Elizabeth studied his face, searching for signs of deception. “If what you say is true, why did your mother wait until now to contact me?”
“She believed you were safer in obscurity until you reached an age to claim your inheritance,” Wickham explained. “The terms of the settlement specify that you must stake your claim before your twenty-first birthday. Time grows short.”
“November first,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Precisely.” Wickham nodded.
Elizabeth was torn between desperate hope and nagging suspicion. “And what of your own interests in this matter, Lieutenant Wickham? Surely you do not assist me from pure altruism.”
“I gain nothing from Darcy keeping what is not rightfully his,” Wickham replied. “While William Darcy treated me as a son, the current Mr. Darcy has refused to acknowledge his obligations. If justice can be served while removing Darcy from his undeserved position, I confess I would find satisfaction in such an outcome.”
The logic was compelling. Wickham had every reason to oppose Darcy’s interests and none to protect them. Still, she hesitated
“I have no means to travel to Derbyshire,” Elizabeth admitted. “No funds, no protection, no ally willing to accompany me.”
“That, at least, I can remedy.” Wickham reached into his coat and withdrew a small leather purse. “Five pounds. Enough for a post-chaise to Lambton, where my mother will meet you and take you to Rose Cottage, to your first home whilst you were but a babe.”
Elizabeth stared at the purse, tempted despite the impropriety.Five pounds was not insignificant. “I thank you and swear I will repay you as soon as I have come into my inheritance.”
“Oh, I’m certain you will, Miss Elizabeth, and let us say, I have my reasons for wishing to see Fitzwilliam Darcy humbled,” Wickham smiled. “Justice for you would be… satisfying to observe.”
It was, Elizabeth realized, a devil’s bargain. Trust Wickham and risk walking into a trap, or remain at Longbourn and surrender to a life with Collins, forever wondering what might have been.
“I cannot return to Longbourn,” she said at last. “Not with Mr. Collins waiting to claim me.”
“Then the choice seems clear,” Wickham replied. “My mother can offer sanctuary at Rose Cottage while you gather what you need. She has connections among the Pemberley staff who remember your parents fondly. Your father was generous and kind, and your mother was a beauty, full of wit.”
Elizabeth’s heart raced at the mention of her parents. She yearned to learn more about them, to walk where they had lived and died, and speak to those who had known them.
“I would need to depart immediately,” she said slowly. “Today, before my family discovers my intentions.”
“A post-chaise can be arranged within the hour,” Wickham assured her. “I can provide a respectable companion to escort you and ensure your safe departure.”
“You are too kind, Lieutenant Wickham. I accept your mother’s assistance, and I thank you for your kindness in facilitating it.”
Wickham’s smile was triumphant. “You have made the right choice, Miss Elizabeth. My mother will be delighted to finally fulfill her duty to your family. As for your family here, leave a letter explaining that you’ve gone to visit distant relations for your health,” Wickham suggested. “To be delivered after your departure, of course. By the time they realize the truth, you will be well on your way to claiming your birthright.”
Elizabeth nodded, though the deception left a bitter taste. She waited beneath the inn’s sheltering eaves while Wickham arrangedher passage, watching as he charmed the innkeeper and secured a post-chaise with remarkable efficiency. She tried to ignore the small voice in her mind that whispered warnings about trusting a man she barely knew with her life and future. She had exhausted every respectable option, and Wickham’s offer was the only path that led anywhere beyond Collins’s parsonage and a lifetime of regret.
There was no turning back. For better or worse, she had chosen her path.
Elizabeth Rose Darcy was going home to Pemberley.
CHAPTER TEN
A ROADSIDE ENCOUNTER
Darcy closedhis eyes as he settled against the squabs of his traveling carriage. Escape had never tasted so sweet. The sway of his carriage along the Derbyshire road provided the first moments of peace he had experienced in weeks. Netherfield had become intolerable, with its crush of local society and Caroline Bingley’s relentless attentions. Bingley, it seemed, attended less to estate management than to the local gossip, especially the incessant buzz of Elizabeth Bennet’s upcoming nuptials with her cousin, the insufferable parson named Collins.
Not that Miss Bennet’s misfortunes impinged on him, other than his father’s deathbed warning. Surely misapplied to the Bennets of Hertfordshire. They were loud, uncouth, unfashionable, and possessing little wisdom and even smaller harm. Only Elizabeth was tolerable with her natural wit and those sparkling eyes. However, she would be married in a fortnight, if Charles’s intelligence could be believed. As a second daughter of a country gentleman of no consequence, what could her marital arrangements matter to Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley? Yet the news had left him with a weight ofmelancholy, so unusual to his usual stoic acceptance of matters better left alone.
“Sir?” Vernon, his valet, interrupted his brooding. “There appears to be a disabled carriage ahead.”
Darcy straightened, peering through the rain-streaked window at a post-chaise listing heavily to one side. It was a hired coach of low quality, splattered with mud. What was left of the rear left wheel was embedded in thick mud. Darcy’s first instinct was to instruct his driver to continue without stopping. The last thing he desired was further human interaction.
But duty and breeding prevailed. “We shall stop, of course. There may be ladies in distress.”
As his carriage slowed, a face appeared at the window of the disabled vehicle—a face that sent a jolt of recognition through him. Impossible. It could not be. Yet there was no mistaking those remarkable dark eyes and that intelligent countenance.
