The allowance dwindled rapidly, but he took heart in that it would renew each quarter. It would never be enough, but it would help, little by little.
Then another note arrived from his father.
I am informed you continue interfering amongst the tenants. Cease immediately or face the consequences.
Fitz stared at that last line for a very long time. Then, very calmly, he folded the letter and locked it away.
Within the week, Wickham arrived.
He came unannounced, dismounting in the courtyard with the easy, unhurried grace of a man who had never once doubted his welcome. Georgiana, who did not yet know enough to be wary of him, ran out to greet him before Fitz could stop her, and within a quarter hour he had her laughing over some nonsense about a Cambridge porter and a goose.
When he tired of the girl’s attention, he turned his attention to Darcy.
"Your father sends his regards," he said, dropping into a chair in George Darcy’s study. "And his instructions. Term begins in a fortnight. He expects you at Cambridge."
Fitz let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Why? I have no intention of leaving.”
"Your intention is irrelevant." Wickham examined his gloves with elaborate unconcern. "Your father has paid handsomely for your tuition."
Fitz's hands curled at his sides. "What of Georgiana? She is more in need of schooling than I, without a music master, without—"
Wickham yawned. "None of which is my concern. My only purpose is to return you to Cambridge. If you choose to disobey, you will be cut off immediately.”
"Let him cut me off. I have never wanted his money."
"No," Wickham agreed, "you have always been admirably above such things. But has it occurred to you what people will say of a Darcy heir who quarrels publicly with his father and is disowned for it? Not disgraced quietly, the way old men prefer, but talked of. Speculated upon." He smiled without warmth. "And what they will say, in the same breath, of his sister. No governess. No mother. A brother too proud to keep the peace with his own father. What settlements do you imagine anyone will offer a girl from that household, Fitz, whatever her fortune?"
Fitz said nothing for a long moment.
"You needn't thank me," Wickham said, rising. "I take no pleasure in it. I prefer London to this dull country estate, now." He looked around the room with a critical eye. “So interesting how one's perspective changes when one has been in true society. Pemberley would be put to better use on the auctioneer's block.”
Fitz’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There was nothing he could do.
Wickham strode easily out of the room. “Please hurry,” he said over his shoulder. “The posting house may offer some temporary diversion, but I wish to leave as soon as possible.”
Before departing, Fitz sat beside Georgiana in the nursery.
“You are leaving again,” she said accusingly, curled next to him on the chaise with one of his old letters clutched in her hands.
“For a little while only.”
“You said that before.”
Fitz smiled faintly despite himself.
“I shall write every week.”
“You must write twice.”
“Very well. Twice.”
She studied him solemnly in the firelight. “Will Father come home if you leave?”
The question pierced him unexpectedly. “I do not know.”
Georgiana lowered her eyes. “Mrs. Reynolds says gentlemen are busy.”
Fitz looked toward the fire. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Sometimes they are.”
