Ah.
Yes, he had certainly been here. There was no doubt in Elizabeth’s mind that her husband had made the poor girl in love with him. Once more she cursed herself for the stupid passion that four years ago had tied her to Mr. Wickham for the rest of their lives.
“I am afraid so.” Elizabeth replied with forced cheerfulness. “Mr. Wickham is a man whom I would not recommend to anyone, but if you can arrange a way to make it legal, I’d happily enough sell him to you for any decent offer.”
Emily squirmed to be put down, while George still hid behind her skirts. Elizabeth set the little girl on the floor to let her toddle.
Elizabeth smirked at her own joke.
The young woman stared at Elizabeht for a long time. Poor creature, she had been seduced, hadn’t she. There was something about the way she looked at Elizabeth that said it.
Finally, the woman pressed her hands against her face. “I see, I see. He really couldn’t marry me. He never, never meant to—” The girl sat down, and she lightly sobbed. “He told me that he was a widower. He told me that he wanted to marry me. I swear, I thought we would marry.”
“I am afraid,” Elizabeth said softly, “that I am very much alive. And that I am Mr. Wickham’s wife. I can direct you to the register books kept by Mr. Lang and his son in Gretna Green if you doubt me. One of the witnesses was a local innkeeper, a…ah yes, a Mr. Lloyd. The other was a lawyer local to the area, a Mr. Smith. It is possible that there is some earlier abandoned wife, whose claim supersedes mine, but if that is so, she has never bothered me. I do not think that Mr. Wickham was yet the sort of man who could form a bigamous scheme when we married. He was very young still, you see, only one-and-twenty.”
“Oh God, that boy’s face is just like his. Just like he looked when he…he…”
The young woman’s face looked so young. So very young. Almost a child. She was even younger than Elizabeth had been when she fled her father’s house and she went by post up the Great North Road to Gretna Green in the company of her soon-to-be husband.
The woman had a dazed expression.
Elizabeth wished that she could have delivered this news in a way that would not have been deeply distressing. She knew well enough that it was impossible.
“He is not worth crying over—but at present you cannot have enough perspective to see that. Never marry to disoblige your family. I speak from experience. You shall be happier for not being able to marry him.Youshall not be tied to him forever. But I was once silly and in love. I know that future advantages are a small consolation. I hope he has not done you too much harm—forgive me, I must inquire again, have either of you any notion where I might find Mr. Wickham—sir, when was the last time that bandage was changed?—who is your nurse? They did a poor job.”
Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. His face was white and pale. The grim lines of his face suggested that keeping his seated pose caused him great pain.
“Tell me what you might, and I shall be off. I see my presence causes you—Don’t touch that.”
George stopped reaching for a finely painted blue and white china teacup. He gave Elizabeth one of his heart-stopping grins, put his hands behind his back, and upon seeing the gentleman staring at him, rushed again to hide behind Elizabeth’s back.
The whole situation was dreadfully awkward.
Emily was sitting down and busying herself with a detailed examination of the piling on the red Persian rug in minute detail. That would not damage anything.
“I am afraid,” Elizabeth repeated, “I must insist—Mr. Wickham may not be much of a husband, but he is the only one I can look to for support at present.”
The injured gentleman closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and pushed himself further upright. He drew in a deep breath and then winced and hissed with pain.
Broken ribs perhaps?
It was a professional curiosity.
Since Elizabeth had been abandoned by Wickham, one of the many expedients she had adopted to keep her children fed and clothed had been hiring out several times as a sick nurse.
The man’s voice was resonant, despite his injuries. “Madam, Mr. Wickham was killed in a duel yesterday a little after sunrise. I…” He looked confused and hesitant, and something told Elizabeth that this was an unusual state for this man. “I wish from the bottom of my heart that it was not so."
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together tightly.
The gentleman said something else that Elizabeth barely heard.
A duel.
The girl’s sobs redoubled.
“You!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I can guess the rest. You received your injury in that same duel.”
The gentleman’s eyes flickered away from hers, but then he looked back at her. He said firmly. “You are correct. I did not know that Mr. Wickham was married, or that he had children. We knew that he hadbeenmarried, but he presented himself as a widower. If I had known...”
