Page 83 of Dear Friend

Her amusement faded. “You need not apologise to me for being angry, Mr. Darcy. Though I admit I have wondered what could have caused it.”

“That is what I wish to tell you.”

“Mr. Wickham seemed almost inclined to offer me his own account,” Elizabeth said, “but I thought I would rather hear yours. Though from the manner in which he spoke of you, I had already gathered that your connexion was not a friendly one.”

Darcy drew a slow breath. “Wickham and I have known one another since childhood. His father was steward to mine and a man whom my father valued very highly. George was his godson, and my father treated him with great kindness. He paid for much of his education and intended to provide for him in the church.”

Elizabeth listened without interruption.

“Upon my father's death, Wickham informed me that he had no intention of taking orders and wished instead to study the law. He surrendered any claim to the living my father had intended for him and requested money in its place. I gave him three thousand pounds in addition to the thousand pounds left to him under my father's will.”

“That is a considerable sum.”

“It was.”

“That does not quite explain why you both behaved as though you were sworn enemies yesterday.”

Darcy looked at her.

Elizabeth lifted one shoulder. “Forgive me. I am attempting to discover where the anger enters the story.”

“That is what I am coming to.”

Elizabeth nodded but said nothing further, leaving him to continue.

“Within three years, Wickham had squandered the money upon various vices and contracted debts which he had no means of satisfying. I discharged several of them myself, partly out of regard for my father's memory and partly to keep him from a debtor's prison. When the living at Kympton, which he had willingly relinquished, later became vacant, Wickham returned and demanded that I give it to him despite our previous agreement. I refused. He was not pleased by the refusal and has since represented the history between us in whatever manner best serves him.”

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. “Then when he said yesterday that your acquaintance had not always been a fortunate one...”

Darcy stopped walking. “He spoke to me to you?”

“Very little.” Elizabeth's expression turned thoughtful. “Yesterday was the first time I had ever seen Mr. Wickham, much less made his acquaintance. Had Mr. Denny not introduced him, I should not have known the gentleman at all.”

The answer relieved Darcy more than he cared to acknowledge. Whatever Wickham's purpose in Meryton, he had not yet had sufficient time to establish himself amongst the Bennets or gain any particular influence over Elizabeth.

“He told me only that you had known one another from childhood and that the acquaintance had not always been fortunate,” Elizabeth continued. “I might have asked him more, but I thought it better to ask you.”

Darcy stared at her. Something warm and painful moved through him at once. “You preferred to ask me?”

“Of course.”

The simplicity of the answer affected him more than any elaborate assurance could have done.

Elizabeth resumed walking. “Though I confess his departure shortly afterwards made me considerably more curious.”

“His departure?”

“He suddenly remembered some business elsewhere when I told him I meant to ask you about what had happened.”

Darcy's mouth tightened.

That sounded very much like Wickham. He knew the man's character too well not to suspect that Wickham had meant to say considerably more, had Elizabeth shown herself willing to hear it. Perhaps her preference for hearing Darcy's account had discouraged him. Wickham was accustomed to finding his charm readily received, and Elizabeth's refusal to be drawn into his confidence might very well have persuaded him that retreat was the wiser course.

“There is more,” he announced with a sigh.

Elizabeth looked towards him again, the line between her brows deepening with surprise.

Darcy had known they must eventually reach this point. He could speak of the living, the money, and Wickham's resentment without difficulty. What had happened at Ramsgate was another matter, for it was not his history alone to tell.