P&P Prelude to Pemberley: Georgiana meets Wickham in 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.

A Taste of Freedom

It was just a stroll down the promenade, in the presence of Mrs. Younge, who trailed behind them. She was not doing anything wrong. Still, she could not shake off an uneasy feeling. What if she ran into someone she knew? George was not her brother, nor her cousin, and she was flaunting the rules. Her shoulders felt tight and her jaw hurt, even though she was very happy to be walking with him.

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me, Georgiana?” George’s voice was a soft murmur in her ear.

She was thrown into confusion. “What—? No— of course not! Why would you think that?”

“Because you are looking at the ground, and you seem embarrassed, and you have not said a thing, when you always had so much to say in your letters. Let me guess. Your brother would not like it if you met with me.” He let go of her arm and stepped away from her. “I would not want to impose on you, or make you do something your brother would not approve of. I think I had better go.”

She rubbed her arm, where it had touched his. She felt bereft. This could not end like this. She could not let him leave, just like that, when she had been so delighted to see him.

“No. Don’t!” She felt very daring, telling him to stay. “I don’t want you to leave.”

George shook his head, looking terribly sad. “But what about your brother?”

“William?” She felt angry. Why should she care for her brother’s good opinion? Why should William drive George away?

“William is not here,” she said, firmly. “I am not a schoolgirl anymore. He cannot stop me from seeing you.”

He gave her a smile full of approval and she basked in it. He was proud of her for taking a stand. Nobody had ever looked at her like that. No one had made her feel like she was doing something right. She felt strong and capable, and she was ready to defy everyone.

She pulled herself to her full height and looked him in the eye.

“I am not a weakling, George,” she said. “I fought Miss Lloyd and bloodied her nose. I will not let anyone stop me from doing what I want.”

Something stirred in his deep blue eyes – something fierce, almost triumphant. He was pleased with her. “You are indeed very brave. If you are certain—?”

“I am certain.”

A warm glow came over her as he offered her his arm again. She stepped towards him, her head held high, and took it.

With George by her side, she could face the whole world.

***

Their walk was over all too soon. Wickham said he had some business to conduct, and he left, promising they would meet again the next day.

“I am supposed to be in London tomorrow,” he said, “but I will delay it a few days.”

He gave her a significant look which made it obvious why he was delaying.Her heart was about to burst. She had never imagined, when she and George were corresponding, that it would come to this.

Fate had brought them together. How else could she explain that, from all the towns in England, his business had required his presence in Ramsgate? He had smiled at her, and squeezed her hand, and – he was here!! She could see him whenever she wanted. No more secret letters. No more chewing on her nails as she waited for Mrs. Younge to bring her a letter from him. No more being worried about getting caught.

Her spirits soared like the seagull that rose up from the sea, spreading its wings, riding the wind.

Her hand still tingled from his touch, the small squeeze that was so subtle no one else could have noticed, the imprint of his elbow against hers.

All this, right under Mrs. Younge’s watchful eyes!! A gurgle of laughter rose up in her throat. She swallowed it quickly. It would not do for Mrs. Younge to suspect anything. She had managed to convince Mrs. Younge that George Wickham was her cousin, and now Georgiana could meet with him whenever she wanted!

She did feel just a tiny bit sorry for tricking Mrs. Younge, who had been so good to her at the seminary. Not sorry enough, though, to give up the chance that had been offered to her on a silver platter.

Oh, the thrill of doing something so improper! Miss Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley, the timid little mouse, the one everyone ignored! To be finally able to do as she chose!

Take that, Miss Dalrymple! Take that, toothless Miss Lloyd who had caused her to be expelled! Take that, Lady Catherine, who had told her that with her blemished reputation, no nice young man could ever fall in love with her!

Wickham was the most agreeable man she ever saw, her model of the amiable and pleasing. He was everything a young lady could wish for: a fine countenance, a good figure, and a smile that would melt the hardest heart. In short, he was the handsomest, most appealing gentleman she had ever seen.

And yet, here he was, in Ramsgate, and he wanted to walk with her. It had to be fate. It was meant to be.

“Shall we turn back, miss? The wind is picking up.”

Did she want to go back and suffocate between four walls? Certainly not. She loved the fierce wind. She loved the hissing of the waves. She loved the squealing of the seagulls, who swooped and looped and sometimes stole food from unwary eaters. They did just as they pleased.

This was freedom.

“I don’t want to go in just yet. I want to walk on the beach.” What she wanted mattered.

After all, who was to say ‘no’ to her? Not Mrs. Younge. Not Miss Dalrymple. Certainly not William, who was far, far away, and would never come here.

A gust of wind blew at her dress, toying with it. It bellowed up like a sail and she laughed as it lifted to reveal her ankles. Two good-looking sailors who passed her whistled as they admired the turn of her ankle and she giggled.

At last. At last, she was no longer Miss Darcy who stuttered in her lessons. She was not Miss Darcy the others looked down on because she was overcome with shyness whenever she was asked to come to the front of the class. She was here, in Ramsgate, walking on the beach with wind in her hair and her ankles on display, and she an elegant, handsome young gentleman had told her that fate had brought him here, to her.

“Miss Darcy? Shall we go back to the house?”

“I will go back when I am ready.”

She felt brash and daring. She did like Mrs. Younge, who was kind to her at school, and who understood why Georgiana had attacked Miss Lloyd, and brought her George’s letters. But Georgiana was no longer at school. She did not need anyone to feel sorry for her or be kind to her. Things were different now. She had her own household, and she could so as she pleased.

She did not have to answer to William, whose boring letters were full of lectures about how much she owed to the family name, and how their ancestors stretched back to William the Conqueror. All the way back to the year 1066! Imagine how many Williams there had been since then! She giggled as she thought of all the plump baby boys who had been named William after their illustrious forefather.

What use were all those Williams to her? What use was William Darcy? He had locked her up in that horrid school and refused to listen when she said she hated it. And then when Miss Dalrymple kicked her out, he had taken her out and sent her away – as far from his precious Pemberley as he possibly could.

The only one who had ever cared for her was George Wickham. He was the one who really understood her. She could tell him everything, all her secrets, all her thoughts and feelings, and he never lectured or judged her.

Fated. He had called their meeting fated. She felt a flutter inside her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the strange salt tang of the sea. It filled her nostrils. It was new, and different, and full of promise. She opened her eyes and looked at the masts of the ships. Where did all these ships go, she wondered? Maybe one day she would go on one of them, to some distant land. Maybe she could sail away with Wickham to the Americas, and she would never have to see Miss Dalrymple and London and those horrid girls again and the parents that stared at her disapprovingly and called her unnatural and vicious and unfeminine and all those awful things they said about her. She especially would not have to put up with an abominable headmistress telling her to apologize.

The best thing she had ever done was punch Miss Lloyd in the face, because now she had everything she had ever wanted. A nice companion like Mrs. Younge who was letting Georgiana meet with George Wickham, who looked at her as if she was the most precious person in the world.

Admittedly, Mrs. Younge was not very bright. It had been so easy for Georgiana and Wickham to convince her that, although he was not her brother, it was quite proper for them to spend time together. Georgiana had not told a lie, exactly, but she had not told the truth either. That part about William saying ‘he is not your brother,’ well, it was the kind of thing William would say, because he was stuffy and dull and said those kinds of things, but really, what did it mean? The idea had come to her out of the blue. It was really rather clever.

If Mrs. Younge ever stopped to think about it, she would realize it meant nothing at all.

“Miss Georgiana, we had better return to the house.”

“Just a few minutes more, Mrs. Younge?” she cajoled.

She would be nice to Mrs. Younge, because Mrs. Younge would help her meet dear George. She smiled. She could call him dear George, at least in her mind, because he was almost her beau. Not yet, maybe, but she could tell he liked her, just from the way he looked at her.

All the other girls at school had talked about beau. They shared conversations late into the night about handsome young gentlemen they knew, and how they hoped one day to be swept off their feet by them. And now, just one day after she arrived, George was here, and the expression in his eyes—

Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe he was not quite her beau yet, but he had talked about fate. Why had he done that if she meant nothing to him?

He had wanted her to say she would walk with him. He had smiled at her and encouraged her to stand on her own two feet and tell the world what she wanted.

Dear George was her beau.

I hope you enjoyed this scene. I would love to hear what you think. 🙂

Read all the scenes in Prelude to Pemberley here!