I normally do not read novels, well not that type of novel - I did not think my brother would approve; but it was a long ride to Ramsgate from London, and Mrs. Younge asked if I would take turns reading aloud with her, so I did. I admit, I blushed and stammered a good deal, I'm sure Mrs. Younge did not hear half the words I spoke at some points, but she never complained. She enjoyed the book a great deal.

"So romantic," she would sigh, or say "Oh, to be young again..."

I did stop reading when the young lady in the novel secretly married the hero before he went off to sea.

"But is it not wrong to marry without her guardian's consent?" I asked timidly.

"Now, this is just a story, Georgiana dear," Mrs. Younge replied kindly, "Just a bit of fun for our holiday. It is not meant to be taken quite so seriously."

I felt a little better then, and a bit foolish for reading so much into something that was just meant to be a harmless diversion. In the four months that Mrs. Younge had been my companion I had come to look on her as my closest and most trusted friend. I did not want her to think I was being silly, or worse - immature.

"But, if you do not mind me being serious for just a moment," she continued, "You are a grown woman now, Georgiana. I think you are old enough to understand; sometimes even though something seems wrong, if it is the only way two people in love can be together, it can be the right thing to do. I should like to tell you a secret, but I am afraid it may lower your opinion of me..."

"Nothing could ever do that, Mrs. Younge," I assured her, taking her hand.

"I'm afraid this might, my dear. You see, the late Mr. Younge and I had to run away to be married."

I know my mouth must have hung open. I could think of nothing to say.

"We had to, you see, because his father would never approve; he did not like my father's politics," she said matter-of-factly. "I was no older than you at the time. Mr. Younge was ten years my senior; he was strong and handsome, and so much wiser than I. He being a man of the world, I trusted him to know what was best for us. And he was right, for it did all turn out well in the end. His father acknowledged me after the ceremony and came to love me as a true daughter."

"And... and your father?" I whispered, thinking of how my brother Fitzwilliam would feel.

"My father loved my Mr. Younge like a son, even before we were wed. He knew I loved my husband and was happy to see me happy."

I was very glad that it had all gone well for Mrs. Younge and that her father-in-law had accepted her marriage. But I was still shocked to know that she had done what I had always thought was unthinkable - to go off without telling anyone - to elope! I could never do that, even if there existed a gentleman somewhere who could love someone as timid and silly as me, which I doubted. But it was something that dear Mrs. Younge had done; yet she was still the same woman I had come to respect. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and continued reading.

----

Mrs. Younge and I had a favorite bench in the park, under a shade tree with a view of the sea. We spent a good part of our day there reading and talking. Occasionally passers-by would stop and greet us and attempt conversation, but they never stayed long for I could never think of anything to say and Mrs. Younge, although polite, was never very friendly to them. I think she was being protective of me and saving me from having to talk to people I did not know. I was grateful to her, and sorry at the same time; some of the gentlemen were quite handsome and I wished I had been brave enough to speak to them.

So there we were the afternoon of our third day at Ramsgate. I thought one particular gentleman looked familiar as he strolled by us - he smiled and tipped his hat to me and Mrs. Younge - but I could not place him until I saw him walking away. He carried himself very distinctively and that is how I recognized him after so many years. I pointed him out to Mrs. Younge as a young man I had known growing up at Pemberley.

She asked if I was sure, and though I am seldom ever sure of myself, I was certain that the gentleman was my brother's friend Mr. George Wickham. He stopped at the end of the path and stood looking out to sea for a few moments, then made his way by us again. I was a bit disappointed that he had not recognized me, although I was not surprised; I was barely eleven when he last saw me and - as Mrs. Younge so often said - I am a grown woman now. But that, I thought, should have given him at least one reason to take notice of me. Perhaps I was not quite grown up enough.

Or was I? He walked a few steps beyond us then turned and, a bit hesitantly, approached us, hat in hand.

"Excuse me, ladies. Forgive the intrusion, but could you by chance be from Derbyshire?"

I lowered my eyes and could not bring myself to say a word, but Mrs. Younge came to my rescue.

"I am not, sir, but the young lady is - and believes she may already be acquainted with you." I was grateful she had spoken for me, but I still felt a blush on my cheeks.

"Miss Darcy?" he asked in amazement.

"Hello, Mr. Wickham." I had wanted to speak up, but it came out only as a whisper.

"Miss Darcy, could it be you - all grown up? My, what a fine lady you've become, the image of your mother - God rest her soul. I thought I noticed a resemblance when I first walked by. How is your brother? Is he with you?" Mr. Wickham looked around, obviously anxious to see Fitzwilliam. Mrs. Younge smiled at me, encouraging me to speak. I was sorry I was going to have to disappoint him.

"No, h-he ... my brother is at Pemberley, I am afraid he could not join us," I finally managed to say. Then remembering my manners, I added, "This is my friend, Mrs. Younge. I live with her in London."

"Mrs. Younge," he bowed, "My pleasure. It is so good to see someone from home; it has been ages since I've been to Derbyshire. Ladies, you must let me buy you some refreshments and tell me what news there is from home."

Oh dear, I thought. As Mrs. Younge had never been to Pemberley, I would be expected to speak and worse - think of news from home that Mr. Wickham might find interesting. But that was not the way it turned out at all - we sat in a little cafe drinking lemonade. He would tell us an amusing story about growing up on the estate - usually involving a fond memory of Fitzwilliam - then he would ask a question or two about someone we both knew. I barely had to say more than yes or no the whole hour we spent together. It was a very comfortable conversation; I found I liked Mr. Wickham very much.

We met him in the park the next day, too. He asked us if we would like to see the place where the Vikings had landed when they invaded England in the fifth century. Mrs. Younge agreed as there could be no impropriety in it - Mr. Wickham being such a close friend of my brother. He told us about the invasion as we made our way down to the sea. I was never much for history, but the way Mr. Wickham told it, it came alive - I could almost see Viking warships on the horizon. I could not wait to write my brother about it.

The next few weeks passed in a pleasant blur of walks in the park and along the sea, afternoons reading and talking together. At first Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge carried on most of the conversation, but as time went on, she spoke less and I, to my own amazement, spoke more. Mr. Wickham was easy to talk to. He told me of times we had spent together in our youth and of all the fun we had had. To be honest, I think I had been too young to remember most of them, but he spoke so warmly of those happy times when our parents had been alive, I gladly accepted his memories as my own.

In the evening after he had gone, Mrs. Younge would often comment on what a respectable young man Mr. Wickham was and how he reminded her of this hero or that hero in one of her books. I could not help but agree, there was much to admire in Mr. Wickham. He was handsome and dashing, kind, intelligent, and pleasant to talk to. But what I valued the most about the gentleman was that he was comfortable to be with. I did not have to be afraid of saying something wrong that would make him think ill of me, for he was like family.

Mrs. Younge would complement me as well; she told me how I had blossomed since meeting Mr. Wickham, how mature I seemed and how proud she was of me. She mentioned how taken Mr. Wickham was with me and it made me blush. She thought he was falling in love with me. I knew it could not be true, of course, he was so much older - I had to seem like a child to him - just the little sister of his good friend. But secretly I hoped it was true. I wanted to be loved by someone special and to be in love. I longed to know what that felt like. Was it truly as wonderful as the novels made it out to be? I could not help but wonder.

With Mr. Wickham keeping our days occupied, I am ashamed to say that I fell quite behind in my correspondence - although I did try to write to Fitzwilliam at least once a week. I was most anxious to receive his response from the letter I wrote about meeting Mr. Wickham – I knew he would be as pleased as I about that happy coincidence. But apparently my brother was also too occupied to write; his letters came but rarely after our first week at Ramsgate. I should have expected it to be so, for I knew that he would often be traveling with Mr. Bingley, a friend who he had promised to assist in finding some property. When a letter from Fitzwilliam finally arrived for me, I felt very foolish indeed. He wrote that there had been a page or two missing from my last letter, and teased that it must mean that I was thoroughly enjoying myself at the seaside. I do not know how I could have been so scatterbrained or how the pages could have gone missing. I promised myself I would be more careful when next I had a letter for Mrs. Younge to post.

----

One evening while leaving Mr. Wickham was visiting, Mrs. Younge forgot her needlework in her chamber and excused herself to retrieve it, him alone with me in the parlor. I found it odd that as soon as she left the room he came over to sit beside me on the sofa. For the first time since we had become reacquainted, Mr. Wickham made me uncomfortable. I became nervous as he drew near, my heart beat faster and I dared not lift my eyes from my hands in my lap - thus I had a perfect view of his hand taking one of mine. At his touch I became quite flustered and confused. Deep down inside I felt a strange… tension… that I had never felt before.

"Miss Darcy, I can not tell you how much these last weeks have meant to me, spending this time with you, getting to know the lovely young woman you have become."

I felt the heat of my blush on my cheeks as I tried to deny that I was any such thing.

"You are lovely, and I am compelled to tell you how much I have treasured… do treasure… your company." I watched in dumb amazement as he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it - then as Mrs. Younge could be heard coming down the stair, he quickly returned to his seat across the room.

I remained flustered for the rest of the evening, too affected to attend to the small talk Mrs. Younge made with our guest, or even to wish Mr. Wickham a proper good bye. After he'd gone, I ventured to tell my companion how he had taken my hand and the way he had spoken to me in her absence - although it did take me a few attempts for I stammered much of it out incoherently. Eventually Mrs. Younge got the gist of what had happened.

"So Mr. Wickham admires you? Just as I thought."

"But he made me feel so strange. I was… nervous … when he sat beside me - flustered and confused..."

"But were you not excited when he took your hand?"

"My heart beat so fast!" I offered.

"And you felt warm all over?"

"Oh, yes," I said adamantly. How could I not? I had blushed to my toes!

"That is the way with love," she sighed, "Remember how Simone felt when she saw Count Dupree across the crowded ballroom?"

"But he frightened me so," I protested. How could that be love?

"It is only natural, my dear," she explained patiently. "The part of you that is still a little girl wants to stay a little girl; she wants to always be under the protective wing of your brother."

I nodded in agreement. To have Fitzwilliam with me at that moment would be like heaven.

"The little girl is frightened of the unknown," continued Mrs. Younge, "But the woman in you longs to find her place in the world. She is anxious when her gentleman is near, to feel his touch and hear his voice. It is all part of growing up and falling in love."

"But I do not love Mr. Wickham," I said in alarm. Admired, yes - more than any other gentleman of my acquaintance - but I would know if I loved him, wouldn't I?

"I said falling in love, Georgiana. Love has its own timetable. It could take a moment or a lifetime. If Mr. Wickham is your gentleman, you will know by and by. Think about what I have said."

"But… you won't leave me alone with him again?" I entreated.

"Of course not, dear." She gave me a reassuring hug. "That would be most improper."

Relief flooded over me, and embarrassment, for I knew Mrs. Younge must think me a complete baby. She kissed my forehead and wished me pleasant dreams. I had none - I slept not at all, for how could I sleep after such an evening?

I did think about what Mrs. Younge had said, but I spent more time thinking about what Mr. Wickham had said - and done. Could he really have feelings for me? I thought of the way he had kissed my hand, how it had felt to me - both inside and out. I felt warm, flustered, and that same strangeness - deep down inside - whenever I remembered the way his soft lips and warm breath felt on my skin. I relived it almost continuously throughout the night and long into the morning. But always I came back to the same questions: Why should Mr. Wickham's attentions upset me? Had I not been hoping for them? If I were in love, or even falling in love, would I not know?

Finally a few hours before dawn, I took a lamp and crept downstairs to the parlor where Mrs. Younge kept her novels. I found the book about Simone and turned to the chapter where she first met the Count, seeking clues as to how falling in love might feel.

I quickly went over the passage: ...their eyes locked – no, that had not happened; ...her heart skipped a beat – no, mine raced; ... flushed with fever - flushed yes, definitely flushed; ...anxious with anticipation - anxious, yes; anticipation, no - more like dread; ... quivering to her soul – did my soul quiver? Could that be the strange feeling I had felt – still felt? Could Mr. Wickham cause my soul to quiver, and if so, was it love?

Although still frightened from our last encounter, by daybreak I felt I needed to face Mr. Wickham again. Perhaps when next we met I would be able to resolve if he truly cared for me, but more importantly, if I truly cared him.

 

Chapter 2

The next day Mr. Wickham called earlier than usual, and despite my lack of sleep, I took pains to look my best. He greeted Mrs. Younge as he always had, but when he acknowledged me, he seemed a bit self-conscious. He accompanied us on our errands, spending the next hour visiting shops in the main square. Then we turned toward the park.

Throughout the morning Mr. Wickham had spoken pleasantly to both of us, showing me no more or less attention than he was wont to do before. I could almost believe that I had imagined the previous evening, if not for the anxiety I still felt, especially when he looked at me.

When we reached the park, Mrs. Younge - claiming fatigue - took up her position at our favorite bench. When I moved to join her, she bade us continue our walk as it was such a fine day. I hesitated, thinking she had forgotten her promise, but she nodded her understanding, beckoned me closer and whispered, "It’s all right, dear, you are not alone. I will be right here watching the whole time."

Then she said seriously, "Mr. Wickham, do not go too far, and mind you and Miss Darcy stay within my sight." I was skeptical, but smiled my thanks, trusting her better judgment. Mr. Wickham offered me his arm. I took it with a mixture of hope and trepidation, allowing him to he lead me on.

----

There were few people in the park as we strolled among the roses. The sweet scent was comforting - a reminder of home, where my world was never a jumble of confusion.

"These are nearly as beautiful as those at Pemberley," Mr. Wickham remarked, reading my mind. "Did you know that they were among your mother's favorites?"

"No," I mumbled, barely speaking above a whisper, "No one ever told me."

"I recall one summer afternoon while your brother and I were climbing a tree - that one in the corner of the rose garden - your parents came out walking and did not notice us there." He smiled at the memory. "Your father was teasing your mother, stealing kisses from her and making her laugh."

I was surprised to learn that my parents had behaved as Mr. Wickham said - Fitzwilliam had never mentioned the incident. He often spoke to me of his memories of our parents, but this had not been among them. I had fond memories of my father, but I could not remember my mother. I wondered if she had ever been timid and unsure of herself, as I was. When my father had courted her, had she experienced the same uncertainty that I had these last few days in Mr. Wickham's company? I felt a pang of regret that I had never known her and that she was not with me now to help me through this turmoil - for though I had Mrs. Younge to support and advise me, I could not help but feel that things would make more sense if my mother were with me. The woman Mr. Wickham described was loving and carefree; I wished someday that I could be like that.

"I always admired the easy way your parents had of showing affection for one another," Mr. Wickham continued. "My own parents were less… open… in their regard."

We walked on in silence for a while, each with our own thoughts. By and by, we passed through an arbor that blocked us from Mrs. Younge's view. Mr. Wickham glanced behind us, then stopped.

"Miss Darcy?" he said softly.

I turned to him. He stood quite close, just looking down at me. I felt that same strange feeling deep inside, wary but excited. I lowered my eyes and waited for him to speak, barely daring to breath.

"Miss Darcy, I must apologize for being so forward yesterday," he began. "I realized afterward how disturbed you were by my confession, I could not sleep a wink with the thought that I had upset you. Even though I spoke from my heart, I regret the distress it caused."

He did not sleep last night either, I thought. He could not sleep for thinking of me! Inside I glowed - thinking perhaps it was a sign that he did care.

We stood there, facing each other through many long, awkward moments. I could feel his eyes upon me. Finally he reached into his pocket and said, "I have a gift for you."

I looked up to protest that I could not accept a gift.

"It's nothing really, just a trinket that I noticed in one of the shops this morning, while you and Mrs. Younge were in the milliners. I would like you to keep it, as a token of my regard." He took my hand and gently placed an object in it. It was a pendant made out of two small seashells, fastened together in such a way as to form a heart. It was very pretty, but I could not accept it, I would have to disappoint him.

Looking at my feet, I began, "It is lovely, Mr. Wickham, but I can not ..."

"It is my heart, Miss Darcy," he interrupted, a touch of pleading in his voice.

He caught me off-guard. I looked up at him in puzzlement. It was a fatal mistake. He caught my eye and held it with such intensity that I was powerless to look away.

"You already hold it in spirit, Georgiana." My name came out as a whisper. "Keep this always, to remind you of that."

He folded my hand gently around the pendant. Before I knew what he was about, he put my hand to his lips, and with his gaze never wavering from mine, kissed it - not once but three times! He then pressed my hand to his chest closely enough that I could feel the beating of his heart. He held it as though he was afraid to let go, then sighed so deeply and with such longing, I felt that my heart would break. Never had I been so moved. The gift was no longer a mere seashell pendant, but something to be protected and cherished. It represented his heart and he trusted me - no, depended on me - to keep it safe. I was touched to my very soul; then deep down inside - just for an instant - I thought I felt it... quiver.

----

Another sleepless night, but this time instead of selfishly dwelling on my own fears and feelings, I spent it thinking mostly of those of poor Mr. Wickham. That short walk with him in the park had proved very enlightening; I was not the only one in turmoil. Sometimes when he had looked at me, he seemed so happy and content; at other times he seemed almost in pain. Never had I seen such depth, such emotion in another’s eyes before. Certainly I had never been the cause of such emotion. And no one had ever entrusted their very heart to me before. How, I thought, as I fingered his gift that I now wore around my neck, could I hold such power over another - timid, insignificant me? It was intimidating, an awesome responsibility, one I did not take lightly.

Then I would slip back into the memory of his kissing my hand, over and over again, and I blushed in embarrassment – not from his forwardness, but at my own self-indulgent pride! I was pleased he admired me, flattered by his attentions, and reveled in the thought that I could affect another so profoundly - not just any one, but a handsome, gallant, sincere gentleman – especially one that had once known me as a child and now thought of me as a grown, desirable woman.

I felt that strange feeling inside me again, it was now quite familiar to me, and my apprehension of it had changed too; I now welcomed it, perhaps because I finally could give a name to it: anxious anticipation. I felt it almost constantly now, for I felt it whenever I thought of Mr. Wickham.

----

Two days later, as we walked by the sea, Mrs. Younge trailing quite a bit behind us, Mr. Wickham took my hand and hurried me around a rock that jutted out and hid us from view. He kissed my hand, and looking deeply, lovingly into my eyes, he confessed that he loved me. It was too good to be true, I felt as if I were in a dream.

"Tell me that you love me, too, Miss Darcy – Georgiana, my sweet Georgiana. Tell me that you care for me, just a little," he pleaded.

"I - I do care for you, Mr. Wickham." By then I knew how deeply I cared for him. I cherished our time together, was more comfortable in his company than I had ever been with anyone else - outside of family. I had known him all of my life and he was one of my brother's dearest friends. And he had just said what I had been longing to hear him say - he loved me.

"I have reason to hope, then?" he asked expectantly.

I smiled shyly and nodded. He brought both my hands to his lips and kissed them, then wrapped his arms around me and stroked my hair. He felt so warm, so safe. Then a gull flew up nearby and I feared Mrs. Younge would be coming upon us, so I pulled away.

"What's wrong, Georgiana?" he said. He was concerned, but I heard the hurt in his voice.

"Mrs. Younge…" was all I managed to get out. He peeked around the rock.

"It's alright, my sweet," he pulled me to him again. "She won't see, she's sitting on a log, up the beach a ways. We are safe for the moment." He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me gently. It felt so… so... wonderful; soft and warm. We parted ever so slightly. I took a breath and blinked a few times. Mr. Wickham was smiling endearingly at me. I must have looked the fool, still not believing what every nerve in my body knew was true. I was a grown woman, loved by someone special.

I looked in Mr. Wickham's eyes to find what was there before, only this time I did not see love, I saw something else. I was frightened and excited by it. He bent to kiss me, and imitating him, I did my best to kiss him back. Just as before, it was wonderful and warm. I knew I belonged there in his arms.

Then something changed. We did not part as we had before. He drew me closer – closer than I thought possible, and kissed me deeper, almost… hungrily? The kisses grew harder, longer, more urgent. He would not stop. I could not move or breath or think. I panicked. I pulled away and tried to catch my breath. I was trembling all over; my heart beat so fast that I could barely hear anything else. The wonder I had felt fell apart. Suddenly everything was so – unreal!

"I – I'm sorry Georgiana. I forgot myself," he said earnestly. "I forgot this must be new to you - but it is not new to me. I love you, Georgiana.  I think I've always loved you." He took my hand and again pulled me to him, this time in a gentle embrace. I was so confused, I did not know whether to run away or beg him to kiss me again. I collapsed against him, and with his soft words and caresses I began to calm down. He kissed my hair and murmured, "It was wrong of me to go so fast, so soon. It's just - I love you so much. I need you... so much. Say you will marry me. Say you'll be mine."

It sounded so right, it felt so right - now. Perhaps I had panicked because, as Mr. Wickham said, this was new to me; being loved that way - as a grown woman - was new to me. A voice inside me whispered something was wrong, but I told myself it was just that frightened little girl fighting to stay a little girl. I resolved to be brave and behave as I thought a woman in love should. Mr. Wickham had never given me cause to doubt him, and he was my brother's trusted friend, I knew I could trust him, too. He would remember to be gentle and patient with me - a novice at love. I was still frightened, but I was always frightened. Mr. Wickham, my Mr. Wickham, was safe. I remembered what Mrs. Younge had said about her husband being a man of the world and how he was so much wiser than she had been. I looked up into Mr. Wickham’s eyes, there was such longing and sincerity there, my heart melted. I closed my eyes and felt myself tremble at the memory of his kiss - our kiss. I do love him, I thought, why else would I feel this way?

"I love you, too – George," I said softly, so softly I did not know if I was telling him or myself. "Yes, I will marry you."

And then he smiled his most brilliant smiles at me - as if everything he had ever wished for had just been fulfilled.

George, as I now called my fiancé, asked me not to write to Fitzwilliam about our engagement. He said it was his place to tell him, and since he planned on traveling to Pemberley for his consent within the week, I agreed. I told him that we would also need the approval of my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he shared my guardianship with my brother. George asked if I had any reason to believe that he would go against my brother’s wishes. I could not imagine him opposing a marriage that Fitzwilliam and I would both welcome. Then George asked me where the Colonel was currently posted – so he might visit him as well on his trip to Pemberley. Unfortunately his post was located too far south, it would have been difficult to fit both visits into the same trip. George, looking a bit relieved, decided to leave it to my brother to inform my cousin.

That night I told Mrs. Younge our happy news. She congratulated me and promised to keep our secret; she saw no harm as long as my brother would know by and by. We were confident that Fitzwilliam would be pleased with the match, so – as George said – getting his consent was merely a formality.

Whatever fears and doubts I had had over the last few days seemed to evaporate at the moment of our engagement. My future was secure. We spent the next few days planning our life together and I could never have imagined a happier one. George told me money would not be a problem for us. He had invested a great deal of time and capital in an enterprise that was soon to come to fruition in Scotland. After that we could do some traveling – Rome, Vienna, Bath – then we would set ourselves up quite nicely in London, but he assured me that we would make frequent visits to our beloved Pemberley.

I reminded him of my inheritance, for I knew that would be available to us on our marriage, too. But he was reluctant to discuss it. He told me that I should not worry myself about financial matters, then he smiled mischievously and said he was sure my brother would bring up that issue when next they met. I know he was thinking of how Fitzwilliam would be taken totally by surprise when he told him our news. I wished I could be there at the time to share that special moment with the two gentlemen I loved best in all the world.

As we were now an engaged couple, Mrs. Younge allowed us a bit of privacy each evening when George bid me good night. He was true to his word and his farewell kisses were always soft and tender, yet they still left me breathless. I was the happiest of women.

Then something awful happened. One morning George took me to the rose arbor, one of our favorite spots, to break the bad news. He had just gotten word that there was a problem with his investment. All his money was tied up in it and he had to leave within a few days or he could lose it all. He would not be able to go to my brother first.

"I understand, George, these things happen," I reassured him, although I was disappointed too. "Our plans can wait until after your business in the north is done."

"Well, I can not," he said a bit harshly.

I could tell he was upset. I feared I might have said something wrong, but was at a loss as to understand what it could have been. I started to take a step back, away from his displeasure, but George took my hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry I spoke so, but don't you understand, Georgiana?" his voice becoming soft again. "I have waited all my life for a love like ours, I am not about to risk losing it now. I can not bear to leave you, not even for something as vitally important as this is to our future. I need you by my side more than I need air to breathe. My days would be torture, wondering when or if I would ever see you again." His eyes held mine, willing me to understand the depth of his fears, and I did. I saw so very clearly how desperately he needed me near him. Again I was awed by how someone like me could affect such a man and yet be totally unaware of it.

"My sweet," he continued, "I can not leave you, but if I stay we risk forever being dependent on your brother. As much as I respect him, I need to stand on my own – we need to stand on our own." He drew himself up a bit, as if preparing for something important.

"I hesitate to bring this up, Georgiana, but with only a small change to our plans, all our fears and troubles could be put to rest." He looked at his hands, our hands really, as if in embarrassment. I found myself getting uncomfortable – wary – like that first evening that he kissed my hand. I waited, dreading him to continue. "My business in Scotland is not far from Gretna Green..."

I gasped and started to pull back, shaking my head – I was not so naive that I did not know what direction this conversation was taking, and I was quite sure I needed to go quickly the other way. Unfortunately, George still held fast to my hands.

"Please – hear me out, love. We already know Fitzwilliam will give his consent – if it were not for this setback I would have had it in a few days – you know that." He waited for me to agree with him, so I nodded reluctantly. "This is almost like fate. I have to be in Scotland anyway. Come with me. We can be married there, conclude my business, and be back to Pemberley to surprise your brother within a fortnight."

In his newfound enthusiasm, his thumbs began rubbing gently against my hands, comforting and exciting me at the same time, adding more confusion to my already flustered mind. He pulled me close, brushed his lips against my cheek and whispered, "I love you, Georgiana. You know how much I need you. Say you will come with me. Say it, please." Then he made a trail of gentle kisses all the way down my neck. I wanted to melt. I so desperately wanted to do as he asked – anything to please him. But I could not.

"I... I can't, George. I can not... elope." I was not Mrs. Younge – I could barely say that hated word.

He stopped his attentions and practically pushed me away. He looked at me like I had betrayed him. He was so hurt, and I felt terrible for having to be its cause.

"I thought you needed me as much as I need you," he said bitterly. "I see I was mistaken. You don't love me after all."

"I do, George, I do. But... I can't hurt Fitzwilliam."

"You knew you would have to leave him eventually when you agreed to marry me, Georgiana. Or are you still a little girl who can't do anything unless big brother says so? Do you need his permission for everything?"

Now I was hurt. "I am a grown woman and can decide things for myself," I said firmly. "I love you. If you can not bear to leave me, I will go with you." My stomach felt a bit queasy as my words hit home, but I was angry enough to ignore it.

George smiled, as if he were proud that I was standing up for myself, but I thought it strange that his smile was not reflected in his eyes. Then he kissed my forehead and said he would make the arrangements. We would leave for Scotland in three days.

----

My brother arrived unexpectedly the next day. I was thrilled – this meant George would be able to ask for my hand that very day. I ran to him as he came into the parlor and threw myself into his arms.

"Oh Fitzwilliam, I’ve so much to tell you!"

"There’s my girl! I’d have come sooner if I knew I’d get such a reception! Let me look at you, Sprite," he said, using the nickname he had given me as a child. As was our custom, I stood back and twirled around for him, ending in a playful curtsy. "I don’t think I have ever seen you lovelier, Georgiana. What happened to that little sister I left in London not six weeks ago?" he teased.

"She is all grown up," I declared proudly. "And as I said, I have so much to tell you. Fitzwilliam, I am so happy. I am to be married!"

His reaction was all that George would have found amusing, I was sorry he was not there to share it with me. Fitzwilliam tilted his head slightly, looking just a bit puzzled, as if he knew he had misheard me but was not quite sure what I could have meant.

"Excuse me – you are what?"

"I am to be married," I repeated proudly, "to the most wonderful of men."

"This is nothing to joke about, Georgiana," he said sternly. "Now tell me what you are talking about."

"I am talking about my impending marriage – to one of your dearest friends. We knew you would be pleased with the match and wanted to surprise you. And now that you’ve come, he can get your consent properly before we leave… "

"A friend? Leave? Georgiana, I’ve just arrived..." he said in frustration.

"Oh dear, I’m not putting this very well – I'm sure George could do much better... "

"George? George Wickham?" Fitzwilliam asked in disbelief.

"Yes!" I nodded enthusiastically.

"George Wickham is here in Ramsgate!" He stared at me intently, waiting for my confirmation.

"Yes. He wanted to be the one to tell you, but..."

Then I saw understanding flash in my brother’s eyes – and anger.

"And he's been imposing on you?"

"I would not call it imposing. He's..."

"I should have known that blackguard would try something – but never this!" Fitzwilliam was furious. More than ever I wished George were with me. He would be able to calm him down.

"Good ___" my brother said an oath I'd never heard him utter before, causing me to blush. "Georgiana – why did you not let me know that he was here and what was going on?"

"But Fitzwilliam – I did! I wrote you all about it." My letters, though few, had been filled with all things George.

"You wrote to me? That’s why I came, Georgiana – I have not had a letter from you in over three weeks, although I've plenty from Mrs. Younge. Despite her assurances that all was well and you were busy enjoying yourself here, I wanted to see for myself."

"But then you must have gotten my letters, too," I protested. "Mrs. Younge always asked if I had a letter ready for you so she could post it with hers." I felt my bottom lip begin to tremble, but I fought back the tears. I could not understand how my letters could have gone astray if Mrs. Younge’s had not. Nor could I understand why Fitzwilliam was so angry – and I had never seen him this angry – George and he had always been such good friends, as children and at University. It made no sense. Seeing my distress, my brother tempered his voice, but I could see he was still furious.

"I see," he said softly. He turned from me and walked to the window, staring out at it for the longest time, but I knew he was not looking at the view. Finally he turned back to me and asked me to sit with him on the sofa.

"Georgiana, pretend that you never wrote those letters. Tell me all about your time here, from the beginning…"

So I did. I told him how I had met his old friend in the park – his features seemed to darken when I mentioned Mr. Wickham, but Fitzwilliam said nothing, merely nodded and bade me continue. I told him of our outings together, how we had fallen in love and become engaged. Then I blushed as I told him how George now needed to go north to protect his investment and that I had agreed to go with him – to elope. That last confession caused my brother to visibly pale.

"Thank God I arrived on time! This is my fault, Georgiana, for trying to keep... unpleasantness... away from you. Wickham and I haven't been friends for some time. In fact, he probably considers me his worst enemy." My eyes widened in shock and disbelief, my hand going instinctively to my shell pendent for comfort.

"You see," he continued, "Shortly after his father died, Wickham requested from me, and received, a sum of money for relinquishing any claim he had on the Kympton living – the one that Father had intended for him should he ever take orders. He said he planned on studying law, but I had my doubts. After that, I heard nothing from the man for years – until the Kympton living became vacant last summer. Since then he has bombarded me with entreaties to make good on my father's wishes."

"But if he gave up his claim to it..." I began.

"He apparently did not see it that way. When I refused him – repeatedly, his letters became abusive, to say the least."

"I don't understand. If that were so, why has George always spoken so highly of you?"

"I imagine in order to win your regard."

That made even less sense – why win my favor when Fitzwilliam was already resolved against him? I had no influence over my brother in such weighty matters.

"To what purpose?" I asked.

"Your fortune," he replied.

"But George doesn't want a thing to do with my inheritance – he would not even discuss it with me. You must be mistaken."

"I wish I were, Sprite, but I know him too well."

"You are wrong, Fitzwilliam," I said adamantly, clutching the shells at my neck. "George loves me." I knew it was true. I had seen George's eyes – he loved me. I wished he would come soon – he would be able to reason with Fitzwilliam and persuade him to let us marry.

"If he loved you, why would he not wait for my consent? How could he have so little regard for your reputation?"

"I told you, he needs me – desperately."

"Yes, I do believe him desperate, else he'd not try this seduction," (I cringed and turned my head away at those words), "and under my very nose! How could I have been so blind?" he reprimanded himself. "I am sorry, Georgiana. You should never have had to go through this."

Go through this? I thought. I had welcomed going through this. It had been the most wonderful, magical time of my life. I had been a princess in a fairy castle and George had been my knight in shining armor. Now my brother had turned my castle into sand. I fought to keep the tide from coming in.

"But he loves me," I whispered, willing myself to still believe.

"He would have you think so, Sprite," my brother said gently, brushing a hair away from my downturned face. "He would ruin you, throw it in my face, then keep you trapped in a loveless marriage – using you against me whenever he saw fit."

It's a lie! my mind kept repeating, but I would never say that aloud to Fitzwilliam – he had never lied to me in his life; as far as I knew, neither had George. But if Fitzwilliam spoke the truth, then everything George said was a lie. If George spoke the truth, then Fitzwilliam was lying. I felt tears roll down my cheeks as I faced the realization that one of those I loved most was deceiving me. The tide came in. I couldn't think – I didn't want to – not now. I shook my head at my brother and ran for the safety of my room.

Behind me I heard him call out in a loud voice, "Mrs. Younge, I would like a word with you!"

---

When my tears were spent, I crept from my room and knocked tentatively on Mrs. Younge's door, hoping she could advise me. When there was no answer I went in, only to find the room empty – none of Mrs. Younge's things remained. Fitzwilliam must have been so angry that he dismissed her – and it was all my fault.

As I turned to go I noticed the faint smell of smoke, which was odd; the weather had been so fair that we had not needed to warm our rooms at all since we had arrived. Glancing at the fireplace, I saw a small pile of ash – just from a few papers. A trace of white among the gray caught my eye and drew me to kneel by the grate. It was a fragment of paper that remained unburnt. Only two partial words remained legible, "..ey lande..." (what was left of "they landed"), but it was enough for me to recognize my own hand. The words were from one of the missing pages from that first letter I had written to Fitzwilliam, about our trip to the 5th century landing site. Mrs. Younge must have removed them from my letter before she sent the rest on to my brother – but why?

"She was working with him," my brother said behind me. I looked up, questioning him without words. "She kept your letters from me so I would not know that he was here – with you. At first all she said was that I could not prove anything. Later she became angry enough to tell me that I had ruined everything."

"And Geor – Mr. Wickham?"

"She told me where he was lodged. I wrote him that I was here and that his game was up. I was told that Wickham left town shortly after receiving my message."

He held out his hand to help me up, then folded me in an embrace, as he had when I was little. I rested my head against him, finding the comfort there that had always been a constant in my life. I would never doubt him again.

"He said he couldn't bear to leave me."

"I know."

Fitzwilliam held me for I don't know how long, as the tears fell silently down my face. The pieces of the puzzle that my brother had put together earlier that day finally fell into place for me. George had claimed that he could never leave me, but he left easily enough. Next to my brother, he and Mrs. Younge had been the two people in the world that I had trusted the most, and I had been their fool. They had led me on and made me turn whichever way they chose. I felt like a paper doll that had been played with, then crushed and thrown in the wind. How could I ever trust another soul again?

End of Part 1

© 2004 Copyright held by the author.