The Impulse of the Moment

by Jann Rowland

  “How may I help you, Mr. Darcy?” asked Wickham in a belated attempt at appearing as cheerful as ever.

  “You may help me by explaining this,” spat Mr. Darcy, throwing a few sheets of paper on the desk.

  Wickham did not know what the letters contained, but he could guess. The mood of his patron was one Wickham had never seen before—or at least he had never seen it directed at himself. It would take all of his wits to charm himself out of this one, it seemed.

  “This is a letter I received from Mr. Mortimer, when I asked after your time there.”

  Mr. Darcy paused, reaching for some other letters which were meticulously sorted on his desk, dropping a sheaf of them on the table beside the letter from his erstwhile and detested employer. Then he glared at Wickham.

  “These are from several other law firms in the city. I had written to my own solicitor asking him for assistance in finding you another position. Though he complied, he informed me he was not certain anyone else in town would accept you, as your reputation, gained while working for Mortimer, had become exceedingly bad. Every other firm to which I wrote replied with similar tidings.

  “At first I wondered what had happened and gave it little credence. I know you, I assured them. I know your character, trust in your diligence, your industrious nature.”

  The sound of Mr. Darcy’s fist hitting the table prompted Wickham to jump in his chair. “When the evidence became too great to ignore, I wrote to Mr. Mortimer to hear his account. Do you know what he said in reply?”

  “I can imagine,” snarled Wickham, knowing this was his only opportunity to extract himself from this situation. “Patterson, Mortimer’s head clerk, never liked me. He has done his best to blacken my name.”

  “He has?” Mr. Darcy’s tone was all disbelief and fury. “Let us see what he says, shall we?” Retrieving the letter, Mr. Darcy perused it. “Mr. Wickham is slothful, lazy, and sloppy in his work. Several times his work had to be given to another clerk to correct it, as an unacceptable number of errors were found. At times Mr. Wickham arrived at work late, and on at least three occasions, came bleary-eyed and top-heavy, or recovering from that state. At least twice, he offered to deliver papers to another law firm and was not seen for several hours after. He is the most indifferent man of the law I have ever had the misfortune to know!”

  The letter was cast aside, and Mr. Darcy leaned forward, looking at him, fire raging in his eyes. “Are you attempting to inform me that a respected solicitor and a clerk with years of experience and impeccable integrity are attempting to besmirch your character without reason?

  “Before you answer,” continued Mr. Darcy, not allowing Wickham to speak, “let me warn you that I have met Mr. Mortimer and hold him in the highest respect. Though I use Danforth’s firm for my legal needs, it is not because of any lack in Mortimer. You should also know that Mr. Patterson has been employed by Mortimer for many years and has the full trust of Mortimer and all his sons. Now, what have you to say for yourself?”

  The emotions playing across Wickham’s face told Darcy more than the man’s words ever could, and he began to feel like a fool. This man had played him for years, his sibilant whispers turning him against his own son. For a moment Darcy wondered how he could have been so blind.

  Then he realized he had wanted to be blind. The memory of the elder Wickham, the faithful and industrious man he had been, had colored Darcy’s view of the younger man to the extent he would not even consider what he was told by his son. It had all been his own doing, his reward the strained relations he shared with Fitzwilliam. Now his eyes were open, he vowed it would be different. Robert Darcy would no longer take Wickham’s side—there was little character in his steward’s son.

  “It appears there is little I can say,” replied Wickham. The resentment in his voice was clear in Darcy’s ears. The boy was beyond caring. “Have I not already been convicted?”

  Darcy was not amused. “If you had any means of defending yourself, I assume you would use it. So, tell me now,” Mr. Darcy leaned forward in his chair yet again, “have I been mistaken all these years? Fitzwilliam, Anthony, even James all tried to inform me of your true nature, but I vouched for you, educated you, saw to your employment in a most advantageous position. Tell me the truth, Wickham. Have my son and nephews been telling me the truth?”

  “I am who I have always been,” rasped Wickham, the strain of holding his temper easily seen. “I am the one you have always favored, even more than your own son.” Wickham laughed, harsh and cold. “If I am not a perfect man, then neither is your son, or any other man. This position you have boasted of securing me is a mere pittance, an insult! I deserved so much more! And yet you sit there and question me on the words of men unknown to you. Unknown to me!”

  “So this is what this is all about,” said Darcy, seeing clearly for the first time. “You are aware, are you not, Wickham, that many a wealthy man’s second son has accepted a church living with gratitude? You are not even my son—and yet you wanted more than Kympton? What sort of audacity is this?”

  “Have you not always treated me as a second son?” demanded Wickham. “And the Darcys are far wealthier than most families. I am well aware you own several estates—the way you favored me, what was I supposed to think?”

  “Then let me disabuse you of whatever notions you have kept in your head these years. If you were a second son, one of the estates would have been yours. But you are not. You are my former steward’s son and nothing more. My acquaintances all told me I was making a mistake in giving you as much as I did, and now I see the truth of their assertions. To any man in your situation, the Kympton living would have been an annual income such as it would have taken them five years or more to earn otherwise, and then only if they were fortunate. And yet you spurned it, wanting more.”

  Darcy stood, looking down at his protégé with disgust. The boy’s greed was now fully open to him, and Darcy did not like what he saw. It was time to let him fend for himself, to make his own way in the world. Darcy had given him advantages no one in his situation could have gotten any other way. Whether Wickham made use of them and made something of his life was now his own business.

  “I have found a law firm in town who will accept you on my recommendation,” said Darcy. “But you should be aware they know of what is being said of you and will give you little benefit of the doubt should you test their patience.

  “This is the last assistance you will receive from the Darcy family, for I am cutting ties with you.”

  Wickham gasped, but Darcy fixed him with a cold glare. “Mr. Bingley has agreed to allow you to stay until Thursday so you may attend the ball, though I begin to wonder if you should not be sent on your way today. Be that as it may, prepare to depart from Netherfield on Thursday and report to your new employer Monday next. I suggest you take this opportunity, Wickham, for if you ruin it, the life I envisioned for you will be out of reach.

  “One final piece of advice,” said Darcy as he gestured for Wickham to leave. “Do not approach my daughter, for my wife has informed me of her suspicions. Furthermore, I suggest you leave Miss Elizabeth strictly alone. She will not be an avenue for you to revenge yourself on my son. I have given you every advantage to assist you to make a good life for yourself. It is now up to you to seize the opportunity.”

  Without a word, Wickham rose and stormed from the room, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing throughout the house. Sighing with regret, Darcy sank down on his chair and rested his chin in his hand. It seemed he would be required to make his lack of discernment up to his son. Hopefully Fitzwilliam would accept his offer to repair their damaged relationship.

  The fall of George Wickham was satisfying to one who had seen his depravities for years but been unable to do anything concerning them due to his father’s support. When Robert Darcy came to his son to apologize for not believing him, for the briefest of moments, Darcy thought to rebuff it. The mere thought of doing so informed him
of how damaged his relationship with his sire had become, not only because of the fiasco with Wickham but also over his courtship with Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy had given his blessing, though reluctantly, to their marriage, removing that obstacle. That he was clearly contrite regarding Wickham was of equal consequence.

  “I wish you had believed me, Father, without the testimony of the law firm.” Darcy paused and sighed. “But I am well aware of how silver-tongued Wickham can be, for I have witnessed it time and again at university and other sundry places.”

  “The past is impossible for me to undo,” was his father’s quiet reply. “An apology is all I have to offer, which I do without reservation.”

  “And I thank you for it, Father.” Darcy stepped to his father and clasped his hand. “I wish to return to what we were when I was younger, before Wickham increasingly came between us. It will be difficult, but I do not wish to continue to be at odds.”

  The first true smile he had seen from his father in some time warmed Darcy’s heart. “I wish it too, Son. Let us begin anew. I shall also make the attempt with your future bride.”

  And make the attempt he did, though it was easy for Darcy to see the awkwardness of his effort. Elizabeth, wonderful woman she was, accepted his father’s overtures, her amiable character setting him as much at ease as she could. It would take time. But now Darcy had something he had not mustered before—hope.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on one’s perspective—Wickham could not manage to stay in the house without causing some trouble. That Elizabeth would be discomposed by the libertine was not something Darcy could tolerate. But privately, he could not help but view the matter with satisfaction, for they would all be made safer by his early removal.

  It was nothing, really. A look, nothing more. But it was a look which vowed vengeance, which stood for all the misdeeds Wickham had committed over the years, the daughters with whom he had trifled, the shopkeepers he had defrauded. It happened when Elizabeth visited with her sisters that afternoon the very same day. It happened almost the moment Elizabeth entered the room.

  “It seems the blinders have been removed,” said Elizabeth moments after they had begun speaking. At first, Darcy did not know to what she referred.

  “Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, nodding in his direction. “He has not taken his eyes from us since I arrived. Where his previous looks have been shuttered, keeping his true feelings from the world, the loathing he directs on us now would set us afire if he possessed the ability.”

  When Darcy turned, it was easy to note that Elizabeth was entirely correct. In an instant, white-hot ire settled over him, and he clenched his fists. But he might not have bothered, for his father and Mr. Bingley, had already seen it. They were not slow to act.

  “I apologize, Darcy, but it seems your protégé cannot be trusted,” said Mr. Bingley. “If he cannot behave himself enough to avoid looking on a girl who was raised with my own children with such loathing, I am afraid he must leave my house immediately.

  “Wickham is no longer any charge of mine,” said his father in response. “It seems you must depart earlier than planned, Wickham. Go to your room and gather your things. You can still be on the afternoon post to London, where you can return to your lodgings and prepare for your Monday appointment with your new employer.”

  “I no longer have lodgings,” replied Wickham, his tone far more sullen than Darcy had ever heard from him. “I let them go when I departed for Pemberley.”

  The hard look Mr. Darcy gave him made Wickham squirm. “More evidence you intended to grasp for everything you could.” Mr. Darcy paused and sighed. “I shall give you enough money to stay in an inn for a few days. But you will be required to let lodgings of your own quickly, for I will not continue to support you.”

  Wickham gave his former patron a tight nod. “There is a woman known to me who lets out rooms in a house she owns. I shall go to her.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Darcy. “Now, Wickham, I believe it would be best if you departed.”

  Wickham turned to leave the room, but as he left, he cast one more glance at Darcy. Forever after, Darcy was unable to determine what the man meant by it. There seemed to be an element of regret in it, though whether it presaged his remorse for not being successful in his schemes or some other unhappiness, Darcy was not certain. In the end, it did not matter. It was his fervent desire to never again meet George Wickham.

  Chapter XXXII

  As the first notes of the first dance drifted over the assembled, Elizabeth stepped forward, accepting William’s hand, and moved around him in concordance with the steps of the dance. On her fiancé’s countenance rested a slight smile, the one she knew graced his face when he was considering her virtues. So much had begun in distrust and suspicion that ending in this happy place was nigh unfathomable to Elizabeth. But here they were. Elizabeth could not be happier.

  To either side of them, other couples were included—Mr. Bingley and Jane, along with Thomas and Caroline, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. All stood up for this first set, and while Elizabeth knew the older members likely would not dance again, their show of support for the engaged couples was a treasured blessing. Even Mr. Darcy’s mien had softened, and with Mr. Wickham’s absence, the man appeared lighter, as if his protégé had somehow affected his mood.

  Another couple had taken to the dance floor, and Elizabeth looked curiously at them. But Mr. Collins and Charlotte seemed oblivious to any scrutiny as they spoke together in low tones which did not reach Elizabeth’s ears. Even Mr. Bennet had stood up with his youngest daughter, Mary, who laughed as her father guided her around the floor. Mr. Bennet almost certainly would not dance again, but his effort in this instance was gratifying. And dear Georgiana, who had become as close to Elizabeth as a sister, was standing by the side of the floor, watching the activity. Though still young, her parents had decreed she could attend, but she would retire after dinner and only dance with a select few close acquaintances. Fitzwilliam would dance the next with her and her father the one after. The excitement in her eyes was palpable as she waited impatiently for her turn to come.

  “Am I not enough to hold your attention, Elizabeth?”

  Hearing the voice of her beloved interrupting her thoughts, Elizabeth found him with her eyes, her slight smile matching his. Or at least it did until his grin widened to cover his whole countenance.

  “If so, it is a terrible thing, indeed,” continued he. “It does not bode well for our future felicity if you forget me when I am standing in front of you.”

  “I do say, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth playfully, “I am not certain from whence this teasing manner of yours has appeared. Teasing is my province as I recall.”

  “It seems to me I have learned from the best, my dear,” replied William. “You cannot expect to go through life without receiving a taste of your own medicine. Particularly when I best you at chess—then the wit shall flow long!”

  Elizabeth laughed at his conceit. “Is that so? By my count, you have yet to best me, sir. It is nothing more than conceit to boast when you have not yet triumphed.”

  “Eventually I shall, dearest Elizabeth,” replied William.

  “Perhaps. But it may be best to save your boasting for when that eventuality comes to pass.”

  Mr. Darcy did nothing more than grin at her as he moved past her in the dance. Elizabeth watched his graceful motion, reflecting on how fortunate she was to have attracted such a man as he. Should societal norms allow it, Elizabeth was convinced she would like nothing more than to dance every dance with him. As it was, she was happy to know the first, supper, and last sets of the evening were his.

  When the dance was completed, Elizabeth joined her fiancé and the other members of her party at the side of the floor, laughter flowing between them without reserve. When the music began again, Elizabeth allowed the elder Mr. Darcy to take her hand, leading her to the floor. The gentleman’s request to partner her for the seco
nd had taken Elizabeth by surprise, though she had been more than willing to allow him the dances.

  For the first half or more of their sets, Mr. Darcy did not speak, his behavior what she might have attributed to his son before coming to know him. How he might behave in other settings among society with whom he was comfortable, she could not say. But his expression, so unlike what it had been when she had first made his acquaintance, was not at all censorious. So, Elizabeth contented herself with following his lead, knowing if he wished to say something, he undoubtedly would. That moment came with only a few minutes of the dance remaining.

  “I hope you do not hold my behavior against me, Miss Bennet.”

  The comment had come so suddenly and without warning, it took Elizabeth off guard and rendered her silent for a few moments. Then she gathered herself and essayed to respond in an intelligent manner.

  “Have we not had this conversation, Mr. Darcy?” said she, referring to his apology immediately before Mr. Wickham had been removed from Netherfield.

  The sight of such a great man as Mr. Darcy appearing almost silly necessitated she stifle her laughter.

  “Perhaps we have,” replied Mr. Darcy, gathering himself. “But I should not wish you to misunderstand.”

  “The matter has been explained to me in great detail, sir. The history of your family, though perhaps I do not understand it completely, is prestigious, and I know I do not come from a level of society to match that of previous Darcy brides.” Elizabeth paused, considering what she should say and then offered carefully: “I hope to learn, sir, so I may uphold the honor of a family of such impressive roots.”

  It seemed Elizabeth had said the right thing, for Mr. Darcy allowed himself a slow smile. “It would give me great pleasure, Miss Elizabeth, to assist you to learn the history of my family. There may be times when I appear overly proud of my forebears. I hope that will not provoke you to think me haughty.”