“Do you? Then you know more than I.”
“You are seeking some other arrangement for Miss Darcy—another companion, or perhaps she is to live with Lady Matlock to prepare for her coming out.”
Mr Darcy frowned, but did not look at her. “That was not my intent.”
“But you must see how much sense it makes,” she protested. “We have not been without our troubles, and with a background such as mine, I can be of no credit to her—why, you heard what Mrs Fitzwilliam said.”
He looked quizzically at her. “Why should either of us care what she said?”
“Because it is the truth!”
Mr Darcy pushed his lower lip out in a thoughtful, dubious expression wholly incongruous to his typical bearing. “And? It is also true that Anne Fitzwilliam made a scandalous dalliance by which she meant to force me to the altar, just to save her reputation. I should think the truth of your past is not nearly so tarnished as hers, and you see that I have not shunned my cousin.”
“Because she is your cousin. I am no one.”
Mr Darcy spun suddenly on the ball of his foot, his colour high and eyes curiously ablaze. “I will thank you never to repeat that, Mrs Wickham. Whatever you are, you are not no one.”
She felt her own features paling as he fairly stared her into surrender. And, for the first time in their acquaintance, she wished herself to be in the wrong and him in the right. She could find no proper response, so she dropped her eyes and mumbled a “Yes, sir.”
He held her in his gaze for another moment, almost daring her to some display of defiance. Twice, she hesitantly met his look, and then faltered.
“Very well,” he sighed at last. He glanced over his shoulder, and still seeing Anne Fitzwilliam not far away, he steered her gently towards the orangery. “Tell me about your concerns. What can I do?”
She stopped, causing him to turn back to her. “So easy as that? You are not asking me to prove my case or defend my decision to ask for your help?”
“Why would I ask such a thing? Had I no confidence in you, I would never have chosen you for the roles I asked you to play.”
Elizabeth regarded him carefully. He seemed to be in earnest.
“You were troubled on your sisters’ account?” he prodded.
“Yes,” she confessed. “Not that anything improper has taken place, but I wonder if Mr Wickham means to gain something by his displays of friendship. My family suspect nothing—even Jane, for she can only think well of people.”
“You are asking me to reveal his infamy to your family? Regale your sisters with tales of his exploits?”
Elizabeth glared at him. “Of course not!”
“Then perhaps you wish me to have him shot when next he shows his face? I am afraid his crimes do not merit that.”
“No, I—” She hissed in exasperation, then narrowed her eyes when she discovered the hint of a smile playing at his mouth. “You are provoking me again, sir.”
His lips turned up in earnest, then his expression became grave once more. “Forgive me, Mrs Wickham. I found the opportunity too tempting to resist, but you have asked a serious question and I will not mock you. What is your true concern? That he means to work upon your sisters until he compromises one of them in revenge?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. With Lydia, it is not unlikely that he might succeed, but I feel like he wants something else besides.”
Mr Darcy frowned, then with a flick of his eyes gestured that he wished to resume walking. Elizabeth fell into step beside him as he spoke. “I had heard something while I was in London. From my uncle, Lord Matlock, if you wish to know. A source informed him that someone was legally challenging Bernard’s legitimacy, and I think we both know who it was.”
Elizabeth laced her hands tightly as she walked. “Can such a complaint succeed? Is there proof?”
Mr Darcy made no immediate reply. He studied the ground, his cheek twitching occasionally as if he were considering what answer he might make. “Possibly,” he said at last.
“And if it did…” Elizabeth bit her lip and turned her face quickly away. She had taken for granted how comfortable it was to have a home, and to know her family were together and safe. If she lost Corbett, where would they go? She composed her features, but her voice was unsteady when she spoke again. “If it is not my right to hold the property, then it is not. But I thought you said your father designed the inheritance for Bernard? That all had been done legally?”
“It is true… to a point. But just as I did not pursue George Wickham when he wronged Anne or Georgiana, in the interests of protecting their honour, so my father left certain loose threads in the placement of Bernard.”
Elizabeth was watching his expression—the hesitation, the pain never before witnessed, and she fought an impulse to touch his shoulder in a show of comfort. “I do not understand,” she asked gently.
“Do you not? Is it so difficult for you to understand how easily a woman’s life can be ruined by a rogue?”
