Romance of a Fool ~ by Rita

I normally do not read novels, well not that type of novel, but it was a long ride to Ramsgate from London, and Mrs. Younge asked if I wanted to 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, "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 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 would like to tell you a secret, but I am afraid it may lower your opinion of me..."

"Oh 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 opened. 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 about your age at the time. Mr. Younge was ten years my senior, he was 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 would feel.

"My father loved my Mr. Younge like a son, even before we were wed. He knew I loved him 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 sitting with me in coach as she was now, 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 blushed to my toes.

"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 Lady Anne - God rest her soul. I thought I noticed a resemblance when I first walked by. How is your brother? Is he with you, too?" He 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 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. 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 warships on the horizon.

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 he 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 character or that character in one of her books. She’d mentioned how taken he was with me and it made me blush. She thought he was falling in love with me.

I knew it could not be true, Mr. Wickham 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.

Then one day 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 confessed to me that he loved me. I tried to lower my eyes, I was so confused, but he gently took my chin and raised my eyes to his. Looking deeply, lovingly into my eyes, he asked me to be his bride. His eyes held mine so intensely, I could not look away. I saw what had to be love - true love - in them. I was frightened and excited all at once – it was too good to be true, just like in one of Mrs. Younge’s novels, but it was real life and it was me. He loved me. He loved me. Silly, timid, tongue-tied me.

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

"I - I do care for you, Mr. Wickham." Of course I cared for him, hadn’t I known him all of my life? Wasn’t he one of my brother’s dearest friends?

"I have reason to hope, then?"

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, yet I feared Mrs. Younge would see us, so I pulled away.

"What’s wrong, Georgiana?" he said, his voice full of hurt.

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

"It’s alright," he pulled me to him again. "She won’t see, she's sitting on a log, up the beach a ways. We are safe." He looked in my eyes again, only this time I did not see love, I saw something else. I was frightened and excited all over again. He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me gently. It felt so… so... How could this be happening to me? Then something changed, he kissed me deeper, almost… hungrily? I pulled away and tried to catch my breath, my heart beat so fast I could barely hear anything else. This was so – unreal!

"I – I’m sorry Georgiana. I forgot myself. It’s just - I love you so much. I need you so much." He took my hand and again pulled me to him, this time in a gentle embrace. I was so confused, I didn’t know whether to run away or beg him to kiss me again. I collapsed against him. "I think I have always loved you, Georgiana," he murmured. "Say you will marry me."

It felt so right. I was frightened, but I was always frightened. Mr. Wickham, my Mr. Wickham, was safe. He was my brother’s friend, and he said he needed me - me. I remembered what Mrs. Younge had said about her husband being a man of the world and wiser than she had been. I bravely looked up into his eyes.

"I love you, too – George. I will marry you."

----

George asked me not to write to my brother about our engagement, he said it was his place to tell him, and since he planned on traveling to Pemberly for his consent in a few days, I agreed. I did tell Mrs. Younge, though. She promised to keep our secret; she saw no harm as long as my brother would know by and by.

Then something awful happened. There was a problem with an investment George had made. All his money was tied up in it and he had to leave within the week or lose it all. He would not be able to go to my brother first.

I understood. I said I would wait for him, but he said he could not wait. He said he could not leave me – not ever – he needed me too much. I had to come with him. He asked me - begged me - to run away with him, to elope. I said I couldn’t, I was not Mrs. Younge, I could not marry without my brother’s consent. George looked at me like I had betrayed him. He was so hurt.

"I see you don’t love me after all?" he said bitterly.

"I do, George, I do. But I can’t elope. I can’t hurt Fitzwilliam."

"You knew you would have to leave your brother when you married me, Georgiana. Or are you still a little girl who needs him more than me? Do you need his permission to do everything?"

Now I was hurt. "I am a grown woman and can decide things for myself," I said firmly. "I love you and I will go with you."

George smiled. He said he would make the arrangements and we would leave in three days.

----

Fitzwilliam arrived unexpectedly the next day. I was thrilled. This meant George would be able to ask for my hand that very day. We could be married immediately and still be able to save George’s investment. I was so excited, I told Fitzwilliam everything. I knew he would be happy for me and pleased that I had made a match with one of his dearest friends. I could not wait to receive his congratulations. They never came.

My brother was furious. He said his friendship with Mr. Wickham had ended years ago, that he was trying to take advantage of me and simply wanted my fortune. I knew it could not be true. I had seen George’s eyes. He loved me, needed me. He would be able to calm Fitzwilliam down and persuade him to let us marry. But he never came.

George had claimed he could never leave me, but he left. I never saw him again, nor Mrs. Younge. Fitzwilliam later discovered that they had met secretly months before we ever went to Ramsgate. Next to my brother, they were the two people in the world that I had trusted the most. 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?

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