“Well, then, I shall be off. I hope we shall meet again.” He replaced his hat and mounted a horse that stood nearby.
Elizabeth watched in fascination as he jogged away, reflecting that he seemed not at all the scoundrel Mr Darcy had painted. But then, Fitzwilliam Darcy seemed only to understand people well when they could serve his purpose, and perhaps George Wickham was one who had never bowed to the local royal son.
Six
“Congratulations,Darcy,yousucceededat last.”
Darcy scarcely looked up when George Wickham was announced at his study. He had been expecting this, and had even given the order that the rascal was to be admitted when he called at last. The only wonder was that it had taken nearly three months to come about. He never even set aside his quill as Wickham dropped into the chair opposite his desk without being invited.
“I have succeeded at many things,” Darcy answered mildly. “Pray, to which are you referring?”
Wickham put his hands on the desk. “Bernard married on his deathbed? Tell me that was not your doing.”
“Why would I tell you that? It most certainly was.” Darcy dipped his quill and continued writing.
“For what purpose? Oh, I remember!” Wickham leaped from the chair and paced the study, punctuating his words by smacking one fist on the opposite palm. “You swore I would never inherit. You vowed to see me in penury. You promised your revenge for—for what, I do not know.”
“Do you not? You do not recall your many offences against my family?”
“I recall that your father loved me, and so did Georgiana. I recall how that made you insensible with jealousy and that you did all in your power to discredit me!”
“No, I did all in my power to protect others from your lies. Where would Georgiana be if I had not intervened? Why, abandoned and probably pregnant out of wedlock, living off the charity of strangers wherever you left her.”
“There you are wrong, Darcy! Had you not intervened, she would be comfortably installed as my wife at a charming house three miles from here.”
“Just as your previous conquest, I trust?”
“Now, that is unfair. The lady toyed with my affections, not the reverse. Ask her yourself—or have you? Is that why I have not seen Fitzwilliam of late? I ought to call on him and ask after his wife,” he mused with a smirk.
“It will not work, Wickham. I’ve no interest in dredging up the past, and no intention of giving another farthing to a man who gambled away his inheritance within a month of receiving it.”
Wickham sneered. “You could not live long on five hundred pounds, either.”
“You were promised a living. What came of that? You refused to take orders, that is what.”
“I was indisposed when you gave the living to another man!”
Darcy snorted. “Indisposed for six months? You were detained by drink and women. You had never undertaken the proper studies and never intended to. I count it a mercy that you are no man of the cloth.”
Wickham returned to the chair and leaned forward intently. “Say what you will, Darcy. I ought to have at least been given Bernard’s inheritance. We both knew he had the French disease for years—it was only a matter of time. Yet you hastened his death by having him thrown into debtor’s prison and found some desperate wench to marry him at the last moment!”
“Hasten his death, indeed. Bernard was better looked after in prison than he could have been rubbing along in the seedy establishments he frequented. I saw to that. Moreover, I preserved countless innocent maids from his attentions—and from yours!—though it is a shame I was too late for some. That kitchen girl at Corbett, for example—dead at only sixteen because of Bernard. There were others, too, and none of them have a pleasant tale to tell. But I am sure the sentiments of the women you two have ruined do not concern you.”
Wickham laughed. “There, you have as much as told me the marriage you brought about was unconsummated.”
“I did not ask the lady the particulars of her marital relations, and in the eyes of the Church, the union was satisfactory. Let me also remind you that you will gain nothing by attempting to win her for yourself, for as your brother’s widow, the marriage would not be legal.”
Wickham sat back in the chair and shook his head. “Neat and tidy. You have thought of everything, Darcy, except for one.”
Darcy raised a patient brow. “If you fancy that I spend my days dreaming up means of thwarting you, you have been sadly misled. I have better things to do with my time.”
“Aha!” Wickham cried. “I see it. You are dying to know where the flaw is in your arrangements, but you will not ask. Very well, I shall not tell you. But you would be wise to keep an eye on that lovely young widow in the neighbourhood. It would not do for—well! Perhaps I shall say no more. Give Georgiana my regards, will you?”
Wickham breezed out of the room without an adieu, leaving Darcy scowling at his desk. The blackguard, he seethed. Whatever scheme Wickham thought himself the master of, Darcy had no notion. But he would take the man’s caution—the last thing he needed was for Wickham to whisper his malcontented perfidy into her ears. She thought little enough of him already.
Not that he would have it differently. It would be too dangerous, should she accidentally take a liking to him. No! That, he could not withstand. Best to keep her at arm’s length as his employee—
As the kindest friend Georgiana had ever had. As a local widow, for whom he was occasionally pleased to do a good turn. And as a pleasant neighbour who was already doing much to improve circumstances for the tenants of the neglected estate.
