Relief flooded Wickham’s face.
“I shall have the contract drawn up,” Darcy continued. “You will sign. It will be witnessed. No money changes hands until it is made official.”
Wickham attempted a smirk. “Very proper, as always. I am staying at the Rose and Crown. Unless you mean to extend your hospitality—”
Darcy rang the bell once.
Simmons appeared as if conjured. “See Mr Wickham back to the inn.”
Wickham gave a mock bow. “Until we meet again.”
Darcy merely inclined his head. “You shall receive my note when all is prepared.”
When Wickham was gone, Darcy did not feel triumph—only reprieve. Relief for the parishioners of Kympton. Relief for the dignity of the church. Relief that Wickham, for now, could be steered away from causing further harm.
Still, the man always returned. Like a shadow.
This time, at least, there would be a contract.
Three days later, Darcy received Wickham in the most formal drawing room, as though ceremony alone might keep impropriety at bay. Thecontract lay on the mahogany table beside a pen; Mr Elias Brown of Lambton sat prepared to witness. Two footmen waited discreetly near the doors.
Wickham arrived freshly brushed, boots polished with unusual care. His smile was smooth, practised.
“Mr Wickham,” Mr Brown said, bowing. “Good morning.”
Wickham’s gaze went straight to the papers. “I assume that is it.”
Darcy nodded once. “You relinquish in writing all future claims to the living at Kympton in perpetuity. In return, you receive a one-time payment of three thousand pounds.”
Wickham lifted the document, squinted, and gave a quick laugh. “I trust you would not cheat me, Darce.”
Mr Brown cleared his throat. “The terms have been written with clarity and neutrality. If you wish separate counsel, we may delay—”
“No,” Wickham said quickly. “This will do.”
He signed with a flourish. Mr Brown signed as first witness. One of the footmen signed as second.
Darcy did not sit. He unlocked a small box and withdrew a leather folio tied with cord.
“Three thousand pounds,” he said, setting the banknote on the table beside Wickham's copy of the contract.
Wickham’s eyes glittered as he tucked both away. “I thank you.”
“It is done, then,” Darcy said, voice low.
Wickham grinned. “And you may rest easy knowing the fine people of Kympton shall never be subjected to my spiritual leadership.”
Darcy stared until Wickham’s humour thinned.
“Mr Tompkins will escort you back to Lambton,” Darcy said.
“Very kind,” Wickham replied lightly, and left.
Only when the last footfall faded did Darcy release the breath he had been holding. Darcy suspected, even then, that three thousand pounds would not guarantee Wickham’s absence forever.
“I should hope it will be the last,” he said to Mr Brown.
“A pleasure, Mr Darcy,” the solicitor replied, gathering his papers. “And indeed, the most straightforward transaction I have seen involving that gentleman.”
