When the Opportunity Presents Itself ~ By Sofie

Money. If one is not born into the correct social circle it is the only way to rise above one’s birth. And it is the only thing that makes a Lady better than the likes of me, no matter what she may think. All that birth and breeding is for naught if a woman should marry beneath her, which is what my mother did. She was a silly innocent with a romantic soul, swept off her feet by my father, a charming rogue. The second son of a town solicitor, he had expensive tastes, persuasive ways, and guileless blue eyes. He managed to get his foot in to the fringes of polite society and used his charm to do the rest. He thought to make his fortune by marrying my mother, but her father - outraged by the shame of their elopement - cast her off without a farthing. Still, their love flourished for a few years, my father directing his resentment for his blasted prospects only toward the baronet, and my early years were the happiest I have known. My father’s luck at cards proved better, and he was able to set my mother up in a boardinghouse of her own before he slipped away to the continent to embark on a new life more exciting than our own. Through the years I occasionally would receive trinkets from him and the odd letter full of useful advice regarding how to get on in this uneven world. The rich exist merely to be duped of their money, and anyone who does not take advantage of any opportunity that presents itself is a fool.

My mother thought it her duty to raise me as if I were a young lady and worked unstintingly to provide me with an upbringing as close to her own as possible. She believed that through marriage I would be able to correct the fault of my birth. I was never quite so naïve. When she could not prevail upon any member of her family to sponsor my coming out into society or even recognise me, I was sure her heart would break. At that time I formulated a plan which made perfect sense on paper. I, with all my accomplishments, would enter into service as a governess. This would throw me into the path of rich men. At seventeen I was a well-developed young lady and my modest attire could not completely hide my endowments. My mother had shielded me from any indelicate overtures from the men in the boardinghouse, but I had not missed the gleam in their eyes as they rested upon me and I knew that I could be as adept in handling their advances as I was in performing upon the pianoforte. Given the opportunity, I was certain that in no time I would be able to right the wrong the unfortunate circumstances of my birth had dealt me. My mother appealed to an old friend and I embarked upon my career to make my fortune.

I discovered that men are fickle. They will sigh and pledge undying love and then do as their fathers bid and marry insipid misses with crooked teeth and the requisite birthright and fortune. I also discovered that withholding my favours drove them crazy with desire for me but unfortunately affected me in the same way. I had longings that were purely physical. My heart was not so easily touched. Not that I cared for love – I would have married any one of the gentlemen I had dangling upon a line that first year or two. Instead I saw a string of colourless ninnies carry off every last one of them and lead them to the altar.

Don’t get the wrong impression about me. I never behaved in a fast manner – my conduct was always exemplary, and I was discreet beyond words. My mistresses thought me a treasure. By the time I reached my twenty-second year I had kept my dream of marriage alive, but after that I resigned myself to the fact that men were men and could not be changed. They looked to a girl in my position for one thing only, and marriage had no part in it. I would never overcome my birth, so my only alternative was to utilise my one accomplishment that I had as yet not turned to my advantage. And I knew that my discretion would be a godsend in that regard.

Gentlemen can be very generous when their desires are satisfied and I discovered that I had a talent that was much appreciated. Masters, eager elder brothers of my charges, guests - through the course of the years I made more money selling the baubles they bestowed upon me than I did imparting my knowledge to the simpering young ladies under my care. While I enjoyed the delights of my many encounters, I enjoyed the material advantages more - and the feeling of power I had over the gentlemen who thought themselves too good to wed me but could not wait to bed me. And never, not once, was any suspicion raised in any of the households that I worked in. I remained the relied-upon Miss Younge, that figurehead of virtue and propriety who would perfectly prepare the daughters of the house for their advent into society.

Even as I grew older I did not lose my way with the men, in fact I found the young bucks more drawn to me than ever. As I neared thirty I took on the title ‘Mrs’ – I found it gave me that added aura of respectability, rid me of the shroud of spinsterhood, and added an allure of untouchable fruit that only made me more desirable.

At the age of thirty-six I wondered how long my appeal would last. I was between jobs, helping my mother out at the boardinghouse. Her years of working had taken their toll upon her body and mind. She set herself up in her room, all lavender and lace with smelling salts at the ready and made believe she was living the life of a great lady. The least I could do was go along with the charade, so I poured her afternoon tea, plumped up the pillows for her pug, and then chased after the tenants for their rent in the evenings. I opened up a back room to games of chance and soon increased my mother’s income tenfold. I wondered if I really wanted to go through the rigours of another term in service again and lead another brace of empty-headed girls to the brink of a life that had long been denied me. Yes, it still rankled that I would never be the mistress of a great house, never attend balls with the crème de la crème, never be looked upon with respect as the hostess of the evening.

There was one tenant who caught my eye. Mr Wickham was young and handsome and extremely capable of pleasing. I felt we were kindred spirits. We both knew how to use people to our advantage and get what we were after. And we were both after the same thing. Money. One night after the card players had all left and I was counting up the house winnings he stayed with me and talked until the stars faded and the sun streaked the sky orange. He was fascinated with my career as a governess and I could see the wheels turning in his mind behind his beguiling smile. The next night I joined him in his room – what transpired there was inevitable given our natures and predilections, but I must admit that it was the first time I had given myself freely without expectation of any reward. He touched a chord deep inside me somewhere – brought back a memory of a pair of smiling blue eyes long since forgotten. Later, as I lay within his arms, he made me a proposition that I could not refuse.

He had been ill used by a cold man with money – a Mr Darcy. This Darcy resented him because though he was only the steward’s son he had the master’s love. The late Mr Darcy had bequeathed him a living which the present Darcy now denied him. He planned to revenge himself on Darcy, regaining what was his due, and more. In my mind, it was a course of action that was completely justified and his plan was tailor made for me. Darcy had a sister, a protected impressionable young girl. Wickham was confident he could win her love and I did not doubt him – he just needed to separate her from the watchful brother and that was where my services would be invaluable.

It had come to Wickham’s attention that Darcy was looking for a respectable lady to hire as a companion to his sister. My credentials were impeccable. If I were to win the position then I could find a way to bring Mr Wickham and young Miss Darcy together while the master was off on his own pursuits.

I put a word in an ear here and another in an ear there and it wasn’t many days before I was recommended to Mr Darcy and my agency had made an appointment for him to interview me for the position. I dressed with extra care that morning in dove-grey bombazine, the neck high and demure, my still voluptuous figure in stays and bound to be as unrevealing as possible. My hair was dressed very severely. Mr Wickham almost crowed with delight when he saw me.

"Is this vision of propriety the same wanton woman who transfixed me last night with her velvet curves? Impossible!"

I gave him such a look as to prove it was indeed possible.

"Don’t look at Darcy like that," he said. "He has a heart of stone and a soul so lacking in passion I pity his poor cousin Anne when the two finally wed. How they will ever conceive a child together I have no idea, nor do I care. That he should be childless is all I ask and then my whelp will inherit Pemberley."

The interview with Mr Darcy went very well. I was grateful to Wickham for all the preparation. Darcy was very astute and had a piercing glance that made me realise I would have to play my cards very close to my chest to continue to deceive him. But though reserved he treated me with more politeness and courtesy than I had hoped to expect. He spoke fondly of his sister and when he introduced her to me, I found she was all that Wickham had promised – shy and unspoiled and very vulnerable. I came away from the interview with the job, and the conviction that for all he knew of Darcy, Wickham had underestimated the man. Or maybe it was that I understood men in a way Wickham never could. Darcy was undeniably handsome, extremely desirable, and I was certain capable of deep passions. But Wickham was correct in stating Darcy was not approachable at all. There would be no jewels to be earned on the side. For some reason it was the conviction that he was a true gentleman and a man of honour that made me all the more determined to ensure that Wickham exacted his revenge upon him. I had no sympathy for his sister either. She was so proper and so good and reminded me too well of all those other young ladies who were born to the advantages of name and wealth and would never know the life that I have had to endure. I would have given anything to be there that day when she swore undying devotion to Wickham only to have him use her more completely than I had ever been used.

Everything went perfectly. A plan could never have run more true to its vision. I gained the trust of both Darcy and the doe-eyed Georgiana. Though her sweetness sickened me I bore it well and she was devoted to me. I must admit that she played divinely; for once I did not have to cringe and hold back shudders as I ladled praise upon tone-deaf students. We lived together in London in the Darcy townhouse for a matter of a few months until the perfect opportunity presented itself. Summers in London were oppressive and Darcy intended to send Georgiana to the country estate for the duration when I planted a seed in her brain about the delights of the seashore. She was such a timid creature, afraid to ask her brother for anything and always willing to do his bidding, causing me to wonder if the suggestion would have to come from me in the end. I was pleasantly surprised when she brought up the subject herself at dinner one night. I demurred and said that what her brother wanted for her was the best, but he insisted that he only wished to give his sister pleasure and if it was the seaside she wanted, it was the seaside she would get. Before long everything was in place for a two-month sojourn to Ramsgate. I sent word to Wickham immediately.

Sometimes things are too perfect. I believe both Wickham and I were lulled into complacency. We should have acted faster. We would both be rich now if we did, for he promised me a tidy percentage at the successful conclusion of our endeavour. Everything went as it ought. Wickham renewed his acquaintance with Miss Darcy with the utmost care and delicacy. I spent my evenings in conversation with her, shaping her malleable thoughts, helping weave the nest for love to flourish. Our biggest obstacle to overcome was her dedication to her brother. But Wickham managed to convince her that in marrying him she would be fulfilling her brother’s wishes. The man has such a convincing way about him. I was vastly entertained seeing how lovesick he had made the pure Georgiana. She was ready, she was willing, she had agreed to marry him without her brother’s consent, in secret, when the whole thing fell apart.

I ought to have foreseen that Darcy could not keep away from his sister as long as he had said he would. They were too close – unnaturally so. He came and she, silly fool, divulged all. If only Wickham had ordered the carriage and rode off to Gretna with his prize two days earlier I would now not have to manage this boardinghouse as my mother sits in her drawing room dreaming of a life she lost through her weakness for a handsome face. I was right that Darcy is a man of hidden passions. I saw his rage first hand. He wrote the missive sending Wickham away with such coldness and such a restrained hold upon the fire within that it was more frightening than if he had lashed out, ranting and pacing about the room.

I don’t know when I’ll see Wickham again but I will not easily forget the look upon his face when I saw him off. All his hopes so near fruition, gone. I was let go without a reference, and though I know Darcy will say nothing of this incident to protect his sister’s honour, it was well known in all circles that I was companion to Miss Darcy. The unexplained severance of my employ, without a reference from him, effectively ended my career as a governess.

Be assured, however, Wickham and I are two peas in a pod. We are both survivors. This had been a major setback in our ultimate goals, but we are not beaten. It has only strengthened our intent. Wherever he is he will be hatching another plot to make his fortune through marriage, and he will succeed. In this world it is easier for a man than a woman. At least I have this boardinghouse. I know what men want and I will use their weakness for wine, gambling and the pleasures of the flesh to keep my head above water, and possibly, just possibly, I will have another chance at making my mark on the world. There is only one meaningful indication of success. Money.