“The man is unfit for such a charge. I shall not offend you with the particulars, but his conduct has been disreputable. He is wholly unsuited for the church.”
“He has not taken orders, then?”
Darcy straightened in his seat. “No. He wrote to me requesting an interview, indicating his desire to meet. He does not yet know the nature of my father’s gift, though I believe he anticipates something far greater than he deserves. I am afraid he will be sorely disappointed.”
Elizabeth lifted her gloved fingers to her lips in brief contemplation. “I confess myself puzzled. Your father must have felt some regard for him to make such a provision. On what grounds can the man imagine he deserves more than was bequeathed?”
Darcy rose from the bench and extended his arm. “Walk with me?” She accepted his offered arm, and together they strolled along the shaded path.
“My father’s godson was reared almost as a younger son,” he began. “His father served as my father’s steward—a worthy man in every respect. We were friends as boys, but it was when we were at school together, where his true nature was exposed—wild and ungovernable. My father never saw him as I did and died believing him virtuous. Now I must yield a family living to him should he condescend to take orders. The benefice will not fall vacant for several years; I suppose that gives me time to consider my course.”
“Why not offer him immediate compensation in exchange for surrendering the claim?” Elizabeth suggested. “If he is as you describe—and I do not question your word—he will prize the ready money above all else. A thousand pounds is a fortune. Surely he would not refuse a proposal that would add to his windfall.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “You are brilliant!” he exclaimed, a broad smile revealing two dimples as it broke across his features. Elizabeth felt she might swoon as colour rose to her cheeks at the unexpected praise. Fiennes had never once commended her wit; on the contrary, he had taken satisfaction in belittling it.
She steadied herself inwardly before responding. “I thank you, sir.”
They parted soon afterwards, Elizabeth anxious to exchange her wretched mourning gown for a lighter muslin. She walked in a pleasant daze, the picture of his dimples returning to her mind. How strange that a few words, uttered so warmly, could leave her quite undone. It was foolish, she knew; yet she could not but smile at the thought of them. Perhaps he was only the girlish fancy she had never been allowed to indulge—the gentle folly denied by her unwanted duty and misfortune.
For the rest of the day, she applied herself to her duties with renewed diligence, though questions regarding her future—whether she would remain in town or withdraw to the country—were still left unanswered.
Chapter Sixteen
July 1807
London
Darcy
Thebellrang,andDarcy braced himself for George Wickham’s arrival. His father’s godson fancied himself a gentleman—if not by birth, then by association—and Mr Darcy Senior had indulged that delusion far too generously.
From Eton to Cambridge, Wickham’s charm had long masked a corrupt heart. Debts, deceit, and scandal had followed wherever he went, leaving Darcy to conceal the worst of it. His father, blinded by affection, had died believing the man worthy of trust.
Even in death, that misplaced faith endured. Wickham was favored beyond comprehension and given ample provision for one so undeserving. The notion of him in holy orders was intolerable. He would lead others into vice rather than rescue them from it. Mrs Fiennes’s suggestion had, therefore, revived an amount of hope that Wickham might choose the easier course, and so release him from the unwelcome duty of advancing such a man in the Church.
Mrs Fiennes…Elizabeth.Her name stirred through his thoughts like a benediction. Never had he known a lady more genuine. There was laughterin her eyes, yet sorrow lay beneath, dimming them at times with some hidden pain. He often recalled their first meeting in Hyde Park. He had teased her—something he had done only with hissister, never with any other lady.What on earth had he been thinking? But he could not regret it. He had gained a true friend.
Richard’s cautions had long ceased to apply. Fiennes was dead and could harm no one; but his widow—intelligent, lovely, and possessed of uncommon spirit—was here, and… He halted the thought before it wandered further. She seldom spoke of her husband, as though the very mention pained her. Though attraction had begun to stir, he could not pursue it. She had months of mourning yet before her. To act sooner would be unpardonable.
Still, he longed for her company. He found himself seeking her out each day, their brief encounters in the park becoming the brightest part of his routine. Her formidable escort ever kept his distance, granting them the illusion of privacy. Each moment in her presence restored something within him—an awakening of hope where grief for his father had left only emptiness.
The sound of the door broke his reverie. Mr Briggs entered. “Mr Wickham, sir.” The disapproval in his tone was barely masked.
Wickham sauntered in, wearing a self-satisfied smile. His blue coat was new, his Hessians freshly polished. “Darcy! It has been an age.”
“It has, indeed. My father died in January, Wickham. Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” He dropped into a seat uninvited, affecting a careless air. “Your father would not have expected me to abandon all and hurry to his side.”
Darcy doubted his father had given him any thought beyond securing his future. “Well, let us settle matters.”
“Very good. What did the old man leave me? Ravenswood? Willow Grove?” Wickham leaned forwards. “I am eager to take my place as a gentleman at last.”
The audacity!Ravenswood and Willow Grove were amongst the richest Darcy holdings, each worth seven thousand a year. That Wickham could presume such a claim was laughable. “My father left you a thousand pounds…and the preferment of the Kympton living.”
Wickham froze, his jaw slack. “What?” he burst out. “That is all? I spentyearscurrying his favour! He adored me! You mean to keep the rest for yourself!” George looked ready to do murder.
“I assure you I do nothing of the kind.” Darcy opened a folder, drawing out a sheet of paper. “His wishes are clearly stated in the will…here and here.” He indicated the relevant paragraphs with a finger. “I have a bank draft prepared—”
