“Oh! Miss Darcy would not mind, particularly if you told her the cause.”
“But I would, for I have given my solemn pledge to be faithful in my duties to her. As I am quite dependent upon others when they give their word, so I shall not break mine. I am afraid it is dreadfully unneighbourly, but I must ask you to speak with Millie, the kitchen maid. She is just there going out to the hens—you can see her now.”
“Well, then! I see I shall have to come much earlier in the day if I wish to call properly on my sister-in-law. But do not think of it, for I quite understand your predicament. Perhaps I shall walk with you as far as the field, then turn back with my gift.”
She nodded her permission, and they started off. “I wonder if you have heard,” she asked, “but I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Godfrey.”
“I did hear. She is a pleasant soul, is she not? Very kind to me as a lad, and a straight-faced, honest lady if ever I knew one. Some might find her off-putting, but she is not afraid to call out the powerful or lift the heads of the weak. She is the only lady I have found who so merits my whole esteem.”
“That is generous praise indeed, and a thing we ought all to aspire to. She said something rather curious about you making an enemy, and naturally I assumed she referred to Mr Darcy, as it seems you two are not friends.”
He smiled. “Sister Elizabeth, I believe I have found yet a second lady deserving of my regard. I will tell you honestly, but I would caution you to guard your tongue when others are about. Derbyshire is full of Darcy’s people.”
“You make it sound as if we are at war and he is the enemy camp!”
“It is very like that,” he replied soberly. “I suppose Darcy told you that my brother had little fondness for me?”
“He did say… something of the kind,” Elizabeth answered cautiously.
“I should have thought so. It is true—Bernard and I were never friendly as brothers ought to be. The source of our strife was not clear to all, for what brothers do not disagree on occasion? But, you see, Bernard and I were not truly brothers.”
Elizabeth gasped. “You were not!”
“Oh, in the legal sense, of course we were. My father acknowledged us both and none can contest that. Mr Darcy the elder had his own solicitor on the task, so you can be sure it was done proper. But blood? We shared not a drop. Bernard, well, he always hated me for how much better our parents loved me while he had no notice from his natural father.”
“And he did not know who it was?”
Mr Wickham scoffed. “No one ‘knew,’ so the story goes. But when George Darcy bestowed Corbett Lodge on my father for his many years of faithful service, Bernard drew his own conclusions. I am sure you can well imagine. My father vehemently denied to both of us that George Darcy could have been Bernard’s father, and that good and worthy gentleman said much the same on his deathbed. Corbett was not some recompense to the natural son of a wealthy man—it was truly meant to go to my father and his heirs. Unfortunately—” Here, he sighed quietly. “Bernard was the eldest. And so, here we are.”
Elizabeth swallowed the knot in her throat. “And now it is forever lost to you, all because of me!”
“My dear sister,” he soothed, “pray do not take my words for any bitterness of spirit. No, I insist, put away your tears for me! Having you for a relation is blessing enough, for you have done what I could never do at that tumbled down abode. Why, have you heard the praise all the tenants have for the wise ‘Widow Wickham?’ Indeed, it is well that one such as you has been entrusted with its care.”
“But you would have done as well or better,” she protested. “It ought rightfully to have been yours and you know every particular of the neighbours and the property.”
“Here, now! What sort of talk is this from a lady who is now caring for her entire family by her alliance? No, I cannot in any way begrudge you that. Indeed, I would have made the same decision in your place, so the fault is not yours.”
“It was Mr Darcy who insisted upon it,” Elizabeth muttered in some frustration. “It was he who said—”
“My dear sister,” Mr Wickham laughed, “we would be here a very long time if you determined to enumerate all Darcy’s faults for me. I daresay we all have our share, and perhaps a man with so many blessings has even more flaws than most. But I tell you what would cheer my heart better than to hear you abuse a fellow who is decent enough, in his way. Truly, it would be just the sort of gesture that a noble and generous woman would think of—passing on the bounty, you could say.”
She raised her brows. “Yes?”
“Had you ever considered what would become of Corbett if you remarried? I daresay your husband would count it among his possessions and that would be the end of it. He might even sell it, as I suspect would be the case. But what of a permanent home for your mother and sisters?”
Elizabeth frowned down at the path. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing really, it was just a trifling thought. I am sure you would wish to use the estate as your dowry to make a fine match, and for that I could not blame you.”
“I think you mistake me and all my motives if you believe that.”
He smiled. “No. I have not mistaken you. Well, then my advice is to deed the estate to your mother.”
“My mother!”
He shrugged. “Or one of your younger sisters. Yes, that might do better, for they will see to her care longer than she will see to theirs.”
“But how could I?” she objected. “Would it even be legal?”
