“Distasteful indeed,” Fitzwilliam agreed, with a contemptuous curl to his lips. If the colonel had ever been naive as to the extent of men’s vices, his years of commanding enlisted men had cured him of it. “I only hope he has not brought any unsavoury habits home to Georgiana.”
Darcy shook his head. “I cannot bear to think of it. I am in the absurd position of wishing to doubt my own judgement, for it gives me no assessment of his character that I can countenance being anywhere near my sister — let alone in the person of her husband.”
The cousins shared a grim nod and a grimmer silence. “Let us hope for the best,” Fitzwilliam said at last. “That is all we can do.”
“Yes, let us hope for the best,” Darcy agreed, though he refused to accept they could do no more than hope. He had failed Georgiana once. If they were to learn that her husband was all he feared, he would find some way to help her, no matter the cost.
As though wishing to signal casual disrespect without risking too much censure, Wickham was nearly a quarter hour late for the appointed meeting. When he arrived, he showed them his most charming smile, though he must have known there were no two men in England less likely to be fooled by him.
“Hello, brother. Cousin Fitzwilliam. How may I be of service?” Wickham asked.
Darcy gritted his teeth, resolving to keep his temper firmly on a leash. Nothing would be settled if he gave in to his anger. “I lately heard something that has caused me muchconcern. Is it truly the case that Georgiana does not have a pianoforte on which to practise?”
Wickham placed his hand on his heart and bowed his head — a truly masterful performance of emotion, Darcy thought wrathfully. “It is quite true,” Wickham said sadly. “Oh, poor Georgie! Naturally, I should have wished to purchase a pianoforte for her. But one must make economies, you know. Pounds and shillings do not go as far as one might wish. Of course, if we had Georgiana’s dowry, things would be quite different. Then, I should buy her the finest pianoforte in London.”
“Georgiana does not want the finest pianoforte in London,” Colonel Fitzwilliam put in dryly. “She only wantsapianoforte, and that, your monthly allowance ought to allow with little difficulty.”
Wickham shook his head. “If only it were so! No, I am afraid the sum from Georgiana’s trust is only sufficient for our housing and maintenance, and only just that. I cannot skimp on making Georgiana comfortable, you understand. We must live at an address that is suitable for her. Nor would I ever wish her to have to count pennies in buying her gowns, even if it means I must go without new clothes myself. Sadly, a pianoforte is quite out of the question.”
If Wickham had ever denied himself new clothes, it was not evident from the perfection of his waistcoat and cravat, but Darcy chose not to raise the point.
“I have also paid London bills,” Darcy said instead, “and I, too, have no wish for Georgiana to live in want. The monthly allowance from her trust was set taking all this into account, as well as the fact that you have no active profession.”
Wickham smiled sweetly. “Quite true. Like yourself, I am a gentleman.”
“Iam a gentleman,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, his voice dangerously quiet, “but as I, like many men, do not stand to inherit a fortune, I earn my own keep. It is by no means a disastrous fate.”
With a gesture of his hand, Darcy signalled not to pursue the point, which could only have led to a distracting argument. Fitzwilliam sighed a little, but subsided, while Wickham smiled a hypocrite’s smile.
More worryingly, Darcy had not taxed Wickham idly. The allowance should have been enough to allow them to live comfortably — indeed, he had set the amount assuming that Wickham would be neither careful nor self-denying, and not wishing to see Georgiana punished for it. It should have been more than enough. If it was not, Wickham must have been spending the money on other things. Gambling was likely the greatest part of it; Darcy only hoped it was the worst of it.
He drew in a deep, steadying breath. “There is no reason whatsoever that the allotted monthly allowance would not be enough for you and Georgiana to live in comfort, and buy her a piano, if only a modest one,” Darcy said carefully. “You have known my sister for many years now. Has there been more than a handful of days in all those years she did not practice the pianoforte? You know well it has long been her deepest joy. I cannot think it suitable for her to be deprived of it now.”
Wickham frowned and stood. “It is none of your concern what she does with her days. Georgiana is my wife now. Her role in life is not to play the pianoforte, but to care for me.”
Fitzwilliam stood likewise. “Yes, but it is also your role, as her husband, to see that she has everything she might need or want. Surely you must see that her happiness greatly affects her ability to serve you.”
Wickham spread his hands in front of him, as though to say the matter was entirely out of his hands. “Give me my wife’s dowry, as you ought to have done when we first wed, and I will not say another word.”
“I cannot do that,” Darcy said. Wickham’s words had raised an ugly suspicion in his mind. He had thought the lack of a pianoforte was only selfishness and poor planning, but was it more than this? Had Wickham intended it as a ploy to force their hands into releasing the bulk of Georgiana’s fortune to him?
He did not like to imagine Georgiana’s husband capable of so coldly manipulating her happiness for his own ends. But this was Wickham. He was capable of far greater selfishness and conniving.
Wickham laughed coldly, for once not troubling to put on his usual charming mask. “Oh, you could do it. You could do it easily, today. But instead, you keep the money in your own hands and think yourself an honest man. Poor Mrs Darcy, to have married so close-fisted and stubborn a man! No wonder she felt the need to come to Georgiana’s aid! Your wife knows who is to blame for all this, if you do not.”
“Get out,” Darcy growled, knowing he must keep his temper, but unable to do more than keep himself from approaching the other man. He half-feared that he would strike him, and that, for Georgiana’s sake and for his own honour, must not be.
For once, Wickham did not defy him, but left without another word. Perhaps he, too, realised that he had allowed his anger to overpower his prudence. In truth, both of them had much to lose if the conversation grew still more heated. Each had something the other treasured. Darcy had the purse-strings, and Wickham — had Georgiana.
“I must not forget,” Darcy said aloud. “My anger does not matter. His lies do not matter. Protecting Georgiana — doing whatever we can yet do to promote her happiness and respectability — that is all that matters now. I should not have allowed him to provoke me.”
“If you can keep Wickham from provoking you, I shall have you canonised as a saint,” Fitzwilliam said dryly.
“A difficult task, since the Church of England does not canonise saints,” Darcy pointed out, grateful for his cousin’s levity.
“Be that as it may,” Fitzwilliam said impatiently. “How dare he! I know how well I could live in London on that allowance. I should buy my wife a pianoforte every second month, if I had a wife, and if she wanted one.”
Darcy shook his head. “That is almost the worst of it. How can he treat Georgiana so poorly? He need never work a day in his life now, and yet he thinks only of how to get the rest of her money.”
