She appeared to understand Elizabeth had made the comment more for something to say than any apprehension that Pemberley’s staff was not capable of ensuring the maximum enjoyment for her guests.
“It is excellent, as usual. Can I assume you allowed Mrs. Reynolds to handle the particulars? You could not have known the room I usually stay in when I visit.”
“For such matters as those, yes, I allowed her to act as she saw fit.”
Miss de Bourgh nodded and turned to look about the room wistfully. “One day, I thought I would be the mistress of this estate.”
Having some notion of what she was thinking, it was no surprise when she spoke. Not wishing to offend, Elizabeth thought about her answer before replying.
“I can see how that might be a shock.”
“Do not concern yourself, Mrs. Darcy,” said Miss de Bourgh, turning back to her with something almost like a smile. “As I told you before, I would have wedmycousin, but I had no intention of vying foryourhusband. Mama might speak of the benefits of uniting Rosings and Pemberley, but I did not even know Mr. Darcy.”
“To own the truth,” said Elizabeth, “when your mother was here making her case, I never considered what your opinion was.”
“Nor should you have. I was unknown to you—for all you knew, I might have been an image of my mother.”
Elizabeth nodded but did not speak. Miss de Bourgh needed no prompting to continue.
“I thought to inform you that I do not begrudge you the position you now hold. Rosings is mine, and I am content with it. Please accept my best wishes for your happiness and success—Pemberley is an excellent house and deserves proper stewardship.”
“Those are my thoughts exactly,” replied Elizabeth, pleased that rancor did not lie between them.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Miss de Bourgh, glancing around to ensure no one overheard them, leaned a little closer to Elizabeth.
“You would not know, as we have not announced it yet, but I am to marry Anthony.”
That was a surprise. “I had no notion. There did not appear to be anything between you.”
Miss de Bourgh nodded. “The marriage is not a love match, though I am fond of Anthony and know he feels the same for me. My mother never thought a season was necessary, as she was determined I would marry my cousin Darcy. When Darcy perished, she transferred her hopes to your husband. I have attended events this past season, but to own the truth, I have no patience for the displays required in the first circles.”
“It is a prudent match,” ventured Elizabeth.
“Entirely prudent,” agreed Miss de Bourgh. “Anthony, though he appears to lack seriousness, is a conscientious man who will do well both managing Rosings and my mother. He is ayounger son in need of a wife possessing a fortune, and I need a husband, one fit to my needs. I believe we will do well together.”
“Then I am pleased for you,” said Elizabeth, pressing Miss de Bourgh’s hands. “Since the first moment I met him, I understood his quality. And any man who marries you must have the stamina to resist the irresistible force that is your mother.”
“Exactly,” said Miss de Bourgh, this time a wide smile forming.
Elizabeth followed her gaze to Colonel Fitzwilliam and noticed him watching them. With exaggerated slowness, he winked at them and turned back to William, whose eyes were also on them, though on Elizabeth far more than her companion. Having witnessed the exchange, Elizabeth wondered if Miss de Bourgh was more emotionally invested in Colonel Fitzwilliam than she thought, but she would never make such a claim.
“As our husbands are excellent friends, we will be in company often,” said Miss de Bourgh, drawing Elizabeth’s eyes back to her. “In light of that, I think it would be advisable to dispense with formality.”
“If that is agreeable to you, I have no objection.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” said Anne. “I hope we shall be friends.”
As Anne walked away, Elizabeth reflected on their conversation. Elizabeth thought the path to friendship was open, but she did not suppose it would be an especially close friendship. Anne was an estimable sort of woman, so Elizabeth had no objection.
IN THE ENSUING DAYS, events moved apace. Mr. Wickham was in prison in Lambton and would never leave it as a free man, and the earl arranged for Mrs. Younge to join her confederatein the north. No one cared enough for either to speculate on the conversations that passed between two condemned prisoners in adjoining cells, but Darcy suspected they were not at all cordial now, when remorse and rage had no more meaning.
“When we confronted her,” said the earl, “I said her only chance to avoid the hangman’s noose was to confess at once, but I cannot ignore her part in this.”
“She confessed knowing the chances were not good,” said Fitzwilliam. “I would be put out with you if you spared the life of a woman who was just as much the cause of my cousin’s death as her paramour.”
The earl nodded, and that was the last anyone said on the subject in Darcy’s hearing. It was less than two weeks later that the pair stood in a court, the evidence against them and the word of an earl leaving no possibility of any other outcome. The sentence was carried out two days later.
Darcy did not feel satisfaction, but relief. A man’s ability to protect his family was all he had, threats against those he loved personal, uncertainty a blow to his equanimity. As Darcy had no background with Wickham other than a few meetings in less than ideal circumstances, he had no memories to tug at him and no sympathy to intervene. Wickham had been a man who had murdered his cousin, had terrorized his family, and for that alone, his absence from the world was welcome.
