Resolutions

by Grace

New Year's, Firthness Challenge Entry 2005

The lump on the bed began to stir. Weak light slanted through the shuttered window onto the figure. He groaned as the paltry winter sun taunted him in greeting. Reminders of the revelries in which he had partaken before stumbling home slowly assailed him.

He could still smell a sweet, feminine hint of the girl with whom he had celebrated year’s end and greeted the new, though he had left her for the comfort of bed hours before. Despite her inexperience and his own burning need, it had been quite a satisfactory favour she granted him. He relished the virgins, especially those with fathers, uncles, grandfathers and such to whom he was indebted. He found them sweetly anxious, in every way. He burrowed under rough woollen blankets, unwilling to leave their meagre warmth for the chill of his draughty rooms. He had been too deeply into his cups upon entering his chamber to think of replenishing the fire.

The cheap gin with which he had plied the girl rose in his gullet, forcing him to taste it again, threatening to draw him from the warmth of the bed to the chamber pot. As he waited for the feeling to pass he relived the sighs, gasps, and cries of last evening and knew he had succeeded in a true seduction, one not only of her corporeal form, but also of her heart and soul. His mounting debt to her uncle would vanish from the ledger books, though a subsequent visit would undoubtedly be wise, to ensure success and to be certain she would remain smitten until he was gone from these climes under cloak of darkness. Thank goodness for women.

Replenishment of his wealth was proving imperative. Gamblers were not apt to have susceptible kin and debts of honour must be paid; his would deplete his funds were he found. Disappearing was becoming difficult; England was only so big. Wickham was weary of living in rough inns and lodging houses, but their benefits were many: they were not costly; they often housed maids or wives easily influenced into offering more than standard service; and creditors did not customarily look for him in such inhospitable places. Still, he yearned for the luxury to which he had grown accustomed.

He had enjoyed a small legacy of £1000 almost four years previous and another, slightly larger sum had been paid to him a few months after the first, but their bounty was near gone. His pockets would be nearly empty had the girl not been susceptible to his charms and tale of woe. Damn Darcy. Wickham was uncertain how his erstwhile friend had persuaded him to accept a pittance, so easily spent, in exchange for the living his godfather had intended for him; surely it was worth more than the £3000 he had accepted. At the time, he had been convinced the money was a fair trade for life as a clergyman; however what remained would not last a twelvemonth, even with the kindness of tradesmen’s gentler relatives.

Darcy could afford to part with more, but the fastidious prig had assured him the payment he had provided in lieu of the living three years ago was all Wickham would ever receive. Three-thousand pounds in addition to Mr. Darcy’s legacy had seemed such wealth; never had he guessed how very quickly it could be spent, gambled and lost. So it was that when the living at Kympton had become vacant a few months ago, Wickham confidently applied to Darcy for the presentation and had been unceremoniously refused.

He failed to understand Darcy’s parsimony; he had Pemberley and its £10,000 per annum and ten times Wickham’s measly offering had been settled upon little Georgiana. Why begrudge him the living at Kympton? Of course, three years ago he had not thought making sermons to his taste and their agreement had seemed an appealing alternative.

Rising finally to splash cold water from the cracked pitcher over his aching head, Wickham stretched like a lazy feline, scratching his belly and loins. Despite having quenched his lusts on the nubile niece of his tailor, he felt restless; something was stirring the creature within. Washing away the sins of the night, Wickham carefully revisited his morning musings – the wench had been a lively enough piece and he would happily return for a second helping at the table of her charms, but thoughts of her deflowered thighs no longer inspired.

Georgiana. Little Georgiana. He remembered now -- he had caught a glimpse of her when last in London, on his unsuccessful bid to regain his living. She would be close to finishing her schooling; she must be fifteen or so. Fifteen. A likely age. Last night’s treat was about that. Yes, Georgiana was causing his new hunger and rousing the beast. Wickham had seen her and her cousin in a shop together. He had been looking in its window to ascertain if the keeper’s spouse was available. Wickham owed her a visit; his last had been beneficial and she was due his gratitude.

Sighting the Darcy heiress and her Fitzwilliam chaperone had deterred his call on the accommodating wife. He had recognized them at once and would have spoken to her, but he had not wanted the notice of her protective escort nor the brother to whom it would undoubtedly be reported. Darcy could be such a bore. Dear, sweet Georgiana, he was sure, would be unaware of their dealings; Darcy would not discuss business with a younger sister, nor would he sully her ears with tales of Wickham’s past -- those he had kept even from their elders. A Darcy to whom he was undoubtedly still a friend. Intriguing.

Wickham stood naked at the window, letting the cold air assault his now clean body and clear his gin-soaked brain. Although closed for privacy, the dilapidated wooden shutters let wind in with the daylight, and he welcomed the bracing caress; it helped him think. He was good at thinking, especially about women. Wickham loved women in all their glories, especially women with money. Young, handsome, sweet women with money. Women such as Georgiana Darcy. Some would call her a girl, but Wickham was all too aware that fifteen could be ripe. Young Georgiana had grown into a tall, pleasingly rounded temptation – her personal charms certainly did not dissuade him. Yes, she was almost as lovely as her £30,000; most assuredly attractive enough to make his musings productive.

A knock at the door startled him as his reveries were winding down. “A moment, please”. Wickham finished off the water in the pitcher, dashed on his breeches and shirt, and opened the door to his landlady, herself a well-formed and interesting widow, though a bit long in the fang. Sadly, she had yet to be susceptible to exchanging his lodgings for a tumble, but she was nonetheless always ready for a bit of a flirt, hence her appearance in his room. Wickham would continue to push for every advantage his youth and beauty could gain. “Good morning, Mrs. Younge. Happy New Year.”

The lady simpered in return. Wickham offered her a seat on the lone chair while he sat on the rumpled bed, smiling as he wondered what it would take to get her to join him there, room and board forgiven. Wickham was fortunate to possess sufficient personal appeal to make friends easily. A tale of hardship, a living deprived by the cold son of his benefactor, assisted him with anyone of a sympathetic bent, such as Mrs. Younge.

Their conversation fell, as it often did for Wickham, to Darcy’s perfidy. Having told the story so often to female companions, he almost believed it himself. With a sigh, he now embellished with a new element, one he hoped the widow would find both plausible and romantic. “Yes, my excellent godfather meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had, but when the living fell it was given elsewhere and now I must make my own way, without the living and without . . . . ” he paused to good effect until he was pressed, most eagerly, to continue, “without Georgiana. Have not I mentioned her to you, my dear Mrs. Younge? Georgiana is all that is sweet and good and lovely, but due to her brother’s interference, she is my friend no longer.”

“Oh, how awful. You poor, dear man. Young Mr. Darcy denied you the living and forced you from your young lady?” Mrs. Younge placed a hand over her heart and another over her mouth as she waited to hear the handsome young man’s account of all that he had lost.

An affected sigh and a hand rubbing his eyes added to Wickham’s performance. “Georgiana is affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me, as I am of her. We have devoted hours and hours to one another, under the approving eye of her late father. But I have been ordered to stay away and I am nothing to her now.”

He looked across the room to his audience as if calling to mind his one true love, now denied him. “She is a handsome girl and highly accomplished. I know she misses me as much as I miss her. I believe her esteemed father understood our attachment, even encouraged it, but that understanding has been denied us as finally and irrevocably as my living.” He paused again with a rueful look before concluding. “I regret nothing so much as I regret losing Georgiana. The living is a trifle; I shall make my way in the world in some occupation or another. But my love is lost forever, thanks to Darcy.”

With a scheming eye, Wickham watched as the woman in the faded tapestry chair wiped her eyes. He appeared to have succeeded in reminding her of what it had been like to be young and in love. He suspected her of being a little in love with him herself, and hoped her feelings would serve to make her all the more incensed on his behalf.

“You will make your way, that’s true. We have all had to do that. I was intended to be a teacher, or a governess. I would have been quite good at it, I believe. My tutors thought so, especially dear Mr. Drummond, my music master; I hear from his sister that he still regrets that I gave up my studies to marry my dear husband. But I was impetuous, very much in love, and a child of sixteen.”

Caught up in her reminisces, Mrs. Younge wholly missed the calculating look so contrary to the romantically melancholic mood Wickham had created. He, however, had missed nothing. Mrs. Younge, an attractive widow, was to have become a governess? Her former music master still regretted her decision to abandon that profession? Music Master. Not normally superstitious, Wickham saw this as a sign that his luck was turning at last.

“Georgiana loves music. She has always played and sung all day long, I am certain she does so yet. If only I could see her again, Mrs. Younge, and hear her sweet voice.”

“I understand your feelings perfectly. I would have felt the same had I been denied the man I loved. No one should deny young lovers, Mr. Wickham. Is there no hope for you?”

“Perhaps when her schooling is complete, but even then whoever lives with her will have the right to deny me. Undoubtedly, I will never be admitted to her brother’s homes, in London or in Derbyshire.”

“With whom does the young lady live?”

Wickham noticed with surprise and not a little delight that his landlady’s deportment had improved throughout this conversation. Her bearing and diction began to resemble the governess or lady’s companion she could have been, and that he intended her to be. An idea was taking shape – a wonderful solution to his woes.

Wickham had known Georgiana as a sweet and pliable girl, sensitive and easily moved by flattery. She had fond memories of him, of that he was sure; they really had spent hours and hours together before he left Pemberley some four years ago. Mrs. Younge appeared equally persuadable and suitable as a companion to a young lady just forming an establishment. It would take careful planning, but with the help of Mrs. Younge’s admiring former music master, Georgiana’s love of music and Wickham’s influence, it could work. Yes, it could work exceedingly well.

His mind wrapped around the design, allowing it to take hold – Georgiana could be brought to the altar. Young ladies were always susceptible to romance, particularly with handsome young men anxious to carry them to Scotland. He need only ensure Mrs. Younge’s employment as Georgiana’s companion. He could be certain of Darcy’s plans for his sister; they would follow the plan of every other young lady of her station with no parents at home. Darcy was quite predictable.

Wickham would assist Mrs. Younge into the household where she, compassionate to their “love denied”, would allow intimacies no other companion would dare. His resolution was formed – a brilliant way out of his present difficulties. The new year was already proving to be a good one. Georgiana, he was sure, could be seduced into marriage, and he had no objection to marrying her. Her and her £30,000.

Wickham was resolved.

The shapely form drifted gently out of sleep. Weak light slanted across the bed as heavy velvet draperies whispered open. Sighing contentedly, she greeted the New Year with anticipation. This year would see the end of her schooling. It heralded the beginning of her life as a woman, rather than as a girl. Luxuriating in the comfortable bed provided by her uncle, she breathed in the lavender bouquet that permeated her senses, wafting in from the bath being prepared by the silent maid, and emanating from the crisp linen sheets that cradled her.

Stretching, young Georgiana Darcy reached up and hugged the downy pillows, their softness caressing her own. With a smile she recalled singing Auld Lang Syne and toasting the coming year with her uncle and aunt, her Fitzwilliam cousins and her beloved elder brother, before being sent to bed with their good wishes and love. Blinking, she rose and walked to the blazing fire recently fed by the house-maid. She delighted in its cheer this cold January day, holding out her hands to catch the heat.

Tea waited on a silver tray left before the fire. Reaching for a cup of the fresh brew, Georgiana sipped the steaming beverage and savoured both the rich, smoky flavour and the warmth of the cup in her hands. Fresh biscuits accompanied the tea and were gratefully consumed. The maid, Mary, bustled about in the dressing room, and Georgiana knew her bath was ready by the familiar sounds of the last kettle of hot water being added.

After immersing herself in the soothing, fragrant water, she dismissed the maid, wanting time alone to consider her prospects, all the changes this year would hold. Never thoughtless, Georgiana was especially contemplative as she faced the year ahead. She was conscious of her good fortune and never forgot to offer her prayers of thanks. She was possessed of an affectionate, loving family as well as every material advantage a young lady could desire. Her schooling was the best available and comprised all that a girl of her station ought to learn.

She had been taught to converse with decorum and modesty, and while at times her inborn shyness made those lessons difficult to practice with strangers, of late she was feeling less nervousness and more assurance. Fitzwilliam had just told her last night how proud he was that she was demonstrating less diffidence in company. She was able to paint with confidence and sew with ease, and her music was of the highest calibre. To play and sing were Georgiana’s joys -- both her brother and her cousin, the Colonel, delighted in providing her with new songs to learn, and in return she delighted in performing for them whenever possible. Just last eve, she had, upon request, played for the family a difficult piece she had received of late from the Colonel. Georgiana had delighted in pleasing them all with her proficiency.

Another point for which she was ever thankful was that Fitzwilliam Darcy was her brother. He was the very best of men, doting on her and spoiling her with gifts and praise. To be worthy of his commendation was Georgiana’s greatest desire. With an elder brother as good as Fitzwilliam, she felt it was her duty to be completely appreciative of all that he provided her; she never wanted to take him or her blessed life for granted.

Georgiana’s mind turned from thoughts of Fitzwilliam to her other guardian, her cousin. He too, was all that was amiable and pleasing. Their last outing together had been especially agreeable; he had come to see her in London and taken her shopping to pick out new music and a gift for her birthday. The shops they had visited were unknown to her, and she had absorbed everything around her with eager interest. She particularly recalled the establishment where her gift had been purchased; the proprietress had treated her with respectful deference, not like a child. After their shopping expedition, the Colonel had treated her to an ice at Gunter’s, and then he had driven her through Hyde Park. It had been a glorious day, and for the first time she had felt more like the lady she would soon be than like the girl she still was.

A lady, no longer a girl. Georgiana giggled. She knew she was really still a girl, and accepted that she would be until she her presentation at the Court of St. James. Her coming-out was an event she very much anticipated and yet dreaded at the same time. There was so much to remember when one was presented and she worried she would make a blunder. Her instructors assured her that any and all mistakes would be noted by Queen Charlotte, and Georgiana would be mortified if she made the wrong curtsey, or stepped on her train as she backed away from Her Majesty. She also was afraid the shyness she had just begun to conquer would return and cripple her just as she was allowed into society.

She knew not when her brother and her cousin would deem her prepared for the whirlwind of a London Season but she looked forward to it as fervently as she feared it. To attend balls, the theatre, to dance and converse with handsome suitors eager to win her hand -- it all sounded so exciting! She did so hope the gentlemen she met would be as agreeable and easy in their manners as her brother’s friend, Mr. Bingley. At times she wondered if Fitzwilliam thought she would marry his friend, but she knew that she never could – he was like another brother to her, and his sisters made her far too nervous.

Some time ago she had decided that Fitzwilliam merely wanted her to become more at ease in company, and Mr. Bingley’s good manners had greatly assisted her in that endeavour. Thanks to his friendship she actually looked forward to meeting her future suitors. She amused herself by play-acting her part, hand held out elegantly from the bath water to an imaginary gentleman. “Yes, thank you my lord, you honour me with this dance.” Sitting up in the bath she pictured herself curtseying gracefully before being swept away by the first of many partners to dance all night long.

There was so much to anticipate: she would leave school, her brother would hire a companion for her so that she could form her own establishment, and he even talked of allowing her a trip to the sea once she was comfortable with whoever was hired. Georgiana wondered what the woman would be like; she had little experience with companions and such. It was her hope that they would be friends as well as employer and employee; that this would be a woman in whom she could confide her dreams; dreams she felt were too silly and girlish to confess to a brother or to a male cousin. A female confidante would be lovely.

These reveries were interrupted by Mary, who returned to assist her out of the bath and into a demure morning gown. The girl dressed her hair in a simple style befitting her youth. With a murmured “Good morning, miss, Happy New Year”, she left Georgiana well equipped to begin the day. The servant’s softly spoken words stirred her thoughts again to the dawning of the year.

Her reflection in the mirror on her dressing table reminded her that she was yet a child; neither fashionable hair nor elegant dress adorned her person. Her daydreaming excitement was tempered by a return to her earlier contemplations, of showing proper appreciation for her blessings. She felt that to better herself in preparation for the changes that faced her would be the wise, mature course of action. Yes, she would make it a New Year’s Resolution. What to resolve? Fitzwilliam filled her thoughts. She so wanted be deserving of the excellent brother he was. Georgiana’s mood lightened again.

Thinking it over, she knew what she must do: she must and would heed all of her lessons; she would practice as much as possible so that she would continue to please him with her music. Perhaps she could be so bold as to suggest that he seek a companion with some experience in teaching music? Reading extensively would help better inform her mind; perhaps Fitzwilliam would prepare a list of books he would like her to read? She would be modest and reserved, she would listen well and speak only when it was suitable for her to do so, using proper comportment at all times, as she knew her brother was severe upon ladies who did not observe proper decorum. She would remember him daily in her prayers. She would learn to handle the kind of household a commendable man would maintain, a household like Pemberley. In short, she would become a perfect lady; she would be fully prepared to be a wife – a wife to a man worthy of being the brother of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Georgiana was resolved.

Copyright held by Grace - 2005