Thinking of that reminded him of another problem that plagued her—her young sister being permitted to go to Brighton with the regiment. She had mentioned it to him, and he had overheard her speak of it to Fitzwilliam; he had also heard bits of it himself in various conversations.
Mr Bennet was the picture of a gentleman at ease at the end of the long table, a glass of port in front of him as he chatted with Mr Simpson and Sir William Lucas. Beholding them, Darcy felt a pang of guilt. Yes, he had saved the Darcy name, but what of these other men, with their daughters, who had no idea what George Wickham was? Everything they allowed for Wickham—to dine in their homes, to dance with their daughters, to be received by their wives—was because Darcy had kept the man’s true nature hidden from them.
In the end, the confession was almost fated, such was the arrangement. Mr Bennet’s companions left him while he remained seated, obviously not eager to return to the ladies.
Darcy rose with his cousin, then said, “I shall be a minute,” and gestured to him to go on.
Elizabeth’s father seemed surprised when Darcy asked whether he might join him, but he nodded and offered the port from the decanter that rested by him. “Nights at the Simpsons’ run long. Best to keep your glass full.” He poured them both a generous glass, then took a sip and regarded Darcy curiously, no doubt wondering at his sudden wish to speak to him.
“I understand,” Darcy said, after a sip from his own glass, “that Miss Lydia will be off to Brighton after the wedding.”
“She will,” Mr Bennet agreed with a nod. “Jane will be at Netherfield, Elizabeth intends to travel with her aunt and uncle, and Lydia will go to Brighton. If I can think of any place to send the other two, I surely shall. A summer of peace sounds just the thing after all this wedding business!”
A laugh was expected and duly given. Darcy then cleared his throat and said, more seriously, “Loath as I am to disturb your plans, there is something I wish to acquaint you with before she goes,” he began slowly. “As you know, I have a younger sister, and last year when she was fifteen, I was prevailed upon to allow her to go to the seaside with her friends and…and it had near-disastrous consequences that I have kept…quiet…for the sake of my name. Alas, I am just now recognising that silence and secrecy exposes other young girls to the same danger.”
“What danger do you mean?” Mr Bennet asked.
Mr Bennet received the information about George Wickham as well as Darcy could have hoped. He could only pray the gentleman would act in the best interests of his daughter.
He could not be surprised to see that Fitzwilliam had attached himself to Elizabeth in his absence. Saye was also inthe small knot of people with her, as was Miss Bingley, who was taking on a great deal of importance from having such intimacy with a viscount. Darcy considered pushing himself into the group, but it would not be easily done. He would need to drag a chair to where they all sat, and it would be awkward, to say the least.
You want to show her you attended to her reproofs, he reminded himself.Start by being kind to her neighbours.How well he recalled her words the night at Rosings when he had so foolishly imagined her to be flirting with him, refusing to hear the censure in her words!
“Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?”
“I can answer your question,”Fitzwilliam had said, “without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.”
Well, he would now. He would ‘give himself the trouble’ for her. Looking about the room he espied a young gentleman standing alone near the mantel. There was something familiar in his air, or perhaps it was his looks, that seemed genial and intelligent, so Darcy decided to go over and speak to him.
“How do you do?” Darcy said as he arrived next to him. He introduced himself, worrying briefly whether he presumed too much to imagine himself socially superior to the fellow.Then again, were he a man of consequence, I would likely know him already.
The young man informed him that he was Mr Philips, ‘the cousin of the bride’ and recently down from Oxford. Darcy extended his hand, and they shook. “Will you study the law? I believe your father is a solicitor?”
Philips grimaced. “That he is, and my grandfather before him. He and my mother would enjoy nothing more than if I didthat, though Meryton and its businesses can scarce support one solicitor, much less two. In truth, I have not much affinity for the law.”
“I have often envied those who have the liberty to consider their own preference in such things.” The boy looked at him curiously, so Darcy continued, “As the heir to an estate—which is an honour and privilege, of course—my future has been pre-ordained. Do not think me ungrateful, I beg you, but I have before wondered how it might be to consult my own talents and preferences.”
“My father has little for me to inherit, but his opinions are no less strong for it,” Philips replied with an amiable grin.
“What would you do, were you left to your own wishes?”
“A few fellows and I at university set ourselves up with a small business of our own. It was slow going at first, particularly for those of us with little to our names, but we have built up enough interest now that we might make a go of it.”
“A shop?”
Philips shook his head. “More of an investment…group. A partnership, so to speak, among many and varied partners.”
“I am not sure I follow you.”
“See, it works like this: many times one sees an investment that is perhaps less assured than another might be—but one which yields a higher possible return.”
“Many a fortune has been lost on just such ventures,” Darcy observed.
“Just so. What my friends and I began to do was put together groups of people, those who might be tempted into higher risk sorts of ventures. Then each of us put a smaller amount in. Then we split the profits—or losses, if it comes to that—between us all. So no one loses a great deal, no matter what happens.”
“But no one gains as much either.”
“Unless one measures the gains against another, less profitable, investment. If you were to invest fifty pounds in something secure, knowing you would earn sixty in return, that would be excellent. However, if you could enter one of these schemes with your same fifty pounds and return one hundred—even if it were only part of five hundred, for example—you would still have gained.” Philips smiled. “But I do not explain it nearly as well as my partner Millard does. He’s the one who goes about explaining the opportunity to people, gathers up investors.”
