Page 39 of Infamous Relations

“I have known George Wickham my entire life,” Darcy began. “His father, as fine a man as I ever knew, was steward at Pemberley; George and I played together as boys.”

Elizabeth nodded. “This much, he told me.” She gave Darcy an encouraging smile. “The best lies hold a grain of truth, I believe ‘tis said.”

“Wickham is an expert at seeding his tales with just enough truth to make his listeners believe him, as I have learned to my sorrow. The first indications I had of his true character came when we were at school together, at Eton; at first I thought it just a natural jealousy.”

“Natural?” Elizabeth queried, wondering if Mr. Darcy was again about to show some of his pride in his noble lineage.

“Indeed. We grew up together and were treated equally by my father; I loved George as the brother I never had. It was not until Eton and other boys treating us differently because I was the heir to Pemberley and he naught but a favoured steward’s son, that I believe George himself began to feel resentment.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said softly.

“I was welcomed, without effort, into the innermost circles at Eton, and George was left out. Despite my earnest efforts to include him, he was not of noble lineage and he would never, could never, be accepted.” Darcy sighed, looked at his hands. “George resented me for the actions of the other boys. He began, then, to try to turn my father and I against each other, and I regret that it is entirely my fault that he was able to partially succeed. My father could see no wrong in him, and would not listen to my words. At Cambridge, Wickham’s depravities only increased. I knew, then, that he should never be a clergyman.” Darcy looked around the room briefly, then back at Elizabeth. “He would have been no better than Mr. Collins; worse, perhaps.”

Elizabeth only watched him with wide eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“Following the death of my beloved father some five years past, Wickham came to demand the living that was promised to him. Yes, it was indeed promised,” when Elizabeth’s lips parted as though to speak, “written into my father’s will, along with a very generous legacy of one thousand pounds. Wickham, however, told me that he had no intention of becoming a clergyman and stated that he wished to study the law instead. I paid him the sum of three thousand pounds in return for his resigning any claim to the living, and thus, I hoped, our acquaintance was at an end.”

Four thousand pounds, Elizabeth thought; but that is a fortune! Worse was yet to come, though, she was quite sure of it. Darcy took a deep breath and continued.

“For about three years I heard little of him, until he wrote to me confiding that his study of the law had proved most unprofitable, and that he was now absolutely resolved upon being ordained, if I would but present him with the living in question. His circumstances, he assured me, were exceedingly bad, and I had no difficulty in believing it, for I knew that his life had been spent in idleness and dissipation.”

Elizabeth gaped. “He spent four thousand pounds in three years?” she said disbelievingly.

“He did. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with his entreaty, and resisting every repetition of it.” Mr. Darcy smiled, a little, at her evident indignation. “His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances, and I have certain knowledge that he was most violent in his abuse of me to others. Yourself being the most recent example.”

Horrified that she had been so taken in, Elizabeth nodded, shamefaced. Mr. Darcy leaned towards her, rather daringly reached out to gently touch her hand.

“Pray, do not blame yourself, Miss Elizabeth. Wickham is the most talented liar it has ever been my misfortune to encounter; yet I thought it beneath my pride to publicly denounce him.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elizabeth had the feeling that Darcy still had worse to tell her, something that he was struggling to make himself say aloud. Turning her hand beneath his, she pressed lightly on his fingers.

“There is more, isn’t there? Something even worse, some direct harm he has done to you. Whatever it is, I promise that no other soul will ever hear of it from my lips.”

Astonished, Darcy stared at her. “You are the most insightful soul - I was just about to ask you to hold what I must say next in the strictest confidence.”

“You have no need to ask,” she told him gently. “You have no need to tell me, if it is too painful to speak of.”

“No,” he said, “no, I will keep no secrets from you. This secret is not mine alone, though, and its escape could imperil the future of the person who has always been most dear to me, my sister Georgiana.”

Elizabeth could not help it; she fairly gaped. Darcy gathered himself and told her his darkest, deepest secret.

“Last summer, Mr. Wickham again obtruded most painfully on my notice. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior and who was left to the guardianship of Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself, went with her companion Mrs. Younge, to Ramsgate. It transpired that the colonel and myself were most unhappily deceived in the character of Mrs. Younge, for she had a prior acquaintance with Mr. Wickham, and conspired to meet him there. Georgiana knew nothing of Mr. Wickham’s character; she remembered him only as one who had been kind to her as a child, and he convinced her to believe herself in love with him.”

Elizabeth’s free hand lifted to cover her mouth in horror. Darcy looked at her with eyes full of remembered pain before continuing.

“It was purest chance that I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement. Georgiana, unable to bear the thought of grieving and offending me, acknowledged the whole to me. In her innocence, she believed that I would be happy for her; that I would consider the whole thing a delightful surprise, to find my sister married to my childhood best friend.”

“Oh, no.”

“Indeed. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. I could not publicly expose them for fear of Georgiana’s reputation being ruined, but I dismissed Mrs. Younge at once and removed my sister to London. Wickham’s chief objective was Georgiana’s fortune, of course, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I believe that revenging himself upon me by means of her destruction must have been a not insignificant inducement.” Darcy bit down on his lip, looked down at Elizabeth’s hand on his, before finally admitting; “Georgiana was, at the time, just fifteen years old, which must be her chief excuse. Seeing the way your younger sisters acted made me understand a little better just how unformed her mind must have been, how little prepared she yet is for the wickedness of which some men are capable.”

Elizabeth could not help herself. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed gently, tears welling in her eyes. “I am so sorry,” she said, her voice choked.

“I think that you understand now, what I meant when I said never again will I let a woman I care for be left in ignorance of the wickedness of which George Wickham is capable.”

“Oh, I do, I do understand so much more about you now, and I am so very sorry that I misjudged you so dreadfully!” A tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek. “I accused you of excessive pride, but the fault was mine…”