Swallowing bile, Darcy went up. His butler, grim-faced, opened the door, saying, as Darcy removed his outerwear, “Mr. Wickham asked to be informed of your arrival, sir.”
Darcy passed a hand over his eyes.
“Give the master a moment to rest,” Mrs. Reynolds’ voice said.
Darcy lifted his gaze to find her descending the broad front staircase. She carried a tray, as any kitchen maid might. He raised his eyebrows, looking the question at her.
Mrs. Reynolds grimaced. “Unless Mrs. Wickham is with him, I do not send any of the girls into his presence.”
Darcy scowled. His glance taking in both Mrs. Reynolds and the butler, he said, “I will be in my study in fifteen minutes. I will see Wickham then.” Darcy marched past them, seeking his quarters.
In ten minutes, he was in his study, wanting to arrive before Wickham. Fifteen more minutes ticked by. Darcy began to wonder if he should call a footman, or three. If Wickham required dragging in, Darcy would be happy to oblige him.
Ten minutes later, Wickham finally sauntered through the study door, so smug that Darcy’s hands twitched. He spread his fingers flat across the top of the desk, so as not to give Wickham the satisfaction of seeing him make a fist.
Wickham’s gaze dropped to Darcy’s hands, the skin white with the downward force he exerted, and his grin widened. “Home at last, I see. It is not like you to be so derelict in your duties.” He dropped into the chair across from Darcy, bringing them more or less eye level, as Darcy had not troubled to stand. “I hope you enjoyed gallivanting about Scotland for no reason at all, for I am certain your estate missed you. I’d begun to think I would need to take matters here in hand. Supervise in your absence.”
Ignoring that, Darcy asked, “What will it take to see you gone from here, without my sister?”
“No, ‘It is pleasant to see you, George.’ Or, ‘Welcome to the family?’” Wickham drawled. He sprawled back in his chair, hooking a leg over one arm.
“What will it take?” Darcy reiterated.
Wickham shrugged. “Georgiana’s thirty-thousand pounds. Hand it over and you will never have to set eyes upon me again.”
A gasp sounded.
Darcy raised his gaze from glaring at Wickham to see his sister in the doorway and reflexively came to his feet. “Georgiana.”
Wickham’s leg swung free of the chair arm as he turned a frown on her. “I thought we agreed that I would speak with your brother alone.”
“No, we did not. You ordered me to remain away.” She raised her chin. “I did not choose to do so.” She marched into the room. “What do you mean, my brother will never see you again? I will not be kept from my family, if that is what you are thinking.”
She looked so young, so vulnerable, for all her show of firmness. Darcy shook his head, hating to agree with Wickham, and said, “Perhaps you should permit us to discuss this. I will come to your room after and provide you with our decision.”
“No.” Georgiana crossed her arms over her chest, appearing younger still. “You are speaking about my life. I am staying.”
Wickham shrugged again and turned back to Darcy. “My thirty-thousand pounds, please.”
If his failure were not so profound, Darcy would take joy in informing Wickham… “I am afraid that is impossible. Before her twenty-fifth birthday, Georgiana’s dowry cannot be paid out without both my and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s signatures.”
“What?” Georgiana gasped. “That cannot be true.”
Darcy shifted his gaze to her, where she’d moved to stand beside Wickham’s chair. A chair he did not offer to vacate for her, leaving Darcy standing as well. “It is a provision Richard added.”
Wickham’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, I cannot touch her dowry until her twenty-fifth birthday?”
“Precisely.”
Wickham’s mouth worked, his face blotching with red.
“Oh, but you will sign, will you not?” Georgiana’s voice wavered. “I truly am sorry for how George and I went about marrying, but we are in love. We require my dowry to start our life together.”
Darcy didn’t look away from Wickham as he said, “Even were I to sign, I can assure you that Richard will not.”
“He will if I speak with him.” Uncertainty colored Georgiana’s words.
“He will not,” Wickham snapped. He came to his feet, whirling to glare at her. “How could you not inform me of this? Twenty-five! That is a decade hence.”
