Mr Gardiner turned his head toward me.
Wickham demanded an absurd sum. We negotiated.
Two hours later, we had a written agreement: his debts would be settled up to a verified amount, a commission purchased, and the marriage would take place as soon as the license was obtained and Mr Bennet’s consent secured. My solicitor would handle the formalities.
I dispatched an express to Longbourn that same evening. Twenty-four miles on horseback, a signature, twenty-four miles back: Mr Bennet could give his consent within two days without leaving his library, which should suit him perfectly.
I did not believe Wickham capable of honor; I believed only in his self-interest.
Lydia entered when everything was decided.
“Is it done? Can we marry the day after tomorrow? I want to write to Kitty before she hears the news from someone else.”
I looked at her.
She had scarcely more sense now than she had at sixteen, despite her eighteen years. She understood neither what she had risked nor what her marriage would cost her. I could not save her from all the consequences of her choice. I could only prevent her from being abandoned without a name, without protection, and perhaps with child.
“If your father signs his consent and if the license is issued,” I replied.
She kissed me on the cheek.
“I knew you were much kinder than you appeared.”
Wickham laughed.
I left the house before I struck him.
In the carriage, Mr Gardiner kept silent until we had crossed two streets.
“I will repay every pound I can,” he said at last.
“No.”
“Mr Darcy, she is my niece.”
“And my wife’s sister.”
“That does not oblige you to pay Wickham’s debts.”
“My silence allowed him to maintain a reputation he used against other young women. I bear a share of responsibility.”
“Not for Lydia’s decisions.”
“No. But I can reduce their consequences.”
He regarded me with benevolent gravity.
“Elizabeth loves you.”
I turned my head.
“She told you so?”
“No.”
Hope fell.
“Then do not give me a certainty you do not possess.”