Jane shook her head. “No, I do not suppose I could.”
“If you think about it,” said Elizabeth, an amusing notion coming to her, “I can boast the distinction of receiving possibly the two worst proposals in history. Mr. Collins, with his simpering assurances and reasons for marrying, and Mr. Darcy’s arrogance and utter confidence thatnowoman in her right mind would refuse him.”
By the time Elizabeth enumerated the faults of the two proposals she had rejected, Jane was laughing openly as she had intended. “Should Mr. Bingley propose to you, I hope he gives a better account of himself than either of my suitors. I had stupidity and arrogance to deal with—I might wonder what will characterize my next proposal.”
“I would hope that Mr. Darcy—for I am certain he will offer for you again—would acquit himself better next time.”
“Yes, I certainly hope so.”
Jane regarded her seriously. “Is there a chance he will succeed?”
“There is always a chance, Jane,” replied Elizabeth. “I cannot say at this moment that I wish to accept him, but he has grown in my esteem these past days. That is all I could ever want, so we shall see what comes of it.”
“Then I shall hope your Mr. Darcy displays himself to his best advantage.”
“Heavens, no!” cried Elizabeth. “I wish to know him at his worst, for if he makes me enamored with him when he is behaving well, when the inevitable difficulties arise, I will not know if I can endure him!”
“How you carry on, Lizzy,” said Jane, fixing her with a fond smile. “Do you not suppose you have already seen Mr. Darcy at his worst?”
“You are correct,” acknowledged Elizabeth. “That gives me hope.”
“Allow him to make his case, Lizzy. If you do and he impressesyou, then you will have no reason to refuse and shall be happy in life.”
“I hope so, Jane,” replied Elizabeth.
Wickham’s complaints and pleas for mercy were nothing Darcy had not expected. Though he had seemed resigned to his fate the day they visited him in Meryton’s jail, it was not in Wickham’s nature to submit to anything he did not like. To spend the next twenty years of his life working to pay for his crimes was anathema to a man who had never done a minute’s work if he could avoid it.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam were on hand when Meryton’s burly deputies escorted him from the cell into the prison wagon for his final journey on British soil, and while the men were too capable and intimidating for Wickham to make a bid for his freedom, that did not still Wickham’s tongue. It was no trouble to ignore him as Wickham should have known—what they had told him in that jail cell was no less than the truth.
“Well, Darcy?” asked Fitzwilliam when they entered the carriage that was to precede the wagon to the city. “How do you feel about this business now?”
“Very little, in fact,” replied Darcy, knowing his cousin was looking for any hint of regret. “Wickham has been a millstone around my family’s neck for so long that the prospect of being free of him is strange. That does not make it any less welcome, of course, but it is still unfamiliar.”
“Is that all?” pressed Fitzwilliam.
“If you are asking whether I have any regrets, you know I do. Those regrets, however, are not for anything other than what I might have done to curb Wickham. I might have informed my father of his character, or I might even have done something about him after my father’s passing. That does not change Wickham’s culpability for making the choices that led him tothis end.”
Fitzwilliam regarded him and offered a slow nod. “Good. Based on your character, Darcy, it would not surprise me if you had taken this more to heart and blamed yourself.”
“Not at all,” snorted Darcy at the very notion. “There is only one place to lay the blame—it is not my cross to bear, nor are the consequences. Wickham may learn something from his experiences in the coming years.”
“If I know him—and I do—he will learn nothing,” said Fitzwilliam.
“Then that too will be on his own head.”
Fitzwilliam fell silent then, allowing Darcy to sink into his thoughts. He was pensive, for while he was being entirely truthful, a certain miasma of regret lingered about Darcy’s mind. Darcy’s father had possessed high hopes for Wickham’s future and had provided for him with that in mind. Wherever he was, Darcy knew his father was not happy with what Wickham had become.
Would Robert Darcy have had any success in reforming Wickham had Darcy revealed all to him? Darcy was of two minds about it, for his father’s attachment to Wickham had been steady, and Wickham had presented himself to the best advantage before his patron. Had Darcy persuaded his father to believe him, it was entirely possible that Wickham would have affected reformation but taken more care to hide his wrongdoing, even from Darcy. What might have happened had Wickham convinced even Darcy himself of his goodness he could not say, but the notion made him shudder. With such advantages, Wickham might have had the Darcy family at his mercy—he might have even spirited Georgiana away to a life with a dissipative and unfaithful husband.
It was, of course, useless to consider what might have been. It was better to focus on the here and now rather than anynebulous regrets following pathways of possibility. Darcy did not intend to allow himself such destructive thoughts, for the situation was what it was, and nothing could change it. Better to allow such things to fade into the dustbin of history along with Wickham himself.
The ship on which Wickham was to depart was a vessel built with the transportation of prisoners in mind. It was a large, two-masted ship, its lines strong rather than sleek, with what appeared to be ample cargo space. It would need to carry significant cargo for the journey, from England down the coast of France, Spain, and Africa, then around the cape—and this was not even half the distance they would travel! There were a few safe ports along the way, but they were not plentiful, and the ship may even be required to dodge raiders or pirates along the way.
The captain was a wiry man, his gait the rolling stride of a man accustomed to the motion of a ship under his feet, his men large and capable looking. It appeared they were waiting for Wickham, for the moment the carriage followed by the wagon arrived, they lost no time in taking custody of him, bustling him below decks before he could make much of a fuss. Wickham said nothing, surprising him; Darcy did not think enough of his former friend to bid him farewell forever.
“Aye, we secure all the prisoners in their cells below decks,” said the captain when Fitzwilliam asked after the conditions on the ship. “We do not coddle them by any means, but we treat them well and keep them fed. The overseers in the penal colony do not appreciate sickly prisoners.”
The captain seemed to think it a good jest, for he let out a hearty guffaw, which Fitzwilliam and Darcy did not match.
