P&P Prelude to Pemberley: Colonel Fitzwilliam Learns of Ramsgate

Welcome to our Pride & Prejudice prequel! P&P: Prelude to Pemberley tells the story of the time leading up to the events of Pride & Prejudice, including what Darcy and Elizabeth were doing and thinking, Georgiana Darcy’s story, the events of Ramsgate, how Mr. Bingley came to lease Netherfield, and much more! Join us on our journey as the Austen Variations authors post the events of 1811 in real time on the date they happened – 214 years in the future.

Colonel Fitzwilliam Learns of Ramsgate

July 18, 1811

A VEXED COLONEL THE HON. RICHARD FITZWILLIAM strode the halls of Horse Guards in London, his gleaming black Hessians making a tell-tale click upon the floor. He was returning to his office after another bloody meeting. Meetings! They had become the bane of his existence—those and the never-ending requests for reports! How was a man supposed to get anything of value done?

At least he was in London and not in Spain—for the time being.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regiment had given good service, suffering greatly in the Peninsula Campaign, and was sent back to England to recover and refit. Fitzwilliam’s promotion to colonel, a rank that could not be purchased, had been bought by the blood shed by his enemies and comrades.

It was best not to dwell upon that.

He was supposed to be refitting his ranks, sharing his experiences in Portugal with the army, and improving tactics and training. That needed to be done in person, not on paper! Could the generals not see this?

Instead, he grumbled over the tedious life of a staff officer. It was foolish, he knew. It was only a matter of time before he and his men would return to Wellington and war.

His men in the outer office jumped to their feet when he abruptly entered. A small wave of acknowledgement and he was in his inner sanctum. He almost threw himself into the chair behind his desk with a sigh.

Troop Sergeant-Major Gregory, who served as his aide, opened the door. “Would the colonel be wanting coffee, sir?”

“No, my belly could not stand it this time of day. See if you can scrape together some tea. And have Clarkson bring in the training reports from last week.”

Gregory hesitated. “Anything the troopers need to know, Colonel?”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “They are not shipping us out yet, Gregory. Beau’s been holding his own after we drove the Frenchies out of Portugal. Word is, Bonaparte replaced Marshall Masséna with Marmont.” The Viscount Wellington had turned things around, driving both Marshalls Ney and Masséna back to Spain. The Spanish irregulars— guerrillas they called themselves—proved to be invaluable allies, more effective than what was left of the Spanish Army.

“Hopefully, Wellington will have Marmont’s measure, sir, and they will not be needing us.”

Fitzwilliam grunted. He expected Bonaparte would not sit still over the events in Portugal, but would the emperor intervene personally, as he did in 1808? Only God knew.

“Step along for that tea. I have a yeoman’s work ahead of me before I sleep tonight.”

As soon as Gregory left, Fitzwilliam began going through the messages on his desk. He had hoped to hear something from his great friend Buford—it had been months since his last letter. The casualty list reported that Williams fell at Badajoz and Monsford was wounded at Olivença. Fitzwilliam had to hope that no news was good news.

As for his regiment, they had months of training before them. New men, new horses, learning from previous successes and, more importantly, past mistakes.

It was best not to dwell upon that, either.

Fitzwilliam’s profession was soldiering—a choice he made over the law or the church. He would do his duty for King and Country. When he and his men were finally ordered back to Spain, as he anticipated, he would obey without question and give his all.

It did not follow that he had to like it. Fitzwilliam set his mind on enjoying the sweet sounds of home for as long as Dame Fortune would allow it.

A waft of breeze came through the window, and Fitzwilliam almost choked. By the Infernal, the stench! How could people choose to live in London in summer? The poor and merchant class had little choice. What Fitzwilliam would not give to be at Matlock in Derbyshire!

Or at Ramsgate. He trusted Georgiana was enjoying her holiday. Darcy should be there by now as well. He hoped both his cousins were in better spirits.

He turned his attention to the reports, reviewing and making notes. He hardly looked up as the door opened, expecting it was Gregory with the tea.

It was not.

“Colonel,” said Lieutenant Andrews, “an express for you, sir.” The young officer held out a letter.

An express? Who would be sending him an express? Did something happen to the earl? “Where was the rider from, Andrews?” he asked as he took the envelope.

“From Ramsgate, sir.”

Fitzwilliam’s blood turned to ice. Only iron discipline kept him from immediately tearing open the letter. “Very good, Andrews,” he managed. “Carry on.”

Once the door closed, Fitzwilliam turned his attention to the express. At once he recognized Darcy’s strong, close hand.

Georgiana!

He had last seen her in April, during his annual visit to Rosings. Darcy had removed her from school and set up a household in Ramsgate with a former teacher, Mrs. Younge, as her companion. What in Heaven’s name had happened now?

He read on with growing anger. Wickham! That twice-damned scoundrel! And Younge—she was in league with him? Oh, thank Heavens Darcy arrived in time!

He lowered the letter and stared out the window, his thoughts a jumble of emotions.

Wickham—will we never be free of him? He glanced at the letter again. Ran like the dog he is. Not man enough to face Darcy in person. Hah—as if Darcy would call out the scum. Too much the gentleman, he is. If I were there, I would soon have put paid to the bastard!

But he could not go. He had used up all his leave visiting Rosings. He had reports to write, troopers to train. He could not tell the general why he needed to answer an emergency—all Whitehall would know the reason within a week. Officers gossiped like fishwives. Darcy must deal with Georgiana and Younge on his own.

Mrs. Younge! I can hardly believe it. Her credentials were excellent. She taught at Georgianna’s school. I thought—both Darcy and I thought—she was ideal. Damn! Her references must have been forged. Was she in this from the beginning, or did Wickham seduce her? It does not matter. The woman will never work in a respectable house again once Darcy is through with her.

He held his face in his hands. What is wrong with Georgiana? First the troubles at school and now this? Does she not understand she will ruin her life? Why will she not talk to us? Darcy and I have tried and tried—and we have failed.

What to do? Lady Catherine is no solution. Perhaps my mother? My sister Henrietta turned out well…eventually. Is raising a girl so difficult?

Fitzwilliam knew he had to speak to Lady Matlock. She might know of a strong governess or companion—one that could keep Georgiana in line.

As for his anger and frustration, he needed to go to Angelo’s. He was in a killing rage and needed to take it out on something.

Devil take him! One day George Wickham will pay for this!

Read all the scenes in Prelude to Pemberley here!