The fire crackled softly in the cottage’s small sitting room as evening settled over Matlock. Mr Wickham sat in his usual chair, wrapped in quilts despite the warmth from the hearth, whilst Darcy occupied the seat beside him. The old man’s breathing had grown more laboured since his collapse, each rise and fall of his chest a reminder of how precious their remaining time together had become.
“You fuss over me like a mother hen,” Mr Wickham observed with a weak smile as Darcy adjusted his blankets yet again. “Georgiana does the same. I shall be perfectly well with a bit of rest.”
“The physician said you must avoid exertion,” Darcy replied, though they both knew such precautions would only delay the inevitable.
“Physicians always say such things. Now stop fretting and tell me what troubles you so deeply. You have carried some burden since your arrival, and it grows heavier each day I observe you.”
Darcy’s hands stilled on the blanket edge. “It is nothing that cannot be managed.”
“Nonsense. You forget I have known you since boyhood. When distress weighs upon you, every line of your face betraysit.” Mr Wickham’s voice carried the gentle authority of a father who would not be denied. “What has happened?”
The words pressed against Darcy’s lips like caged birds desperate for flight. “Elizabeth and I… we kissed today. Truly kissed, for the first time.”
Mr Wickham’s expression grew puzzled. “And this distresses you why? She is your wife.”
“That is precisely why it distresses me. It was our first kiss. The very first time we have shared such intimacy since our marriage.”
The silence that followed stretched until the old man spoke again. “I am at a loss. How can you not have kissed your bride before today? And why have you told me so little about the true circumstances of your marriage? You speak as though you were strangers when you wed.”
Darcy’s throat constricted. “The truth involves your son.”
“George?” Mr Wickham straightened in his chair despite his weakness. “What has George to do with your marriage to Elizabeth?”
“I cannot burden you with this knowledge. Your health—”
“My health be damned. If my son is connected to whatever brought you and Elizabeth together, I have every right to know. Out with it, Fitzwilliam.”
The command in the old man’s voice broke through Darcy’s resolve.
“George appeared at the Hartford estate whilst I was serving as steward,” he began. “He had abandoned his living and was seeking opportunities for advancement.”
“What manner of opportunities?”
“The sort that would elevate his position through compromising a young lady of quality.” The words tasted like poison in Darcy’s mouth. “I tried to warn him away from the family, particularly from Elizabeth, but he would not listen.”
Mr Wickham’s face had gone ashen. “Continue.”
“During their ball, I watched him, knowing he meant mischief. When Elizabeth went into the garden alone, he followed her. He propositions her, she declined and thus she left for the garden. George took advantage and followed her. He attempted to kiss her, to provoke her into a compromising situation.”
“Good heavens.”
“I fought him off, but we were discovered in what appeared to be a difficult position—Elizabeth dishevelled, myself helping her to her feet.”
“And George?”
“Vanished into the night like the coward he has always been.” Darcy’s voice grew stronger, fuelled by long-suppressed anger. “He hid at my cottage and when I confronted him, he begged me not to tell anyone what I had seen. That it would be the death of you if he were to be arrested. I hated letting him go but I feared for your health. Anyway, I was questioned by Lord Hartford and I claimed the darkness prevented clear identification. Elizabeth was certain it was your son, but without my corroboration…”
“She was made to doubt her own memory.” The horror in Mr Wickham’s voice cut through Darcy like a blade. “And you allowed this deception rather than speak the truth?”
“I feared the knowledge would destroy you. Your heart, your health—I could not bear to be the instrument of your death. I thought it would be a simple lie that would soon pass but then Lord Hartford insisted I marry Elizabeth as without George’s testimony, we could not prove that I merely meant to protecter her, that I was not the one who compromised her.”
Mr Wickham’s hands trembled as he gripped the arms of his chair. “You are about to give me apoplexy, but not because of what George has done. Because of what you have done.”
The words struck Darcy hard.
“I always expected George to disappoint me,” the old man continued. “He has been failing to meet even modest expectations since he learned to walk. But you, Fitzwilliam—you were the boy I trusted to always choose what was right, no matter the personal cost.”
“I was trying to protect you—”
