Fitzwilliam crossed his arms and pointed with his chin. “That is precisely what he means for us to do, Bingley. Where shall we go?”
“Anywhere you like. One of the few places that I do not believe we have inspected is Jameson’s poultry shed.”
“And I presume that you will order an ale at the inn? Not quite your usual drink.”
Darcy nodded. “No, but I expect I will be ordering more than one.”
Threealeslater,Darcyset his empty glass back on the table with a bit more force than he had intended. His stomach was uneasy, and not only because of the assault he had just inflicted upon its lining. Mr Jameson himself came to the table when he saw the empty glass and offered another.
Darcy winced and shook his head. “Not at present, thank you,” he declined.
“Of course, Mr Darcy.” Jameson turned away, but hesitated. “If I may, Mr Darcy, it is a pleasure to have you as a guest. Are you sure I may not offer you a private room?”
“That will not be necessary. This entire half of the establishment is vacant at present.”
The innkeeper’s thick brow showed disappointment. “As you wish, sir. May I ask the name of the man you are waiting for, so I may direct him to you?”
“You know him already. George Wickham.”
Jameson’s countenance grew sallow and cold. “He’s gone from these parts, and good riddance to the beggar. With all due respect, sir,” he amended quickly.
“Nevertheless, I expect he will arrive shortly. I have changed my mind, Jameson—two more ales, if you please.”
Jameson bowed his deference and shuffled away. Darcy watched him go, searching for any symptoms of a burdened conscience. The innkeeper whispered to a dustboy, but neither disappeared shortly afterward and none of the other customers suddenly got up to leave the room. The ales arrived in due course, and Darcy let them sit untouched for another quarter of an hour.
So idle and dull was the entire atmosphere that it was a struggle to keep his eyes open after the drinks. His gaze drifted to the clock and fixed there without truly seeing anything until the chair opposite him thumped and a body dropped into it.
“There is a remarkably fine hunter standing in the stable out back,” Wickham remarked casually. He lifted the ale on his side of the table and took a long draught. “I thought you would have brought your carriage.”
“As well as a lady to plead with you?” Darcy countered. “What I had to say to you could be said without inflicting your lies on another’s ears.”
Wickham made a sour face as he set the glass down. “You do delight in being a difficult bastard.”
“On the contrary, my parentage is not suspect.”
Wickham snorted. “As you bring the matter up, let us have it. You know I have proof of Bernard’s birth. That is why you came so quickly back from London, is it not? The earl heard of my case, I presume.”
Darcy lifted his shoulders. “What of it?”
“What will you give me to keep it quiet?”
“Nothing whatsoever.”
Wickham stared, then laughed. “I see how it is! You expect me to tip my hand, but I will not do it. I have Lydia Bennet, and the wench thinks I mean to marry her. By challenging Bernard’s legitimacy or by marriage to the sister, I will have what ought to have been mine. So, all that remains is for you to tell me which it shall be.”
Darcy slowly sipped his drink and pretended to consider. “What I do not understand, Wickham, is why you would settle for Corbett when you could have had Pemberley.”
Wickham blinked. “Come again?”
“Why, if you have legally valid proof of Bernard’s true parentage, as you claim, then you would know by now that his widow could not, in fact, inherit Corbett. His claims were far higher, had he only known—the poor devil. And if, indeed, Bernard’s widow is not your legal sister-in-law, why… but I am sure you had already thought of this.”
Wickham’s eyes were wide, and he coughed slightly but made an effort at recovering himself.
“It is a pity you fell for the wrong Bennet sister,” Darcy informed him casually. “The youngest sister has no claims at all, but Elizabeth could be worth ten thousand a year, if your evidence is found to be compelling in court. There is no entail, as you are aware.”
“Now, wait a minute, Darcy.” Wickham wiped his mouth and held up a hand. “I never touched Lydia Bennet. I could have—the chit is as loose and silly as they come—but there was no time.”
Darcy frowned and shook his head. “Too late for such a claim, I am afraid. If your demands succeed in court, Miss Lydia’s sister will be a very powerful woman indeed, and you do know what they say about a woman’s wrath.”
