It was done.
That was what mattered.
Wickham was contained. Georgiana was safe. Providence had moved with a speed Darcy had no right to expect.
He ought to have felt relieved.
And he did.
Only not entirely.
There was still the matter of Elizabeth Bennet.
FOURTEEN
14thNovember 1811
Netherfield
Darcy
Fitzwilliam found Darcy in the small parlour Bingley had set aside for his use — a quiet room at the back of the house that looked out onto the kitchen garden and was unlikely to be disturbed. Darcy was standing at the window with a glass he had not touched and an expression that apparently communicated enough on its own.
"For a man who has just ensured his greatest enemy was delivered to a debtor's prison," Fitzwilliam said, closing the door behind him, "you do not appear particularly satisfied."
Darcy looked at him with questioning eyes but said nothing.
Fitzwilliam helped himself to a chair and stretched his legs out before him with ease.
He watched Darcy take a gulp of his whisky before he spoke. "Georgiana thinks you are wrong," he said at last.
Darcy did not need to ask him what his sister thought he was wrong about. He knew what—or whom—he was referring to. He had told Georgiana everything the morning after Wickham's arrest. While she was happy that the man who had broken her confidence and tried to take advantage of her was gone, the one thing she did not agree with was any complicity on Elizabeth's part in the affair, as Darcy suggested. Still, Darcy had insistedshe stay away from Elizabeth until he could ascertain that she had nothing to do with Wickham. He was not doing anything to ascertain anything. Just seeing the two of them together had riled him up so badly that he did not even want to see Elizabeth.
"I know what Georgiana thinks." Darcy pushed the bottle of whisky on the table closer towards Fitzwilliam's side and signalled to a small cabinet with glasses.
"She is quite insistent about it." The colonel stood to retrieve a glass and poured himself a drink. "She says Miss Elizabeth could not have known Wickham, or at least not known the kind of person he is. She came to find me this morning, which tells me she has tried and failed to move you herself."
Darcy took another sip of the drink. "She is sixteen years old, and she is attached to the woman. Her judgement is not impartial."
"Neither is yours," Fitzwilliam said pleasantly, returning to his seat.
Darcy thought to take another sip, but checked himself. It was either that or continue at his present pace and end the evening thoroughly foxed. He could not permit that.
"In your letter," Fitzwilliam continued, "you described Miss Elizabeth Bennet as someone you trusted. Someone remarkable. You said she was doing more for Georgiana than a year of your own efforts had managed." He swirled the alcohol in his glass. "And now you believe she conspired with Wickham."
"I saw them together."
"You saw them together, so what?"
"She was smiling."
"Darcy." Fitzwilliam looked at him with all seriousness. "People smile at people. Neighbours, friends, acquaintances, even strangers. It is a common enough occurrence."
Darcy swallowed and remained quiet.
"Tell me about her," Fitzwilliam said after a while. "Properly. Not what you wrote in the letter or the hurried summary you gave me when I arrived. Tell me how it began."
Darcy looked at his glass. Then he set it down, walked to a chair, took a seat and leaned back.
