“Those were my sentiments. I never wished to inherit Pemberley, and certainly not through such despicable means.”
“Yet you now have no choice,” said Elizabeth.
William shrugged. “Pemberley is now my responsibility. I will not shirk it.”
“Of course, you will not,” said Elizabeth, regarding the best man of her acquaintance with affection. “It is not in your nature to do anything other than your utmost duty.”
With a nod, William fell into contemplation, and after a few moments, spoke again. “Do you suppose we should have told the girls more than we did? Would it not be best to ensure they are on their guard to the maximum extent?”
“They are not deficient, William. Even Lydia, the most oblivious of them, is aware that there is some danger. I think we struck the correct tone, warning them of the possibility of danger to ensure they take care, but not speaking of the specifics. How do you suppose Georgiana would feel if we told her that her brother was murdered?”
The sigh with which he responded seemed to carry the weight of the world. “There is no reason to tell Georgiana anything more than she already knows. I would not wish to speak of matters ofwhich we have only suspicion and no proof. If it is false, we will have upset her for no reason.”
“Yes, I agree. Let us cease to question ourselves, for we have done the best we could.”
The scene from earlier in the day returned to Elizabeth’s mind, and she could not help the giggle that escaped her lips, drawing her husband’s attention. William raised an eyebrow, a clear invitation to explain her thoughts. Elizabeth did not hesitate.
“It is just the way Miss Bingley acted tonight, especially after dinner. Why, I declare she was all but hovering over the girls.”
A chuckle escaped her husband’s lips. “I would not have taken her for the protective type.”
“Not at all! It appears there are unplumbed depths to our dear Miss Bingley.”
“Yes, I suppose there are.”
Elizabeth attempted a pout, though she was certain her trembling lips gave her mirth away to her perceptive husband. “Do you regret your rejection of all she offers?”
“No,” said William, drawing her close to him. “I have mentioned it before, Mrs. Darcy, but not only am I as happy as I can be with you, but I will not give you up for anything.”
“That is good, because I feel the same way.”
That night, those at Pemberley slept fitfully, for a storm appeared to be raging on the horizon. Elizabeth suspected it may yet break over the estate. Should they capture the odious Mr. Wickham before he could make his move, they would all rest easier. The man had proven himself a cunning foe, however, such that she suspected it would not be a simple task.
Whatever else happened, Elizabeth was determined that he would not prevail. Though William would do his utmost to protect her, their family, and their unborn child, Elizabeth was resolved that she would not be a passive bystander, a pawn inwhatever Mr. Wickham’s game was. When the moment came, Elizabeth would be ready, and she would act to protect them all from the man’s attacks.
Chapter XXXVII
Journeying to London was a bother and no mistake. The comforts of Pemberley were such that anyone would prefer to remain there rather than endure three days of travel and one hundred and fifty miles of road, however well maintained. Anthony Fitzwilliam was no stranger to discomfort, for hehadspent years in the army, after all; there had been many times in many locations when he had bivouacked in uncomfortable circumstances, even sleeping under the open sky with only a tree between himself and the elements.
Fitzwilliam did not complain; he would do anything to protect his family, and even if Georgiana were not involved, Fitzwilliam now considered Darcy and his lovely wife to be part of the family. There was something estimable about them both, consisting of intelligence, compassion, humility, and friendship that called to him. Fitzwilliam was not unaware that his affinity for Fitzwilliam Darcy was even greater than that he held for Jameson Darcy, though they had been close, as Jameson had been a complex man, one difficult to understand or know with any intimacy. Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a better man, but he was easier to jest with, easier to know than his cousin had been.
There was something praiseworthy about the whole Bennet family, for even if they were naught but country gentry, they were more real than many a baron or lady of society who considered herself fashionable and sophisticated. Even the youngest girls, still too young to be in society to own the truth, were good girls and had become great friends withGeorgiana. Though his acquaintance with them had proceeded from a tragedy that now appeared to have more sinister causes, Fitzwilliam could not deny he felt improved by the circumstances that had led to his knowing them.
The business of Wickham was a shock, but now that he considered—three days’ travel with nothing to do but sit astride a horse did wonders for a man’s perspective—Wickham’s involvement should have been obvious. The intruder in the house, for one, a man who appeared to know the layout, should have rung bells, leading to at least the suspicion of Wickham’s involvement. How Mrs. Younge had become acquainted with George Wickham, he did not know, but he meant to squeeze every detail from her. Before he confronted her, Fitzwilliam needed leverage, and the only place to acquire it was at Darcy’s house.
“Anthony,” greeted his father when he arrived at the house on the third day of his travels. “You made good time to London.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “With my trusty steed and no need to pace myself, I departed early in the mornings and stopped late into the night.” With a rueful shake of his head, he added: “My horse will require several days of rest before I can ride him again, but he is a good beast and did not complain about the pace we set.”
His father nodded. “What of this business that brought you here? Do you suppose that wastrel Wickham is involved?”
“It makes sense,” said Fitzwilliam. “Allow me to change, and I shall explain matters to you. I mean to visit her today, though not until after I have a go at her room in Darcy’s house.”
Appreciating his father’s willingness to allow him to refresh himself and not delay him with useless questions, Fitzwilliam returned to the study within fifteen minutes of leaving it. Though it was only a few moments, Fitzwilliam felt almosthuman again after three days of the motion of a horse under him, the dust of the road, and the heat of the sun on his back.
With an economy of words and knowing his time was limited, Fitzwilliam spoke of their conjectures, explaining the steps that had led them to their conclusions. His father, a seasoned politician who understood the value of listening, did not comment until he completed his account. When he spoke, he did not waste time with useless protestations.
“There are more than a few assumptions and leaps of logic, but itisplausible. What do you mean to do about it?”
