“You are paying his wages.” Darcy did not make it a question.
Aunt Catherine fussed with the folds of her skirt. “Naturally. Mr. Collins could not afford a steward—not with the condition of his estate. Why, do you know he did not have the means for a new barouche? So, I thought it would be my gift to him.”
Darcy contemplated his aunt. Generosity was not numbered among her character traits; she only took actions if they benefited her. But he failed to comprehend her motives here. “That is very beneficent of you,” he murmured.
“I do think very highly of Mr. Collins.”
“Does Mr. Weston have any experience as a steward?” Darcy asked, knowing the answer very well.
Aunt Catherine carefully examined the nails of one hand. “His father was an excellent steward…”
“Who, as I recall, indulged his son with excessive amounts of cash that he spent on gambling and other distasteful pursuits. That was the reason he joined the army.”
“No doubt he learned stewardship from his father.”
Darcy laughed harshly. “His most notable talent is for seduction!” he snapped.
His aunt drew herself up. “How dare you raise your voice to me?”
Darcy took a deep breath, swallowing his anger. “I apologize, Aunt. But you sent a known seducer to a house full of unmarried women.”
She waved her hands negligently. “Their cousin is present to protect them.” She leaned forward in her chair. “You traveled from Longbourn, did you not? How does the estate fare? Has Mr. Weston supplied Mr. Collins with necessary aid?”
“It seems to be thriving. The harvest is sure to be a good one, and the tenants seem happy.” There was no reason for his aunt to know that this prosperity was not Weston’s doing.
She sank back into her chair with a pleased smile. “That is very good to hear. I hope Mr. Collins will not be so very busy this summer and might come to visit Rosings. It has been nearly five months since he was last here.”
This struck Darcy as odd. How often would she expect a former employee to visit her? He had no family in Kent and no reason to dance attendance upon Aunt Catherine now. At the same time, Darcy had no doubt her affection for Collins was sincere. She would never find so faithful a lackey.
When the realization struck him, Darcy blurted it out. “You want Collins to return to Rosings!”
“What? Nonsense!” His aunt brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her skirt.
Of course! She believed Weston could take over Collins’s duties and permit her erstwhile rector a long sojourn at Rosings, perhaps even inhabiting the parsonage again.
“But you have a rector, do you not?”
The faintest blush stained his aunt’s papery cheeks. “Of course, I do,” she said sharply. “But now that you mention it, I did offer to make Mr. Collins my personal chaplain. Unfortunately, he feels that his duties to Longbourn will not permit it.”
“Ah.” Now the scope of her plans was becoming clear. She keenly felt the absence of her most loyal sycophant and hoped Weston’s labor would allow him to return. Darcy did not know whether he thought the scheme was more sad or diabolical.
“Do you believe Mrs. Collins wishes to resume living in Kent?” he asked.
Aunt Catherine waved Mrs. Collins away. “She will do as her husband bids her.”
Darcy did not believe the Collinses’ marriage—or indeed any marriage—functioned in quite that manner. Certainly Aunt Catherine’s had not.
Darcy decided to play the last card in his deck. “Should you be sponsoring someone of Weston’s moral character? What if he commits some scandalous act, and members of the ton learn you are connected with him?”
She pursed her lips and then nodded. “You are absolutely right.” Darcy sagged with relief. “I will write to Mr. Weston at once and ensure he informs nobody that I pay his wages. I will have him say Mr. Collins pays them.”
Darcy ground his teeth in frustration. His relief had been premature. “You could simply dismiss Weston or recall him to Rosings—where his father might watch over him.”
Aunt Catherine frowned. “Mr. Collins needs him.”
He tried to marshal another argument while his aunt nibbled on a biscuit. Surely the information she had provided might somehow be used to Elizabeth’s advantage.
Darcy had been silent too long; it allowed his aunt to seize control of the conversation. “When will you announce your engagement to Anne?”
He rolled his eyes. She had been sending him increasingly demanding letters, so Darcy knew the subject must be addressed. “Need I tell you again that I will not marry Anne? She has no desire to marry me, and I have no desire to marry her.”
“You would rub along just fine. Why, I could barely stand my husband when we wed, but after many years of marriage, we settled into a sort of placid distaste.” She took another sip of tea. “Just think about what magnificent property you would then own! Rosings Park and Pemberley combined. You would be one of the largest landowners in England!”
Darcy drained his teacup. A quick escape was warranted when the subject of their “engagement” was raised. “Pemberley is quite sufficient for me.”
His aunt slammed her hand on the arm of her chair. “You are not engaged to anyone else, are you, William?” He shook his head reluctantly. “Nor courting another young lady?” He shook his head again; he certainly was not courting Elizabeth officially.
“You are not growing any younger. Pemberley needs an heir. You might as well marry Anne.” From Aunt Catherine’s perspective, Darcy was unencumbered, but his heart could not have been more engaged if he and Elizabeth had exchanged vows. “I insist you at least speak with her on the subject. You have been derelict too long; you owe this to your family!”
Her agitation surprised Darcy. “Why has the matter assumed such urgency?”
She shifted uneasily in her chair. For a moment he imagined she might not answer the question, but finally she spoke reluctantly, as if the words were dragged from her. “Anne has formed an…undesirable attachment.”
Darcy was very pleased for his cousin. “Who is the man?”
“The younger son of Sir Randolph Landon.” His aunt spat out the name as though the man was an undergardener.
Darcy vaguely remembered Landon, one of his aunt’s neighbors, a jovial local squire. “What is so objectionable about the young man? Is he at death’s door? Or perhaps he already has a wife?”
Aunt Catherine scowled. “No! It should be self-evident. He is a younger son! His father is only a sir! They might as well be peasants.” She flicked her hands as if ridding herself of the whole family.
“I agree that his connections are not ideal, but if she truly loves the man, his birth can be no obstacle. Anne has sufficient fortune for both of them, and a retiring country squire might be the ideal match for her.”
“One of his grandfathers was a-a banker!” she spat out. “Can you imagine that blood polluting our family tree? No. I will not allow it.”
Darcy rose, having reached the limit of what he could tolerate in one visit. “You should give the match due consideration,” he said. “Anne is nearly my age, and her health is fragile.”
His aunt rose as well. “I will not see her wed to the wrong man!”
“Surely that is up to her to decide.”
“These matters are too important to be left up to one’s children!”
Darcy managed not to roll his eyes.
She wagged a finger at him. “You should speak with Anne and explain that such an alliance is unsuitable.”
Darcy massaged his forehead. A few months ago he might have been tempted to comply, but he was not enough of a hypocrite to condemn another person for falling in love. Although…
A sudden thought struck him. “I would be quite pleased to visit with my cousin before I depart.”
“Oh, well, that is very good of you.” His aunt smiled, obviously hoping such a conversation would alter his mind about the engagement. “I shall have her
summoned.”
Darcy shook his head. “I would prefer a private conference with her. Is she in the yellow drawing room?” It was his cousin’s favorite room in the house.
“Yes, I believe so.” Aunt Catherine rang a little bell by her chair to summon a footman. “Naturally, you wish to see your cousin alone. I will have tea sent for you. Take as much time as you require.”
Perhaps she truly did not understand how transparent her maneuvers were. Darcy turned toward the door as a footman entered. “Of course. I bid you good day, madam.”
***
Darcy stayed at Darcy House in London rather than spend the night at Rosings Park. He planned to return to Hertfordshire the next day, but upon arriving at Darcy House, he discovered a message from his lawyer. Timson had located Lydia Bennet. Accordingly, the next morning Darcy found himself knocking on the door of a room in a tawdry inn in a part of London he would not customarily frequent. Ordinarily, he would hesitate to meet an unmarried woman in private, but he guessed that this inn was accustomed to its unaccompanied female guests receiving male visitors.
The face that greeted him when the door was opened was indeed Lydia Bennet’s. Her mouth formed a perfect “o” of surprise when she recognized him. “Mr. Darcy?”
“May I speak with you for a minute, Miss Lydia?”
She nodded warily and admitted him into the room, which was as tiny and shabby as he expected. Lydia, wearing a shapeless and none-too-clean gray dress, flopped onto a narrow bed before waving him toward the only chair.
After he settled himself, he scrutinized the young woman’s appearance. She seemed healthy enough, but Timson was correct in his guess that she was with child. Darcy estimated she was still some two or three months from her confinement. This limited her options, Darcy realized sadly. Although her return to Longbourn had never been likely, it would be unthinkable under the current circumstances. The Bennets had endured enough scorn over their wayward daughter.
Lydia shifted to prop her back against the headboard. “Well, why are you here?”
Darcy cleared his throat. “I would like to provide assistance to you, Miss Lydia.”
She could not have been more astonished if he had offered to fly her to the moon. “Assistance? Why?”
“I feel somewhat responsible for Wickham’s misdeeds. I knew he was a blackguard and did not warn your family about him. That allowed him to do you grievous wrong.”
Lydia’s lips flattened into a tense line. “I believed he loved me,” she said after a long pause.
How could Darcy respond to that? Would it help to know she was not his first victim? Or did she already suspect that?
Finally, Darcy settled for asking the obvious question. “Is the child his?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “I haven’t lain with anyone else. We would fight and he would leave for months at a time, but he always returned. Then four months ago, he learned about the babe. He was so agitated. He said he wouldn’t be back.” She recited these facts in a flat, unemotional voice, but tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. If Wickham had been present at that moment, Darcy would not have hesitated to strike him.
He took a deep breath. “My agent—the same man who located you—has discovered Wickham’s whereabouts. If you would like, I could…encourage him to marry you.”
Lydia’s eyes sparkled, but her voice was steady. “You mean…pay him?”
Whatever she had believed before, she certainly had no illusions about Wickham’s character now. “Yes.”
She gave a little laugh. “It’s funny. Four months ago, I would have leapt at that opportunity. I didn’t desire anything more from life than for George to be my husband. But I’ve been alone now longer than I’ve been with him. It hasn’t been good, but I have survived. And I wonder…why I would want a husband who must be paid. If George doesn’t care enough about me and the child to stay with us for our own sakes, a pot of money from you isn’t going to make him care, is it?” She stroked her swollen belly.
Darcy barely recognized the flighty girl he had known two years ago. Life—and Wickham—had shaped her into a world-weary woman. But I have changed as well, he realized. Even a few weeks ago, Darcy would have assumed that marrying Lydia to Wickham, the father of her child, was the proper—indeed the only—course. After glimpsing the world through Elizabeth’s and Georgiana’s eyes, however, he wondered if marriage through coercion would be in Lydia’s best interests.
“Is there someone else you prefer to marry?” he asked gently.
She snorted. “No. The whole sex can go hang as far as I’m concerned.”
Darcy took no offense; she had good reason for her distrust. “Unfortunately, I do not believe that you would be welcome at Longbourn.”
“No.” She rested her head wearily against the headboard.
“But I would be pleased to carry a message to your family.”
She sat bolt upright. “You are in contact with Longbourn?”
Darcy cursed himself; he should have mentioned that first. “I am. I hope to visit tomorrow.”
“Have you seen Mama and my sisters? Are they well?”
“They are all enjoying excellent health, although they worry about you.”
Lydia stared down at her hands. “That is very good of them. I should have written, but then I would have had to explain about George… And I just couldn’t.” She dabbed her eyes with a ratty handkerchief.
“I am certain they will understand.”
“Is that nasty Mr. Collins causing them any trouble?”
The old Lydia Bennet would not have given so much thought to her family’s well-being; adversity had matured her. “Some trouble, yes, but they are managing. I could carry letters if you would like to write them.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “That would be marvelous—and if they could write back…but I would not want them to know I am living here.”
“I would prefer to find you more…congenial lodgings,” Darcy said carefully.
She gave him a sad smile. “I should be too proud to accept your charity, but I am not. I thank you, Mr. Darcy.” She regarded him a little wistfully. “If only I could see my family again…but I cannot go to Meryton.”
“Perhaps I might arrange a clandestine meeting.”
She clapped her hands. “That would be just the thing!”
“But I would like to make arrangements for your future. If you do not wish to wed, what would you do? I could purchase a cottage for you—where you might start a new life as a widow.”
“I suppose there are enough widows about with the war and all,” Lydia mused, but she did not seem particularly taken with the idea.
“Did you have another idea in mind?”
She regarded him through lowered lashes, resembling a child who planned to request an outrageous Christmas present. “I always thought it would be very exciting to live in America.”
The idea shocked Darcy. Send a woman and a newborn across the ocean to a half-savage country? But, he reminded himself, plenty of families emigrated. He could easily pay for her passage and give her funds to start a new life. And then…well, America was a new country. It rewarded people who were rough in their manners but full of energy. Lydia Bennet might do very well there.
“That might be possible.” Lydia bounced on her bed—the first demonstration of her old ebullience. “But you must wait until after the child is born,” he cautioned.
“Of course.”
“After you are delivered of your child, if you still wish it, I will pay for safe passage and give you funds to start a new life in America.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, that would be wonderful! Thank you.” She made an abortive move to hug him but instead flopped backward on the bed, cradling her belly. “Do you hear that, baby? We are going to America!”
Darcy could only hope that Lydia’s family would understand his decision.
Chapter Seventeen
Darcy had only been away from Hertfordshire for two days, but it seemed far long
er. As his horse trotted through the gates of Longbourn, Darcy nearly vibrated with excitement. He could picture how Elizabeth’s face would light at the news about Lydia. Although Lydia was not in the best possible circumstances, her family would be pleased to know she was well. Already he was calculating how he might bring his carriage to Hertfordshire for the purpose of transporting the Bennet sisters to visit Lydia in London.
He had taken the girl to her relatives, the Gardiners, in Cheapside, who had welcomed her warmly. Lydia had been unwilling to stay with them for fear of bringing scandal upon the family, so they had helped Darcy arrange an apartment and a reliable housekeeper to care for her until she gave birth. Meanwhile, Darcy’s agent would make arrangements for her voyage to America.
Finally, he could bring some good news to the Bennet family. After months of offering help, he had finally fulfilled his promise. And although his visit to Rosings Park had not borne fruit, Darcy had an idea how he might turn events to benefit the Bennets.
But uppermost in Darcy’s mind was the memory of fine, dark eyes and a kiss so unreserved and passionate he had never desired its end. Could he steal another private moment with her? Would she permit another kiss? Such musings kept him eagerly spurring his mount forward all the way from London.
Darcy was so intent on reaching Longbourn Manor that he nearly missed a group of men clustered by the side of the road, not far past the gate. However, the sight caused him to rein in his horse once he noticed it. Weston was arguing with two farmers while Collins stood nearby, wringing his hands in agitation. Fearing that the tenants and Weston might come to blows, Darcy swung off his horse, tied it up, and strode over to the men. Surely Elizabeth would not be pleased by a brawl between the steward and tenants.
“Mr. Weston,” he said, keeping his tone mild, “is there a problem?”
“I’ll say there is!” the man snarled. “I don’t know what the scoundrel tenants think they are doing! This field is supposed to be planted with wheat, and well, you see it!”
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