The second letter remained unopened. He broke the seal. It was from George Wickham. The name brought with it a different set of considerations.
Darcy read slowly. The contents were straightforward. The rector at Lambton, long established and now advanced in years, had grown infirm. His ability to fulfill his duties had diminished, and he sought relief from his position. Wickham, acting on his behalf, conveyed the request with clarity and respect. Enclosed within the letter was another, written in a trembling hand, the signature bearing the marks of effort.
Darcy read that as well. The incumbent made his wishes clear, recommending that Wickham take the living. He folded both letters and set them aside.
The matter required thought. Wickham’s story was one of redemption.
Darcy reflected on how much his childhood friend had changed. Once possessing a resentful temperament, Wickham had wandered during their time at school and university, making friends with all the wrong sorts of people andsuccumbing to temptations such as gambling and drink. His marks had slipped, and he had very nearly been sent down.
That had all altered after the death of the old Mr. Darcy. Wickham’s genuine affection and respect for Darcy’s father, together with the wishes revealed in his will that his godson take orders, had spurred a lasting transformation. He abandoned his former companions and habits, applied himself to study, and was eventually ordained. Seeing the wisdom in the future Mr. George Darcy had envisioned for him, he had steadily grown into the role.
When Darcy became convinced his friend could manage the responsibility, Wickham was granted the living at Kympton, precisely as the old Mr. Darcy had intended. Darcy could not have been prouder of him. His conduct there had remained steady, his attention to his duties fully consistent, and the improvement once begun had continued without interruption.
The living at Lambton was of greater value. Its income, combined with Wickham’s current position, would provide a degree of security sufficient to support further establishment. Marriage, perhaps. A settled life.
Darcy considered the possibility. The arrangement would require some adjustment. A curate could be employed at Kympton, and the responsibilities divided.
Such an arrangement was hardly unusual.
He would write to his friend. The proposal could be laid before Wickham and settled according to his wishes.
The letters were set aside.
Darcy rose. The room, though quiet, no longer held him. He felt the need for movement and rang for his horse.
The day had advanced. The air carried the mildness of early autumn, with summer’s warmth still lingering and the change of season evident without severity. The light, weaker than inprevious weeks, remained more than sufficient to illuminate the landscape with perfect clarity.
Darcy rode out.
The motion brought with it a steadiness of thought. The rhythm of the horse beneath him, the open expanse of the fields, the absence of immediate conversation—all contributed to a sense of order that had been lacking within the house.
He followed no fixed route.
The land stretched out in gentle undulations, the hedgerows marking divisions without confining the view. In the distance, Netherfield remained visible, its structure distinct against the surrounding fields.
He rode further.
A rise presented itself, modest in height but sufficient to offer a broader prospect.
Darcy guided his horse upward.
At the top, he drew rein. From that vantage, the land extended in both directions. Netherfield lay behind him, its grounds spreading outward with order. Ahead, a smaller estate appeared, less imposing but well kept. Beyond that, the rooftops of Meryton could be seen, their outlines obscured by distance.
Darcy remained there briefly, considering.
A sound disturbed the stillness. A twig snapped.
Darcy turned.
Two figures stood at the edge of the rise.
Thomas and Toby.
Their presence came as only a partial surprise; the solemnity of their expressions was far more unexpected. Standing side by side, they regarded him with a seriousness that transformed their usually animated faces.
Darcy inclined his head. “Gentlemen.”
Neither boy returned the greeting.
