“You cannot endure that I am preferred.”
“You mistake preference for indulgence,” Darcy said.
Wickham stepped closer. “You must help me. I was treated most unfairly.”
“Are you mad? You had a fortune.”
“A thousand pounds!” Wickham scoffed. “A generous gratitude for years spent amusing your father, flattering his opinions, dancing attendance upon his every whim.”
“You might have followed your father’s example – or any honest profession. You were given precisely what you asked for. I was more than generous.”
“Because you wanted me gone.”
“Can you blame me?”
Wickham’s eyes flashed. “You have no idea what it is to live without means,” he said. “You have never had to calculate every guinea. Never had to wonder how a gentleman maintains appearances when his purse is empty.”
“You are not a gentleman,” Darcy replied.
The words landed like a slap.
“Your father thought otherwise.”
“My father was generous, for your father’s sake,” Darcy said. “You mistook generosity for blindness.”
Wickham leaned forward.
“I devoted years to him,” he said quietly. “Years. Making him comfortable, making him believe what he wished to believe. And for what? A thousand pounds and dismissal.”
“You were offered a living; you did not want it. Heavens, I tire of this conversation.”
“I needed money. And why should I not?” Wickham demanded. “You inherited everything. Lands, consequence, influence. I inherited nothing but expectations.”
“You inherited opportunity,” Darcy said. “You squandered it.”
A tense silence followed.
Wickham’s voice dropped. “You owe me more than you gave.”
“I owe you nothing. You received more than most men earn in years – and wasted it. You have no understanding. I work hard for what I have. It is not just privilege; it is duty. You could have invested it… Why do I waste my time talking to you?” He turnedaway. “Nothing would satisfy you, so you resorted to the most despicable action. You will get nothing from me.”
“Had matters gone a little differently, Georgiana’s fortune might once have concerned me more nearly,” Wickham said suddenly, the words soft but vicious.
“You forget yourself,” Darcy said coldly.
“Had fortune favoured me a little longer, you would have said goodbye to it.”
Darcy’s stillness changed. Not visibly – but decisively. His hand tightened on the back of the chair.
“You will take care,” he said, very quietly. “And you will be silent – or you will leave this house at once.”
Wickham’s smile did not waver. “Georgiana was always delicate,” Wickham said softly. “Society can be remarkably unforgiving when a young lady’s judgement is questioned. It would be a pity if certain stories were… misunderstood.”
The door flew open.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway.
Her composure, so carefully worn all evening, had vanished. She did not look shocked. She looked furious. “Say her name again, Mr. Wickham,” she said quietly.
