Richard’s jaw tightened. “George Darcy was capable of many things.”
“And Wickham knew it,” Darcy said. “He knew my father’s weaknesses better than anyone.”
Elizabeth looked at the document again, and Darcy could practically see the gears in her mind turning over the information.
“Why now?” she asked.
Richard looked at her. “Now?”
“Yes. If Mr. Wickham possessed such a paper, why not produce it at the reading of the will? Why wait until now? Or why not wait until Miss Darcy is eighteen, when she is nearer an age at which marriage might be less easily questioned?”
“Money,” Darcy and Richard said together.
Elizabeth drew a slow breath.
Darcy’s mouth hardened. “Wickham is most likely out of funds.”
Richard made a sound of disgust. “Impossible. Your father gave him ten thousand pounds and that little Scottish estate. More than most younger sons receive from their own families, let alone a steward’s son fortunate enough to be made a gentleman’s godson.”
“The estate did not earn much,” Darcy said. “And it was the only property not tied to Pemberley. My father could not give him Pemberley land, and he knew it. So he gave him what he could.”
“And Wickham has very likely sold it, gambled it, or ruined it,” Richard said.
“Sold it and spent the proceeds,” Darcy said. “Or lost it in a wager. Either is possible.”
“Both, knowing Wickham.”
Darcy did not disagree.
Richard turned away from the desk and paced two hard steps before stopping near the hearth. “The ungrateful wretch was given more than many honorable men could hope to earnin a lifetime. Money, land, education, consequence, access to Pemberley, and a name treated better than he deserved. And he has squandered all of it while everyone else sacrifices, serves, bleeds, and bends beneath duty.”
His voice roughened at the end, and Darcy knew he was thinking not only of Darcy, but of himself, of Georgiana, perhaps even of the soldiers and younger sons who made their own way with far less than Wickham had been handed.
“Wickham has always believed that generosity was only the beginning of what he was owed in life.”
“And now he thinks Georgiana is the rest,” Richard said bitterly. “Which leads us back to your initial question when you entered the room, Miss Elizabeth. What do we do now? Hand him a fortune to save Georgiana’s life?”
Elizabeth crossed the room and took Darcy’s hand in hers. “A fortune?” she asked quietly.
“Her dowry,” Darcy said. “If no other means—”
“No.” Her voice was gentle, but firm enough that the word cut across his like a blade. “That must be a last resort so distant we cannot see it from here.”
Richard pointed toward her. “There. I knew I liked you for more than your pretty face.”
Mr. Philips leaned back slightly in his chair, watching his niece. “You have thought of something, Lizzy?”
She drew one breath and gripped Darcy’s hands so tightly, her knuckles turned white. “I might have an idea.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth looked at the three gentlemen staring expectantly at her. The room seemed too warm, though her hands were cold.
She had not meant to tell Darcy this way, but the circumstances were too dire.
“I have a fortune,” she said.
Darcy looked at her blankly.
