It had, further, been a general principle of Mr. Wickham’s to spread the largesse as widely as possible.
That is to say, the largesse which the world at large would heap upon his head. He offered no largesse to the world, if he could possibly avoid it, except the benefit they all gained from his simple existence.
He believed himself a blessing to the world — at least he had in those times when he had had so much money (and yet he had been convincedthenthat he was poor, and he had been so angry with Darcy for the way that he’d stolen his rightful inheritance).
In any case a cautious, careful, and considered control of how much he ought, in strict speaking terms, pay to any one merchant had ensured that no one with a secure enough position to risk offending Wickham’s friends would find it worth their while to prosecute him for non-payment, and toss, tie, and quarter him in Marshalsea until he became by some impossible alchemical transmutation, a worthy sort of gentleman who paid his debts.
None of that in Meryton!
Fuck Colonel Fitzwilliam.
If he could, he’d take a red hot poker from the fire, and burn it into the colonel’s cheeks, giggling while the skin sizzled.
Wickham was a disappointed man, and he must have pleasure lest the sensation of his disappointments overcome him.
But his luck had turned!
Tomorrow he would take Lady Lucky Lydia upon the road, and when their journey was done, he would never worry about money again.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning Darcy set out on his walk with a decided hope of meeting Elizabeth in the road.
During their conversation the preceding night — when they were not arguing about Miss Bingley — she had mentioned that she loved to walk about the park and talked with admiration about the greening verdure and the thickening leaves in the trees.
Darcy ached with longing for her.
He wanted to see how she would react to Pemberley’s park.
Pemberley.
He loved Pemberley, and that love made him desperate to share it with Elizabeth, as though baring his estate to her was in some way like baring his soul to her. As though if she justsawPemberley, by some mystical force she would immediately understand him.
He wanted to see her delight, her smiles, eyes wide and bright. The gasp she would make when they came up over that ridge and she saw the manor and park for the first time.
Her ruby lips, a pant of delight, those passionate eyes wide with pleasure.
Her beauty hurt.
Looking at her was a sharp sensation that made it at times hard to breathe. Her rapt attention as she listened to Georgiana play. That face. Elizabeth was too beautiful to even fully understand.
Of course simply wandering leaf to lawn with a vague hope of meeting Elizabeth was noplan.
He would call upon her at a more appropriate hour if this scheme failed, but it was impossible for Darcy not tohope. He tramped around freshly scented woods for more than an hour. Each time he heard footsteps, voices, or the cracking of a branch underfoot, Darcy’s heart leapt, and his stomach flipped, and he eagerly looked to see if it was Elizabeth — alas.
Every time someone else.
And then there she was.
She stood in the sunlight, her head tilted back, the bonnet falling off her hair, held by blue ribbons on her white neck. A butterfly flapped happily in the air, and there was a low sound of twittering birds. She wore sensible brown leather boots. The soft breeze blew over both of them, pulling her dress softly around her legs.
Darcy’s throat caught.
Some sound startled her, and she looked around and saw him.
The smile that wreathed her face made his chest ache.
He loved her.
