“She did.”
“Then it is a better situation than others — those where the sums owed were not given as requested.”
At that, he paused, looking at her, and she did the same. She could feel his repressed anger but still held his gaze boldly. Somebody had to confront him, after all. His good actions were no compensation for his dishonourable ones.”
“You are referring to Wickham, I assume,” he said directly.
“I am. I am well aware that I have no right to question your actions, Mr. Darcy, but please remember that you offered to answer. You may choose to disregard the matter if you prefer.”
“I would prefer to disregard everything related to Wickham, but sadly, it seems fate keeps placing him in my path. I am sure he complained about the living that should have been his and my refusal to grant it.”
“He did, as well as the one thousand pounds that was also left to him. I know he was your father’s godson and that Mr. Darcy had a great affection for him to the end.”
“Sadly, that part is true, and I am grateful that my father did not live to see his betrayal.”
The statement was powerful, and Elizabeth gulped the sudden lump in her throat. Surely Mr. Darcy was only bringing false accusations to excuse his own faults.
“May I ask the nature of your interest in Wickham? I am well aware I have no right to question your relationship, but if I do, it is solely for your benefit.”
“There is no need to worry about my benefit, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham is a dear friend of mine and of my family’s, and he granted me his trust in confessing such a delicate subject. Whoever knows his misfortunes would feel sorry for him. What could he have done to draw your resentment so much that you condemn him to poverty?”
Mr. Darcy let out a bark of laughter that gave her thrills and made her uncomfortable. His anger was apparent, and she was alone with him at quite a distance from any house.
“His misfortunes were great indeed, pour soul. As for the reasons that caused my resentment, I could never relate them to an honourable young lady.”
She looked at him with a frown.
“Miss Bennet, I do not wish to pain or offend you, but Wickham related his pathetic story to you not because he trusted you but because it is what he tells everyone when we are both in the same place. Everyone who does not know him, of course. Usually, people come to learn his true nature rather quickly and in ways that cause them pain and loss.”
His words affected Elizabeth more deeply than she expected; no, not so much his words as his voice and the dark expression on his face.
“I told you once before that he makes friends easily but cannot keep them long. I assume you did not believe me and still do not. When you next meet him, ask him about his claim that he had no interest in the church and wished to study the law. Ask him about the three thousand pounds that he received to support his studies, in addition to the one thousand pounds that was bequeathed and given to him. Ask him how many timesI have paid his gambling debts and other creditors — all in the name of my father’s love for him, which he so horribly abused.”
Elizabeth stopped breathing. She stared at Mr. Darcy, and every word cut her like a knife.
His gaze was dark and his expression deeply hurt, and he seemed willing to say more, but he did not.
“Sir, I—”
“For proof of my dealings with Wickham, you may apply to my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam for confirmation. He is well aware of all the details.”
She found nothing to say, and even if she had wished to, she could not speak. Her mouth was dry, her heart was pounding, and her hands were shaking.
“We should make haste, Miss Bennet, it is raining already,” he said abruptly. “The Parsonage is only around the corner. If you do not need my further assistance, I shall leave you.”
With that, he mounted and departed in haste, with Angus following him.
Elizabeth remained still, gazing after him, with the rain pouring around her.
A while later, all wet, she entered the Parsonage, her head spinning with many more questions than she had before and with a pain in her chest she could not escape.
She went to change, and in the solitude of her room, she recollected all her conversations with Mr. Wickham. He had related his story to her within two days of their first meeting, and that struck Elizabeth with its impropriety. Why would he trust someone he had only just met and did not know well enough to confide in?
Also, as soon as Mr. Darcy left Hertfordshire, Mr. Wickham had spread his story around the neighbourhood. Not even that had bothered her at the time as she had been too occupied with hating Mr. Darcy and accusing him of Jane’s suffering. Everyoneappeared now in a new light. Mr. Wickham had not revealed his story to her because he considered her trustworthy but because he thought she was silly enough to believe it! A silly simpleton she had been, fooled by a charming smile and pleasant manners.
She did not even doubt Mr. Darcy’s words. His revelation was too full of anger and feelings to be a fabricated story or a deception. Unlike Mr. Wickham’s narration, which had been calm and steady — and she had believed it immediately.
A silly, stupid simpleton she had been — and she had made a fool of herself in front of Mr. Darcy too! Now he had good reason to despise her, indeed.
He had suggested she could apply to the colonel, which she did not need to do. But she desperately needed to speak to Mr. Darcy again, apologise for her stupid accusation, and perhaps — if he would forgive her, which was very unlikely — finally ask him about Mr. Bingley.
