Wickham nodded. “It is a delicate balance. Too much government intervention can stifle local efforts, yet too little leaves people vulnerable. It is a challenge to find the right approach. Tell me, for you ought to know better than I, what is your opinion on the current political climate?”
Darcy’s mouth turned up on one side. “That is a rather wide topic. Perhaps you might be more specific?”
“Oh! I care little enough for Parliament, all those laws and debates, back-door dealings, and such. What have I to do with that? But people, you see, they care very much about the Prince Regent. That is the figure everyone knows, from the lowliest kitchen lad to the nobility. But from what I hear, there is much debate on his ability to lead effectively. After all that business in France, why, one likes to know whether the man on the throne is an asset or a liability to the rest of us.”
Darcy considered this for a moment, his gaze distant. Naturally, this was a thing he and his friends had canvassed in the club. No one wanted the bloody sort of upheaval of a class war, and it seemed the only way to avoid that was to serve his tenants well, look after his business affairs with integrity rather than avarice, and maintain relationshipsbetween farmers, labourers, and gentry. But Wickham was right: there was only so much a gentleman such as himself could do when the crown’s every action drew so much attention.
He settled on an answer that sounded diplomatic yet clear. “The Prince Regent is a controversial figure. His extravagance and the ongoing war with France have strained the nation’s resources. Many people are disillusioned with the leadership, but it is a war we must win. Napoleon’s ambitions are boundless, and the cost of failure… I do not wish to consider it.”
Wickham’s expression had grown serious. “True, but the cost of the war is felt deeply in rural areas like this. Families are losing sons and fathers, and the financial burden is immense.”
Darcy observed Wickham’s thoughtful responses, feeling a growing sense of respect. The man seemed knowledgeable and genuinely concerned about the welfare of the community. This was not the reckless youth he remembered. He drew another sip of tea, then, after resting his cup aside again, commented in a casual voice, “You seem to grasp the matter quite well. Father would be pleased.”
“I like to think his efforts on my behalf were not wasted,” Wickham replied lightly. “Admit it, Darcy. You thought I would be lodged in a debtor’s prison by now.”
Darcy could not help the tip of his head or the arch of his brows. “I confess myself… surprised, but pleasantly so. May I ask how you came into such a fortune so recently?”
Wickham chuckled. “Ah, I knew that question would come eventually. It is quite the story—simple enough in particulars, however long the odds. A third cousin of my father’s had accumulated a great deal of wealth through trade in tea and spices. When the old man passed away, it was found that I was the only surviving relative.”
Darcy thought carefully, trying to recall any details about Mr Wickham Senior’s history that might disprove the story, but nothing came to mind. “Trade can be quite lucrative. It seems you were fortunate to have such a relative.”
“Indeed,” Wickham said with a smile. “It was quite unexpected. I had no idea of his wealth.”
“Really?” Darcy raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “And when did you learn of this windfall?”
“It was in July,” Wickham replied, his tone almost casual. “I did not even know of this relative’s existence until then when the solicitor came looking for me at the inn where Iwas staying at the time. I thought he was putting me on at first—so much so that I bought him a drink for telling such an amusing story.”
Darcy calculated in his head. Wickham must have already obtained his wealth by the time he met Georgiana in Ramsgate. That eliminated that suspicion, at least—if Wickham were already expecting a vast fortune, he would not need to take advantage of hers… Well, no more so than any other young buck in theton. He listened silently as Wickham continued.
“The solicitors said they had the devil of a time tracking me down.” Wickham said with a laugh. “I had been in Newcastle at the time, considering joining the regiment to earn a living.”
“Newcastle?Youa soldier? I can scarcely credit it.”
“Well, my prospects were rather limited, but I had just enough left over from that…” he cleared his throat, “…considerationyou so generously bestowed on me some years ago to purchase a commission. A low rank, to be sure, but I thought the army might offer some stability. Little did I know that fortune would find me in such an unexpected manner.”
Darcy’s thoughts tumbled over one another as he tried to reconcile this new information with what he knew of Wickham’s past. Everything seemed to align, yet there was an unease he couldn’t shake. His head began to ache slightly, a dull throb at his temples, probably his own prejudices surfacing. Wickham’s story was plausible, and his demeanour seemed genuine, but the discomfort in Darcy’s head only added to his lingering doubts.
“The solicitors must have been quite relieved to finally locate you,” was all he could manage to say.
“Indeed. They were quite exasperated by the time they found me. But all’s well that ends well, as they say.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the story. Despite his reservations, Wickham’s account seemed consistent and believable. There was no immediate reason to doubt him, and yet... the memories of boyhood were impossible to erase so completely.
“Your fortune must have come as a great relief,” Darcy said carefully. “It certainly changed your circumstances.”
“Immensely,” Wickham agreed. “I was able to settle my debts and establish myself comfortably. It was a blessing I never expected.”
Darcy was silent for a few moments. If all these things were true, then perhaps he had misjudged Wickham. Fortune had favoured the man, to be sure, but the fellow Darcyremembered from his youth would never have put that inheritance to good use or spoken so warmly of hope for good relations with his neighbours.
No, he would have frittered it away in vice, whether the task took a month or ten years. This man who spoke of investing and improving… well, this was a stranger.
“You have said very little of Miss Georgiana,” Wickham said. “All I know is that she left Ramsgate shortly after I did. I hope she is well.”
Darcy’s grip tightened on his fork at the mention of his sister, another faint twinge beginning to form behind his eyes, but he forced himself to relax. Perhaps he had been wrong about Wickham’s intentions toward Georgiana. She had insisted that Wickham was only looking out for her during their time in Ramsgate last summer.
“She is flourishing under the care of Lady Matlock,” Darcy replied slowly. “Preparing for her debut next year.”
Wickham seemed genuinely pleased. “I am glad to hear it. She is a lovely and accomplished young lady. I have no doubt she will be a credit to the Darcy name.”
