Wickham lifted his chin triumphantly.
“But Pemberley and Darcy House?” Darcy’s eyes turned glacial. “No. Whatever else my father may have been, he valued blood and breeding far too highly to leave his estate to someone of low birth.”
For the first time that evening, Wickham looked genuinely enraged. “You arrogant bastard.”
“No, only thelegitimately-bornmaster of Pemberley.” Darcy smiled coldly. “Which means you are leaving.”
“I shall be back.”
Darcy’s expression did not change. “Try.”
Then he turned toward the footmen frozen in horror near the doorway. “Remove him.”
The servants needed no encouragement whatsoever. Two footmen descended upon Wickham with almost suspicious enthusiasm. Wickham cursed violently as they dragged him toward the hall while the woman fled past them clutching her shoes in one hand and bodice in the other.
“You cannot do this!” Wickham shouted.
Darcy followed at a measured pace all the way to the front entrance. “Oh, I very much can.”
The front doors burst open. Rain and cold night air swept inward immediately as Wickham was propelled bodily onto the wet front steps with enough force to nearly send him sprawling into the street.
Darcy stood in the doorway looking down at him.
Wickham’s hair hung disordered across his face, fury twisting his expression.
“This is not finished.”
“No,” Darcy agreed calmly. “It has finally begun.”
Then, with immense satisfaction, he shut the doors directly in Wickham’s face and slid the lock firmly into place.
For a moment, silence filled the hall.
Darcy exhaled slowly.
Then, very deliberately, he dusted off his hands.
Behind him, the butler made a suspicious choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter. Mrs. Yates, the housekeeper, had abandoned all attempt whatsoever to hide her satisfaction.
Bingley burst out laughing entirely.
“Well done, old man,” he declared, clapping Darcy hard upon the shoulder. “I believe you have just improved this household considerably.”
At last, some of the tension broke.
Darcy looked around the entrance hall with weary resignation. Even here, disorder lingered everywhere. Empty bottles sat abandoned atop side tables. Mud stained carpets that once would have been immaculate. A woman’s glove rested inexplicably beside a marble bust near the stairs.
Bingley followed his gaze slowly. “…I believe there is rather a lot of work to be done.”
Darcy rubbed one hand across his eyes briefly before lowering it again. “Yes,” he said quietly. “There is.”
Mrs. Yates straightened immediately. “We shall begin at once, sir.”
“The servants have waited only for your return,” the butler added, watching Darcy carefully.
Darcy looked between them. Loyal servants. People who had endured this chaos while waiting for the rightful master to come home. Who sacrificed their own coin to send a servant to fetch him.
Something heavy settled across his shoulders then—not merely grief, but responsibility.
