They had scarcely spoken since they argued yesterday, or rather when she was withdrawn and fearful and he rightfully lost his patience with her silence. But this last payment would mean she could put things to rights with her husband.
She had little of value to sell, and selling items from Darcy’s home that might not be missed was deeply wrong. If she had bought any of the ornaments or art or furnishings with her own money, then she could sell them, but nothing here was hers. Besides, what if a servant was unfairly blamed?
So here she was in the library when Darcy was out to rifle through his account books.
He was better at financial details than she was, but she was an excellent manager who could do arithmetic. About a third of his income went to household expenses and provisions, a quarter to the servants, equipages and horses, another quarter to clothing, entertainment, her pin money and his pocket allowance, and another ten percent for rent for the house in town, taxes and repairs, with the remainder set aside in reserve.
There was cash in the house for expenses, but twenty-five pounds was so very much. Her father only spent about five hundred pounds on his daughters in an entire year, and that included room and board. Darcy would see the coins missing eventually, and she did not know how to explain the loss.
She despairingly counted out twenty-five pounds. That was a problem for another day. Fifty pounds was a princely sum to buy Wickham’s silence, to rid herself of this menace, and to protect Darcy’s reputation. It was also the price of her own folly.
And she hoped the comfort of being rid of Wickham would ease her guilt at stealing from Darcy.
“This is the last payment,”she said to Wickham as she handed over the coins. They were standing near to Lansdowne House on the south side of Berkeley Square. “I can pay you no more.”
He took the entire coin purse and put it into his pocket. “The last payment for the present. I am not unreasonable, but you need to ask yourself how badly do you want to avoid a scandal?”
“Darcy would stand by me if you make your claim public.”
She was lying, but maybe she could convince Wickham. Darcy would weather the scandal if Georgiana left Wickham and needed his support, but the hint of a wife’s infidelity was far more grave. It was a deeper disgrace to the family name he was so eager to protect. But if Wickham believed he would get no more from her, maybe he would leave her alone.
Wickham watched her curiously. Was she trembling? She felt like she was, but she stared him down.
“Then why did you pay me?” he asked candidly, and she knew he was right. He suddenly looked over her shoulder and hailed a man. “Melrose, is that you? How do you do?”
She turned in time to see that the man looked like he wanted to pretend he did not hear Wickham. He hesitated, but touched his hat, and she recognised him as an acquaintance of Darcy’s from some of the parties this past month.
“Mrs Darcy, have you met Melrose?”
Mr Melrose bowed to her. “My wife and I owe you a visit, but we have sent round our card, if you recall.” She said that she did, and then in a more serious voice, he said, “I saw you at Lady Summerlin’s ball. I spoke with Darcy that evening, in fact.” His gaze flicked to Wickham for a moment. “I did not know you were well acquainted with Mr Wickham.”
This man did not like Wickham. They were bowing acquaintances, perhaps, but not friends. He barely held his contempt in check. It reminded her of Darcy’s haughty manner toward Wickham at the Ramsgate assembly.
“We met in Ramsgate,” Wickham said cheerfully, “where I was friends with her before she became Darcy’s wife.”
“We are not as close as we once were,” she said quickly, with an imploring look at Mr Melrose.
“Nonsense,” said Wickham. “I adored all the Bennet girls, but Ithink the former Miss Elizabeth was my favourite. And now she is my dear sister and we are even closer.”
Elizabeth wanted to hang her head, but she had to look as though she had done nothing wrong. All the while, the shame of her situation felt like it would eat away at her heart and consume her soul. What would happen now if Mr Melrose told her husband she saw them together, that Wickham claimed they were good friends?
There was judgment all over Mr Melrose’s face as he touched his hat and went on his way. Or did she imagine it? Her thoughts were so disordered. Regardless, he must be curious why she was with Wickham when everyone knew Darcy had nothing to do with the scoundrel his sister ran off with.
Once he was gone, Wickham turned to her. “I am wounded, dear sister. Are we not good friends anymore?”
She scowled at him. “Give me back my journal and hair ornament.”
He shook his head. “You can pay me another fifty after Christmas. That should gain you a little breathing-time. I am not unreasonable, after all.”
How could he ask that of her? “Give them back. Please, I gave you fifty pounds. That is a fortune. You could live for a year on this.”
“Hmm, very humbly. And I do not want to live humbly. I want my new wife in better keeping.”
She now doubted any of this money would find its way to Georgiana’s care. “You still have the legacy from old Mr Darcy; that gives you forty pounds a year, and you might find a profession. Or do you use that money for other purposes?” she spat, hating him for what he was doing, and hating herself for allowing it to happen.
“What do you mean?”
“Will you use the income off that thousand pounds to drink and game with men who have higher incomes than you? Will you visit brothels and pretend you can afford the courtesans who prefer richer, grander men?”
