||[Jul. 27th, 2006|04:45 pm]
Mr. Wickham! The very name was an outrage to Mr. Darcy. How such a man, a man that Darcy himself befriended as a child, could turn out so corrupt, base, and immoral was beyond Darcy. |
Truth be told, in youth George Wickham was as loving a boy as any other. There was a kindness in him then that no one aquinted with him at present would recognize. His manners were dignified and he showed a keen interest in pursuing a noble position of life, that of a man of the robes.
Yet, something went horribly wrong in Wickham's life. There was something beyond his power and grasp, and to a boy who saw the sky as the limit, being denied the simplist of things was enough to place a darkness over his heart.
The only thing wrong with Mr. Wickham was he was not a Darcy.
The Late Mr. Darcy loved Wickham as a son, but at the end of the day, he was not. Sure there was room enough for effection from the kind old man, but Fitzwilliam Darcy was the true heir. He was a son. Wickham was an outsider. A mere relation, not even that, who imposed on the Darcys. When the Late Mr. Darcy passed on, bequeathing the estate to Fitzwilliam Darcy, Wickham was faced with the truth, plain and simple. There was no place among the Darcys for him. He could no recall a time when his mother held him in her arms, or his father instructed him to ride a pony. These were not memorizes in Wickham's past. He had none of those things. Mr. Darcy however, had these things. Above all else, Mr. Darcy had a sister. A young vibrant young lady who adored her elder brother, for he was now her guardian, and she saw him as a father figure. Instead of taking pity on the young girl, Wickham saw an opportunity.
The one man Mr. Wickham hated was the one Ms. Georgiana Darcy loved. She was easily persuaded and such an attractive young lady. She was not his sister, and Wickham wanted revenge. Revenge for something he didn't quite understand. Fate had delt Wickham a cruel hand, but instead of rising to the occasion, Wickham decided to extract what he wanted, EVERYTHING- that was Mr. Darcy's- that meant Pemborley, half of Derbyshire, wealth, and the affection of Ms. Darcy.
Needless to say Ms. Darcy was only so eager to get married, although at the time it can be concluded that the young Ms. Darcy was not all aware of what marriage inclinded. To her a romance was a knight whisking away the princess, she forget the dragons and monsters that went along with such stories. For even the young and innocent come across a wolf dressed as a kind being. Little Red Riding Hood met such a fate.
The true hero in Ms. Darcy's life was her brother, for it was he who loved her, raised her, watched over her, and on one such occasion that they barely speak of anymore, saved her from the likes of a Mr. Wickham.
Yet, Mr. Wickham was one of those villians that never seemed to go away. He always had the worst timing to show back up. It was at the time that Mr. Darcy was trying to become more acquinted and familiar with Ms. Elizabeth Bennet that the scoundrel trapsed back into town, and again tried to steal a treasure from Mr. Darcy.
Luckily, Elizabeth Bennet was a wise lady, and the only setback Darcy had to rear from Wickham was a misunderstanding between Elizabeth and himself. Darcy had caused havoc in Elizabeth's life, and didn't deserve her trust and friendship, but none the less when Darcy told Elizbath his side to the matter of inheritence and the character of Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth believed him, no questions asked. The problem of Mr. Wickham seemed to be put to rest.
That would only be the thought of one who did not encounter the persistant Mr. Wickham.
Mr. Darcy formed an attachment to Elizabeht Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet refused Mr. Wickham. This was not good, not for Wickham, whom it has been stated wanted everything Mr. Darcy had. If Wickham could not have Elizabeth, then neither could Mr. Darcy.
The plot was much harder this time around. Elizabeth couldn't be pursuaded to elope with such a man as himself. Sensible girls were not to his liking- they never seeemd to cooperate. Fortunate for Wickham, Elizabeth Bennet had an unreasonable, flirt of a sister. Yes, Lydia Bennet would do just fine.
Lydia Bennet was more cooperative than Georgiana Darcy, for Georgiana Darcy was innocent, Lydia was more forboding to the demands of Wickham. She made no complaints or mistakes as to the nature of an elopment, should such a thing occur. Wickham had no intention whatsoever in eloping with Lydia, he only needed her for a fortnight. That should seal the deal Wickham believed.
Lydia would ruin her family, and no man would ever want to align his family with such a family as the Bennets. Particulary a stuffy, arrogant, nave as Mr. Darcy. If Wickham couldn't have what he wanted, then neither could Mr. Darcy.
It was not suprising at all that the name to which cursed out of Elizabeth Bennet's mouth when relating the elopement of her sister was Mr. Wickham. Darcy knew all to well the tactics and operation of such a man as Mr. Wickham. Without haste he sought to rectify the sitution of a Mr. Wickham once and for all.
Darcy left a devasted Elizabeth to the care of her aunt and uncle. As Darcy walked out the door she feared he would never reenter. It had taken her so long to get to that moment. She was finally willing to allow love to enter her heart. She saw Darcy now for who he was, and was sorry for the pain she had caused him in her refusal to marry him. Elizabeth never knew she could feel such pain in losing something she knew was not entirely hers. She had sworn to hate him, but instead found she did not want to live without him.
This is the moment in time where this story takes place. Mr. Darcy taking on the figure of the heroic knight attempting to save the young maidan from the dragon. Too bad for Darcy, he didn't like theatrics, but he played the part so well anyway. There was never a moments pause for Darcy on whether or not he would be able to save the Bennet family. The only dilemna Darcy faced was what he was going to do with Wickham when he found him. A thorough lashing upon the rack sounded about right, but Darcy was not a man to torture pathetic animals. No, Wickham for once in his life would be forced to do what was right. Darcy would see to that.
A dark night set over Northern London. The moon vibrarted an eerie silver aura. There was something in the air just then. Wickham stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Strange he thought. No one was there, but sure enough Wickham felt the heat and presence of something about to come. Lydia was trasping along side of him, a bit tipsy from too much merriment. Her hair was uncoiled and her dress was a bit dishevled, what a shame for it was a new dress, and Lydia very much liked new things. As Wickham stopped to look about, Lydia insisted on his moving forward. Afterall, there was nothing there.
"Poor Kitty," Lydia slurred out.
Wickham was only half paying attention, a habit he adapted in the presnce of Lydia for she surely loved to ramble on about this and that, none of which was ever of any importance. But to keep his mind off of his own problems at the moment, for he couldn't shake the notion that something was about to happen, he indulged into a conversation with the youngest Ms. Bennet.
"She desperately wanted to come, but the Forests only wanted me. I always liked the Forests. Such lovely people. Sarah was so jealous when she saw my new dress. What do you think of my new dress? Lovely isn't it. But Kitty couldn't come. Such a shame, for she could have found a husband..."
Perhaps, Wickham thought, he was not that desperate to pertake in such a conversation. There was no real need for him anyway, Lydia did all the talking.
When the door to the Bulls Inn slammed shut behind a drunken man, Wickham jumped about a foot in the air. Lydia couldn't contain her laughter at the sight of Wickham being all shaken up from such a thing, he was an army man afterall.
To hush the impertient laughter of Lydia, Wickham rapped her about his arms and quickly led her up the three flights of stairs to their bedchamber. She would pay for his humiliation. Like in all areas of his life, Wickham was also a selfish lover. He cared more about his needs and desires, than for the comfort and caress of any woman. For it could just as well be any woman in his arms. Though, Wickham kept focus on his plan, in ruining Darcy, Wickham couldn't help but feel that perhaps the suffer the company of Lydia Bennet was not worth it. Wickham took his rage and jealousy and poured it into his endowments.
When the morning light pranced into the bedchamber of Wickham and Lydia, Wickham was again pressed with the notion that something was not right. He had heard of cold feet, but he had no intention of marrying Lydia, so why he would feel such a notion was beyond him. It was more than that. Something telling him that he should not get ouf of bed, that he should crawl back under the covers and never reveal himself to the light of day again. So strong was his desire not to move from his resting place, that when Lydia stirred to begin her day, the day Wickham promised tp marry her, his strong arm reached arcoss the bed and enraptured her. The day would have to wait a little longer to be welcomed. And only then it was to remove himself from the charm of his willing bed partner.
Meanwhile, Darcy spent the evening racing towards London. There was a rage in his eyes and demeaner. His grasp of the reigns was overpowering and Trepid, his black steed was more than willing to race on. Although Darcy was focused on his mission he could not help but think of Elizabeth. It was the first time he had seen tears in her eyes. Tears he could not kiss away. A scared woman he could not hold. He longed to comfort her, take her in his arms and make all the pain in the world stop. Darcy wanted nothing more than to rap his arms around her and protect her. He would keep her safe and never let anything happen to her. He would love her, provide for her, and stroke her hair as he whispered in her ears that he was there and everything was going to be alright. But Elizabeth Bennet didn't want Darcy. He could not hold her, caress her, and make the pain stop. She did not want him, and he couldn't let her go.
Darcy wasn't chasing after Wickham to win Elizabeth, he would never suggest such a barbaric notion. No, he was going to save the Bennets from ruin, because he loved her. In his own heart he would love her, and would find happiness in knowing that perhaps someday she too would find happiness. If she could only love as he did her. All of it would be worth it. There was a hole in Darcy's heart, but he strove to forget his own sufferings.
It was mid-afternoon when Darcy arrived in town. He wasted no time in chaning horses or attire. He set about to find the whereabouts of the two most useless people in the world. It was of no surprise that Wickham set about in the same course as he had done last time. Wickham was not, shall we say, a bright man.
The BlackBeard. That's where Darcy would find Wickham. It was the only gambling pub within a ten mile radius, and those were Wickham's weaknesses. When Darcy entered the debauched pub he was glad that he had not changed his attire. No sene in sticking out in a crowd of ruddy men. For the first time in his life, Darcy didn't feel the beat of every person starring at him as he made an entrance. Here he was just one of the guys and just like everyone else. He was not Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. He was Mr...who cared what his name was, as long as he had money to burn.
A large commotion began to the right of Darcy as he stepped further into the broken down hole of a place. The stench of cigars and alcohol was enough to give the strongest of men a headache.
Wickham. Of course he was the center of all the attention. Apparently he forget to pay his gambling debt that night before. Another reason, perhaps Wickham felt the incessant need to watch his back. On any other day, on any other occasion Darcy would have gladly allowed Wickham to be thrashed, beaten, and possibly be killed. But for the first time in his life, Darcy ventured to conclude that Wickham was worth more alive than dead, at least for the moment. There was still the business of Lydia, who at the present he was thankful was not about. Although Darcy may have looked like everyone else, he surely did not act like everyone else. While those used to such commotion just went about with their drinking and gambling, Darcy acted, well Darcy acted like himself. Standing erect and ever so much the gentleman, Darcy made his way through the boisterous crowd, hoping that a brawl was not about to ensue.
When Darcy at last came into the sight of Wickham the noise died and there was no motion. In an instant, all was not right. Darcy glowered at Wickham disposition, and Wickham, humiliated, almost dared to spit at the ground beneath Darcy's feet but thought the better of it.
"Gentleman," probably the first time anyone ever called this group of men such a thing, "I will gladly pay the debt of this man if you would but release him," Darcy sternly attested. Fighting was always a good sport, but being paid was more agreeable.
The two men who had forciibly holding onto Wickham, not allowing him to escape their grasps, piloted Wickham into the floor as they threw him from their release.
Wickham continued not to move.
"You'd be owing us fifty quid," greedily stated the small bald man aside Darcy's left shoulder.
In the next moment Darcy reached within his waistcoat and glady handed the money to the gaggle of men. His eyes never left Wickham's body, hence if he dared to run he would not be far behind.
"It's been a pleasure gentleman, but now I must see to it that our dear friend here is ready for his wedding at two," Darcy beamed over Wickham, extending his hand to help the defeated man from the ground.
Wickham rather liked the idea of being beaten within an inch of his life at the moment. It sounded, well it sounded less like Lydia's incesstant, prattling voice.
Not wanting a lynching, Wickham decided it best for the time being to allow Darcy to escort him from the bar.
"Better hurry along Wickham, must not be late for your own wedding," Darcy stepped up the pace.
"I fear I do not have the proper attire," Wickham dared to answer, "and I seem to be missing a bride."
Darcy stopped walking. Never a good sign. With his temper in check Darcy preceded with the conversation, this time face to face with the one man Darcy cared if he never looked in the face again.
"Mr. Wickham," said with an inflection in Darcy's voice that made Wickham a bit nervous. The wrath of a man in love was never a gentle thing. He was in dangerous waters and knew better than to drown. "I came here with the every attention of seeing you married this time. You seem to complain and vent about not getting your way, well as I understand it was your intention to elope with Ms. Bennet, and I will glady see to it, that you marry a Ms. Bennet. Do I make myself clear Mr. Wickham?"
"Perfectly, Sir," Wickham glared back at Darcy, and a threat was noted in his eyes.
As the two men continued to walk towards the Inn, Darcy informed Wickham that wedding arrangements had already been made. There was no way Wickham was going to easily weasle his way out of this one. For once in his life, it appeared Wickham was getting everything he wanted. Although, perhaps he should have aimed for Mary Bennet, she didn't speak as much as Lydia, or dance and rattle on and on about something, then again no one did these things like Lydia. There was a certain art to it that she had perfected. Sadly no one admired it, rather they just gazed and wondered what it all meant. Wickham knew what it meant- enternity. Maybe fate would be kind and would take her away soon. Wickham thought all these things as he waited for his bride.
Darcy stood close by Wickham, making sure no one left the room until Wickham and Lydia were man and wife.
Lydia was a confounded at the presence of Darcy. She knew him to be unagreeable, proud, and the ruin of Mr. Wickham. How could such a man come and stand beside her Wickham? Overjoyed at getting married, Lydia overlooked Darcy's presence. Perhaps, he brought a wedding present. It was the least he could do for what he had done to Wickham. Honestly, she thought, some men have no class.
Darcy did have a wedding present for the young couple. For Lydia it was the wedding, for without him she would have never seen an alter. For Wickham he brought a commission, taking Wickham and his bride far away from the rest of Darcy's social settings.
At the end of the day it was a good deed. Still there was a pang in Darcy's heart.
As it has been noted, Wickham wanted everything that Darcy had. Well, for the first time, Darcy wanted what Wickham had, a wife.
The memory of those tears came back to Darcy as he sat atop his horse, about to depart for Neterfield. Yet, they were not Elizabeth's tears, they were his own.