by Jann Rowland
“Then we must begin your training as soon as may be,” said the lady with a put-upon sigh. “We must preserve the honor and credit of the family.”
The lady turned to Mrs. Bennet and added: “I shall assist you with the preparations for the wedding breakfast. And a ball, where all Darcy’s friends and relations shall be invited to become acquainted with his future wife, would also be advisable.”
Whatever Mrs. Bennet thought on the matter, she chose the wisest course of nodding to her ladyship and turning the conversation to other matters. Whether Lady Catherine would carry the day, Fitzwilliam did not know, but he thought Mrs. Bennet might prove to be a match for his aunt. Fitzwilliam decided he would allow them to argue over the matter, for there were other considerations for him to ponder.
“It seems to me your friend is incandescent in her happiness,” said Fitzwilliam to the woman by his side.
Miss Lucas smiled and nodded. “It is just what Lizzy has always wanted, for she has always wished to marry for love.”
“It appears she has found her dreams in my cousin. I have never seen Darcy laugh so much as he is now, for he has always been a serious man.”
“Lizzy will suit him as he will suit her,” agreed Miss Lucas. Then she paused and laughed, saying: “It seems your lady aunt did not get what she bargained for, or do I misunderstand her desire to pair Mr. Darcy with Miss de Bourgh?”
“I would have been surprised if you had not noticed,” replied Fitzwilliam. “These past few days, she rekindled that hope, though Darcy and Anne both told her in no uncertain terms of their decision that they would not oblige her.”
“Then all has worked for the best for everyone except your aunt.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled and shook his head. “Even Lady Catherine may come around. Depending on whom Anne marries, it may even turn out for the best. Lady Catherine has a habit of directing all within range of her influence; Darcy, however, is not a man to accept such direction.”
“Shall she search for a man of a retiring temperament then? That seems like a curious criterion for a husband.”
“I suspect Anne will not stand for it. Lady Catherine is not yet accustomed to her daughter having her own opinion, but recent events have informed me that Anne will not allow her other to dominate her any longer.”
“That is well, for people should be free to choose their own paths.”
Fitzwilliam turned to face Miss Lucas, thanking her in his own mind for the opening she had just given him. “What of you, Miss Lucas? Is there a chivalrous knight in your future?”
The rosy hue which stained her cheeks provoked Fitzwilliam’s heart to skip a beat. “I am not like Lizzy, Colonel Fitzwilliam. She has always been the romantic between us, where I am the more pragmatic. In my situation, I would be happy with a man of good character, one who can support me and any children with whom we might be blessed.”
“A large estate is not a requirement then?”
“I do not need riches, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Comfort is what I would like to attain, not the wealth of Midas.”
“You say you are not romantic, Miss Lucas,” said Fitzwilliam. “Given the proper inducement, do you think you could become a romantic?”
The woman’s eyes rose to meet his, and she inspected him as if looking for some hint of his intentions. Fitzwilliam had never been a man known for hiding himself behind a wall—he was open and honest. It had never seemed so important to him to show that openness as it did now when his very future might depend upon it.
“Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said she. “It is possible the right man might persuade me to adopt a more romantic attitude. I hope he does not require me to relinquish my practicality, however.”
“If he did, he would be a fool,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Being romantic is an excellent attribute to the right man, but he will always desire practicality.”
Once again, Miss Lucas’s mien flushed a little and she nodded, though words appeared to be beyond her at the moment. Perhaps, Fitzwilliam thought, she was more susceptible to romance than she thought. If no one else had seen the benefits of encouraging that trait, Fitzwilliam could only call them fools. He would not be so foolish himself.
Chapter XXVIII
The happiness Darcy’s engagement provoked was to a degree that he had not felt in some time, and Darcy reveled in the feelings of new love, of having that love requited in every particular. While he thought he would grow tired of talk of breakfasts, flowers, ribbons, trousseaux, and all the other accouterments that accompanied a wedding, the thought of what would follow after would sustain him until that joyful day.
Lady Catherine was resigned, if not accepting, which is all Darcy had wished from his aunt. For a time, he had worried she might offend Mrs. Bennet with her officious pronouncements; his betrothed’s mother proved well able to handle her, removing Darcy’s concern, leaving him at liberty to concentrate his attention on Elizabeth.
Elizabeth! How wonderful it was to now claim the privilege of referring to her in a more familiar manner. Already Darcy was coming to understand the blessings she would bring to his life, provoking in him a returning determination to ensure she never had cause to regret her decision.
A few days after his engagement, however, the other matter which had occupied Darcy’s attention of late was once again brought to his notice, in a manner which he would never have expected. Attending to some correspondence that morning so he would be at liberty to visit Longbourn after, the housekeeper announced a visitor to the library where he was at work. It was Wickham, to Darcy’s surprise.
“Wickham,” said Darcy with more wariness than civility. “Why are you here?”
True to the man’s character, he looked about the room with interest for some moments before deigning to respond. “I have come to see you, Darcy.”
Darcy paused and considered the man before him. “Our most recent conversations have not been at all cordial, Wickham. I might have thought you would avoid me.”
“And you would not be incorrect. At present, however, there is no one else who can give me what I wish. Thus, I must come to you.”
“Give you what you wish?” echoed Darcy, the familiar feeling of contempt for this man’s grasping manner filling his breast. “Why would I give you anything?”
Rather than answering, Wickham chose a different approach. “If you will pardon me for saying so, I have noticed you seem happy of late—disgustingly so, if you will permit me to observe.”
“I am certain you will forgive me if I will not confess to anything disgusting about it. If you refer to my recent acquaintance with and engagement to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then I suppose you must be correct. I am happy—happier than I can remember being since long before my father passed away.”
Wickham nodded, his manner filled with introspection. Then he grimaced and said: “Your father would not be happy with me for the way I have lived my life, would he?”
A snort conveyed all Darcy thought he needed to say, though he added: “What do you think? You could not fail to have heard some of his lectures on the matter. Do you think it would please him to know what you have become?”
“If that is the case, then I must wonder why you never told him of me. Would it not have made your life easier had you done so?”
“Perhaps,” allowed Darcy. “But my father was a severe man, one who had no joy in his life. You were one of the few who could provoke a smile from him. I did not wish to destroy that.”
Wickham cocked his head to the side, curiosity written upon his countenance. “I might have thought you would worry that I would take your place in his heart.”
“My father did not possess much of a heart,” said Darcy with a sigh. “The most important things in his life were his duty, his lineage, and his desire that I uphold the honor and credit of the Darcy family.”
“For a time, I thought he might confer upon me a gentleman’s income.”
Shaking his head, Darcy glared at his former friend, wondering if the man had
ever seen anything other than what he wished to see. “If you thought so, you did not understand my father. He was a creature of duty, a man stiff and unyielding in his observance of it. Had you been a second son, it is possible you might have inherited Appleton or Blackfish, but for a steward’s son? It shocked me to learn he went as far as to recommend you for the Kympton living.”
“Perhaps you did not know him as well as you thought.”
For the first time in their conversation, a note of contempt had entered Wickham’s voice. Darcy, however, ignored it without difficulty; Wickham’s opinion had long since ceased to have any effect on him.
“It seems you are correct. Now, what do you wish, Wickham? You had best make your request, so I may reject it and have done with your company.”
Wickham smirked. “Charming to the last, Darcy.”
He paused for a moment, marshaling his thoughts, and then spoke again. “It seems, Darcy, that your morality has infected me, little though I desire to have it.”
“My morality?” asked Darcy. “I am sorry, but I have not the faintest notion of what you speak.”
“To be exact,” replied Wickham, “I suppose it is not your morality; rather, it is the morality of your betrothed, which I assume must be a match for yours.”
When Darcy did not respond at once, Wickham appeared to become impatient. “Might I assume you have heard from Miss Elizabeth of our discussion on the streets of Meryton?”
Darcy had heard her speak of the exchange. Given his knowledge of Wickham, however, he had discounted it, preferring the safer assumption of Wickham he had held all these years. Nothing anyone said to him had ever made an impression.
“I see you understand,” observed Wickham. “I cannot explain why her words affected me as much as they have, for she was not the first to say them. You yourself have made similar accusations more times than I can count. Perhaps it was the way she delivered them, or it may be her perspective, that of an attractive young woman, made all the difference.”
Darcy bristled at his words of Elizabeth, but Wickham cut him off before he could say anything. “I was paying her a compliment, Darcy; I do not desire to come between you.
“In fact, Miss Elizabeth’s words have informed me most forcefully how young ladies—those who possess intelligence and beauty in equal measure—see me. And I do not like it; I do not like it at all.”
Darcy was uncertain whether he should believe his former friend. A part of him—a large part—screamed at him to ignore Wickham, to accuse him of falsehood and see him escorted from the property. But something stayed his hand, though Darcy could not understand what it was himself. The desire to believe that the boy he had known had not disappeared beyond all retrieval? Perhaps, though Darcy had long despaired of the return of that friend.
“You know,” said Wickham in a casual voice, one laced with self-congratulation and no small measure of provocation, “it strikes me that I could have had what I wished. I know you and Fitzwilliam both consider Miss Bingley to be a scheming social climber with no interest in anything other than herself. I could have had her eating from the palm of my hand if I had expended any effort. And as for your cousin . . . .”
There was little doubt in Darcy’s mind that his wish was to provoke Darcy to anger, though for what purpose he could not divine. It was, perhaps, nothing more than reflex, a reflection of the man he had been for many years. Whatever Wickham meant by it, Darcy regarded him with passive disinterest; at one time Wickham might have tempted him to lose his temper. But at present, he felt nothing but curiosity for how this conversation might proceed.
“In fact, before your affianced interfered, I had decided to give up my interest in Miss Bingley in favor of Miss de Bourgh.”
“Do you think I would have allowed you to take her from us? Do you think Fitzwilliam would not have had something to say of it? Or the earl?”
“You would not have allowed an elopement,” replied Wickham with his typical dismissiveness. “Would you have prevented her choice if she accepted a proposal offered in good faith? A choice made of her own free will? It is not as if she is still underage.”
Several thoughts passed through Darcy’s mind at that moment, but he refrained from contradicting Wickham’s statement. Wickham would meet anything he might have said with the same indifference with which Darcy was so familiar.
“Then why did you not do it?” asked Darcy. “If you were so confident of your success, I might have thought you would jump at the opportunity.”
“Yes, you might have thought that of me. The truth is, now that your young woman has opened my eyes, it has come to my mind that I might actually prefer a woman who feels something for me instead of a cold union based on nothing but money, societal advantage, and primitive lust.”
Of all the things Wickham might have said, that was a surprise to Darcy, for it was so unlike everything he knew of his one-time friend. “And you think you will find that?”
“Not in stodgy old England, I will not.” Wickham huffed with annoyance. “The class system is too entrenched in England for me to have any chance of success. I have spent many years fighting against it, but I believe I have now come to that conclusion. Even if I were to persuade some young lady of fortune, her family would despise me, and she would learn to regret accepting me. The fortune she possesses would keep me company for a time; I have learned it would be cold comfort in the end.”
“Then what do you propose?” asked Darcy, curious how far his former friend intended to take this.
“The possibilities are remote here,” said Wickham, “but in the New World, I believe I could make a go of it. Perhaps I could find some wealthy man’s daughter who cannot live without me and will not concern herself for my descent. The notion may seem unlikely, but I suspect it is far more likely there than here.”
“I presume you wish me to fund this adventure for you.”
Wickham grinned. “I have little to my name at present. The sale of the commission will help if we can persuade Fitzwilliam to relent and allow me to leave. If you prefer, we could call your support an added . . . incentive to encourage me to stay in the Americas when I arrive there.”
As much as Darcy wished to throw the man out, inform him that the Darcy family’s support of him was over, and to abjure him to fund his own journey to America, something held him back. Fitzwilliam might suggest it was Darcy’s continued inability to take decisive action against Wickham due to his father’s memory, and Darcy owned that may be correct. Of more importance, however, was Darcy’s disinclination to continue to endure what had always been a millstone around his neck. This was the opportunity to remove Wickham from his life once and for all. It was a chance, he realized, he could not allow to pass.
“Very well, Wickham. Where do you wish to begin?”
“He asked for far more than you would give, I will wager.”
Sour though Fitzwilliam’s tone was, Darcy thought he detected relief also. Fitzwilliam had been urging him to deal with Wickham for many years now, but his own actions in accepting him into the regiment with the express purpose of seeing to his reclamation had left him incapable of promoting many other solutions he had championed over the years.
“If he had not,” replied Darcy, “I might have sent for a physician. It would not be Wickham if he did not extort as much as he could. He settled for much less than he wanted.”
“More than you wished to give, I assume?”
“It is a price well worth paying,” said Darcy, wishing to cease speaking of the financials of the situation. “As part of our negotiations, I informed him I would keep his debt receipts and would use them should he ever cause me trouble again.”
Fitzwilliam snorted. “He did not like that, did he?”
“No, but he understood it.” Darcy paused and reflected on his confrontation with Wickham. “There is something . . . different about Wickham, something I never thought to see. Underneath, his character has not changed, for he is still the same thoughtless wastr
el he ever was. At the same time, he has acquired a hint of hesitance in his manner, which lends credence to his assertions.”
“That is the most surprising factor of all. For Wickham to care for another’s opinion is shocking. I have no notion of whether to believe this conversion is real.”
“I cannot blame you. Until he is aboard a ship, I shall not breathe easily.”
“For that, I pledge my own services.” Fitzwilliam’s look was as determined as Darcy had ever seen. “I will escort him to the harbor, see him on the ship, and ensure he does not leave it before it departs. If you can, it would be best to book his passage on a ship bound for the Americas without a stop at another port in England. Let us not give him a chance to disembark.”
“That is why I intend to book his passage from Bristol,” replied Darcy, nodding to his cousin’s suggestion. “There should be no other ports of call once he departs.”
Fitzwilliam looked on him with approval. “Good. With any luck, we shall rid ourselves of him once and for all.”
“I had not the slightest notion that Mr. Wickham had taken my words in such a way.”
Confused though Elizabeth was, her fiancé’s obvious regard warmed her. The story of Mr. Wickham’s confession to William—as she was now allowed to call him—and the subsequent decision to assist him in relocating to the Americas, Elizabeth put aside; she knew of the man’s worthless character, but he had done nothing to harm the Bennet family, so Elizabeth did not think much of him at all. As she had never thought the Bennet family appeared in his thoughts much, it was beyond surprising he would listen to her where so many others had failed to reach him.
“I had not the slightest notion Mr. Wickham would listen to anyone,” replied William. “How it came about, I cannot say, and Wickham was not explicit, even if he knows himself. What is clear is your words struck him in a way no words ever have before.”
