“Mrs. Wickham, I thank you for your services to my cousin,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “But they are no longer necessary.” The gentleman pulled a billfold from his coat pocket and stuck a five-pound note out towards Mrs. Wickham.
“No,” Darcy forced himself to sit up. He groaned. “Put that away, Richard. Mrs. Wickham, thank you, and I would appreciate it if you gave us some privacy. But as I told you last night, you may stay here however long you wish.”
“Yes, Elizabeth, please stay,” Georgiana said.
“Youcertainly have no say in this matter,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “And whatever preferences you express will be taken a good cause to adopt the opposite course.”
Mrs. Wickham smiled at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “You do not seem to trust me.”
Her eyes were dancing, and now that Colonel Fitzwilliam had made Darcy think about her beauty, he was unable to keep himself from noticing how the dancing light in her eyes made her look even prettier.
“You are the widow of the worst scoundrel it has ever been my dishonor to be connected with, excepting of course the gentlemen who run the war department. Of course I am suspicious.”
“And you are the cousin of the man who shot my husband to death, and yet I do not worry aboutyoutrying to shoot me, even though I believe you wholly competent to do so.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at her. “I shall speak bluntly. I do not apologize for this. Your husband seduced my charge, destroyed her reputation, stole her virtue, and then shot my dearest friend. And now I find you here, insinuating yourself into the family circle, pretending to make yourself of use, placing your children around, speaking with Miss Darcy on intimate terms, and taking advantage of my cousin’s clear disquiet about the honorable action of shooting that rabid cur who was your husband. Not only do I distrust you, only a stupid man would trust you in these circumstances. I want you gone.”
“I see. I certainly shall not force myself into a place where my presence is unwelcome.” Elizabeth clenched her jaw. She did not smile. That smile was now gone. She looked at Mr. Darcy and bowed her head. “It seems, that we are not such friends as you made a pretense of last night.”
“Do you need any fee for the services you have already provided?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.
Elizabeth glared at him.
Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped his free hand twice against the side of his leg. “Settled.” He grinned at Mrs. Wickham and returned the bank note to his billfold, and the billfold to his pocket. “I have been delighted to make your acquaintance, and I shall be even more delighted to not continue it.”
“No.” Darcy ignored the pain and pushed himself up. “Stop this, Richard. Stop.”
Jove, his chest hurt.
He pushed again and felt sweat pouring down his neck. He felt dizzy.
So much pain.
“No, no!” Darcy exclaimed again.
Both Mrs. Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam came to him to press him back into the sofa.
An odd panic took him, like that sensation after he saw that he had really done it, and that Wickham was really shot through, and really dead.
He did not want her to leave.
“Mrs. Wickham, I have already begged you to stay. Please, I still beg you to remain. My cousin merely wishes to protect me, but I do not agree with him and—”
“Darcy, stop being a fool,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.
Mrs. Wickham shook her head. “I will not remain where I am not welcome.” She then frowned and pressed her hand against her mouth. “Lord. Lord. Do you know when the stagecoach to London shall leave?”
“No need to wait. I’ll happily give you the money to go by post. That is, give you some of Darcy’s money,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “As I know you must know, he has a great deal.”
“Mrs. Wickham, please sit down,” Darcy said. “I beg you to sit down. Do look at me—”
The woman did sit and look at him. Her dark eyes were hard.
She was angry, and he thought anxious. There was something which made him feel sad, like underneath her confidence and her constant motion, she had a pathetic need to be protected. He saw it in the firm way she sat, with the chin just slightly trembling.
It was impossible for him to speak for half a moment. The way her eyes looked was too much. Speak, he needed to speak. If he did not speak, she would simply leave.
Everything would be wrong forever. He would have killed Mr. Wickham, and there would be nothing he could ever, ever do to make it better.
