“And so we shall,” Mr Wickham agreed, chuckling at her minor witticism. “That would be most enjoyable.” He offered her his arm, and they fell into step together.
“You have done a fine job settling in as mistress of Pemberley, Mrs Darcy,” Mr Wickham praised her as they walked. “You are the perfect hostess, attentive and kind. Georgiana can speak of little else, save for how grateful she is to have a sister such as you.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Your wife is a very dear woman. I am glad she thinks of me as a sister.”
“Indeed, we both do. But I also see you as a friend and ally.”
Elizabeth glanced at him, startled. It was an odd choice of words. “An ally, Mr Wickham? I do not quite follow your meaning. But of course I should like to help you, if I can.”
Stepping into the portrait gallery, they stopped before the portrait of a long-ago Darcy who, to judge by his clothes, must have held Pemberley in the time of Queen Anne. His face was handsome, with a strong jawline and noble brow, but his expression was entirely unsmiling. Elizabeth looked at the painting more closely, wondering why she liked it so very much. Was there not something kind about the eyes, and something intelligent in the set of the face?
“There is a strong family resemblance, is there not?” Wickham asked her, but went on without waiting for a reply. “Unfortunately, we are in great need of an ally at the moment. May I speak plainly with you, dear sister Elizabeth?”
“You must use your judgement,” Elizabeth told him, feeling unaccountably wary.
“You know of the circumstances of my wedding to Georgiana, do you not? And you therefore know of the delicate situation I find myself in with my brother-in-law?”
“I do,” Elizabeth said. “But if this is plain speaking, Mr Wickham, I am sorry to say that I do not yet understand your meaning.”
“Yes, of course.” He sighed and shrugged. “Georgiana’s father set aside a dowry for her, which was to provide for her after her marriage. Nor is this an inconsequential amount — quite the contrary. Georgiana was always meant to have thirty thousand pounds after her marriage.”
“Yes, I am aware of the fact,” she replied.
“Well, that is just it. The dowry has not been released to her, and we have been married for nearly six months.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Your frustration is understandable, Mr Wickham, but this is surely something to be discussed between yourself, Georgiana, and Mr Darcy. I can have nothing to do with it.”
“No, far from it,” Mr Wickham said fervently. “You do so well at manoeuvring your husband. Take the invitation you were able to procure for Georgiana and me, for instance. You must know how grateful we are.”
“You need not be,” Elizabeth told him honestly. “I made the suggestion to my husband because I thought it best for his happiness, and for Georgiana’s. You owe me nothing.”
“Even so, you made the suggestion, and you convinced him to follow it. I have never known anyone to convince Darcy of anything. Certainly, I cannot.” He hesitated, stopping before a large, dark oil painting of a gentleman on a rearing horse. “I am appealing to you, Mrs Darcy, to speak to your husband on our behalf. Convince him to release to Georgiana what is rightfully hers.”
Elizabeth let out a slow, controlled breath. “I hope I am not one to ‘manoeuvre’ anyone, as you said. I speak as I find.”
“I did not mean to offend. Of course, you would never dream of manipulating anyone. You are too good. However, a gentle word from his wife might convince him to see his way clear to releasing the funds.”
If anyone had a propensity for manoeuvring, Elizabeth thought with annoyance, it was certainly Mr Wickham. It was all too clear that he wished her to do his bidding, regardless of herown judgement. “I am sorry, Mr Wickham, but I do not think it is my place to intervene. You must speak to him, or Georgiana must speak to him, if you find the present plan unsuitable. I cannot say that it is. Surely the monthly allotment is sufficient?”
For a moment only, Elizabeth saw him clench his hands into fists. But Mr Wickham’s self-control was admirable, and when he spoke, his voice was as gentle and friendly as ever. “It is the principle of the thing, Mrs Darcy. That money rightly belongs to my wife. Georgiana ought to have received the whole of the dowry upon her marriage, not as a monthly stipend.”
Footsteps echoed behind them, and they both turned at once to see Mr Darcy walking through the gallery in their direction. Mr Wickham took a step back and bowed, his expression turning serious, even grave. “Good afternoon, Darcy,” he said with a formal air.
“Good afternoon,” he replied. Neither of them looked happy to see the other.
Elizabeth stepped in. “Is everything well?”
“Yes, of course,” her husband turned slowly. “I thought you would be in the throes of preparations for the festivities this evening.”
“I was. But then Mr Wickham asked if I would like a short break to come and look at the portraits. We were just finishing, I think. Was there anything else, Mr Wickham?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “No, indeed. I shall leave you two together,” he said. He bowed again and backed away a few paces before turning and leaving the portrait gallery. Elizabeth turned to her husband, and they started strolling through the gallery.
“I did not mean to interrupt,” Mr Darcy apologised.
“You did nothing of the kind,” Elizabeth replied. “I am glad to see you. Indeed, I am always glad to see you.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
