The click of a latch interrupted their conversation, and Darcy looked about, wondering if he was hearing sounds that did not exist. Then, before his astonished eyes, a section of wall behind a bookshelf swung forward, and a man appeared in the gloom, stepping into the room. In his hand, he held a pistol.
Chapter XXXIX
Instinct took over the moment the man appeared in the room, as Darcy rose and put himself in front of Elizabeth, while his wife clutched the sheet around her slender form, hiding herself from the eyes of the intruder. For a long moment, no one spoke, the air charged with energy, like a sky laden with an approaching thunderstorm. Though the light was dim and the man’s face cast in shadows, Darcy did not miss the appreciative glance of the man, the lascivious glint in his eyes. Then his gaze returned to Darcy, a hint of challenge in their depths, and Darcy realized he knew the man.
“Wickham!” said he, recalling that day several months before when George Wickham, bold as brass, sat in the sitting-room, chatting with Georgiana as if he thought he owned Pemberley. He also recalled Fitzwilliam’s anger, commanding him to leave and not return, Thompson’s implacable contempt, and Fitzwilliam’s comments concerning the man and his character, and finally their discovery in the stables. And then there was no more question, the last piece of a difficult puzzle fitting into the last place.
“You remember me,” commented the man, his insouciance setting Darcy’s teeth to grinding. “I always excelled in making an impression.”
With a feral grin, Wickham turned away from Darcy and offered a bow to Elizabeth, a subtle mocking in his movements. “Mrs. Darcy. It pleases me to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure, Mr. Wickham, is most decidedlynotmutual.”
“Charming, madam,” said Wickham. “It seems you are a saucy one. If Darcy here is anything like his cousins, he is most staid and proper and a prude. I might wonder how a vivacious woman like yourself found herself caught up with such a man.”
“You have my apologies, Mr. Wickham, for I have no interest in discussing my reasons for marrying my husband, nor comparing him to you. By any measure, he outstrips you by a wide margin.”
“It matters little,” said Wickham with a shrug. “Perhaps we can become better acquainted later.”
“What do you want, Wickham?” demanded Darcy, determined to pull the libertine’s focus from his beloved wife.
“Oh, I think you knowexactly whatI want.
“It is unfortunate, you know,” continued Wickham in a conversational tone. “Your inheritance. I am certain you think the worst of me, but I have nothing against you.”
“But you had something against my cousin,” said Darcy.
Wickham shrugged again. “Jameson Darcy was a conceited coxcomb, but in truth, he was not a bad sort. He refused to be charmed, unlike his father, who thought the world of me. There was a time when I was young that I thought old Mr. Darcy loved me better and might leave the estate to me. Or maybe one of the smaller estates.”
“If you thought that, you are a fool,” growled Darcy. “No man with a property wishes to pass it down to a steward’s son, even if he had no sons of his own.”
The jibe did nothing to alter the man’s uncaring attitude. “I did not say that I considered it long—it was just the idle thoughts of a boy.”
“Then you killed my cousin, thinking you would worm your way into the estate. Georgiana was your means of doing so.”
Wickham did not confirm or deny the accusation—instead, he watched Darcy for a long moment. “The entailwasa surprise. I never knew about it.”
“It was all but unknown in society.”
“I wonder if my father knew,” mused Wickham. “As he was deep in Mr. Darcy’s counsels, he must have known, but he never mentioned it to me.
Wickham pushed the notion away. “It matters little. When I discovered Georgiana would not receive the estate, I pivoted.”
“You are in league with Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy.
“It took you long enough to realize it,” replied Wickham, thinking he was the shrewder man. “Fortunately, versatility is one of my virtues; otherwise I might have become... agitated.”
“How did you enter the house?” asked Darcy.
As the family had retired for the night, Darcy knew there was no help coming—he could rely on no one but himself to handle Wickham. With the pistol pointed in his direction, there appeared to be little he could do for the moment, but the longer he kept the other man talking, the better the odds became. The better chance Wickham might make a mistake, allowing Darcy to relieve him of the weapon.
“Pemberley has many secrets,” was Wickham’s cryptic reply. “As you are but new to the place, your knowledge is lacking, but in my youth, I took the trouble to discover as much of it as I could, never knowing how invaluable the information would become. It is fortunate that I did so.”
Darcy altered his stance a little, easing to the side, noting how Wickham’s pistol followed his movement. The other man appeared amused at his action, but for Darcy, it meant everything. Now Wickham could do nothing to hurt Elizabeth unless he went through Darcy, for he was directly in Wickham’s line of sight.
“Then why are you here?”
Wickham chuckled, shaking his head as if he thought the question was daft. “Come now, Darcy, you are not an unintelligent man. At one point, I thought Pemberley itself was ripe for the plucking, but the entail foiled my efforts. As I cannot have the estate, I will settle for something else.”
