Christmas at Darcy House

by Victoria Kincaid

  Darcy released his death grip on the chair, standing straighter. “I will not pay you a shilling. You have no intention of marrying Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Is that what you believe?” Wickham raised an eyebrow.

  “She has no dowry to speak of, nothing to tempt you.”

  Wickham did not flinch. Instead, his hand idly traced the ruffle at his cuff. “Perhaps her charms alone are enough to tempt me.”

  “You want nothing other than money,” Darcy said firmly.

  “Are you so certain of that?”

  “Do not importune me again. This matter is closed.” Darcy stalked to the door and opened it, an unsubtle hint.

  “Very well.” With a sigh, Wickham retrieved his hat and greatcoat from a nearby chair. “If that is what you choose to believe…” He sauntered toward Darcy until they were only a foot apart. “I shall make certain you receive an invitation to the wedding—”

  Darcy had not planned to punch Wickham. It was as if his arm acted of its own accord. But the words, the smug expression, and the air of triumph combined to snap the reins on Darcy’s temper.

  Darcy’s fist hit Wickham’s chin with a satisfying, meaty thump, and the other man slid to the floor with a cry. Ward and another footman burst into the room, but when they saw Wickham on the floor, they stayed near the doorway, gaping.

  Wickham slowly climbed to his feet, cradling his chin in one hand. “I hope you found that punch satisfying, Darcy, because you just ensured that”—he eyed the footmen warily—“the thing you do not wish to happen will happen. Immediately.”

  Before Darcy could reply, Wickham pushed himself between the two footmen and into the front hall. His footsteps thumped loudly on the marble floor until the front door opened and closed.

  “Should we stop him, sir?” Ward inquired.

  “No, the last thing I need is more Wickham in my house,” Darcy responded, cradling his right hand. Wickham had a tough jaw.

  Darcy dismissed the footmen and concentrated his attention on slowing his rapid breathing and fluttering heartbeat. Striking Wickham had been wrong. It might drive Wickham to make Elizabeth an offer in a fit of pique—even if he had no intention of following through on a wedding. But he would not marry her. Wickham wanted a rich wife more than he wanted revenge on Darcy. Did he not?

  Darcy hated that he could not be sure of the answer.

  The drawing room door burst open, and an agitated Georgiana rushed in. “Was that Mr. Wickham leaving Darcy House?”

  Darcy nodded wearily. “Yes.”

  “Granger would not allow us to enter Darcy House, and then Wickham rushed out in high dudgeon!” Georgiana’s face was flushed with agitation. “He was so upset he did not even stop to leer at me.”

  Darcy laughed at his sister’s joke. “I am sorry you had to see him.” Darcy enclosed his sister in an embrace. “I wanted to be rid of him before you arrived home.”

  Georgiana made a disparaging noise. “I am not a china doll, William. I do not fear him; he can do nothing to me now.”

  Darcy released her and walked to the sideboard where they kept a decanter of brandy. “I am glad to hear you say that, dear heart.” He poured the liquid into a crystal glass and took a bracing swallow.

  “But why was he here?” Darcy did not reply immediately; there was no need to worry her about business that did not concern her. “Was it about me?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No, of course not.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “It was about me! You are simply trying to protect me again.”

  “No, no.” Darcy rubbed his forehead.

  “Tell me what his business was, or I cannot believe your denials.” Georgiana crossed her arms.

  Darcy sighed. Why not? He had nobody else to confide in. “Very well.” He sank into an armchair and gestured for her to do the same. Once they were seated, it took him a moment to order his thoughts. “George Wickham came to me with a proposition. He wanted me to pay him so that he would not propose to a certain young lady. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Not propose to…?” Georgiana’s brows knit together. “Why in the world would you pay for that?”

  Darcy bit his lip. “Wickham suspects…I have an interest in the woman’s well-being.”

  Georgiana appeared even more confused. “What sort of interest?”

  Darcy studied his glass. “Er…romantic.”

  “Oh!” Georgiana’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh.” After a moment she swallowed. “And do you? Have a romantic interest in her?”

  Now he stared at the fire. This conversation was mortifying enough without having to meet Georgiana’s eyes. “I do…admire her. But her family is…undesirable. I cannot possibly…” His voice trailed off, but then he cleared his throat. “I cannot make her an offer.”

  “Oh.” Georgiana contemplated this. “Is she a maidservant?”

  “What?” Darcy exclaimed. “No! Of course not.”

  “A shopgirl or a governess?”

  What did his sister think of him? “No. Her father is a gentleman.”

  “Then I do not see why it is a problem.” Georgiana folded her hands in her lap.

  “Her father has little property to speak of and only daughters, so his fortune is entailed away from his family line. And her mother’s family is from trade.”

  Georgiana regarded him thoughtfully, her head tilted to one side. “Mr. Bingley’s family is from trade.”

  Darcy waved irritably. “But it was longer ago, and the Bingleys are wealthier. And the Bennets’ behavior is sometimes…inappropriate.”

  “But surely Elizabeth’s is not.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Georgiana shrugged. “You would not be proposing to her family.”

  Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is complicated. There are many good reasons I cannot make her an offer.”

  “If you say so.” She sat silent for a moment. “And Mr. Wickham is threatening to propose to her?”

  Darcy nodded. “He suspects my interest in her and sees this as an opportunity to thwart me. He was quite angry when I refused to pay him…also after I punched him.”

  “You punched him?” Georgiana clapped her hands gleefully. “Good for you! I wish I could punch him.”

  “Perhaps there will be a future opportunity,” Darcy remarked dryly.

  “But certainly Miss Bennet will not accept him!” Georgiana exclaimed, her eyes round with horror.

  Darcy’s lack of certainty must have shown on his face.

  “But you must have warned her!”

  “I did.” Darcy took a big gulp of brandy. “But Wickham is still welcome at her uncle’s house. I fear she did not take my warning seriously.”

  “You did not tell her about me,” Georgiana said in a small voice.

  “Of course not!”

  Georgiana stood and walked to the window, gazing down on the street. Darcy watched her every move; Wickham’s appearance was bound to stir up bad memories. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You should.”

  That was the last thing Darcy expected to hear. “Dearest? Are you certain?” Georgiana had always been adamant about complete secrecy.

  She rested her forehead against the glass. “Yes,” she said in a tremulous voice. “If my story might save other women from Wickham, it should be shared.”

  Darcy quickly considered the ramifications. If he could be open with Elizabeth about how Wickham had taken advantage of Georgiana, then she would understand why she needed to shun Wickham. Darcy launched himself from his chair, crossed the room, and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, dearest. You do not know what this means to me.”

  She smiled. “It is the least I can do for the woman you love.”

  Darcy froze before releasing his grip on his sister’s shoulders. “What say you?”

  “It is the least I can do for the woman you love,” she repeated in a more quizzical tone.

  His mouth opened, a denial on the tip of his tongue. Yes, I like
her. Yes, I greatly admire her. But…

  The words would not come.

  As he considered the past few months, he realized that Georgiana had identified the odd sensation he had been unable to name. The rush of excitement when he anticipated being in her presence. The peace that settled over him when they were in company. The disappointment when they must part. The thrill that shot through his body at the sound of her voice or the glimpse of her face.

  “I love her…” he said in wonder, each word right and true.

  “Of course, you do,” Georgiana retorted. “I thought you knew that.”

  “You are wise beyond your years,” Darcy said and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  He left the room at a brisk pace; there was no time to waste.

  Chapter Five

  “Mr. Wickham is here, ma’am.”

  Aunt Gardiner nodded to the maid to escort their visitor into the drawing room. Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered with excitement. This would be her first opportunity to see the handsome officer since resolving that she would accept his proposal—if he made one.

  “Ladies.” Mr. Wickham gave a courtly bow upon entering the room. He was wearing his regimentals. Elizabeth had laughed when Lydia and Kitty sighed over officers in red coats, but they did flatter the male figure and render the wearer more distinguished. And, of course, Mr. Wickham’s features were very regular, and his entire air was so pleasing.

  Still, he was not quite as handsome as Mr. Darcy. He lacked…something she saw in the other man’s eyes when he looked upon her, although she knew not what to call it. There was no doubt of the prodigious intelligence behind Mr. Darcy’s dark eyes; he constantly observed and evaluated everything around him, much as Elizabeth did herself. And when he turned that knowing gaze on her…

  A little flushed, Elizabeth inched her chair away from the fireplace.

  “Miss Bennet?” Mr. Wickham was trying to catch her attention. How long had she been staring into space?

  How stupid to think of Mr. Darcy when he was not here and was unlikely to ever be here. He was indeed handsome and intelligent, but it was irrelevant. Mr. Wickham was here, and Mr. Darcy was not.

  Focusing her attention on their visitor, she noticed a red mark on his chin. “Are you all right, Mr. Wickham?” she inquired, pointing to her own chin.

  The man touched the red spot gingerly. “Just a trifle. I fell this morning and hit my chin on a table in the barracks. I am fortunate it was not worse.”

  Aunt Gardiner rang for tea. The conversation was convivial and interesting—everything that good company should be. Mr. Wickham’s bon mots wrung laughter from Elizabeth and her aunt more than once. He inquired after her aunt’s oldest child, who had been sick with a cold, and asked Elizabeth of news from Longbourn.

  When the teacups were empty, and the biscuits were reduced to crumbs, Elizabeth became aware of a peculiar intensity in the man’s eyes. “It is an especially mild day for December,” he addressed Elizabeth with a grin. “Would you accompany me for a walk about the Gardiners’ fine garden? I have often noticed parts of that handsome oak tree from the window, but I never had an opportunity to see the whole thing.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her aunt, not at all sure it would be proper to be alone with Mr. Wickham, but Aunt Gardiner smiled benevolently. “Indeed, it is too nice a day to pass it all indoors. Go and enjoy the garden. I shall check on Harry.”

  Soon Elizabeth found herself behind the Gardiners’ house with only a light shawl around her shoulders; however, the bright sunshine warmed her and the air around her. The snow that had fallen the night of the ball had melted long ago, and the only clouds were white and fluffy. Mr. Wickham offered Elizabeth his arm, and they strolled along a meandering path through the garden.

  The house’s garden was much larger than was usual for the neighborhood. Both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had spent their childhoods in the countryside, and they had purchased a house with an unusually large parcel of land.

  It was beautifully maintained. Mrs. Gardiner did much of the work herself with some help from their manservant. Of course, many of the plants were dormant for the winter, but there was a pleasant walk lined with shrubberies, vibrantly green against the dull brown of the winter grass, and several holly trees with variegated leaves. A large, double-trunked oak tree dominated the center of the garden, spreading its limbs majestically over everything below it.

  “This is lovely,” Mr. Wickham said after they had wandered for a minute.

  “Yes. I miss Hertfordshire when I am in London, but the garden is my consolation.”

  “Do you believe you would always wish to live near Longbourn?”

  Elizabeth’s heart sped up. Why is he suddenly curious about my future? “I enjoy traveling and seeing different parts of the country. I suppose I could settle anywhere given the right inducement.”

  “And what would be the right inducement?” His voice was low, making the words sound almost seductive.

  Why was her mouth so dry? “Well, of course, if I were to marry someone from another part of the country.”

  Mr. Wickham stopped walking, gently pulling on her gloved hand so she would face him. The unexpected contact made her blush.

  “What if you were to marry a soldier who had no fixed home but moved from place to place?”

  “A s-soldier?” Elizabeth echoed. “I d-do not suppose you mean Mr. Denny.”

  He laughed gently. “Your wit is one of many things I love about you.”

  Her breath caught.

  Mr. Wickham smiled. “Yes, I use that word deliberately. I cannot possibly express how greatly I love and esteem you. And you would make me the happiest man on earth if you would consent to be my wife.”

  Elizabeth had imagined this moment. She had believed herself prepared for the possibility. But she realized in a rush that she was not ready; it would have been far better if he had not asked the question. It had been easier to decide the question hypothetically than to be faced with the actuality.

  She did not love Mr. Wickham, but she admired him. Perhaps she could love him in time. She had vowed to marry for love, but such a vow would not help her family if they were left penniless and alone. She could do far worse than a charming and attentive husband like Mr. Wickham. He was not wealthy, of course, but he was sure to do well enough. Elizabeth had never fostered any grand hopes of marrying an earl’s son or a viscount. And she could not imagine informing her mother that she had declined yet another eligible offer of marriage.

  She gazed into his warm brown eyes, so caring and full of love for her. Mr. Collins’s words echoed in her ears: “It is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you.” In the privacy of her mind, she had acknowledged the truth in his words; but now, miraculously, she had received another proposal. It would be foolish to think a third offer would come her way. Mr. Darcy would certainly never propose.

  Mr. Darcy? Why am I thinking of him at this moment? But she could not completely suppress the pang of something—regret, perhaps—when she thought of him. No, he looks at me only to criticize. He does not even like me. He is irrelevant.

  Noticing Mr. Wickham’s stricken countenance, Elizabeth realized she had long been silent. “Do you perhaps require some time to think about it?” he asked hesitantly.

  “No.”

  Now he looked even more stricken.

  She took a deep breath. “No—I mean…I do not require more time. My answer is yes.”

  ***

  Far too impatient to wait while his own carriage was made ready, Darcy took a cab to Gracechurch Street. During the ride he considered how to introduce such a delicate subject to a well-bred lady—likely two well-bred ladies since Mrs. Gardiner would almost certainly insist on being a chaperone.

  Darcy was confident his plan was good, but doubt gnawed in the back of his mind. What if Wickham had immediately left Darcy House to propose to Elizabeth? Darcy’s mind shied away from the very thought, but he forced himself to conside
r the possibility. What if Elizabeth had accepted Wickham’s offer? The mere thought plunged Darcy into icy water.

  Elizabeth would not break such a promise lightly; she would not end an engagement simply upon Darcy’s word. Darcy could not help spinning out a future for Elizabeth as Wickham’s betrothed. Wickham was unlikely to follow through on a promise of marriage, which would cause a scandal. It was the way of the world to blame the woman in such circumstances, and many women never recovered their social standing after a broken engagement. Elizabeth might lose all opportunities to make a respectable match after that. Most likely her parents would ship her away to live with some distant relative or find an obliging clerk in her Uncle Gardiner’s business to marry her quickly and quietly. She deserved so much more….

  And if Wickham did marry her…such a future was not worth contemplating.

  Darcy’s chest felt tight as his heart ached for this imaginary future Elizabeth. I must prevent it. I must.

  He stared out of the window; why could the cab not go any faster? The carriage rattled and stuttered over cobblestones. What could he do if she had already accepted Wickham? Darcy dropped his head in his hands, trying to ward off a sense of dread. Perhaps there would be nothing he could do in such a situation.

  Darcy clutched the door handle as the carriage lurched around a sharp corner. What if she loved Wickham? Darcy’s stomach churned sickeningly, and he closed his eyes, praying fervently that such was not the case.

  The carriage swayed up to the front of the Gardiners’ house, and Darcy leapt from it the moment it stopped. He handed the driver some coins and was striding to the door before the carriage even rattled away.

  The maid who answered the door looked at him wide-eyed.

  “Mr. Darcy to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  The maid curtsied and admitted him to the front hallway as she scurried away to find her mistress. Darcy shifted his weight, barely noticing anything in the elegant but narrow room. Although he was unsure where this sense of urgency sprang from, he wanted to see Elizabeth immediately and ensure she was safe from Wickham.