He was telling a story of how he had been a very bad man—cards and drink and women—until he was shot in the chest, had a vision of Christ himself, and then resolved to change his ways.
Darcy would have rathered Wickham did not get any redemption at all, but as long and Wickham kept clear of him, and his sister, and his wife, and his daughter, and as long as he never harmed another woman, he supposed Wickham could do as he liked.
The next visit was a month or so later, from Elizabeth’s parents. They were attentive to their new grandchild, quite complimentary over Pemberley itself, and rather more subdued in general than he remembered either of them.
But it was clear that they had heard things from Caroline, and they were not entirely sure what to make of all of this.
One night, when Darcy was sharing a brandy with Mr. Bennet, he thought the man might be about to come out and ask all manner of questions, but he eventually only said, “Well, the fact that you two were only married for three months before the babe was born isn’t ideal, but people will eventually stop talking about that.”
“I think so,” said Darcy.
“And I see that you take good care of her.”
“Always,” said Darcy.
“And Patience, too.”
“I am utterly overcome with my love for my little daughter,” said Darcy.
“Yes, I see that,” said Mr. Bennet with a nod. He looked off. “I wish Lizzy would have come to me.”
“Well, you did insist she go to Brighton,” said Darcy, who had heard this story from his wife.
Mr. Bennet’s expression was nothing but shame. “So I did,” he said in a voice that was not strong. He finished his brandy in one gulp.
They never spoke of anything of that nature again.
The final visit was in early June, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and Elizabeth professed that she did not know if she wished to see her sister Jane, that she was not even sure what she might say to her.
So, for some time, Mr. Darcy was certain not to leave her alone with her sister. He made sure they were all in a group.But eventually, Elizabeth and Jane went off together to talk one afternoon, taking little Patience along with them.
And then it was him and Bingley.
“How did Hurst take it?” Darcy finally said. “His wife went on for some time about how tangled a web that was going to prove.”
“Well, Hurst is rather staunchly in the camp of thinking the babe must be yours,” said Bingley. “He cannot believe you would marry a woman gone with another man’s child.”
“There are camps?” said Darcy.
Bingley smirked. “Oh, it’s the choicest gossip, Darcy. I took quite a bit of flack for coming at all, but they will all be at me for news when I return. I promise I shall not say anything at all, of course. But, yes, there are camps. Caroline told everyone the babe was Mr. Wickham’s, but some people put the blame on your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—”
“Why is that?” said Mr. Darcy, a bit annoyed at that. “He was not even in the country, was he?”
“Was he not?” said Bingley. “It hardly matters. Everyone feels that all the men in England would travel miles at a racing gallop to spill their seed in your wife.”
Mr. Darcy glared at him.
“Sorry.” Mr. Bingley grimaced. “I suppose I could have said that differently.”
“So, everyone is talking about it, then.”
“Oh, positively everyone,” said Bingley. “I should stay away, were I you. You have been wise to miss the Season, and I would not return until the new year, if you want my advice.”
“Fine by me, of course,” said Darcy. “I do worry about Georgiana.”
“You could likely have her stay with some relation, the Matlocks, perhaps? She would not be overly bothered by it. I amsurprised no one in your family has said anything to you about it.”
“Well, that’s not their way,” said Darcy. “We don’t dignify these things with attention, and you know that.”
