Today's excerpt is from my Work In Progress - The Wager.
~~~ooo0ooo~~~
The officers of the ___shire Militia, also in attendance, presented themselves in a favorable light with polite manners and gentlemanlike behavior. Not much time had passed before Mr. Wickham, a handsome, congenial man to whom almost every female eye was turned, asked for introductions to the ladies of Longbourn and immediately fell into an agreeable conversation with them. Elizabeth was not surprised by this request, nor when the gentleman’s attention became more focused on her eldest sister. Jane’s beauty was a beacon of light that called many to make her acquaintance, but few withstood the pointed questions the sisters had learned to ask in order to determine if a gentleman was worth their attention.
The first thing Elizabeth determined was that flattery, coupled with a winsome smile, was Mr. Wickham’s secret weapon. She surmised even the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the speaker's skill.
How many young girls have fallen for your charm? she wondered. An elevated brow directed toward her eldest sister, who returned her silent query with a slight, elegant shrug of her shoulder, told Elizabeth that Jane was also leery of the officer.
Barely any time had passed before Elizabeth tired of his prattle and decided to begin what she and Jane jokingly called The Inquisition. Over the next quarter hour, they discovered his father had been a steward of a vast estate in Derbyshire, and the master of that same estate was also his godfather. What surprised them most was learning Mr. Wickham’s godfather had ensured his godson received a gentleman’s education, sending him to the best private schools, including Cambridge alongside his own son. More questioning revealed the dapper officer had, for a brief time, entertained the thought of being a barrister.
“I found the law was not to my liking,” Wickham said in a firm voice. “I am an active person and could not bear the thought of being tied to a desk for all hours of the day.”
“Forgive me for being indelicate, but given the great education you received, what enticed you to join the militia at this stage of your life?” Elizabeth asked when he paused for breath.
“It was the prospect of constant and good society which was my chief inducement,’’ he began. “I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jane said in her calm, serene manner. “On behalf of the citizens of Meryton, we hope you will enjoy our society, small and unvaried as it may seem.”
Elizabeth inherently knew her sister referred to Mr. Bingley’s sister’s lamentations of lack of good company in Hertfordshire.
“Society, I own, is necessary to me. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church, and should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the son of my deceased godfather.’’
“Indeed!’’
“Yes, the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”
Both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s eyes widened at his mentioning the name of Darcy, but Mr. Wickham did not notice as his attention became riveted on some guests who entered the room. His face paled and Elizabeth turned to see who had generated such a response to find herself looking directly at Mr. Darcy, whose own face was flushed an angry red.
Wickham turned to face the sisters. His eyes flicked every which way, as though looking for an escape, his upper lip dotted with a thin sheen of perspiration.
“Pray, excuse me. I must find my friend Denny and make plans for tomorrow’s drill exercise.”
Elizabeth shot out her hand and latched onto Mr. Wickham’s left arm, forestalling his exit.
“May I assume your godfather’s son is none other than Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
“Yes.”
Wickham attempted to slither from her grip but she held firm.
“Well then, how fortuitous that we are here with you now, in front of all these guests.”
“How so?” Wickham asked, shuffling as though to hide behind her because Darcy was bearing down on them with the speed of a violent summer storm.
“We must decry your terrible treatment and have Mr. Darcy fulfill his father’s dearest wish.” Elizabeth tightened her hold. “If nothing else, he must give you the pecuniary value of the living. It is only right and just.”
“That is not necessary, Miss Elizabeth. I have learned to forgive and forget.”
By this time, Darcy had reached them. He towered over Wickham, his fists clenching and unclenching. He was – Elizabeth thought with a small frisson of awareness – quite magnificent.
“I invite you to join me outside, Wickham.”
“I am here with my compatriots, Darcy. I have no need to leave the party at this juncture.”
Elizabeth dared to engage the glowering bear.
“We are so glad you arrived when you did, Mr. Darcy,” she began.
“You are?” he asked without once removing his gaze from Wickham.
“Most assuredly, for Mr. Wickham shared with us how he was unjustly kept from receiving a living your father, his godfather, had promised to him.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. He was very clear in most details when telling us his version of events.”
Upon hearing the inflections in Elizabeth’s voice, Darcy cut her a quick glance. She was able to wink with either eye and as one side of her face was concealed from Mr. Wickham, she used the left eye to do that very service. Mayhap it was her imagination, but she thought Mr. Darcy’s shoulders physically relaxed. By this time, the viscount and Bingley had joined them.
“Did you inform these fine ladies that in lieu of the living, you asked for and received three thousand pounds, on top of the one thousand pounds settled on you by my father at the time of his death?” Darcy asked, his voice as hard as peaks of Derbyshire.
“You arrived before I had a chance to share that part of history.”
“To be fair,” Elizabeth interjected, the imp of mischief settled firmly on her shoulders. “Mr. Wickham did inform us he had been brought up for the church and having received a Cambridge education I am certain he must have used those funds toward receiving holy orders.”
“I truly must leave. I see my fellow officers waving me over.”
Elizabeth released her hold and Wickham tugged down his new red tunic before giving all of them a polite half-bow. He turned to leave but halted midstride when Mr. Darcy spoke again.
“I shall give your regards to my cousin when I write him tonight,” Darcy said, his tone almost conversational. “Richard is most anxious to make your reacquaintance. You should know he was exceedingly upset that we had just missed you by a few days this past summer.”
Elizabeth thought Mr. Wickham was about to faint, and found it very interesting that the gentleman bypassed all his fellow officers and fled the house completely without saying farewell to anyone.
Sometimes when writing, I surprise myself. In writing this next scene, little did I know I was about to gift the Bingley sisters with a new moniker to proclaim as their own. This snippet is from my Work In Progress, The Wager.
EXCERPT
“I understand you have family
here in Meryton, Miss Hamilton.”
“I do,” Jane
replied. “My mother’s sister is married to Mr. Phillips.”
“How lovely,
and is Mr. Phillips busy with his little shop?” Miss Bingley asked before
raising her fingers to hide a smile.
“My uncle is an
attorney. He is the one who negotiated the lease your brother signed to rent
Netherfield Park.”
Miss Bingley
pursed her lips at being reminded they did not own the estate where she rested
her head at night but rented it from another. Regardless of this annoyance, she
continued with her line of questioning, solidifying Elizabeth’s belief she had
a nefarious purpose for the unexpected invitation to tea.
“Does this same
uncle have his own estate?”
“His eldest
brother inherited the family estate in Surrey.”
“Our dear Uncle
Phillips is a second son,” Elizabeth interjected, not wanting Jane to reveal
their beloved uncle’s father was a baron. “He chose to follow the law instead
of taking orders, which brought him to our corner of Hertfordshire.”
“A choice Aunt Martha
is very glad of,” Mary added before she took a small bite of her cake.
“Your other
uncle,” Caroline continued as though neither Elizabeth nor Mary had spoken. “He
is in trade, yes?”
Jane nodded in
the affirmative.
“Our uncle is
very successful. He and his wife live in London.”
“In Cheapside,
I heard.”
“Near
Cheapside, on Gracechurch Street.”
“I imagine he
lives there in order to keep a watchful eye on his property,” Miss
Bingley tittered and slid a sly glance toward Mrs. Hurst.
Elizabeth’s
anger began to simmer. What was supposed to be a pleasant tea had turned into
an inquisition where the perpetrator believed she had all the answers and only
wished to humiliate her guests.
“Speaking of
property, remind me again Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth began with false sweetness.
“In which county we can find your father’s estate?”
She would have
gone further, but Jane laid a warning hand on her forearm.
“Enough,
Lizzy,” she said in a soft undertone.
An odd sound
came from Mary and both turned their attention toward her.
“Jane,” she
said in a small voice. “I do not feel well.”
Mary then
doubled over and struck her head hard enough on the floor to render her
unconscious. Both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst emitted tiny screams.
“Miss Bingley, is
there any fish in these cakes?” Jane demanded as she hurried to Mary’s side,
gently lifting her sister’s head to rest on her lap.
“How would I
know?”
“Please find
out if there was.”
Miss Bingley
continued to gape and cast panicked glances toward her eldest sister. Mrs.
Hurst seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and hurried to the bell
pull. Only when a footman stepped into the room did Miss Bingley snap out of
her stupor.
“You there,”
she demanded and pointed at the footmen. “Have Mrs. Nickers attend us and send
a maid to ask the cook what was in the cakes she sent up for our tea.”
The footman cast
a quick glance at Mary lying on Jane's lap before hurrying from the room.
Elizabeth heard Mrs. Hurst murmur to her sister, “Her name is Mrs. Nicholls.”
“Oh, who cares.
She is just a housekeeper.”
At that moment,
the butler entered the room. Most likely to investigate why some of the ladies
had screamed.
“What may I do
to help, Ma’am,” he queried, addressing Jane, not Miss Bingley.
“Send Jeremy
for Mr. Jones, he is the fastest rider of all the footmen. Tell him Miss Bennet
is having one of her reactions and we need him post haste.” The butler turned
to do her bidding, stopping when Jane called out again. “Cardston, after that,
please find Mrs. Nicholls and tell her I need water for drinking as well
as to wipe Mary’s face, it will help cool and relax her.”
Cardston
withdrew to do her bidding, completely ignoring the gaping mouth of his
temporary mistress.
“Who do you
think you are, to order about our servants as if they are your own?” Miss
Bingley demanded. “It is not as though your sister is dying.”
Jane’s eyes
flashed with anger upon hearing such a callous comment. Elizabeth was not at
all surprised by her sister’s reaction. She and Jane could and did withstand
the barbs and insults of ignorant people, but woe betide the person who
attacked her family. Fortunately, for Miss Bingley, Mary stirred and her eyes
fluttered.
“Relax, dearest,”
Jane soothed as she gently stroked her sister’s cheek. “You hit your head on
the floor and were rendered unconscious.”
“Jane…”
Whatever it was that Mary wished to say would never be known because she
promptly rolled to her side and vomited onto the carpet.
The outraged
gasps of Miss Bingley would sustain Elizabeth for days, but only after her
sister recovered. Any further outbursts were stymied by the arrival of Mrs.
Nicholls, who bustled into the room with a couple of maids, bringing water and
clean rags.
“Thank you,
Mrs. Nicholls,” Jane said, overriding any comment Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst
may have made. “Prepare the green guest room for Mary and have Cardston direct
Mr. Jones there when he arrives.”
“Right away,
La−, Miss Hamilton.”
“Who are you to
give orders to my servants?”
“I have neither
the time nor the inclination to answer your questions, Miss Bingley.” Jane
caressed Mary’s brow with tender affection. “My sister’s recovery is my only
priority.”
Although she
wished to lend comment, Elizabeth stayed quiet. This was Jane’s fight, not
hers. Two hours later, an exhausted Mary lay sleeping in one of the guest rooms
after a thorough examination by Mr. Jones. Fortunately, she had only taken a
bite of one small cake.
“Will she be
able to come home tomorrow, Mr. Jones?” Jane asked, her attention riveted to
the still form of her sister lying in the bed. Elizabeth sat by the side of the
bed, holding Mary’s hand in hers.
“Miss Hamilton,
your sister has suffered one of her Idiosyncrasy’s. It is as I told you when
she had her last spasmodic symptom, her body reacts in a different manner to
some foods. The last time it was lobster. Do we know what she ingested today?”
“Miss Bingley learned
some of the cakes had crab in them,” Elizabeth offered in reply.
“Ahh…this is
good to know. It seems Miss Bennet must avoid ingesting any type of fish.” Mr.
Jones paused, as if in deep thought. “Has she ever reacted to lake trout?”
“Not that I am
aware of,” Jane said. “We have trout regularly during the summer months. My Uncle
Gardiner is an avid angler and loves to fish our stream, allowing us to enjoy
the spoils of his labor.”
“Fascinating.
It seems Miss Bennet only reacts to oceanic species of shellfish,” Mr. Jones
murmured. “I will write one of my friends in Town and see if he has any further
insight into these types of maladies.”
“So, Mary can
come home tomorrow?” Jane asked.
“As far as her
reaction to food, she is fine. However, she struck her head quite hard, which
is the reason she became violently ill. She must rest quietly, and it is
imperative she is awakened every four hours.”
“I shall stay
with her, Jane,” Elizabeth offered.
“Are you certain?”
“After your
little dust-up with Miss Bingley, I believe a strategic retreat is called for you to regroup your serenity.”
Once Mary rested quietly, the remaining sisters returned to the drawing room. Jane to
say her goodbyes to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and Elizabeth to see her
safely off and confer with their hostess about what Mr. Jones had requested
regarding food and drink for Mary. The doors to the drawing room remained
partially open and the strident tones of Miss Bingley clearly carried into the
hall.
“What did Miss
Hamilton mean? Ordering our servants around like this was her own home. I
declare those Bennet sisters are the main reason I wish to quit this horrible
place.”
Quick footsteps
could be heard and a low murmur from Mrs. Hurst.
“I do not care,
Louisa. They are below us, practically dirt farmers with two impoverished
step-daughters and their estate entailed away. We must get Charles away from
Miss Hamilton. She will drag him down into the mud with her and ruin my chances
of making a successful marriage.”
Elizabeth not
only felt Jane stiffen but saw her draw back her shoulders.
“Do nothing you
will regret later, Jane,” she cautioned. “Words may pierce our pride and sting
our memories but they cannot change who we are and the life we will lead once
Trenton comes home.”
“While our lives will alter when our brother returns in a few short weeks, I
am tired of the snide remarks and underhanded comments that perpetually spring
forth from Mr. Bingley’s sisters.” Jane turned cerulean blue eyes toward her sister
and smiled wide enough to crinkle their corners. “I believe it is time for those
two ladies to be schooled in proper etiquette.”
“As you know,
there is no love lost between Miss Bingley and me, and in most circumstances, I
would wholeheartedly agree, but – think on this – if you reveal our rank, are
you prepared for that woman and her sister to grovel and toady for your
attention.”
“Now that I am
aware of their true sentiments, I have no desire to acknowledge them in any
form.” She paused and her expression turned thoughtful. “Unless I continue to
accept Mr. Bingley’s attentions.”
“Is his
affection worth the twin tentacles of doom waiting for us in the next room?”
“I confess I am
uncertain.” Jane took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I suppose we shall
find out over the next few weeks.”
From my current Work in Progress ~ The Wager
Lydia leaped to her feet, grabbed Maria Lucas by the hand and tugged her out of the room, followed by a giggling Kitty.
“Your Lydia is so full of energy, Mrs. Bennet.”
“She is. Mr. Bennet and I have found a good school for her and Kitty. There just isn’t enough here to keep her occupied and we all know the wicked one will find work for idle hands.”
“Your Lydia would not do anything bad.”
“Not intentionally,” Mamma said before taking a sip of her tea. “But, with the expectation of the ____shire militia quartering here in Meryton, I am not willing to place her in the way of temptation. She is at that age where she will see romance in everything, even if a gentleman sneezes, she will think it is because he is trying to gain her attention.”
“I think we all were silly when we were younger,” Lady Lucas said then smiled wide. “Do you remember when Mr. Goodman’s nephew came to visit when we were about five and ten?”
“I do. I very nearly died when he smiled at me at church.”
Elizabeth and Jane looked at one another with wide eyes. They had never heard Mamma reminisce about anything before she had wed their father. At times, they forgot their mother had been a young girl whose heart fluttered upon seeing a handsome man, or boy.
“But no one was more handsome than Colonel… oh dear, what was his name?” Lady Lucas asked her longtime friend. “He rode in front of his men when the militia came to town the following year.”
“Colonel Miller.”
“Yes, Colonel Miller.” Lady Lucas closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “He sat his horse very well. Very well, indeed.”
She cracked open her eye and looked at Mamma, who blushed slightly before they both laughed heartily.
“Martha Whitby Lucas, you are a naughty woman.” Mamma cut a quick glance toward her three daughters who watched, their mouths slightly agape. “We were young girls who thought all officers were handsome and charming and Colonel Miller was everything a gentleman and an officer ought to be.”
“Sadly,” Lady Lucas brought pulled out a handkerchief, and pretended to wipe away a tear, “He was happily married and broke our tender hearts.”
“My heart was not too broken, as Mr. Hamilton had just arrived at Longbourn and soon, all I saw was him.”
“That is true. He was a lovely man and now you are blessed with another wonderful man. Mr. Bennet still thinks the sun and moon revolve around your whims and fancies.”
‘He is a good man, and I love him dearly.”
“I am glad to hear that, my dear,” Papa said upon entering the room, the Netherfield party following behind. “I am too old to find this Colonel Miller and challenge him to a duel.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mamma said with a gasp. “You will make our guests think you are a terrible rogue with talk like that.”
“No, they will think I am a man who still finds his wife pretty enough to protect from other rakes and scoundrels.” Papa kissed her on the cheek and then turned to look at the male guests from Netherfield. “You have been warned, gentlemen. Mrs. Bennet is my lady fair.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, it was Mr. Darcy who responded.
“I concede the field to you, sir.”
“You require watching, I think,” Papa mused out loud. “Do you play chess, Mr. Darcy?”
“I do.”
“Come tomorrow and we shall enjoy a game of strategy.”
“Shall we also play chess?”
Papa laughed outright.
“Oh yes, you definitely require watching.” Papa turned to Mary. “Will you ask Hill to bring in some more tea? I am certain Mr. Bingley and his guests would enjoy that new blend your uncle from town sent us last week.”
This work in progress will not be available until early Autumn.
