Prologue
England, 1806
At the age of two and twenty, Fitzwilliam Darcy was considered a paragon of virtue by many, but, when pressed, his closest friends and relations admitted that he did have at least a few flaws and foibles. Pressed further, most opined that his greatest flaw was his impatience.
One of the virtues often mentioned was the fact that Darcy was honest to the point of occasional rudeness because he so strongly avoided dissembling. Other virtues included that he never gambled high nor drank to excess; he ate healthy portions but never overindulged; he balanced physical and mental exertions; and although he was known for his reticence, those who knew him well described him as responsible, generous, and caring.
Of course, most people did not use the wordparagon, for Darcy or, honestly, for anyone at all. A word that was used by some to describe Darcy wasprig. That was not the nicest word in the world, but it summed up another reason why the man might accurately be considered a paragon: He was the epitome of gentlemanly behaviour towards ladies. He kept no mistresses, frequented no brothels, visited no widows; he never evenflirtedwith ladies. If ladies’ hearts broke over Mr Darcy, it was their own doing; he neither called on nor courted any lady.
As to Darcy’s impatience…. When Darcy was young, his mother never told him of upcoming outings, visits, or celebrations until just a few hours before. She knew his impatience for a happy time to begin was difficult for him—actually, to be honest, his impatience made it difficult foreveryone.
When Darcy was older, his father used to shake his head as he counselled his son that it usually took time for positive changes to occur. A sapling did not afford shade for years; a broken bone took months to fully heal; it took multiple days to reach London. “All things come to those who wait,” he would say.
Years later, one of Darcy’s college instructors asserted that Darcy’s intelligence actually put him at a disadvantage in the classroom—because of his impatience. He grasped concepts and learnt skills quickly, but then he chafed and fumed until the other students mastered the rudiments and the instructor could finally move on to fresh matter and more advanced lessons.
In chess, as well, Darcy went years being undefeated, but he stopped playing because he grew frustrated with those who played so slowly that a single game could last eight to ten hours. Because of his decision not to expend such long hours in such a pursuit, he retired from competitive chess without ever having been beaten, but his number-of-wins record at Cambridge was soon eclipsed by a student whom Darcy had consistently beat—but who was much more patient.
Unfortunately, both of Darcy’s parents passed when he was far too young: his mother died when he was twelve, and his father died just a few days after Darcy turned one and twenty. He was an extremely young man to be the master of a very great estate, several smaller estates, a house in Town, and manyinvestments. Especially daunting, at such a young age, was that he suddenly had the care of hundreds of servants and tenants, and of his sister, who was more than a decade younger than himself.
There would be no more wise counsel from his parents about the virtue of patience, and as Darcy shouldered almost crushing responsibilities a decade or two before he had assumed he would have to, he turned his impatience towards himself. Heshouldbe able to figure out a compromise that both quarrelling tenants would accept—immediately. Hemustfigure out what was going wrong with the turnip crop right away—its loss could be devastating for the livestock. Heoughtto be able to comfort his sister, Georgiana, even as he guided her to more proper behaviour.
However, something occurred, just as Darcy and Georgiana began their emergence from mourning…something that taught him that he could be patient.
He could be very patient, indeed.
One
Ramsgate, England, July 1806
Darcy was at the milliner’s shop, impatiently waiting for his sister to make her choice. Her governess, Mrs Peterson, clucked her tongue at his pacing. “We are just fine here without you, Mr Darcy. You certainly may cross the street to the bookstore. Once she has chosen her bonnet, we will come and fetch you.”
Her words made sense, but Darcy had a rather dour outlook on life—for good reason, he would plead; experience had taught him that bad things often happened to good people—and his impatience was not a good enough reason to leave Georgiana alone in a store with only her governess in attendance. His young sister was only now regaining her equanimity and needed his presence to sustain her spirit.
He made himself sit down. “Thank you, Mrs Peterson, but I am fine. I will stay here with you both until Miss Darcy tries on every bonnet in the store, if that is what it takes.”
His body urged him to leap up again and resume pacing; at age two and twenty, he found it difficult to be wholly disengaged. It was not as if he disliked sitting,per se. In fact, he did a great deal of sitting. He adored fencing and, even more, riding, and he loved a brisk walk through forests and aroundlakes or, here at Ramsgate, along the clifftop paths. Still, he spent most of his time reading or writing, obviously while sitting somewhere, inside or out.
Looking for something to occupy his mind, Darcy directed his eyes out the window. He saw two young ladies walking past the store, a footman in livery following behind them. They stopped to look at the bonnets in the window, and the shorter lady must have said something humorous; the taller one listened, looked surprised, and began to laugh. The shorter one, who appeared younger, kept speaking, and the other seemed to laugh harder and harder.
Suddenly, Darcy’s blood ran cold as a very familiar man appeared behind the ladies. Wickham! Darcy stood and watched for a few moments; the ladies both immediately assumed politely pinched expressions that, it seemed to Darcy, indicated that they did not know Wickham and were slightly alarmed at whatever he said. Darcy’s eyes flicked to the footman, and he was gratified to see the young man step up protectively; he said something, but Wickham ignored him and said something else to the young ladies.
The face of the taller, older lady became quite uncertain, and Darcy felt dread for her, knowing how skilful Wickham could be at reading ladies’ emotions and playing on them. He looked to the shorter lady to see her feelings; her expression remained wholly reserved, although her eyes were fierce.
He swiftly decided he must do something; he said, “Mrs Peterson, stay here with Miss Darcy, and do not let her out of your sight until I return.” He knew that the command in his voice alerted her to the fact that he sensed danger, and, satisfied that his sister would be well attended, he strode to the door of the milliner’s shop and stepped outside.
Wickham immediately noticed him, and he paled and then practically fled. Darcy bowed to the ladies and said, “Excuseme, ladies.” He turned to the footman and said, “That man who spoke to the ladies is well known to me, and he is not the gentleman he appears to be. He is dangerous to ladies and even girls.”
The footman’s eyes were wide, and he bobbed his head nervously. “He—he seemed mighty bold,” the young man said. “Thank you?”
The servant had likely not meant for his thanks to be a question, but Darcy knew how unusual his own behaviour was—interceding in whatever had happened or was about to happen, speaking to another family’s servant, even addressing ladies to whom he had not been introduced—none of that was considered gentlemanly unless there was obvious and immediate danger.
Darcy nodded his head again and started to turn back to the door, back to Georgiana, but one of the young ladies said, “Thank you, sir.”
He turned back to see that it was the shorter girl who had spoken. She went on, “I had a monstrous chill when the man addressed us, as if I had been transported into a Gothic novel, and the smooth-talking but evil villain had made an appearance. I know that Robbins would have protected us if necessary, but I preferred the man to immediately leave us alone. That is what you accomplished by just showing your face. I am grateful you did so.”
Suddenly, something seemed wrong. Not with what the young lady had said—he was very happy that she had sensed Wickham’s base character, when so many others merely felt his charm. No, there seemed to be something wrong with Darcy’s body. He felt lightheaded, and his hands had turned cold and clammy. He had certainly never felt that way before; it was a most unpleasant sensation.
The ladies were, of course, turning away—he managed to say, “Do not mention it,” as they began to walk away. After waiting a few steps, their footman followed.
