Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him, puzzled.
“I would not have mentioned it if it were not absolutely necessary. It involves a common acquaintance. Mr George Wickham.”
At that, Elizabeth’s countenance changed, and a frown appeared between her eyebrows. Mr and Mrs Gardiner looked at each other with confusion, then at him.
“Strangely, we were talking about the same subject the other day,” Mrs Gardiner replied.
“Were you? Are there any questions you have that I might answer? I am well aware that Wickham spread rumours about me in Hertfordshire, and I am quite certain they are based on a core truth surrounded by falsehoods. He has done the same many times in the last five years, everywhere he goes and to anyone willing to listen to him.”
“In the five years since your father died, I assume? When he expected to receive a living that was refused him?” Elizabeth enquired in an accusing voice.
He expected her reply, and it did not even vex him.
“Yes, after my father died, Mr Wickham was given one thousand pounds, and on that occasion, he informed me that the church was not his calling after all, and he preferred to study the law. For that, he requested and received another three thousand pounds.”
He paused, looking at Elizabeth, whose astonishment seemed complete.
“I assume Wickham did not mention that part,” he continued. “When the living became vacant, he came to claim it. I would have perhaps given it to him if he had shown any honour or morality in his actions before that moment. However, he in fact wasted the entire sum in activities I shall not mention, disregarding any sort of study or effort for his future.”
He paused again, sipping from his glass. There was much more to add to the story, but it was too painful to be discussed.
“That was not the end of his claims, though, as he continued to apply to me for other financial support. Some pleas were granted, many refused. So he usually employs his time seeking revenge for those refusals through false claims that hurt my reputation.”
“Oh dear! This is horrible!” Mrs Gardiner exclaimed.
“Of course, I am well aware that none of you have any reason to trust my words over Wickham’s, so I have brought some papers with me, signed by him, which prove some of our past dealings. You may study them.”
“That is not necessary, Mr Darcy. We do not doubt your words,” Mr Gardiner replied. “I have wondered about a man so willing to relate his misfortunes to strangers. Mr Wickham’s story was unconvincing to me, as well as to my brother Bennet. We assumed that the part about the living was true, but also that you had a reason for your actions. After all, it was nothing to you who acquired the living, and it could well be him as not, unless something serious prevented it.”
Elizabeth had become pale and silent and averted her eyes from Darcy.
“I shall leave the papers here in case Miss Elizabeth wishes to look at them,” he repeated.
“That will not be necessary, sir,” she answered. “I was certainly not clever enough to wonder about Mr Wickham’s story, as my uncle and my father were. If my uncle does not need proof, neither do I.”
Her voice was as altered as her expression. She was uncomfortable, pale, and restless. Eventually, she stood up and said, “Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley, please excuse me, I do not feel well. I might have a fever. Perhaps I have caught my cousins’ cold. I beg your forgiveness. I must leave you now.”
She left, and Darcy watched her walk away with a tightness in his chest. She seemed disappointed, and hurt, causing him distress and jealousy. Was she upset to learn the truth? Did she have romantic feelings for that scoundrel? Was she angry with Darcy for revealing the truth in front of her family?
“Mr Gardiner, since you mentioned Mr Bennet was reluctant to believe Wickham, I shall take the liberty of kindly suggesting you warn him not to consider that man a friend of the family’s, especially of your young nieces’. He is simply not to be trusted. I apologise if my suggestion is presumptuous, but I sadly know the man better than I would like to.”
“Your advice is greatly appreciated and will be considered, Mr Darcy, I assure you.”
For the rest of the visit, Bingley and Miss Bennet, together with the Gardiners, continued the conversation, but Darcy could not gather himself enough to even feign a good disposition. He barely spoke at all, thinking of Elizabeth, fearing he had done more harm than good.
They finally left, and the entire drive back to Mayfair, Darcy’s state only became worse and remained the same the entire evening and through the agitated night that followed.
After much reflection, at dawn, Darcy reached a moment when he ceased the struggle. He had done what he believed to be honest and needed. If Elizabeth felt harmed or offended by his gesture, there was nothing he could do. He could apologise for harming her, but not for speaking the truth.
With his mind and his body still exhausted, Darcy woke up and was preparing for breakfast when a servant entered with a letter.
He looked at it and did not recognise the handwriting, so he opened it, intrigued. When he glanced at the signature, he began to read with his heart pounding.
Mr Darcy,
I am writing this letter with my uncle and aunt’s permission. I could not wait any longer before I apologised for my response and sudden departure yesterday.
As you may have guessed, your confession affected me; I was equally astonished, upset, and especially mortified by my own foolishness and credulity.
