Darcy stepped further into the room, looking about, preparing himself for Wickham’s company.
Much to his mollification, only Lydia, Mr. Bennet, and Mrs. Bennet were present. Darcy had known that his nemesis’ company would eventually be forced on him, but he had hoped it would not happen so soon.
What Elizabeth had said, he knew not, but given the satisfaction on Lydia’s face, it had been pleasant enough. It now fell to him to say something. “It seems I must offer you both my felicitations. Where is Wickham?”
Lydia beamed brightly, rubbing her hand over her plump middle. “He deeply regrets that he could not stay, but George is such a good soldier and so responsible, the regiment could not spare him a day beyond his leave.”
“He is not here?” Darcy asked, part relief, part disbelief. If George Wickham was responsible, then Fitzwilliam Darcy was a scullery maid. What sort of a man left his wife with her family at the other extremity of the country when she was with his child?
Her bottom lip protruded. “It is the regiment’s fault. They are so demanding, you know. The sacrifices I must make as an officer’s wife is appalling, which waswhy George insisted I have all the comforts of home during my confinement. He could not give me the attention I require while attending to his duties, being so much in demand and too often sent away on regimental business.”
Dalliances, more likely.
“Surely, his commanding officer gave him enough time to see you safely settled,” Elizabeth said, her lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line.
Did she remember that lout? Darcy tried not to feel insulted. It was dashed difficult.
Lydia picked at her cake. “I suspect he is in London by now. I had wanted him to leave me at the chapel so that I might see my sisters marry, but we would have arrived too late, so he saw me settled here instead.” Abruptly, she set her plate on the nearest table, her full attention on Elizabeth. “But Lizzy, what is this? Why are you not on Mr. Darcy’s arm? You are acting as though he were a stranger and not your husband.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but Lydia continued, “I am sure Mr. Darcy will wish to congratulate me. After all, I will give him a new nephew to dote on and spoil soon...”
Darcy winced, as did Elizabeth, though Darcy suspected for vastly different reasons. As Lydia continued chattering, Darcy fell into his own contemplations.
The reality of having Wickham as his brother-in-law was punishment enough for Darcy’s lenience withhis former friend, but this proof that Wickham cared more for himself than his own unborn child lit a fire in Darcy’s chest. Men such as Wickham should never be allowed to father children.
Why was Lydia here? And at such a delicate time? Years of Wickham’s appalling behavior triggered Darcy’s skepticism.
She bore no evidence of bruises or cuts, none visible to the eye anyway. Wickham had a special talent for teaching the girls with whom he meddled the harsh realities of the world. As immature as Lydia was, Darcy did not wish that sort of education on her.
Had he done right by forcing Wickham to marry Lydia? Darcy’s motive had not been entirely selfless. Then again, it had not been wholly selfish either. He had only thought of Elizabeth.
And she did not remember him.
Lydia’s boisterous voice interrupted his thoughts. “But, really, Lizzy, did you marry today or not?”
Mrs. Bennet clucked her tongue. “I will allow for no more unpleasantness today. Thank goodness my Lydia is with us. This is the happiest day of my life! Jane married so well, and Lydia with child!” She bustled out of the room, no doubt to fetch her beloved daughter another plate of food.
Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth. “You are blessed with a mother whose emotions waver from one extreme to the other as quickly as the wind turns.”
Darcy’s lips flinched. Oftentimes Mr. Bennet’shumor carried a bite, but Darcy supposed it was a preferable means of coping with disappointment than bitterness or indifference. Darcy was relieved that he and Elizabeth were intellectual equals … or, he hoped they still were. He had not yet noticed anything untoward … aside from her inability to remember him.
Elizabeth chuckled softly. “It is a comfort, I suppose. Not long ago, she was vexed with me for ruining the happiest day of her life.”
There it was again. Her quick wit and nimble humor. It was only a matter of time before she was fully recovered. Before the end of the day, Darcy would wager.
Hill appeared in the doorway with an apologetic look. “You have another visitor, sir. Mr. Collins.”
“He has a lot of nerve,” Lydia said.
For once, Darcy agreed with her. Since marrying Charlotte Lucas, Mr. Collins had little reason to show his face at Longbourn until the sad day he would eventually inherit the estate upon Mr. Bennet’s death. Any other man would understand the undercurrent of tension his presence provoked, the tremendous loss he represented to them. But Mr. Collins was boorishly daft.
The clergyman, looking somber in his black wardrobe, bowed deeply in the center of the room. He reminded Darcy of his aunt and cousin. He needed to deal with them. Later. His primary concern was Elizabeth.
“Mr. Collins, what a surprise to see you.” Mr. Bennet stood, gesturing at the door. “Will you join our party for the wedding feast?”
Deftly, he steered Mr. Collins out of the drawing room and down the hall. Lydia heaved herself off the settee, dragging Elizabeth along with her and leaving Darcy to follow behind. When Mr. Bennet saw them into the dining room, he stopped Darcy before he continued after Elizabeth. “I take it your conversation with Mr. Jones did not go well?”
Darcy swallowed. “No.”
