“This is absurd!” Wickham sprang up and began pacing. “What am I to do with a conditional living? The incumbent may preach another twenty years.” He halted mid-stride; Darcy saw the moment the notion struck him. “Say, Darcy, suppose I were to sign away my rights? Would you compensate me? I am ill-suited to the Church—I might study the law instead.”
Law,indeed,Darcy thought, though he felt amused that he had not needed to propose the exchange himself. He ought to have known—even Elizabeth had sketched Wickham’s character with little effort.
Affecting indifference, he inclined his head a fraction. “I may consider it. ’Tis true the present clergyman is some years from retirement.”
“Three thousand pounds,” Wickham blurted, before Darcy could speak further. “Three thousand, and I sign away every right.” He resumed his seat and crossed his legs, idly swinging the free one.
Darcy pretended to consider. Three thousand was less than he had expected Wickham to demand, and far below the income the living would return over a lifetime. Wickham’s impatience for easy gain would be his undoing. “Very well,” he said at last. “I shall draw up the papers and have them, and the bank draft, ready this afternoon.” He wished the matter concluded before the sun had set. Then, he might give his thoughts to a certain pair of fine eyes.
“Capital!” Wickham looked pleased. “Shall I return in a few hours?”
Darcy had already prepared the necessary documents, but Wickham need not know it. “Two o’clock. My solicitor will call to serve as witness when the papers are executed.”
Wickham agreed readily and departed. Darcy leaned back in his chair. The seat felt foreign—it was his father’s place, his father’s study. He felt half an intruder, half a boy playing at pretence.How can I ever accomplish what he did?The question had come to him a thousand times.
Looking about the room, Darcy took in the browns and tans his father had favoured. The elder Mr Darcy had cared little for display, preferring substance over fashion. His private apartments in each of his homes had borne the same sober stamp. His mother had been the reverse: her taste was refined yet sumptuous, favouring deep colours and graceful patterns.
His tastes stood somewhere between those of his parents. Perhaps a change might help the room feel more like his own rather than his father’s. Drawing a sheet ofpaper towards him, he jotted a few notes.A new rug—dark green and gold to replace the brown and tan…and new drapes, perhaps.These are oppressive.Cream, tan, and green…Georgiana will know best; she has an eye for such things.
That afternoon, Wickham returned precisely at two o’clock. Darcy’s solicitor awaited him and observed as Wickham signed each of the three copies relinquishing all claim to the Kympton living in exchange for threethousand pounds. Darcy affixed his own signature, and the witness followed. Darcy passed the drafts across the desk.
“Your drafts.”
“Thank you.” Wickham pocketed the papers with evident satisfaction. “I am much obliged to you.” With that, he turned on his heel and departed. Darcy watched him go and prayed the transaction would conclude all business between them, and that he need never again set eyes on him.
A glance at the clock drew his thoughts elsewhere. If he called for his things now, he might yet reach the park in time to meet Elizabeth.
Elizabeth
Still trembling, Elizabeth allowed Kane to guide her home.I cannot stay here,she thought wildly.I must leave. My child—oh, what if he harmed my baby?
She had been in the park scarce ten minutes when Burns had burst into her path. Rounding a bend before Kane had caught up gave him all the opportunity he required.
“What have you done?” he cried, seizing her arm. “I saw things being moved into my warehouse! It is mine, I tell you!” He shook her roughly. “I shall have what is mine—mark my words!” He dragged her several paces before she found breath to scream Kane’s name. Her guard came running, fists clenched.
“Release the lady,” he ordered menacingly, halting before them.
Burns sneered at them. “Not a chance. Mrs Fiennes was just about to tell me what she is doing withmywarehouse!”
“It is not yours any longer, Burns.” Kane advanced on him. “The lady had no share in your dealings with the late Mr Fiennes. She was not even his wife at the time.”
“But it is all hers now. She can give it back! Mrs Fiennes is my salvation!” He shook her again, and Elizabeth’s free arm flew protectively to her middle.
“I am willing to discuss this in a rational manner.” Her voice trembled despite her efforts at calm.
“Silence! You are a woman—useless! I shall speak with Wilkens, the weak fool who did Fiennes’s bidding. He will know what to sign so that my property is restored.”
His eyes were wild; reason was beyond him. With sudden resolve, Elizabeth struck her head sharply backwards. The blow met his face, and he released her with a cry. Freed, she ran to Kane, who caught her by the elbow and hurried her away through the park until they reached the house.
“I must go back to find him,” he said once she was safe inside. “He is dangerous.”
Elizabeth nodded and sank into a chair in the vestibule. With shaking fingers, she removed her bonnet and gloves, tears pricking her eyes as she laid them aside. After taking a moment to steady herself, she went to the library, where her father sat as usual, reading a book.
“Papa, I believe it is best that we return to Hertfordshire at once.”
Mr Bennet looked up in surprise. “I thought you were undecided. What has happened to change your mind?”
Kane entered behind her, breathless. “He is gone, mistress. I cannot find him.”
