Page 81 of A Question of Character

Darcy’s hand stilled upon the paper. “That is where I require your counsel.”

“My counsel is to find him and frighten him out of England.”

“That is not counsel. That is temptation.”

“Very well. A strongly worded letter first, followed by frightening him out of England if necessary.”

Darcy took a fresh sheet from the drawer. “Sit properly if you mean to be useful.”

“I am always useful.”

“You are often loud.”

“I have many gifts.”

Despite himself, Darcy felt the smallest easing of the tightness that had held him since Ramsgate. Richard had always possessed that infuriating ability: to make the unbearable remain unbearable, but less solitary.

Darcy dipped his pen. “We must be precise. He is to cease all communication with Georgiana. He is to make no attempt to see her. He is to preserve absolute silence concerning Ramsgate.”

“And if he fails?”

“He will answer to both guardians.”

Richard pointed at the page. “Write that. Both guardians. My father’s name will carry weight, even if Wickham is too debased to respect yours.”

Darcy wrote. The scratching of the pen filled the study for several moments.

“I genuinely hoped,” he said, keeping his eyes upon the paper, “that he was going to study the law.”

Richard’s chair creaked. “When?”

“When he signed away his rights to the Kympton living. He came to me humble, or so I thought. Ready to change. He spoke of his unsuitability for the church, said he had no wish to dishonor my father’s hopes by taking orders without conviction. I believed that much, at least. I wanted to believe the rest.”

“He wanted money.”

“Yes.”

“And you gave it.”

“I thought I was being just.”

“You were being rid of him.”

Darcy set the pen down harder than necessary. “Do you think I do not know that now?”

Richard did not retreat. “I think you are blaming yourself for failing to see through a man who has practiced deception since boyhood.”

“I should have seen enough.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Wickham’s character appears to be fixed. Men may recover from folly, from debt, even from idleness if shame finds them early enough. Wickham has made charm into a profession. I do not think he wishes to be better. I doubt he ever has.”

Darcy stared at the unfinished letter.

“I told Elizabeth people seldom change when wrongdoing profits them.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”