“He took your painting, Georgie.” Fitzwilliam paused, continuing slowly, “For the past five months, I have been searching all over England, scouring markets and galleries, inquiring at private collectors and auction houses, visiting pawn shops?—”
“Risking themarché ouvert,” Richard added. Fitzwilliam’s glare silenced him, but not before he tapped his eye. And she knew.
“Your bruise!” Relief that he and her cousin had not come to blows over her was quickly overcome by worry over what might have happened to her brother at the dangerous market.
He nodded. “I found the merchant who had sold your painting from her stall only one day before. Shesold it to a man with silver hair, spectacles, and clever eyes.”
“Mr. Bennet,” she whispered. He certainly fit that description.
Her brother had not broken his promise at all! As usual, he had been cleaning up the mess that Wickham had made—a mess she was mortified to have played a part in. She never should have told him about her inheritance. Oh, what a little fool she had been! A tear spilled down her cheek, and her brother reached for his handkerchief and dabbed her face dry, a lovely gesture which brought on more tears.
She knew what Fitzwilliam and Richard must think of her, and she wished the tears would cease, but the harder she tried to hold them back, the more powerful they became. They would believe she still pined for Wickham. It pained her to be so terribly misunderstood. What kind of lady did they think she was?
How genuinely happy she was to learn that her brother had not been avoiding her all these months because of her dreadful mistake! He had been trying to keep his promise after Wickham had taken her most precious possession from her. Oh, how she wished she had never known that awful man! That he had never been a part of her life. Would that he just go away and never come back! She never wanted to see him again.
She did not know when her brother had wrapped his arms around her, but the handkerchief she held was soggy, and his cravat was crumpled and stained with her tears. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself.Once it was safe, she backed out of his embrace, determined to show her guardians how well she had learned from her mistake and how mature she had become.
Mr. Bennet was a gentleman. He could be reasoned with. Either way, she was not concerned about her painting now that she knew Fitzwilliam had not been the one to take it from her. No, that deceit had been committed by the rapscallion who had tried to steal her heart, her reputation, and her inheritance. Oh, if she ever saw that horrible man again, she would kill him!
“There is more,” Richard added. “We tracked down Wickham all the way to Charleston. He is gone.”
“Good riddance! I hope he never comes back!” she exclaimed, relieved beyond measure that he was on the other side of the ocean.
Fitzwilliam reached for her hands, his eyes so tender, his touch so understanding and comforting that she felt her eyes well up once again. “Georgie, Wickham is dead. He died one week after landing.”
And she had wished him dead! She had not even swooned! A proper lady would certainly swoon. What kind of monsterwasshe?
Feeling another onslaught of tears, she fled from the library to her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her and sending Mrs. Annesley away. Nothing anyone could say would console her. She did not deserve consolation. She was wretched. This was so much worse than Ramsgate.
Over the next several hours, Fitzwilliam tapped on her door several times. He brought her tea. He broughther cake. He brought her a book. He tempted her with all of her favorite things, but she would not be consoled. She had wanted nothing more than to be forever free of Wickham. Now that she was, she could not even be happy about it.
CHAPTER 21
Darcy tugged his hands through his hair. “She feels that I have betrayed her.”
Richard stopped polishing Constance. Her blade gleamed. “It is Wickham’s death that has brought this on. She might have hoped still.”
That did not appease Darcy. “I have to retrieve the painting.” Thank goodness the Rembrandt was safe with a gentleman to whom he was pleased to make a generous offer. Darcy could return with Georgiana to Pemberley at the end of the month, and the Bennets would benefit from the proceeds of a mutually beneficial arrangement. The painting was as good as his. Perhaps Georgiana would wish to invite the eldest Misses Bennet for a visit…
Richard resumed polishing. “Never fear, Darcy, I shall keep watch here. Go keep your promise.”
Darcy needed no further incitement. By the time he rode back to Longbourn’s courtyard, the rest of thehousehold had returned from Meryton. They received him warmly, though no one was as enthusiastic as Mrs. Bennet. Darcy enjoyed how her direct comments made Miss Elizabeth blush. Had he not called for a specific purpose, he would have enjoyed their conversation more.
He hoped Mr. Bennet might make an appearance—it would certainly make Darcy’s request easier—but ten minutes of mundane chitchat failed to produce the gentleman. He began to fear the gentleman was not in.
Those ten minutes of conversation revealed another difficulty that Darcy would have considered sooner had his mind not been so singly focused on recovering Georgiana’s inheritance. How could Darcy request a private audience with Mr. Bennet without raising certain expectations?
He found himself only half attending to Mrs. Bennet’s chatter until she stopped speaking and looked at him expectantly. Having no clue what she had just said but knowing better than to nod in agreement to anything a matron with unmarried daughters could say, he looked to Miss Elizabeth for help.
She smiled knowingly and replied for him. “I fear you have overwhelmed Mr. Darcy with so many details, but I believe it is safe to surmise that he would agree that Uncle Philips’s decision to increase Mr. Goode’s salary based on his years of faithful service and his efficiency as a clerk was a good decision with an honorable motive.”
Darcy was happy to agree, though he could notfathom how the conversation had taken such a turn. Before Mrs. Bennet could begin down another confounding trail, he spoke. “Is Mr. Bennet in?”
The lady was all attention. “You wish to speak with Mr. Bennet?”
“I had hoped to, yes.”
“Mary, be a dear and go get your father.”
