“You can’t!” Miss Darcy repeated. “It was Father’s.”
Darcy looked at his sister. His hand clenched into a fist, and then he unclenched it and held his arm stiffly against his side. “Have you—” Darcy then closed his mouth and stared at his sister. “My decision is final.”
After saying that he coldly walked out of the room leaving all of them behind, as Mrs. Reynolds held the portrait and stared blankly at it.
“Let me have it,” Miss Darcy suddenly said. “It isn’t right. It brought Papa comfort. It shouldn’t be destroyed because of…”
“Quite a surprise,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “The master almost worships his father. I never thought I’d see the day he’d let this room be changed.”
“Please let me have the miniature. I’ll hide it. Fitzwilliam won’t ever know.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please! I beg you!” Miss Darcy turned to Elizabeth with pleading eyes. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“I was given a direct order,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “I do not intend to disobey.”
“Please? Please? Please?”
“You won’t wheedle me.”
“Were you in love with Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth suddenly asked her sister-in-law, part of the mystery falling into place.
To Elizabeth’s surprise Mrs. Reynolds flushed for a moment, seemingly until she realized that Elizabeth had directed the question to Miss Darcy, and not her. The old woman had said that thepreviousMr. Wickham, her officer’s father, hadbeen her dearest friend. Perhaps that meant more than simply friendship?
For her part, Miss Darcy went white. She hesitated for a delay of three breaths, and then thinly exclaimed, “N-n-no! Of course not!”
The stammer did not make the statement more believable.
“A childhood crush? He is a very well appearing fellow.” Elizabeth smiled, trying to speak as she would have to one of her younger sisters. “An excellent walk and the finest manners and countenance. Wickham is a very personable man. I dare say that I was halfway in love with him for an evening or two.”
Miss Darcy looked down, now very red. Mrs. Reynolds had a quite curious expression as she studied Miss Darcy.
“Please, please, Mrs. Reynolds, please don’tdestroyit.” Miss Darcy begged again.
“I do not see what harm the portrait can do,” Elizabeth said. “And it was your father’s as much as it was Mr. Darcy’s. Mrs. Reynolds, I think it best that we let Miss Darcy keep it.”
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head slowly.
Elizabeth replied with firmness, though she had no idea if Mrs. Reynolds would respect her will in this. “If he should ever find out, tell him that it was my order that Miss Darcy be allowed to have painting.”
“I am not in the habit of disobeying Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth stared at her. “We can bring the subject before him. But you know that whatever Mr. Wickham did to annoy Mr. Darcy so severely, this poor miniature does not deserve to suffer for it.”
Mrs. Reynolds studied the face in her hand. It was clear to Elizabeth that she desperately did not want to destroy the painting. “He was always such a mischievous boy. And now gone into the militia? Poor child. I know Mr. Darcy — that is the oldmaster — had meant to do better by him than that. I am certain Mr. Darcy had his reasons for breaking with Mr. Wickham, and that he did all that is honorable.”
The three of them were silent, and then Miss Darcy reached out and pulled the portrait out of Mrs. Reynolds hands. The older lady limply let her take it, and then Miss Darcy, with a sort of affectionate gesture that Elizabeth had not expected from her, threw her arms around the housekeeper, and said, “Thank you! Thank you!”
The young woman ran off.
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. “There will be trouble for this. There will be. We ought not defy the master in such a way. He has his reasons.”
Elizabeth shrugged.
“But you are his wife, it is not my place to argue. And it was not right to simply have it destroyed.”
“What was he like as a child?”
