Darcy’S Dire Dilemma: Wherein One Learns Everything Jane Austen Never Knew

By John Hazard Forbes

They never dreamt the danger of Jane Austen! Initially, the residents of Longbourn, Netherfield, and Pemberly had no reason to be wary. Miss Austen seemed merely a mild spinster who attended parties and asked benign questions about this cousin or that aunt. No one suspected her devious purpose: the creation of novels based upon persons of her acquaintance.

It was much too late for poor George Wickham when Pride and Prejudice became all the rage. Of course, he was nothing like his odious fictional counterpart, which is what he hopes to clarify in this retelling of the events as they truly occurred. Miss Austen obviously warped reality, resulting in three hundred-odd pages of absolute rot.

Whereas Wickham has never aspired to sainthood, he contends that the authoress greatly exaggerated his shortcomings. He now attempts to reconstruct the true love story so poorly delineated in that dreadful Pride and Prejudice. Four decades may have passed, but Wickham remembers all and now pays tribute to those so smeared by that awful Miss Austen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532044830

John Hazard Forbes

John Hazard Forbes is the author of the two-volume Old Money America series. His fictional works include Who Killed Dottie, The Tamiami Mystery, and The Hinkletown Treasure. He currently lives in Thomasville, Georgia.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE: A ROYAL

ENCOUNTER AT BOODLE’S

Wherein Mister Darcy sees his

ballocks fly out the window.

C HOP CHOP, I SAY! CHOP CHOP NOW!

At eleven o’clock of a fine London morning, two footmen in splendid livery invaded Boodle’s. Both young and sprightly, they burst through doors and hastened from room to room shouting,

CHOP CHOP NOW! THE PRINCE! CHOP CHOP!

The insignia upon their buttons bore three feathers, hence the prince could be none other than His Royal Highness George, Prince of Wales, Regent of Great Britain, and for all intents the king. Lesser nobility passed through the homey little club upon a regular basis. A visit from the Regent, though, put every member and attendant up on his toes.

CHOP CHOP, CHAPS! THE PRINCE!

Waiters tossed pints of Sir John Barleycorn into fireplaces, shoved plates of bever behind curtains, and stuffed The Times and The Courier under cushions. Gentlemen leapt from dozing, tugged down their waistcoats, and arranged their cravats. In those few moments betwixt the onrush of the footmen and the entry of His Royal Highness, noisy salons became serene and inebriates turned stone sober.

The overly fat, overly dressed, and overly jeweled Prince entered Boodle’s with surprising grace; the heat of mid-August seemed not to affect him. Managers and members rushed to receive him, but the Prince waved away a formal greeting.

Fellows all, he called out, We have not come to disturb your morning cards and coffees. Do please carry on and allow me to rove at will amongst you.

Wherever Prince George travelled, he carried merriment with him. Whist every man at Boodle’s understood the inviolate laws of royal etiquette, none could help but smile upon the newly installed Regent.

And loving naught in life more than a fuss the Prince put in, We shall brook no fuss upon our behalf.

Nobody failed to note His Royal Highness had assumed the royal We usually reserved for the sovereign. We moved from room to room downstairs, passed pleasantries among acquaintances and, accompanied by his two footmen, ascended the staircase to the salons above.

Boodle’s eschewed fripperies and folderol. Set up rather like a comfortable house, rooms of middling size displayed neither touches of gilding or swaths of brocade; nobody hurried to scour walls made murky by tobacco smoke nor bothered about upholstery gone shabby. Amid evermore ostentatious London, Boodle’s continued on as an oasis of unpretentious ease.

As His Royal Highness entered the upstairs chambers, gentlemen and waiters fell silent, bowed from the waist, and directed their eyes toward the carpet. One member neither stirred nor rose. Seated at the great arched window overlooking St. James Street, said member turned down one corner of his gazette, peeked above the page, and resumed reading.

From behind his paper the man said, And how is that huge boil festering upon our dear Prince Regent’s buttock today?

The huge boil festering upon my buttock? answered the Regent. Dear brother, one must not refer to oneself in such distasteful terms. Such comments lower the tone of the entire royal family.

The footmen choked to suppress their laughter. The Prince Regent chuckled and raised an eyebrow toward the other fellows in the room. Each bobbed his head and scurried out, leaving only the footmen in attendance.

Frederick, Duke of York, lowered his gazette and queried, What brings His Royal Georginess to disturb the calm of Boodle’s? If you’re looking for your Mister Brummell you know he shan’t have donned his cravat for another three hours.

Must We point out that Mister Brummell is, unlike yourself, an artist?

Oh? We are We these days, are We? Shan’t Pater be surprised! Such quibbles aside, how is Brummell an artist? Except in the sense of an artist at duping the future king of England into paying his tailors’ bills.

Tut, replied Prince George. One cannot be part of the royal retinue and dress in tatters. Be that as it may, Freddy, what think you if We were to say We came to Boodle’s expressly to settle your enormous debts to this venerable establishment?

Frederick scratched beneath his wig and replied, I’d say such a thing is damned unlikely. Yet let me state, dear brother, the execution of so grand a gesture could only enhance your reputation as a generous and genial fellow.

Henceforth consider your debt here as settled.

The Regent’s next-younger brother set aside his paper. He not quite arose from his chair, though his movement approximated a gesture of thanks.

After all, Freddy, said the Regent, you have always been Pater’s favorite.

So tell me, Georgy Porgy, what really brings your royal We-ness down from Brighton?

We seek an ear in which to insert a flea.

And the ear in question?

"That of Mister Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Darcy? Don’t tell me you’re going to make that dreadful striver a peer! The way he forever shows his phiz at every royal progress, a man can hardly scratch his arse lest Darcy should appear.

Nay, Freddie. We shall grant no titles this day. We seek Darcy’s ear concerning, shall We say, matters of a more regrettable nature.

The Prince Regent cleared his throat in a way his brother knew meant unpleasantness.

That sounds royally unfortunate to be sure. Pray do consider that Darcy is, after all, the grandson of an earl upon his mother’s side. Perhaps merely a middling earl, but still an earl to be sure.

Prince George wagged his head and replied, Tut! Descent through a maternal earl offers no more distinction than descent from Adam through Methuselah.

Well stated, Georgy, well stated.

The Prince made a genial wave of the hand; four of his fingers bore bulky, vulgar rings.

I believe, said Frederick, you will find Darcy in the coffee room.

"Thence We shall bid you adieu and find Mister Darcy there."

Thus may We have mercy upon his soul, spoke Frederick under his breath.

The royal brothers nodded toward each other as the two footmen made obeisance to Prince Frederick.

And you shan’t forget the matter we spoke of? said Frederick.

No, brother, I shall settle your receipts ere I leave these very premises.

The Duke of York almost begged for relief from his other debts. His grocer’s bills alone were too huge to contemplate.

He retreated behind his gazette and murmured Best not press my luck.

And for the ten thousandth time, Prince Frederick of York reckoned his chances of becoming king himself.

George entered the reading room and found every man standing. Each bent from the waist.

He ignored the signs marked SILENCE and declared, Make no ado upon my account. Back to your books and papers, all of you. We command it!

To one of his footmen he whispered, Do be a good fellow and go tell the club’s director to remit York’s chit to the Lord Exchequer.

Prince George waddled throughout the upper floor, bantered with chums, and exchanged silent nods with lesser mortals. He entered the smoky, crowded coffee room; the light from three windows bedazzled his buckles and badges. A score of men bowed in perfect unison. His Royal Highness returned the salute.

The Regent raised a diamond-edged quizzing glass hung about his neck from a satin ribbon.

Ah, he said in a voice brimming with good cheer, "We espy the figure of our inestimable Mister Darcy, our invaluable Mister Darcy, our incomparable Mister Darcy. And, if We may ask, how does this fine day find our Mister Darcy?"

The Prince’s greeting stunned its object; those near Darcy moved slightly aside. True, the nobility acknowledged the Darcys and Fitzwilliams. Darcy’s attempts to insert himself into the royal circle, though, had heretofore proved futile. For all his many appearances at events attended by the court, he had ne’er enjoyed more than a passing nod from a member of the royal family.

Darcy replied, This fine day finds me in a world made even more glorious by your gracious presence.

The Prince dropped his quizzing glass, "Well said, Mister Darcy, well said. I commend you. Shall not all of us present commend you, Mister Darcy?"

HEAR HEAR! chorused the men.

Darcy blushed with pleasure. Withal, the ruler’s jocular emphasis upon "Mister" posed the tiniest cloud over what should have been his sunniest moment.

As Darcy received the Prince’s attention, many a man present questioned himself how one so obviously a gentleman as Fitzwilliam Darcy, and in possession of so fine a domain as Pemberly, held no distinction above "Mister," the salutation of respectable farmers and polite tradesmen.

You flatter me, Darcy. Indeed you do, said the Prince. Tell us, how is that excellent estate of yours? Pimple Lea, I believe you call it?

Everyone present chortled, as did Darcy.

I believe you are referring to my modest abode of Pemberly.

Just so, said the Prince. And that divine creature, that succulent plum, that luscious peach hanging upon your family tree, is she well?

To whom do you refer? inquired Darcy.

To the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of course.

The quip set all the assembled into guffaws. Lady Catherine, known throughout the kingdom as the worst of old dragons, made for a good jibe.

HUZZAH TO THE PRINCE! cried out one of the gents.

HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH! the men cheered.

The acclaim resounded throughout the smallish chamber. In a gesture of false modesty, the Prince Regent fiddled a bit with his cravat. Nonetheless, he beamed.

Now my dear Darcy, said the Prince, might We have a word in private?

Darcy bowed from the waist, perhaps a tad too deeply, and answered, I am honored, Your Highness. He then turned to a lackey and said, Could you conduct His Royal Highness to an unoccupied chamber?

I shall clear the whist room, the man replied.

Darcy, thrilled to his very core, could hardly breathe for the joy he felt course through his entire being. Surely the Prince meant to take him aside and announce privately what the whole world would know anon: A coronet shall top the Darcy of Pemberly coat of arms. He beheld visions of himself amid peers wearing ermine-trimmed capes.

At the very least, he reckoned, a viscount’s rank beckoned. Or had the Regent’s mention of Lady Catherine been a hint at an earldom? After all, his mother was an earl’s daughter. As the Right Honorable Earl of Pemberly, his dream of marrying into the royal circle could become a reality.

Oh, he thought, if only my mother had lived to witness this splendid hour.

The whist room, a darkish, walnut-lined cabinet, offered complete privacy. All about, tables littered with playing cards denoted games hastily abandoned. As the one remaining footman stationed himself at the closed door, the Prince bade Darcy be seated.

Once Darcy settled himself, the Prince placed his own chair behind Darcy’s. When Darcy began to turn and adjust his seat, Prince George tapped him upon the shoulder with his quizzing glass.

Remain just so, Darcy. Just so.

Fitzwilliam became disquieted. His conversation with the king-to-be set him in an awkward position wherein the Prince spoke from behind. Likewise, the footman also remained out of Darcy’s view.

Darcy, old chap, a word.

Yes, your Royal Highness?

Speaking to any man, let alone the Prince, without being able to see his face unsettled Darcy. Perhaps the Prince toyed with him afore making a delightful declaration. On the other hand, Fitzwilliam trembled to consider perhaps something altogether different was afoot.

Since recently taking up the mantle of Regent, certain burdens have fallen upon me.

I entirely understand, injected Darcy. May I offer to relieve you of any burden I possibly can, no matter how trifling or severe?

The Prince declared, Well said! Well said, indeed!

Darcy flooded with relief and his excitement returned. The Prince, he decided, was going to ask him to perform a special task. Said task completed, favors and honors would follow, accompanied by sorely needed riches.

George continued, In our capacity as Regent, pressures have arisen in regards to the court and those associated with the court, said pressures exerted by my Mama.

The Queen! May God bless her! enthused Darcy.

Yes, yes. God bless her and so forth. Anyhow, among these pressures are urgings to reconsider who may and may not be seen enjoying court events. Some of the delightful leeway We enjoyed as merely Prince of Wales is no longer deemed suitable.

I see, said Darcy.

The hairs stood upon the back of his neck; forthwith, the room turned very, very warm.

It has come to our attention, said the Prince in a voice of camaraderie that belied his words, there are certain irregularities concerning certain…

The Prince Regent paused and fingered a fob upon his watch chain. ’Twas half a minute for the Prince, yet an eon for Darcy.

The Prince cleared his throat and proceeded, …concerning certain mysteries cast upon the Darcy coat of arms. Or are We terribly misinformed?

Poleaxed, Darcy’s lips moved but no words came out.

The Prince leaned one elbow upon a card table and crossed his legs. He took several moments to admire the diamonds upon his shoe buckles.

From your silence, he finally said, We perceive you understand.

Darcy resisted an urge to squirm. Because he faced away from the Prince, His Royal Highness could not see Darcy’s hands tremble.

Now We cannot dislike a man simply because he exists, shall We say, under a cloud.

Darcy cringed as perspiration arose upon his forehead.

All the same, these new pressures lead me to insist We must consider you as entirely outside our acquaintance. Forever.

Mortified, Darcy mustered, I can do no more than obey.

Excellent, replied Prince George. Therefore, understand We can no longer acknowledge you either in public or in private, and you must never, never appear at court. No wife of yours, even if she be the Queen of Sheba, may be presented at St. James or any of your offspring. Ever.

By some means Darcy could not fathom, the most powerful man upon Earth knew secrets the Darcys kept hidden for a lifetime. He would fain have given half of Pemberly to mop his brow with a handkerchief.

The Prince drew a golden snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket and said, As for this little interview, We felt it only decent to seek you out and explain the situation privately.

I thank Your Royal Highness for the courtesy, Darcy lied.

Rest assured We shall be a gentleman about this unseemly matter. We shan’t breathe it to a soul. You may rely upon our word and our discretion.

With that, he inserted a generous pinch into his right nostril.

Your Highness is most generous, managed Darcy.

So Darcy, old chap, let us leave this room together smiling. You will accompany me to the royal coach where you and We shall part as friends for all the kingdom to see. In future, though, it shall be our sad duty to cut you at sight.

Darcy could barely breathe. His fate, his future, and his fortune were but dross.

May We therefore suggest you arrange your movements so as not to cause either of us embarrassment?

Darcy sat still and replied, I shall do so, Your Royal Highness.

What else could he say?

Tut, sighed the Prince Regent, ’tis unpleasant business to us both. Such are the burdens of our new royal duties.

The Prince snapped shut his golden box and signaled to his footman.

Upon arising the Prince commented, An intriguing game, whist. ‘Tis so seemingly jolly and yet so fraught with sudden calamity. I believe one inviolate rule is that a player must never comment upon the hand he is dealt, be that hand good or poor.

The footman threw opened the door. Fitzwilliam’s legs shook as he accompanied the Regent through the reading room, past the dozing Frederick, down the curved staircase, and into the street.

The cynosure of every eye, the Prince drew from his finger a huge cameo ring cut with his own profile and proffered it to Darcy.

A token of mutual understanding, said the Prince.

Darcy accepted the ring and bowed, I am honored, Your Royal Highness.

Farewell for now, said George in a loud voice.

Farewell forever, he said softly.

Prince George turned from Darcy and entered his plume-topped coach; the springs sagged under his prodigious weight. Grooms and footmen bustled about as each took his post. Horses snorted, a whip cracked, and the conveyance pulled away.

Darcy watched the royal four-in-hand lumber up St. James Street. His boots felt rooted to the cobblestones. How, he wondered, could he face the world?

He said to himself, Thank God my mother didn’t live to endure this disgrace.

Darcy forced his feet to reenter Boodle’s. Men swarmed him, clapped him upon the back, and marveled at his ring.

HUZZAH FOR DARCY! went up the cry.

HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!

Fitzwilliam held up his hand. With the royal token upon his finger he waved off the acclaim.

I am suddenly weary, he announced, and I bid you each good day.

Without gathering up his hat or stick, he walked out of Boodle’s forever.

Darcy headed north across Piccadilly and into May Fair. Though bathed in sunshine he moved in gloom. Even supposing he passed a hundred people he saw not one.

Upon entering Bond Street, familiar shops tempted his care-dulled eyes: here the maker of finest trousers and there the creator of finest boots. Wizards of braces and magicians of hats stood side by bow-windowed side near rhapsodies of furniture and symphonies of porcelain. Fitzwilliam might well have looked within but heaviness of heart pushed him onward.

The glittery offerings of a goldsmith’s shop caused Darcy to pause. Bejeweled collar pins called out to him as cunning gold buttons demanded to be taken home. He shook his head at them all.

Inside the same display beckoned a row of snuffboxes. And such snuffboxes they were! Each example wrought with rubies or diamonds, enamels or agates, with miniature landscapes worthy of Claude or lacquers from far Cathay. Along with such boxes, such watches and chains, such fobs and lorgnettes, such buckles and canes.

Darcy forgave Prince George his vulgarity. Had he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the riches of a nation he would gladly acquire every sparkling trinket and remit the bill to Parliament. He almost opened the goldsmith’s door; the weight of the watch inside his pocket, upon which he owed eighteen pounds, seven and six, stopped him.

Debts, debts, debts! he admonished himself. I cannot incur another bloody debt.

Darcy turned away. Proud of his resolve, his courage returned. He passed divine greatcoats without a glance and ignored superlative shirts. His notice did stray upon the most delectable gloves yet he resisted their Siren’s call.

He lifted his chin and told himself, After all, the Prince is a gentleman and good as his word. He shall not tell tales of this morning’s disaster. Of course I must discretely avoid his retinue. Yet should I quietly retire to the countryside, who will ever know the truth of my disgrace?

Darcy walked along buoyed by hope. Everybody, he believed, would view his private interview with the Regent as a royal favor. Nobody lived who could tell the truth.

After twenty steps Fitzwilliam Darcy stood stock still and smote his forehead.

Damn me! he cursed aloud. The footman! The footman heard every word.

And Darcy slunk back to his set of rooms at the Albany.

CHAPTER TWO: A GAGGLE OF

GIRLS AT LONGBOURN

Wherein Miss Lydia Bennet sets her cap.

Y ou, Jane, shall be sitting there at the window with the light falling over your left shoulder. Perhaps holding a book in your hand. Not actually reading, mind you. Rich men, as a rule, do not much care for scholars. But do have a book in your hand nonetheless.

What book, Mama? wondered Jane.

It matters not what book, snapped her Mrs. Bennet. Just be holding a book!

Forever why, Mama?

’Tis a matter of making a proper impression, returned her mother.

Upon whom? persisted Jane.

Upon Bingley, Bingley, Bingley, Bingley! ranted Mrs. Bennet. That’s whom!

Lord above, help us all, muttered Elizabeth, Lizzie to her family.

Sprawled upon settees ranged about the sitting room, five young women cared naught for their mother’s instructions. Near to them lay objects of feminine ennui: embroidery hoops and work boxes, lap desks and needle cases, French grammars and silly novels.

When Mister Bingley calls, continued Mrs. Bennet, we must strive to present a delightfully pleasing prospect. No detail can be overlooked.

All five daughters groaned. Each wore a frock of twice-turned calico; rills of lace, meager to be sure, trimmed their hems. As for Kashmir shawls or elegant fichus, they possessed none; and upon the subject of their slippers, less said the better. Being the eldest, Jane showed a strand of smallish garnets set in silver. The rest made do with pinchbeck eardrops and ribbons tied ’round their throats.

Mrs. Bennet fussed about as best she could betwixt drip cloths and damp paintwork. She shoved a stool forward then backward and considered yet another arrangement of the pictures and looking glasses. Her daughters, suspended in the torpor of a warm country morning, merely watched.

Now you, Lizzie, Mrs. Bennet said, must sit next to Jane. And I do not mean sit like a great lump. Sit gracefully with your neck extended in warm and eager sympathy. As Mister Bingley enters the room, all of you must express attitudes of warm and eager sympathy.

From Elizabeth, I? Sit near Jane? Forever why?

So when Mister Bingley first sees you he shall behold you and Jane in the midst of scintillating conversation.

Jane