“Was he really so very bad?” Anna asked innocently.
Before his son could respond to his sister and knowing William would think he was protecting Anna by not telling her the truth, Darcy replied, “Yes, Anna dear, he was. George Wickham is not a good man, in fact he is quite the opposite, and I can only thank goodness I woke up to that fact before it was too late.”
“When you are a little older we will share more of the facts with you, but in the meanwhile do not forget that regardless of his ability to charm, George Wickham is not to be trusted,” Lady Anne added.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
When Hertfordshire was informed his wife had ordered a tray rather than coming to break her fast in the breakfast parlour, he allowed the disrespect to pass, for now at least.
As he sat and ate copious amounts of food, he began readingThe Times of London. Other than the announcement of his wedding, there was nothing more on the subject. He thought it his right to have his marriage trumpeted for all to read about, but accepted it would not be so, unless he purchased the newspaper of course.
Wickham watched nervously as His Grace came toThe Tatler. There was no doubt the reaction to the article in that and in other gossip rags would be an explosion of anger. He had predicted accurately.
When the Duke read the drivel in the gossip rag, he picked up his plate and flung it across the room.
As he had not anticipated this reaction, Wickham did not duck in time and the plate hit him on his lip, just below his nose. Blood started to pour out of his split upper lip, but for the moment all he could do was to dab it with his handkerchief. If he moved before His Grace gave him leave to do so, his punishment would be grave, especially in the mood the Duke was currently displaying.
“I will beat that impertinent wife of mine! No one makes me a laughing stock and survives to tell about it!” The Duke tried to stand up on his own—unsuccessfully.
As two footmen approached the raging man, Wickham knew he had to speak. “Your Grace, if you will allow me to remind you why you chose her and why, as you have stated many times, you need to wait for an heir before you take your pleasure with her,” Wickham stated as clearly as he could with the blood still dripping from his wound.
The Duke waved the footmen away. He hated to admit it, but Wickham had the right of it. He reread the column and saw there was much more scorn heaped on his head besides his wife’s inattentiveness.
He thought about possibly buying this and all the gossip rags. It was something to contemplate another time. As his fury receded, he noticed the blood on his man’s face and clothing.
“Why would you stand before me like that?” Hertfordshire demanded.
Knowing reminding the Duke why he looked the way he did would gain him nothing other than possible punishment, Wickham held his peace on that subject. “By your leave, Your Grace, I will go wash up and change. Please accept my abject apologies.”
With a dismissive wave of the Duke’s hand, Wickham left for his room to fix himself up.
‘At some point, the money will not be worth the abuse I have to put up with from this man,’ Wickham thought as he climbed the servants’ stairs to the sixth floor where his room was located.
Chapter 12
Lady Morag McIntire visited Hertfordshire House for the final practice session before Her Grace was to be presented to the Queen.
She had much sympathy for the very young Duchess. Without Lady Elizabeth saying so in words, Lady Morag was positive she had not married the horrible man by choice, but had somehow been forced into it.
Knowing how the Duke liked to leverage people to do his bidding, the Countess suspected it had been something along those lines that had led this young girl—for that is what she was—to marry such a man. Not for the first time Lady Morag gave thanks to on high for the fact her daughter was safely married. She was certain had Skye still been single, the Duke would have used the vowels he held to force a marriage to himself.
The Countess could not know if the leverage had been applied to the family or the girl herself. She would not be surprised if it were the latter because there were no depths to which the man would not sink.
There was no way to have a private conversation with the Duchess to confirm or refute the Countess’s suspicions as they were never left alone. Either that Wickham man—as he was now—or one of the Duke’s other lackeys were within hearing distance so the most the two would talk about were inconsequential subjects.
“You are ready, Your Grace,” Lady Morag announced after the last practice was completed. The young girl learned fast and walked with a certain amount of confidence.
“Thank you for all of your assistance, your Ladyship,” Elizabeth replied.
She relished these sessions each day as they allowed her contact with one who was nothimor someone he employed. In their fortnight of marriage, much to her chagrin he had come to her, but not every night, so that was a small blessing. Elizabeth would take them where she could.
How Elizabeth missed Jane, her other three sisters, her aunts, and her uncles. Communication with Gracechurch Street was by letter. At first,hehad wanted to read her incoming and even her outgoing letters.
At least she had won the concession—by reminding him of what he agreed to in the settlement. Her post would be delivered directly to her and no one else, including her hated husband.
There was a thick letter from Janey waiting for her in her chambers.
“Did you say your dress for the presentation was delivered yesterday?” Lady Morag asked in her Scottish brogue.
