Several people exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“The estate?” Darcy repeated. “You received an estate, Wickham.”
“Not that one—Pemberley!”
Now Darcy actually laughed.
The sound infuriated Wickham further. “You think this is amusing?”
“A little.”
Wickham looked ready to strike him. Instead Darcy reached calmly across the table and withdrew the final page of the will.
“This document was witnessed by three individuals.”
His finger moved down the page.
“Mr. Wentworth.”
The solicitor nodded.
“Mr. Holland.”
The banker nodded as well.
“And George Wickham.”
The room became very quiet, other than a nervous giggle from one of the mistresses.
Darcy slid the document across the table. There, near the bottom, sat Wickham's unmistakable signature.
Wickham stared at it, then pointed a finger accusingly at Darcy. “I was drunk.”
Darcy nearly laughed outright. “You were drunk?”
“Yes!”
“You witnessed a legal will while intoxicated?”
Wickham hesitated, realizing too late what he had just admitted. He looked around the room, taking in their expressions.
Darcy smiled coldly. “I suggest you choose a different argument.”
Wickham's hands clenched into fists.
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then abruptly he spat out, “Fine. Give me my property.”
Mr. Wentworth reached into the leather portfolio beside him and removed the deed, along with the bank draft.
“There.” He slid them neatly across the table.
Wickham snatched them up immediately, and his eyes widened.
Ten thousand pounds,he mouthed. Even he could not entirely hide his surprise.
Darcy watched him for a long moment, then spoke quietly. “You are a fool, Georgie.”
