They walked on for some time, enjoying the cool breeze and the winter sunshine. “I do not know, Miss Elizabeth. I confess I still believe, and please do not take this the wrong way, but your parents and family had the most to gain from this alliance.”
“No offense is taken, Mr Darcy. I agree. Yet I am confident in my mother’s innocence, and no one else in my family would have thought of arranging a compromise. My father is not so heedless, and certainly none of my sisters would consider such a thing,” Elizabeth said. She sighed. “I am very sorry, Mr Darcy. Though I had no intention of standing idly by while you are trapped into marrying me, the plan is not going quite as I had hoped. I cannot seem to think of what to do next.”
Darcy said nothing for a long moment. He was beginning to think that he would not be too upset at being trapped, as she put it. Indeed, he had started to look forward to the day they would say their vows. Yet her feelings were all too clear. Though Elizabeth kindly phrased her hesitations as wishing to grant him his freedom, she surely meant that she desired her own. Delay would, perhaps, be for the best. If investigating who had tried to trick them would give him more time to show his worthiness to Elizabeth, then he would welcome it.
Elizabeth stopped when they came to a towering oak tree at the edge of the Longbourn property. The house was still visible, giving an air of respectability to their walk. Anyone who looked from the windows would be able to see them, though the distance was great enough to allow them to speak freely. “Miss Elizabeth, you seem to be in distress. Is there something that is bothering you?”
She looked up at him, her dark eyes sending thrills through him. He was not sure how she did it with one simple look. But his heart burned within him. “There is something, and I am afraid to say it. It is a matter that has caused some upset before.”
“And what is that, pray tell?” Darcy asked.
“Mr Wickham,” Miss Elizabeth said. She looked away and paced underneath the bare tree branches. She wrung her hands, as if even mentioning the man’s name caused her pain. “I know you think I encouraged him that day on the road, but I did not.”
Darcy closed the distance between them. “I do not think that. Not anymore. Please forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. When I saw him with you, kissing your hand, it brought back every foul memory I have had to endure at his hands. I was rash and foolish, but I acted out of worry for you, that he was trying to work the same kind of ill upon you.” He took her hand. “Your hands are cold,” he whispered.
She gasped softly, nodding. “I thank you for your concern,” she replied. He held her hand for a long moment. It was a luxury that he ought not to allow himself, if the engagement were to be dissolved, and yet Darcy could not bring himself to let go. After a moment, Elizabeth seemed to remember herself. She drew her hands away and wrapped them in the folds of her shawl. “Mr Darcy, though I hate to say it, I was wrong. At first, I believed Mr Wickham to be a man of amiable temper and upright character. However, if he would attempt to flirt with another man’s wife, I must conclude that my first impressions of him were entirely mistaken.”
Darcy warmed to hear her call herself his wife. Perhaps it was time to share the details of what had happened between Mr Wickham and Georgiana — the whole truth. Yet could he truly hope to be believed?
He could not think of that now. Mr Wickham had nearly ruined Georgiana. It seemed all too likely that he would gladly do the same to Elizabeth if he could. And yet…
Thunder rolled overhead, and they looked up in unison. Dark, grey clouds had moved in while they had been talking, and the wind had picked up in preparation for the coming rain. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside?” he suggested.
“Yes. We can go into the east parlour. We will not be disturbed there,” Elizabeth said. She took his arm when he offered it, and they walked back to the house in easy silence. Darcy rolled his shoulders to loosen them, his decision made. No matter how Elizabeth interpreted his motives for telling her of the scandal between Wickham and Georgiana, the truth could not wait.
Chapter 17
Elizabeth led Mr Darcy back into Longbourn with a mixture of relief and unease. The relief was for escaping the rising storm — the unease, for what Mr Darcy was about to say next. His expression clearly showed that the conversation would not be an easy one. The east parlour was warm and cosy compared with the drizzle of rain that started to fall as they reached the house. The fire crackled cheerily, chasing some of her anxiety away. She was grateful they had come in, for just as they had entered, the sky cracked with thunder, and the clouds let forth their bounty, sending rain thundering down in earnest. Elizabeth sat down near the hearth and called for another pot of tea to be brought.
“Is all well? I am sorry your walk was cut short by the rain, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet asked as she poked her head into the parlour. “Thank goodness you had the sense to come back in time. Will you not rejoin the rest of us?”
“No, Mama. Thank you. Mr Darcy and I have some things to discuss.” Elizabeth folded her hands demurely in her lap.
“Oh, of course. I suppose there is nothing amiss with that, since you are engaged now. I shall send Cook in with the fresh pot of tea shortly.” Her mother gave her a concerned, albeit curious, look and then left the room.
“We shouldn’t be disturbed any further. I apologise for my mother. I know it may seem that she is a busybody, but she is only concerned for our welfare.” Elizabeth looked out the window and wished that they had been able to continue their walk. She sensed that whatever Mr Darcy had to reveal about Mr Wickham, it would not be pleasant, and he would not want listening ears to overhear.
“I shall try to convey the matter with as much tact as is possible. But I will warn you, the things I am about to tell you will shock you, even disgust you. However, I do not speak of them to besmirch an innocent man. I will not try to sway you. I will tell you the facts, and you can decide for yourself if my treatment of Mr Wickham is just.”
Elizabeth nodded her consent, then steeled herself for something very grave indeed. “I will do my best to listen without bias.”
Mr Darcy seemed to be relieved. After a deep breath, he began his tale. “Mr Wickham grew up almost in my own household. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that my father doted on him. The elder Mr Wickham was my father’s steward, and my father took a liking to the son almost as soon as they had been introduced. He could not have been more than five or six years old at the time.”
Elizabeth could not help the shock that surely was apparent on her face. “You grew up with Mr Wickham?”
“Indeed. I see that is a surprise to you, and I can understand it, given the cold greetings you have seen pass between us on the rare occasions when we meet.”
“I am indeed surprised,” Elizabeth agreed. “But please, go on. I said I would not interrupt, and already I have.”
“Do not fret about that,” Mr Darcy went on. “My father paid for his schooling and even sent him to Cambridge. When Mr Wickham came of age, my father promised him a living on the estate — a nearby parish — that would have done very well for a respectable young man, had he wished to go into the church.” Mr Darcy sighed and was about to go on when a knock announcing the fresh pot of tea was ready. Elizabeth hurried to the door, took the small tray from the maid, and closed the door again. She set the tray down and nodded for him to continue as she poured.
“My father had hoped that Mr Wickham would join the church, take holy orders, and settle down at the parish on the estate. However, I never felt that Mr Wickham was destined for the church, and knew from his character that it would not be a good fit for him. He is too wild — ” Mr Darcy again looked away. “Forgive me. I have promised to give no opinions, only the facts.”
Elizabeth could not help but admire his hesitation to speak ill of Mr Wickham, where obviously there was a history of hurt and resentment between them.
Mr Darcy went on. “His father passed away, and my own soon after. When my father was gone, Mr Wickham quickly came to me and demanded the value of the living, instead of taking holy orders. I gave it to him, thinking it a reasonable solution, as I was confident that Mr Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. It amounted to three thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth gasped inwardly at such a sum. Mr Darcy had certainly been generous.
