“I do, indeed; you will now say that it would be unconscionable to tell Miss Bingley that she will not live with you when you are married, for she would then refuse to make the arrangements for the ball.”
“Dash it, Darcy! I had not considered that.” Mr. Bingley’s tone was rueful.
“Really, Bingley? That was not the impetus behind the ball?”
“No, the idea for the ball has been lurking in my mind for some time now, and Caroline’s complaints about the dancing and the music last night simply brought it out. But you cannot wait that long to tell your story about Wickham, you know; it must be dealt with as soon as may be.”
Mr. Darcy stared at Mr. Bingley for several seconds; finally convinced by the utter innocence of his expression, as well as the unlikelihood of the man having thought so strategically. He finally nodded and said, “Very well.”
Mr. Bingley allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation; it was not often that he was able to pull the wool, as the saying went, over the keen eyes of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
***
That afternoon, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley made their way, as was their wont, to Longbourn. Mr. Bingley was going to seehis beloved Jane; Mr. Darcy was on his way to speak with Mr. Bennet. He hoped that he would only have to tell his story once, so he would rely on Mr. Bennet to put it about to the neighbours.
When the gentlemen entered the house, Mr. Hill took their coats and hats, and murmured, “Everyone is in the parlour, gentlemen.”
“No need to announce us, Hill,” Mr. Bingley said. “I expect they all know who we are by now.”
Mr. Hill only grunted in response as he trundled away with their garments.
Upon entering the parlour, Mr. Darcy saw that the entire family was present. He noted Mr. Collins sitting beside Miss Mary; well, that was a hopeful sign. Once bows, curtsies and polite exchanges were done, Mr. Darcy asked if he might speak to Mr. Bennet privately. But before Mr. Bennet could respond, Miss Lydia spoke up, saying, “Mr. Darcy, is it true that you cheated Lieutenant Wickham out of his inheritance?”
“Lydia!” Cries of horror came from every corner of the room.
“Well done, Lydia,” her father drawled. “Your pin money for the quarter will buy me a book I have been wanting.”
“But we are all thinking it!” the girl declared.
“One more word, and it will be the next quarter’s pin money as well.”
Mr. Darcy looked at Miss Lydia. “Did you really believe him, Miss Lydia? I had thought better of you.”
“AndIhad thought better ofyou,” she fired back.
“Very well; I see there is no alternative.” Mr. Darcy sat down, waved away an offer of a teacup, and cleared his throat. “George Wickham was the son of my father’s steward. Therewere no other lads close in age nearby, so he and I were close companions in our youth. My father sent him to school with me, and it was there that trouble began. He ran up accounts in my name, leaving me to pay them with my allowance. He – well, I have no delicate way to say this – he had relationships with women.”
The company gasped, and Mr. Darcy passed a hand over his brow.
“My father was fond of George, and I could not bear to disillusion him as to the man’s character; thus, when my father died, he left George one thousand pounds in his will, and asked me to give him the Kympton living, should he take orders.” He stopped, quite evidently lost in his memories.
It was Elizabeth who prompted him, saying, softly, “But he did not take orders.”
Mr. Darcy looked at her gratefully. “No, Miss Elizabeth, he did not. Instead, he told me that he wished to study law and asked me to give him the value of the living, which he thought to be three thousand pounds.”
“That is a good deal of money for a living,” Mr. Bennet remarked.
“Indeed, and the Kympton living was certainly not worth so much. But I was happy enough to see the back of him, so off he went, clutching his cheque for four thousand pounds.”
“But that is not the end of the story, I am guessing,” Jane murmured.
“No, for a year later, the rector holding the Kympton living died, and who should come knocking at my door again but George Wickham, who explained that law had not been to his taste and he would like to claim the living he had been promised. I reminded him that he had been compensated for it, at his ownrequest, and showed him the paper he had signed releasing all claim to it.”
“But how could he serve as a parson? He was not even ordained!” Mary cried.
“No, he was not. He departed, then, with dire threats of revenge. I laughed at him, for what could he do to me? I soon learned my error. A - a young lady of my acquaintance, whom I shall not name, became known to him in a seaside town last summer. He convinced her to elope with him. Her dowry is substantial, which, of course, was his primary aim. She was but sixteen at the time.”
“Oh, heavens!” Mrs. Bennet cried, clutching her handkerchief. “What became of the poor girl?”
