Work Text
A Son’s Predicament
Mayfair: September 6th 1806It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a single son must be in want of a daughter-in-law to carry on the ancient and noble bloodline. Even more so when the son is convinced that he is in need of the perfect woman. George Darcy sat behind the desk in his study, at his London home in Mayfair. George was a handsome man in his late forties. He sat back in his seat and tapped his pursed lips as he considered what to do with his son. The chair creaked under the strain of his muscled body. He saw a reflection of himself in the glass of a bookcase and turned his profile this way and that, even baring his teeth which were still white and straight. With rightful pride, he accepted that he was still a fine figure of a man. He was still in good health and appearance. He could remarry and was often sought after. But he had been married, and it was a love match. Reaching into his pocket he drew out the miniature of his wife, Lady Anne, who had left the mortal world many years previously. As far as station and rank went, she was above him. In their hearts, they were equals. A perfect angel; kind, considerate, and loving. A true mother. She died bringing Georgiana, their only daughter, into the world. Now he was alone with only warm memories to keep him company. For he refused to seek company or keep a mistress - George did not wish to taint the memory of his marriage that way.Picking up his brandy glass he sniffed it and allowed the perfume of the alcohol to satiate his nostrils before taking a studied sip of the amber liquid. If his son refused to marry any of the debutants thrust his way year after year perhaps he, the father, should do something about it. Fitzwilliam had a stubborn streak about him but George was just as intractable. He wanted grandchildren before he died, to see Pemberley alive with laughter and playful habits. His son’s anxiety should be if the valuables survived his own boys' rough and tumble antics. George reflected that he must have destroyed a few with his younger brother, now a judge who presides over serious cases in the Old Bailey. Oh, to have cherubic but mischievous boys begging to play war with his old toy soldiers. To have sweet little girls begging Grandpapa for a doll and a hug. He knew that to have healthy babies Fitzwilliam needed an active wife in good health. Sighing, he picked up the missive lying on top of the pile. The scratched, spiky handwriting was that of his sister-in-law, the imperious Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Rolling his eyes, he took his letter opener and used it to tweak the seal open without tearing the paper.
George,
It is about time we honour my sister’s fondest wish of uniting her namesake, my daughter, with your son, named for the noble bloodline that flows through his veins.
The lad is now one and twenty and Anne is not much older. You need an heir and as our children are formed for each other, I suggest we have the banns read and the wedding prepared - we must be united in this.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Again, he rolled his eyes at the brusque tone of the letter, communication of any sort between him and his sister-in-law was always about one subject. He had lived in close proximity with his wife for nigh on fifteen years. Not once did she mention it was her fondest wish that their son and Anne de Bourgh marry. If he wanted this to be easy, it was a tidy solution. But Anne had always had a weak constitution, he doubted she would survive childbirth. Let alone carrying the child. No, Anne was not an option, for multiple reasons. George just hoped that he was not breaking Anne’s heart by his final decision on the matter.Drawing a fresh sheet of paper George wrote a response.
Lady Catherine
I regret to inform you that your plans are just that… your plans.
Anne’s health is a major concern for the bearing of an heir. Lady Anne did not once inform me of her desire that her niece and son were, as you put it, formed for each other. I need a strong heir. This is not something I am confident in gaining from Anne.
Fitzwilliam is free to make his own choice and I shall inform him of this fact, lest you try to persuade him otherwise.
George Darcy
If that was not plain enough for the hag, then nothing he said on this subject would be. The next few letters were invitations to balls, teas, and other sundry social activities he had no interest in. The next letter came from his steward, Mr Seth Wickham, who was the father of his own godson, George. Although it was strange that he had not seen George Wickham for quite a few years. As a lad, young George Wickham was always at Mr Darcy’s side; learning from him, laughing with him and playing with Fitzwilliam. He shrugged his shoulders, wherever George was in the world he hoped the young man was happy.
Mr Darcy
I write to inform you that I am too ill to carry on my activities as a steward. I find myself tired more often than not. I fell asleep on top of my horse the other day and nearly collided with a farm cart, not only that but my muscles are aching all the time no matter how much laudanum I am taking. Every day becomes a struggle for even the simplest things. It feels like having permanent influenza.
It had been my hope that my son would learn and take over from me to be a resourceful steward to your son as I hope to have been for you. Alas, that will never be, for I appear to have been made a fool of by my own son in Lambton. Yes, he was here and I witnessed the most despicable goings on.
Now I am wondering if the stories of what your son had been trying to tell us were truthful accounts of my son’s behaviour.
For I saw a wench in his lap, he was drunk and gambling - badly might I hasten to add. I recognised the wench, she was the niece of Mrs Reynolds, and she seemed quite happy to grant him her favours. Not only this but when I tried to reason with the boy, he sneered at me and told me in disrespectful terms to leave him be. That he had enough coin and was able to do what he wished with his money.
I wondered where he got such blunt! For as you know, we are not well-to-do, begging your pardon Mr Darcy, not that I am asking for a raise. No, I am asking for retirement, so I may rest.
That is not the issue, I went up to his room and ransacked the place. I found your son's calling cards, some of the Pemberley silver, and some trick card packs. I also found a few other things that are best left unmentioned. He came home drunk as a lord, swaying on his feet, and he laughed when I confronted him. It appears he has been using his association with your family to gain access to some of the finest families in London by pretending to be young Master Darcy.
I was shocked to the core that such deception had been going on and we chose to believe the liar, rake, and thief over the more honest, sober, Master Darcy. Young Master Darcy had tried to warn us and it appears that George is no longer deserving of your patronage, I suggest you find someone else to gain from your benevolence. I have disowned George as my son and I no longer wish to talk to him or have him near my abode again.
Forgive me for siring a viper, Mr Darcy, and may you live longer than I - at least you can be proud of the son you raised.
Your Steward
Mr Seth Wickham
Hand shaking, George was livid. He had just wished happiness for a man who clearly disliked him enough to forego the benefits his patronage offered. First of all, he owed his son an apology for all the years he had not believed him. For Fitzwilliam must have known the vicious propensities of his father’s godson, and yet had grown weary of trying to inform his own father of these facts. Why should he say anything to the man who had chalked his godson’s antics up to being a rambunctious lad and nothing more? He often decried Fitzwilliam’s own pronouncements against his godson as jealousy. He shuddered as he recalled something he once said to his fifteen-year-old son, that Fitzwilliam would gain confidence by being more like George.How had he been so blind? Had he really favoured the son of a servant over his own flesh? Never had he felt so heartsick. What must Fitzwilliam think of him for his behaviour? All because the other lad was entertaining and made him laugh when Anne had died and in response set aside his son - his mourning son. George Darcy had pushed aside Fitzwilliam’s cares and worries just for entertainment.Well no more!He quickly dashed off a note to his solicitor to change his will. Who to give the Kympton living to now, he did not know. It would have been the easy way to honour a man who clearly has none, but it was clear that George Wickham did not deserve such a blessing. That living would now be given on Fitzwilliam’s recommendation. He must know of a suitable, studious, fellow from his university days in need of such a boon. When he sealed the missive, he put it on the silver tray to be posted urgently. Then he got up and rang the bell for a servant to enter. In walked Mr Briggs, a stoic man who was sombre but respectful and wise, and sometimes even a little sarcastic.“I require my son’s presence,” he ordered the butler. His voice was dry from not having used it for a few hours, “and send up some tea and victuals.”“Yes, sir.” The butler bowed and left the room.Five minutes later, his son entered the room with a serious expression on his face. His slight against Fitzwilliam had caused his own son to become that serious, quiet, and shy man before him. George Darcy realised that it was all so Fitzwilliam could distance himself from the proclivities of his former favourite. Had he turned his own son into a humourless man due to his own neglect and ignorance?“You called for me, sir?” His son bowed before he took the seat opposite his father.“Yes, Fitzwilliam, please I need your honesty - tell me, what exactly did George get up to when he was at Cambridge?”“Why?” George Darcy’s heart sank at the distrust in his son’s eyes, has he truly been so blind?“His father caught him with stolen goods, gambling the stolen goods, and found your cards proclaiming him as Fitzwilliam Darcy. How long has this been going on and how much have you concealed from me? I want to know. You are not in trouble.” He sighed. “Indeed, you have shown forbearance that would make your mother proud. I have to confess that your mother also warned me against my actions towards my godson but I did not listen. Alas,” he levelled his gaze at his squirming son, the way Fitzwilliam’s eyes shifted around the room trying to avoid George’s paternal gaze worried the father. “I also gave the same indifference to your concerns. Please, son, tell me what you have been sealing your lips against - do not spare my feelings, I have to know.”When George locked eyes with his son, he noticed relief mingled with despair. “All right,” Fitzwilliam said. George noticed the moment his son’s heart lightened, there was a spark in his eyes. Had he really been so disapproving of his son that just this minor action on his part was enough to elicit such a lightened expression on his son’s face? “It all started when we first entered Eton…”
…
It took several cups of tea to go through the history of George Wickham. Mr Darcy of 10,000 a year, father to one son and one daughter, was appalled by how much his son kept close to his chest. Even as a man of the world, George blushed at some of his son’s tales. For his son to witness such licentious, depraved, rakish, vile behaviour at such a tender age disgusted him.“Father,” Fitzwilliam hesitated, “I would have told you sooner if you…”“If I had listened. This afternoon has taught me a lot about myself, and I am not sure if I like that man.”“You are an exceptional man, Father,” defended Fitzwilliam. The warmth in his voice also shone through his dark eyes.“Obviously I’m vain and conceited enough that the right, charming, words were enough to almost divide me against my own boy.”“No father, you are not - you are the best of men.”“No I am to blame, I ought to feel it,” said George Darcy clasping his son’s hand. “You have been more of a man than I. Certainly more circumspect.”Fitzwilliam hung his head. “Is that all you wished to know, Papa?”“No, there is another matter I wish to talk to you about, a matter that concerns nearly everyone in the family.”“Oh?” The distrust was back.George smiled a little, this time it was warranted. “Yes, son, it is time we find you a wife!”Fitzwilliam groaned and placed his head in his hands, fingers tangling through his thick, curly, dark hair. “I dreaded this conversation more than the other one,” his son moaned, dropping to his knees.For the first time, George was delighted that his son cracked a joke and laughed heartily.