In the Arms of Mr. Darcy tds-4

by Sharon Lathan

  Lizzy gasped, knowing the scene, and her blood ran cold at the vision of a young Darcy, or Alexander, performing such a feat.

  “Indeed,” he agreed with her exclamation. “Utterly foolish. Of course, I was momentarily filled with conceit as I attained my goal, standing on the limb in all the glory of a conqueror. Then Wickham said he did not think I had the nerve to go higher.” Darcy closed his eyes in remembered embarrassment. “Idiot! Headstrong, foolish, imbecilic, cocky. And, as it turned out, incredibly lucky or protected by God, I know not which. I deftly climbed to the next limb and then the one above it before slipping. I hit the lowest branch on my way down, cracking the rib and scraping through my clothes to the skin.” He extended his left arm, one fingertip tracing where the long scar on his inner forearm remained. “It was that impact and the naiad that saved me, I think. Or her hair, more precisely, as my arm caught on the upswept end of her marble tresses, cutting deep, but slowing my descent and flipping me over so that I landed on the mossy ground rather than the fountain edge. I fainted, or was knocked unconscious, I am not sure which, but when I awoke it was to the gardener bending over me. Wickham had fled the scene, leaving me. The gardener found me accidentally.”

  Darcy shook his head again, Lizzy spellbound and feeling ill at the story. “He apologized later, saying that he had panicked.” Darcy shrugged. “I was young and forgave him. After all, I was not truly hurt all that badly and in the silliness of adolescence such exploits are deemed exciting, worn as a badge of honor while basking in the glow of womanly soothing. But it was just one of many such incidents that I gazed upon years later with discerning eyes and wondered.”

  “What sort of incidents?” Lizzy spoke in a bare whisper, almost afraid to ask.

  Darcy, in all his revelations of his youth, a part of his life that was no longer a mystery to Lizzy, never mentioned George Wickham. She knew that they had been childhood friends, although certainly not on par with his friendship to Gerald Vernor, Albert Hughes, or Richard Fitzwilliam. Yet, in relating their daredevil deeds and boyish capers, he ignored Wickham’s existence. She did not press the issue, knowing that memories of Wickham caused him pain and anger. In the end, she had assumed it was not all that important. Now she experienced a shiver of fear, unsure if she was resilient enough to learn the brutal truth about the man her sister was married to.

  Darcy obviously wondered the same. He hesitated, studying her closely. Finally, he crossed the thick-carpeted floor, sitting onto the sofa and taking his wife’s hands. “I have no proof for the most part, Elizabeth. As a child it was primarily the aforementioned baiting of me, and his false wooing. Falling from that tree was the worse injury I sustained, but there were other times that I could have been wounded due to bizarre accidents or foolish risks. But he acted my friend convincingly with his innate charisma. I confess that we were all taken in by him, me included. I remember wishing I possessed the easy personality of Wickham, and Richard and Gerald for that matter. I tried to emulate them but could never pull it off.”

  He smiled ruefully, Lizzy reaching to stroke his cheek, her eyes tender. He kissed her fingertips gently, understanding the unspoken words behind the gesture: his wife would never wish for him to be other than who he was, reserved and taciturn with a mellow playfulness and wit seen only by those most intimate.

  He continued, holding her eyes, “I do not believe that Wickham was born a villain, but came to use his natural gifts for the negative, all due to an unrelenting resentment. As I wrote in my letter to you, Father assisted with Wickham’s education, an education he never would have been capable of under normal circumstances, and Mr. Wickham was grateful. Yet, he continually reminded his son of the disparity in our stations, emphasized their dependence upon and indebtedness to Mr. Darcy. This rankled Wickham, to put it mildly.”

  He sat back into the sofa, holding tightly to Lizzy’s hand as he resumed his narrative. “Again, it is hindsight. Comments he would make, expressions on his face, actions that varied depending on who was present. Subtle aspersions against me, impudent interactions with Georgiana, and inappropriate impertinence to the servants. I increasingly felt uneasy in his presence as we aged, but did not begin to see the full truth of his character until we were older, after mother died. Father was distant, often lost to his grief, so Mr. Wickham assumed more responsibility. He did it gladly, but Wickham resented it. Plus, he interpreted the adults’ abstraction as carte blanche. He was bolder, more reckless in conveying his disdain and imperiousness.”

  He shook his head, eyes locked with Lizzy, but his thoughts looking inward down the passages of time. “Who can ever say with conviction how events may have unfolded if time turned down a separate path? If Mr. Wickham had not rigidly reminded his son of the gap in our stations. If certain comforts and privileges had not been denied. If our parents had not been consumed with other affairs.” He shrugged, eyes clearing as he smiled grimly. “However, I do not hold with the opinion that a person is exclusively the product of outside influences, to be pitied or excused for their behavior and choices. Wickham was given opportunities far above most men in his place and he abused them all. During those years, there were numerous thefts about the manor. Trinkets, odd pieces of jewelry, silver utensils, and the like. Nothing of great worth, but losses nonetheless. We never were able to discover the culprit, assumed it was a servant although that seemed unlikely, as they have always been largely trustworthy. I have since come to believe it was Wickham.”

  “Why?”

  “Aside from the fact that it simply fits into his character and that the thefts halted once we left for University is the fact that he always seemed to have money beyond what logic would dictate. Father helped pay for his education at Cambridge, but Wickham should not have been able to… entertain, shall we say, in the manner he did. Even my allowance would not have afforded his extravagant diversions.”

  The disgust was plain on his face, Darcy being a man whose principles strongly abhorred such “diversions.” With tight jaw, furrowed brow, and voice steely, he resumed his narrative, “Long before father’s death and the events that unfolded thereafter, I had come to fully understand the character of George Wickham. Those years were an education to me in many ways. A genteel lady such as you, my love, does not require the same education. But trust me, when I said that I knew Wickham was utterly unfit as a clergyman, I know precisely of what I spoke.”

  His lips pressed tightly together as a shudder ran through his body. Darcy’s reverence for the Church was profound, his distress over any profanity extreme. Lizzy squeezed his hands tightly, heart aching as she caressed firmly and waited for him to continue.

  He sighed, eyes filled with a flinty hardness. “I am no longer naïve or a fool, Elizabeth. I am well aware of the evil nature of people in our world. It sickens me, but cannot be denied. Is George Wickham evil?” He shrugged. “I suppose that depends on one’s definition of the word. But I do know he is not to be trusted and is a scoundrel at the very least. He may not have planned my ruin or death with deliberation, but I am absolutely certain he would have welcomed and reveled in it. And I know his villainy matured because I saw the calculation in how he lied to my father, approached me for his inheritance and for more money, and with Georgiana. And with you.”

  “William, please…”

  “I know I promised you that I would let the past die, forget Wickham’s affronts against me and those I love. As long as he was gone and silent I have been able to put it aside—”

  Lizzy rose, halting his words. He frowned, watching as she walked toward the window with back to him. “Beloved?”

  “And now,” she spoke in a tremulous whisper, “because of stupid Lydia you are related to him! How could you bear it? Marrying me knowing he was a part of the bargain? I am so sorry, William!”

  He was across the room before the first sentence was finished. Hands grasping her arms and face stern as he whirled her about. “Don’t be ridiculous! I would cross hell and back for you, Elizabeth! You kn
ow this. As greatly as I despise Wickham, it is a paltry price to pay for the honor and pleasure of being your husband. Do you not see the truth of it, my love? Perhaps I should have shared all with you long ago so you would fully comprehend.” He drew her into his embrace, sturdy arms firm about her body, unwavering and secure. “Wickham has been a bane in my life since childhood. He would have continued to be so, I am convinced of it. Do you have any concept of how many ‘Lydias’ there were before her? Believe me, George Wickham feasted on such innocence, to my eternal disgust, as I witnessed the behavior more times than I can count.”

  He kissed her crown, breathing deeply of her fragrance. Lizzy held tight, comforted by his strength and steadily beating heart. “Lydia had nothing to do with you, my soul. Wickham may have sensed my regard for you as he knew me well, but months separated those weeks in Hertfordshire and the events at Brighton. He had no clue as to the depth of my love for you, and as we were not together at the time, it is impossible for him to have suspected that his dalliance with Lydia would profoundly affect me. He was absolutely shocked when I showed up in London. No, it was entirely coincidence. And entirely my fault as I have stated before.”

  Lizzy pulled away from his arms, it now her turn to glare at him sternly. “Now it is you who are being ridiculous!” she snapped. “All you have told me, both today and before, merely clarified Wickham’s propensity toward mischief in general. Surely you are not the only one in all his acquaintance to divine his character?”

  “No, but I had intimate knowledge and the means to thwart him.”

  She laughed harshly. “Oh really, William. Be sensible. Even if you had spoken the truth, ‘exposed him’ as you stated in Lambton, what possible good would it have done? You are only one man and England is a big country. I do not think even you have that much power. You were wise to not risk damaging Georgiana’s reputation and your father’s good name. Maybe I would have listened and not been so blind, but Lydia would not have. You said yourself that Wickham is a manipulative charmer—”

  “Indeed he is!” He brushed his hands angrily through his hair, pivoting on his heels to resume pacing. “I do not trust this disappearance or this past year of quiescence. Elizabeth, he may have been ignorant of my feelings toward you before, but no longer. Furthermore, he knows I have a son.”

  He stopped abruptly, face thunderous, but eyes inundated with dread. “I will not be a fool who wears blinders and gullibly believes all is well while the fox is loose in the henhouse! He is a blackguard and nothing that has been reported to me this past year has altered my opinion of him. So, yes, I do wish to know what he is up to, not only for Lydia’s sake!”

  “And if your hands accidentally find themselves around his throat, then so be it? Or if harm befalls you in the search or at his hands, what then? Will it have been worth it?”

  They both paused, respirations heavy and audible as they stared at each other from opposite sides of Darcy’s large desk.

  Lizzy broke the silent tableau first, her voice soft. “I still maintain that vengeance is not a trait near your heart, my dearest. Caution, vigilance, protectiveness, wisdom, and temperance, among a legion of other fine attributes, are the earmark of the man I married. I concur that we should be wary, Wickham not a man to be taken lightly. But I refuse to allow his existence to impinge upon our life and disrupt our happiness. Think how that would please him!”

  She smiled, lips lifted in the teasing manner he found utterly delightful.

  “And Lydia?” He asked quietly.

  Lizzy shook her head, slowly stepping around the desk. “It grieves me, but she is not our primary concern. Besides, all your reports have shown that for all his faults, Wickham seems oddly to care for my sister. And they must be together, or I am sure she would be running back to Longbourn.” She was before him now, palms reaching to encompass his face. “I think we need to make a new vow, beloved. You will relinquish your misplaced guilt, but we will not wholly forget the past affairs with Wickham. Heedful, yes, but not aggressively seeking problems where none exist.”

  “Is this more of the superior wisdom of my wife?”

  Lizzy laughed. “If you wish to proclaim it so, then yes.”

  They were long since returned to Pemberley and enmeshed in the delights of a fine summer before a new communication from Lydia was conveyed to the Bennets. The Wickhams had settled in Exeter of all places, supposedly running an inn. The details were vague, but her tone was cheery and positive. Letters from Lydia to Elizabeth were nonexistent and eventually Lizzy gave up all attempts to communicate directly with her sister. What news she received was via her parents, and that was sporadic as Lydia wrote rarely. Children were never mentioned and this was taken as a merciful development as Darcy shuddered to imagine Wickham as a father. “Perhaps he cannot sire children,” Darcy said once to Lizzy. “It would explain how he managed not to compromise any of his numerous bed partners over the years.”

  As time passed, they found less and less reasons to mention the Wickham name. Darcy harkened to the advice of his wife and let the matter go. Gradually, his guilt faded, but he never surrendered his distrust or wariness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Heartbreak of Miss Bennet

  The two mounted men galloped to the small rise, reining in their heaving horses as they surveyed the rolling Hertfordshire fields below. The darker of the two gazed without really registering the vista, caught up with internal musings. The other young man turned to his silent companion with a sunny smile.

  “Once again I have bested you! Really, Falke, you must try harder.” The jest was lost, however, as Falke remained silent. “Very well, then. Tell me what the tyrannical old codger said.”

  “You know that my father is neither tyrannical nor old, but I thank you for the attempt to lighten my mood.” Falke sighed heavily, only then turning to his friend. “He was unmoved by the declarations of my affection. Offered all the rationales that I anticipated, and although I tried to contradict, I really could not do so with great vigor.”

  “Her connection with the Darcys did not sway his opinion?”

  “No. He said that Mr. Darcy, for all his wealth and station, is not a peer of the realm so the strict rules do not apply as forcefully. ‘The son of Viscount who will someday inherit the title,’ he stated flatly, ‘must rise above the petty whims of desire. Honor and duty must prevail.’ I hoped that the bewitching Mrs. Darcy, accepted and venerated by all, would soften his attitude. Alas, no.”

  “I am sorry, my friend. Would that I could help, but you know I am in the same predicament. Luckily, I am not of a romantic nature.”

  “I never particularly thought myself so either, but a sparkling pair of eyes and dainty dimples changed all that.”

  “Not to mention a lush figure.”

  “Don’t be vulgar, Nash. Miss Bennet’s figure, although enticing, was not the draw and you know it!”

  “Of course not. It was her multitudinous accomplishments, keen intelligence, and stellar connections.”

  Falke glared. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

  “Only reminding you of what you already know. You said yourself that you could not argue his reasons. Miss Bennet is a delight, we all agree on that Falke, but for marriage? It was never going to happen, and I think you have always known that.”

  “I prayed her charms would overrule the deficits. None of those matters bother me, and I would be the one married to her, so why should it disturb my father?”

  “Again, you already know the answer to your question. And do not be so sure her ‘deficits’ would not come to annoy. Can you seriously imagine marriage to a woman of little intelligence and fewer accomplishments? A country girl with no knowledge of what would be required as Lady Gresham? I think you would be bored and disappointed within a year.”

  “Do you think me so shallow, Nash?”

  “Not shallow, but the fact that you are not ranting and raging against your father, or mutinously scurrying off to Gretna Green, mean
s you are unsure of your own heart. I know you well, my friend. You are a stubborn man who does not normally buckle easily.”

  Falke resumed his gaze of the landscape. In all honesty he knew that the words of both his father and Thomas Nash were right. His affection for Kitty Bennet, although real, was evidently not so intense as to defy his entire family. He envied Darcy who had been master of his own life and able to act on his wishes.

  He sighed sadly, eyes closing in true regret, voice mumbled when he spoke. “How shall I ever face her disappointment?”

  Nash was surprised. “Have you extended any promises? Surely you were not so foolish!”

  “No, no. But she knows of my regard and is not an idiot. She even allowed…” He glanced sheepishly at the other man, swallowing audibly before continuing, “We kissed, in the garden, several times. Nothing else happened!” He added vehemently at the sudden leer on Nash’s face. “Miss Bennet is a lady! Halt your insidious thoughts!”

  And as he spoke the protective phrases, the memory of how vigorously Miss Bennet had instigated the kisses flashed through his mind and was guiltily squelched. His initial shock at her coquettishness and brazen advance had been rapidly replaced by pleasure in her kisses. Never would he betray her trust in him or harm her reputation, no matter how inappropriate her actions may be in the eyes of some. Falke had only looked upon her zeal as a testament to her attraction to him, a thought that was more than a little satisfying to his ego!

  But he knew now that the union was destined to fail ere it had begun, and it broke his heart.

  The summer holiday at the Nash country house was passing quite pleasantly for all the guests. Graceholm Hall was a luxurious manor, primarily of Tudor style architecture blended synchronously with Gothic influences, sprawling with numerous wings and hundreds of rooms. Surrounded by acres of rolling green fields, lush gardens, orchid plots, sparse woodlands, and tiny streams, the area was bursting with diversions. Lady Alicia’s declaration of guests arriving and departing randomly, and in large numbers, was not at all an exaggeration. The two months the threesome would spend there was probably the longest of any other visitor, most staying for a week or two at most before roaming on to dwell at another friend’s home. Such was the way of the aristocracy and wealthy during the languid summer months before the rains and cold of winter prohibited easy travel.