bracelets while she watched the smiling, swaggering stranger approach.
Sir Lance said, “Miss Bingley, please allow me to introduce to you Mr. George Wickham, the son of an acquaintance of mine and, coincidentally, a good friend of your brother. Mr. Wickham, may I present Miss Caroline Bingley, who is the niece of Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett Piers.” The elderly gentleman then introduced Wickham to Miss Chatsworth.
The young man bowed and said, “It is my very great pleasure to meet you both. Miss Bingley, if you are not already engaged for the last set, may I have the pleasure of standing up with you?” He smiled charmingly at her friend and added, “I must apologize, Miss Chatsworth, but not having been introduced to you before, I regret I have already asked for the remainder of the dances with other young ladies.”
So, during the last set, Wickham spoke enthusiastically to Miss Bingley about his long-standing friendship with her brother as well as with the esteemed Darcy family, his extensive education at Cambridge, and his thorough knowledge of the grand estate of Pemberley. Caroline was enthralled.
To give credit where credit is due, the hard-working fellow was truly on his way to becoming an exemplary steward. Be that as it may, George Wickham had not abandoned his rakish behaviour. While knowing it was wrong to lead her astray, he could not convince himself to discontinue a seduction. If Bingley had been present, Wickham would never have dared to pursue a friend’s sister. Caroline had a lovely smile when she took the bother to do so and possessed a sharp, cutting wit. He admired her audacious fashion sense, and Miss Bingley was certainly handsome enough to tempt him … as were most young women.
And so it was that Caroline met her future husband and was granted her wish of never relinquishing a connection to her precious Pemberley.
Never before the object of such admiration and attention, Miss Bingley let his fawning and flattery go to her head; and Wickham put considerable effort into wooing and weaselling his way in there. He traveled to and fro between Derbyshire and her uncle’s Staffordshire estate and picked wildflowers along the way to present to her. With masterly finesse, he smooth-talked his way straight into her heart.
One fateful afternoon as the couple strolled the grounds, Mrs. Ann Teak complained of a terrible headache. Caroline nittered and nattered, jibbered and jabbered without intermission about how much she was grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad headache, and how excessively she disliked being ill herself. She finally insisted the elderly woman go inside to rest and then thought no more of the matter.
Overcome by the manly smell of shaving soap and his well-placed grope, down the slippery slope Caroline tumbled and breathlessly asked, “Shall we elope and end my forlorn hope?”
Overcome by the womanly smell of jasmine soap and her well-placed grope, down the same slippery slope Wickham tumbled; and, without thought, he recklessly answered, ‘yes’ instead of ‘nope’.
Miss Bingley had dropped all her prior resentment of Elizabeth Bennet and, instead of writing to Charles about her suitor, she took advantage of that lady’s kind invitation to correspond. In her letter, Caroline succinctly explained she had never been romantic and wanted only a home at Pemberley. “My dear Miss Elizabeth, considering Mr. Wickham’s connections and situation in life, I am convinced my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. I hope, my friend, once you are settled in the cold northern clime, you will not be blue with envy over my living on the finer Darcy estate. Your also-engaged friend, Caroline.” Although usually quite fastidious with her penmanship, Miss Bingley had written the direction remarkably ill; and the letter had been delivered elsewhere and would only catch up with its recipient many weeks later in Northumberland.
The scheming couple met at midnight and headed for Gretna Green under cover of darkness. But Wickham did not get far, neither with Caroline nor with the inadequate spending money he had in his possession. Although very conscientious with Pemberley funds, George had been drawing his own bustle too freely and soon found himself nearly on the rocks. It became necessary to stay at an inn on the second night; and at the lady’s insistence, it was spent in separate rooms. Until they were legally married, she refused to give in to any of his further advances. Wickham then had to sheepishly explain to Caroline he needed to return with important estate papers for his father; and because of having to rent two rooms instead of one, his lodging allowance was already spent. They would barely have enough blunt to buy meals on their way back to Pemberley; and after that, he would be run quite off his legs. The trip to Scotland was, therefore, abandoned.
Waiting to leg-shackle the disgraced couple upon their return were Mr. Hugh Wickham, Mr. Bartlett Piers, and the Reverend Mr. Wingrave; the parson’s mousetrap was to clamp down on Caroline and George in a pretty little chapel in Lambton the following evening.
With money provided by her outraged uncle, the uneasy bride, in company with the parson’s wife, went shopping the next morning in the small market town for a new dress to wear at her impromptu wedding. Caroline Bingley was in a daze and hardly noticed the pretty ivory gown with palest of blue pinstripes. It was the only readily available option in her size; and the young woman knew she would probably never don it again, for it just did not have enough vibrancy for her taste. Mrs. Wingrave thought the frock was quite fetching and said, “Miss Bingley, orange you glad you could not squash yourself into that appalling pumpkin-pigmented garment? Who on earth would have the ghastly fashion sense and audacity to wear such a horrid hue?” The older woman was mortified to realize her companion was, in fact, already attired in an atrocious carroty creation.
At the chapel later that same evening while waiting for the menfolk, Mrs. Wingrave could not help but notice the bride was extremely fretful. Earlier in the day, the clergyman’s wife had the onerous task of explaining certain aspects of married life to the unfortunate, motherless bride. However, the matron correctly assumed Miss Bingley’s apprehension was unrelated to that awkward conversation.
When asked the reason for her anxiety, Miss Bingley said, “This is all very sudden. I … am … ” Caroline had begun to worry she was about to become a tenant for life with a loose fish. While shopping, she had overheard whispered remarks about George Wickham being quite the rake. Unwilling to admit to Mrs. Wingrave, or herself, that she had possibly made a very grave mistake, Caroline raised her chin and voiced a totally different concern, “I am afraid I will not remember what to do during the ceremony.”
“Ah. Well, my dear, it is very simple. You only need remember three things. First is the aisle you will have to walk down; second is the altar where your groom will be waiting; and third is the hymn we will sing during the service.” Miss Bingley nervously gulped and nodded her head in understanding.
When everyone was finally in place, the ceremony commenced. Armin-arm with her uncle, Caroline stared straight ahead and softly repeated the three words she needed to remember. As she approached the petrified groom, he was horrified to hear, “Aisle-altar-hymn. Aisle-alter-him. I’ll-alter-him.” On the other hand, the rest of the tiny congregation hoped it just might be possible.
It was done. Caroline Bingley became Mrs. George Wickham during a wedding ceremony conducted by candlelight. Unfortunately, their passion burned for only a wick. In spite of that, with her marriage Caroline got a new name and a-dress. She should have been pleased by the fact her new address was a cottage on a three- hundred-foot cliff at the very edge of Pemberley’s border; and perhaps Caroline was content, or it might have been a big bluff. Regardless, one thing was certain … the Wickhams were a fastidious couple. He was fast, and she was tedious.
Any thought of those two actually reproducing would be almost unbearable and rather inconceivable; so, fortunately for the world, Caroline proved to be quite impregnable. Mr. and Mrs. George Wickham remained childless and childish. Of course, people may only be young once; but they can be immature forever.
While Jane and Elizabeth shopped with their mother and Mrs. Gardiner, Darcy had arrived at the Bennet townhouse and was directed by Baines to the sitting room to await Elizabeth’s imminent return. Mr. Bennet read the newspaper while his two youngest children sat on the floor, under the watchful eye of Miss Edwards, the governess. Lydia played with her favourite porcelain doll, Miss Michelle, which Robert’s tin soldier was persistently attempting to engage in a kiss.
“Papa, please tell Robert to stop. Mish does not care to be kissed. Gag a maggot, boys are icky!”
“You keep on believing that for another fifteen years or so, Lydia. However, I highly doubt your eldest sister would agree with you about kissing a soldier. I am reasonably certain Jane does not consider Colonel Fitzwilliam the least bit icky. Robert, leave Miss Mish alone.”
Darcy was more often at the Bennet home than his own and was already considered another member of the
