“That can’t be true.”
“I’m not sure if it is or isn’t, but it’s what I grew up hearing. And there are other stories like that—not quite that radical, but the family claims to have evidence to support it, even if I’ve never seen it. And in Derbyshire, reputation is what matters. The Darcys’ reputation has always been that they were progressive for the time.”
“If it’s considered progressive not to own people,” Elizabeth replied. “Not sure that earns a gold star. Seems a pretty low bar to meet.”
Wickham inclined his head. “Yes, well, you grow up in the South, and you learn things a bit different. Not saying it’s right—it’s not—but for any family to have had as much money as the Darcys without slave labor was unheard of. There are even stories that Wilhelmina Darcy—Will’s great-great grandmother—volunteered Pemberley as a stop on the Underground Railroad. I think that’s a load of bull, myself. Seems all the families in the area decided slavery was wrong right around the time that that opinion became popular.”
“Pemberley?” she echoed. “You’ve said that twice now. Am I supposed to know what that is?”
He shook his head, looking a little dazed. “Where I come from, yes. Sorry. Pemberley is what they call the Darcy plantation.”
“It…has its own name?”
Wickham smiled. “You haven’t traveled in the south much, have you?”
“I haven’t traveled much period.”
“All the old homes have pretentious names. My family’s home did.” The smile turned into a grimace. “At least before the bank foreclosed. Now the property’s part of the Derbyshire Hotel and Convention Center. They stopped short of bulldozing it.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
He waved like it was no big deal, but his eyes told a different story. “That was a long time ago, and like I said, Pemberley is pretty much the only one of the old homes that was completely unaffected. It is the only area home that’s stayed in the same family, aside from Rosings.” He released a long breath. “Before we lost the house, Will and I were inseparable. His dad was a great guy. Paid my tuition to Derbyshire Academy—private school—and everything when he knew my dad couldn’t afford it. But as we got older…”
Elizabeth stared at him, edging closer. “What?”
But a new look had fallen over Wickham’s face—one that made her belly clench. “You know what? I really shouldn’t. If you’re going to be around him—”
“I won’t tell that I know, whatever it is.”
“No, it’s not that. If your friend’s dating his friend… I just don’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”
She bit back a laugh at this. “My definitions of an awkward situation are not the same as other people’s.”
Wickham looked at her for a moment, his eyes conflicted. Then his smile resurfaced, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Fair enough.” He paused and glanced across the room again, as though to verify Will couldn’t overhear. “Things are different when you’re a kid. You notice that your friend has a larger house, a larger room, and gets whatever he wants, and you accept it as a fact of life.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m not saying I wasn’t aware that Will had more money than us—it was just there. But his house kind of became my house. On weekends and over summers, I practically was a Darcy. And it was great. Will was like the brother I never had.” Wickham’s face fell. “But as we got older, he became more distant. He stopped inviting me over, stopped sitting with me at school—childish shit that feels like it’s really big in the moment. I tried to ask him what the problem was, but he always insisted there wasn’t a problem. And for a while, I believed it. He’d just found some new friends, all with parents in the same income bracket, and I had been phased out. Fitzwilliam Senior—Will’s dad—still checked up on me and my family every now and then, because he was good people, and he knew how much I wanted the scholarship.”
“The scholarship?”
“The Darcy Foundation scholarship. It was important to my family that I come here”—he gestured around the café to indicate the campus—“and it became important to me. But we could never afford it. Fitzwilliam Senior didn’t like showing favoritism, but he would often drop harmless hints as to what would look best on an application in terms of extra curriculars and stuff.”
“He sounds nice.”
“He was the best,” Wickham said loyally. “I think he wanted me to come here especially because Will had started struggling at school, which doesn’t look good on a transcript, no matter how rich your family is. Turns out Will’s friends had gotten him… Well, it started with weed. Harmless stuff that we all experiment with. His grades dropped and he started missing classes. I think he was doing some harder stuff too—I never found out, but the guys he hung out with definitely were, and he bore all the signs.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, trying to picture the studious Will Darcy that had offered her his bed the previous night as a substance abuser. The image wouldn’t come. “He doesn’t seem the type.”
“I know,” Wickham agreed. “I never would’ve thought it of him, either. It shocked the hell out of me. But this was also when his mom was getting really sick and I guess I thought it was just his way of coping. I didn’t know…” He broke off, a heavy sigh tearing off his lips. “Sorry. It’s still hard to believe.”
She held her breath, waiting.
“That day, he came over to see me at lunch,” Wickham continued after a moment. “It surprised the hell out of me, because for the past two years, he’d pretended I was invisible. He had a book—one I had lent him such a long time before this that I’d forgotten he had it. He said he’d found it while cleaning his room and wanted to get it back to me, which I thought was nice.” He barked a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Real nice.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “What happened?”
“He put the book in my backpack, said something about getting together, then walked back to his buddies.” The look on Wickham’s face was savage now. His eyes slanted, his cheeks pink—every bit of good humor that had been present earlier having faded. “Turns out I was the butt of a joke. The book had been hollowed out. Inside was half a kilo of cocaine.”
Her jaw went slack.
Wickham offered a sage nod. “And about fifteen minutes later, I was randomly searched. The best I can figure is he knew they were about to pin him with distribution—they searched him first—and he saw me as a good patsy. Everything went to shit in two seconds flat. I was kicked out of school, out of home, and I was lucky not to go to jail. The only thing I can think is that Fitzwilliam Senior knew what had happened—or at least suspected—and pulled some strings.”
“That…” She stared at him, her brain scrambling to catch up with the multitude of information. To learn that Will had been an insufferable rich kid wouldn’t have surprised her, but this was beyond anything she would have expected from him. It seemed too ludicrous to be true—completely at odds with the picture her mind had drawn of Will.
Except she knew better than most how some people looked one way and acted another. And the pain on Wickham’s face was real. He’d worked himself up—his eyes were shining with angry tears, his jaw firm and his hands clenching the table so hard she was surprised when it didn’t crack.
“Sorry,” Wickham said a moment later, then released a long, tortured breath. “Sorry. I always tell myself I’m over it.”
“How could you be, though? That’s…damn, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” She turned to catch a peek at Will, who had sequestered himself in the opposite corner of the café and apparently was taking great lengths to not look in their direction. “Has he ever spoken to you about it?”
“What?” Wickham replied bitterly. “Something like, ‘Hey, George. You know how I ruined your life? Sorry about that. Misunderstanding.’” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes, his skin flush. “He doesn’t have the balls to talk to me.”
Elizabeth pursed he
r lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just… At the worst, I never expected something that bad.”
“Yeah, well, he covers it well.” Wickham crossed his arms. “I’d like to think his dad dying might have changed him. Maybe it did. Maybe he’s better now. Maybe he’s…seen the light or something. But if that were the case, he could go back and at least try to make things right. I don’t see that happening.”
Elizabeth sat still for a long moment, her mind a tangled mess. God, she didn’t know what to think. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. That anyone could do anything like this to another human being was beyond her—especially if that person had been a friend. And try as she might, reconciling Wickham’s version of Will with the guy she had kinda been crushing on seemed impossible. That Will had been an ass at times, yes, but he’d also been kind and considerate.
Hell, she’d been fooled before. If her father could make her believe things that weren’t true for years, then certainly a professionally rich guy like Will could as well.
Plus, there was Wickham, and the hurt on his face was very real. He had no reason to lie to her. The story was too outrageous to be anything but true.
“I’m sorry,” he said at length, looking away. “I…damn, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,” Elizabeth said immediately, “I’m glad I know. I’m just…sorry that happened to you.”
A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You and me both.” He blew out a breath. “But we were having a good time and that topic is kind of a downer.”
“You were having a good time?”
“I was. I thought—err, hoped you were, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the smile becoming sheepish. “’Cause I’m still vying to ask you out.”
Elizabeth hesitated, which he noticed right away.
“And on any such date,” Wickham continued, “I solemnly swear to never mention Will Darcy again.”
“That’s—”
“Look, no one likes a woe-is-me jackass.”
Her uncertainty began to wane. Elizabeth sighed and reached across the table. “It just surprised me. I’ve… Well, I have classes with Will. I actually stayed in his room last night.”
Wickham turned an interesting shade of red at this news. “Oh god. Shit god fuck, I am such a—”
“Alone,” Elizabeth said firmly, squeezing his hand. And felt herself relax—apparently, he wasn’t adverse to profanity, which meant she didn’t have to watch her tongue. “I got caught in the storm over there and he…well, insisted I take his bed, which I thought was so nice. But—”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Wickham shifted forward. “Will can be smooth when he wants to be. It took me a day and a half to realize that he’d set me up after I was arrested. It just didn’t seem like him. But if you and he are—”
“We’re not. At all. It’s nothing like that.” Something in her gut twisted at the words, but she didn’t care to examine it too closely. Because she shouldn’t be disappointed for herself—there was no world in which she was going to pursue Will, anyway. And if there had been, Wickham’s story had Death Star-ed it to smithereens. “And like I said…I’m glad to know. I’ll at least know not to drop my guard around him.”
Wickham nodded. “Is that a no, then? On the date?”
“It’s not a no. It’s a maybe.”
“Isn’t maybe just another word for no?”
“For some people, it might be,” Elizabeth agreed. “For me, it’s an ‘I’ve had a really long week and I want to make sure I’m not already behind before I agree to let a cute guy distract me.’”
“Wow. That’s a long maybe.” Wickham grinned. “Can I at least get your number? I won’t send unsolicited dick pics, but I might shoot over a few texts with irresistibly cute emoticons.”
Elizabeth considered this for a moment, but her brain was tired of thinking. “Phone,” she said, holding out her hand. After he handed it over, she sent herself a text and tossed it back. “There you go.”
He nodded appreciatively and glanced at the screen. “That looks like a real number.”
She dug her phone out of her pocket. “I don’t do fake numbers. If I don’t want you to have something of mine, you don’t get it. Anyone who has a problem with that gets a date with my pepper spray.” She flashed the screen to him so he could see the text she’d sent. “Keep that in mind.”
“Aye aye.”
“Thank you for…well, walking me to class and inviting me for coffee.” Though she’d never gotten around to ordering, which was fine. At the moment, she didn’t think her stomach could handle solids or liquids. “And thanks for…trusting me with that information.”
“You won’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not. It’s not my place to tell.” She shrugged her bag onto her back. “I’ll see you around.”
“You too, Elizabeth. And thanks.” Wickham smiled again. “For listening. I’d forgotten what that felt like.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. After an awkward moment, she swallowed and managed a weak, “Anytime,” before turning toward the door.
12
No matter how hard he tried, Will couldn’t get the image of Elizabeth and Wickham out of his head.
In the six weeks that had followed the night that Elizabeth had stayed in his bed, Will had done an admirable job of convincing himself that he didn’t care at all who she spent her time with, except that was crap because he did care a lot—he just hated that he did. The fact that Elizabeth had gone from not-so-subtly checking him out to cool politeness had not gone unnoticed.
Mostly, though, he was worried.
And pissed.
And damned if he could do anything about it. Because what, exactly, was his recourse here? He and Elizabeth had shared a few nice moments, but nothing solid enough that he felt comfortable asking her about what he’d seen in the café.
Had he known that Wickham was a student at Meryton… Well, Will wasn’t sure what he would have done. And it was only by virtue of not wanting to drag Georgiana down a dark path that he’d managed to keep from launching himself across the coffee shop and succumbing to his baser instincts. Namely, ripping Wickham apart piece by bloody piece.
No, he thought, shaking his head hard. Not going there. Not now.
Because if he started thinking those thoughts, his temper would begin to creep up, and his otherwise sensible brain would find itself overrun with baser urges. Wickham was the one man in the world that could provoke him into violence, and as much as he might relish the thought of pummeling the asshole until he was unrecognizable, that would only feel good for a few minutes. The minutes and hours and days and months that followed would be a new kind of hell.
For Georgiana’s sake…
Except it wasn’t just Georgiana he worried about.
Of all the women on campus, of course—of course—Wickham would set his sights on Elizabeth. And of course she would fall right into him. It was no fault of her own—Wickham had always been proficient at the art of a first impression. Hell, he could woo a nun if he put his mind to it.
Will wanted to believe Elizabeth was smart enough to see through it, but experience had taught him otherwise. After all, he hadn’t been smart enough until after it was too late.
It wasn’t his place to worry about her.
Except he couldn’t help himself.
One of the first things he’d done after realizing Wickham was a student was call his lawyer, whose enthusiasm at hearing Will’s voice was so palpable he could almost see little golden dollar signs wafting from the phone’s speaker. He’d learned that Wickham was in his third year at Meryton. His grades were admirable—honor role admirable—and he’d maintained a clean record. No incidents. No complaints. No nothing. He reported to his probation officer like clockwork and regularly passed each mandatory drug test.
By all accounts, the man had indeed turned over a new leaf.
Except Will knew better. A new man would be honest, even if the truth wasn’t pretty. And given
the fact that Elizabeth had only spoken to him when forced in the weeks that had passed, the truth was not what she’d learned. Or not a version of it that he was familiar with.
And there was no way of clearing the air without sounding like the jealous mess he was.
This was why getting involved with anyone had been a bad idea. Not that he was even involved, but damn, for a few hours there, he’d thought…
Well, it didn’t matter. He’d been wrong.
The weeks that had spanned since the night Elizabeth and Jane had been marooned at Netherfield Heights had not been uneventful. Jane had become something of a regular fixture around the dorm, and though Charlie did everything he could to monopolize her time, Jane could often be seen sequestered in corners with Caroline, who had made good on her promise to nominate Jane for the Realis Society for Women. In fact, Will heard Jane—whenever she was around—speak of little else. She otherwise just watched Charlie blab about any and everything that popped into his head, which took the pressure off everyone else to do the same.
Also, the semester’s coursework finally started to get serious. Professor Greenfield had scheduled the first debates and their topics, as well as the designated class periods for group study sessions that need not meet in her room. Will’s group—comprised of himself, Randall and the chatty blonde that had cornered him at the Meryton Mudhouse, whose name he’d learned was Penelope—had taken to meeting in a private room of the campus library. And thankfully, after she’d disabused herself of the notion that he was at all interested, his group partner had stopped hitting on him, which made these meetings much less uncomfortable.
On the Friday following their seventh completed week at Meryton, Charlie came bursting into Will’s room without so much as a tap on the door.
“Get up!” he cried with his usual enthusiasm. “We’re going to be late!”
A Higher Education Page 12
