when next he is on leave.” He reached with a measure of finality to dispense some coins from his purse, a gratuity for excellent service. Gardiner, watching Darcy for his cues, drained the last of his own glass and began to do the same.

“What’s this?” Wickham blinked. “Surely not! Are we monks? This is a celebration, gents, it cannot be over so soon!”

Darcy’s hand stopped, fixating on that word ‘monk.’ His face adopted that frustratingly dull, responsible expression which had been so much a fixture on George Darcy’s face that it had practically defined his features. “I do not know what further entertainment you had anticipated for this evening, but I assure you, I have no intention of participating in anything… disgraceful. You shall soon be a married man, and I know you would not wish to offend your lady in any way.”

And there it was again. Disgraceful, as though Darcy were a father chastising a child. So it was, so it  would ever be and no matter what Wickham did from this day to his last, there would be that disapproving glower, that clipped, mirthless tone.

Well, let it be so. Wickham would not change course, nor would he be made to frown on this most glorious of evenings. Let Darcy have a sensible bedtime and a little snifter of brandy, for it was how he was made.

But George Wickham was not made that way.

Not at all.

“Good evening, Darcy, sleep well,” Wickham smiled. “I shall stay here and taste Bonaparte’s claret now I have enjoyed his brandy. Mr Gardiner, sir, you are more than welcome to stay if you wish, for this is a most convivial sort of evening, is it not?”

Gardiner glanced to Darcy with a flicker of hesitation, then readily agreed. “Indeed, sir, for what is the night before a man’s marriage meant for but to celebrate? Good sirs, the next glass is on me, and I shall depend upon you both to appease my good wife if I should lose face.”

Darcy relaxed back in his seat, gracefully accepting Gardiner’s generosity.

“You have shown the soon-to-be Mrs Wickham much kindness,” Wickham told Gardiner. “And for that, as well as this next glass, I thank you. Now, Darcy, you have a face like an unrisen loaf. What on earth is ailing you, man? Is the brandy not fine? Am I not stunning? Is Mr Gardiner not wonderful? Why frown?”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “I do not intend to be dour. I beg your pardon if I seem less than celebratory– it is no personal reflection upon present company, I assure you. The brandy is indeed fine, and I am pleased at the cause for our little celebration. Shall I wax eloquent on the merits of the future Mrs Wickham?”

“I hardly think that would be decent sir, for her merits are numerous and not all are of an intellectual nature!” Wickham leaned forward and asked, “What are my merits, sir? Good looks, wit and modesty are a given, of course!”

Darcy tipped his glass, peering speculatively into its depths. “Why, Sir, your merits are without number. I think I have never known a finer judge of claret, and your skills at evaluating horseflesh are unparalleled– except perhaps by Fitzwilliam. However, I believe it is your charm with the ladies which has always intrigued me the most. Would that I could act with such ease in a crowded assembly hall, but there again, I excel at offending.”

“That is certainly true,” Wickham laughed, dashing a hand to Darcy’s shoulder. “The world is wide and bright and full of ladies who are–” He laughed and shrugged. “Perhaps wide and bright is not so suitable at this point of the conversation. The world is there to be enjoyed, a life to be lived for it is over too soon. I cannot imagine how I would feel to look back and say, if only. There will be mistakes, the good Lord knows, I’ve made many of them, but I am living. Mark me though, one needn’t raise a riot to experience life, it can be done without so much as a whisper. Go to the ends of the earth and wed a queen, stay beside your childhood hearth and wed the girl on the farm or give your life to music, to science, to whatever you passion may be, but above all, live.”

Gardiner lifted his glass appreciatively. “Hear, hear, my good fellow! Well said.”

Even Darcy had begun to shed that brooding exterior and was fingering the rim of his glass with a smile. “I take it you are firmly of the opinion that I have failed to ‘live,’ according to your definition.”

“It isn’t my place to make that judgement.” Wickham settled back in his chair. “Let your heart be your guide.”

Darcy leaned more heavily over the table, his eyes beginning to take on a foggy mellowness. It was likely the most alcohol the man had had in one night since… well, perhaps ever, as he had been restrained even during his days at Cambridge. “My heart has led me ill,” he slurred faintly. “I would not follow that willful organ again, God help me.”

Wickham shook his head, gazing at the surface of his drink as somewhere, deep in him, a realisation stirred. How had he not known before? How had it taken until now to realise that–

“I have never truly followed my heart until it led me to Lydia Bennet. I have followed my purse, my cunning, my brain, but my heart? I thought it not to be trusted.” He lifted his gaze to Darcy and smiled. “Follow where it leads, Darcy, for better or worse.”

Darcy raised his head, looking– really looking at his old companion for the first time in a long while. A puzzled expression crossed his face, and he looked as if he would speak, but could not think of what to say.

From Wickham’s left, Gardiner cleared his throat. “If you gentlemen will excuse me for just a moment.” Darcy watched him go, then looked down to the table again, his jaw working as he seemed perplexed by some deep thought. Wickham watched his former friend, seeing in him not just the boy who had grown into a man, but the father that had raised them both, the family that had provided for him, the sister whom he had thought nothing of using. That had not been following any sort of heart, because he had no heart then.

“I know it will count for nothing, and you will probably see only low cunning when I say it, but–” Wickham took a sip from his glass, then drew in a deep breath. “I’m truly sorry for my behaviour with regard to Miss Darcy.  There’s nothing more, no excuse or scheme, just sorry.”

Darcy raised his eyes incredulously. He stared, his mouth slightly open in shock before he remembered to close it. He blinked, then swiftly took another drink from his glass to purchase him a moment to think. He set the glass down again. “I have always found it difficult to forgive offences against myself. I never thought I should even find reason to… but another has shown me how very wrong I was.” He thinned his lips in determination, nodded firmly, and held Wickham’s eyes as he had not done since they were nearly brothers. “Let it be in the past.”

“Thank you,” Wickham nodded and extended his hand to shake. “My friend.”

Darcy’s mouth tugged to one side as he accepted the gesture. Their hands held for several seconds before parting. “Well,” Darcy glanced over his shoulder, “we shall both have to make reparations to Mrs Gardiner for it, but what do you say we begin this celebration in earnest?”

“I say yes,” Wickham declared. “And resoundingly so!”

To be continued…

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