“Why not?” Wickham leaned back so thoroughly Darcy wished the chair legs would break. “The gossip reached London within a week. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who would not dance with any woman in Hertfordshire, has married a country mouse from an estate with a leaking roof. The Bennet sisters, are they not? Fiveof them, all desperately seeking husbands, with an uncle in trade and a mother who makes spectacles of herself at assemblies.”
“You will not speak of my wife.”
“Brother, I have learned that when you tell me not to speak, there is always smoke hiding a fire behind it. One wonders why you chose the woman who hates you for such an exalted position. Was there, perhaps, some compromise that necessitated such a hasty decision?”
“Amelia’s death left me no choice. I needed a mother for Little Tom who was grieving.”
“Yes, but there is the gentle Jane Bennet—so recently abandoned by that cad friend of yours… Bingley was it? Of the mills up north? Or perhaps the pious Mary?—”
“You have an ear for gossip, I see.” Darcy consulted his watch. “I am prepared to settle your accounts here. You will ride for Pemberley at dawn, and dawn is not inclined to wait.”
“Oh, and be reacquainted with your delightful wife? Indeed, the pleasure will be mine.”
“You mistake my wife for someone else,” Darcy declared. “This conversation is finished.”
Wickham poured himself a fresh glass of claret and swirled it in front of his nose. “Ah yes, the elder two Bennet sisters. I do believe they spent the winter months in Cheapside. Jane, the beautiful one you passed over—to your detriment, I might add—was in low spirits, but the younger one? I do believe she quite thrived in the coffee shops and salons. Sharp and witty, that one, and so lively. I do believe you have taken the tail of an adder.”
“This is idle talk.” Darcy dismissed it; the elder Bennet sisters were gentlewomen to their fingertips, and whatever their uncle’s profession, their aunt would sooner allow a fox in the henhouse than her nieces to roam Cheapside unchaperoned.
“Idle, perhaps, but I would caution you, dear brother, that you have brought a snake into Pemberley.”
“The only snake is you.” Darcy glowered, impatient to be on his way. “You have a choice. Debtor’s prison or my way.”
“Takes one to know one,” Wickham waved his hand idly. “Very well. You want me to sign papers. I am willing to consider it—on certain conditions.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Name them.”
“A home at Pemberley, permanently,” Wickham spoke as though requesting a second helping of pudding. “Not in the great house, of course—I am not unreasonable. But Rose Cottage, which has been empty since my mother died. I should like to occupy it. A place to belong, after all these years of wandering.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It is my birthright, I believe. Our father promised me a living. Your mother loved me as her own. My sister delights in me. While you frowned over ledgers, I flew kites, caught butterflies, and taught her how to whistle. I long for those days again.”
“You will not,” Darcy declared. “Georgiana is a young lady now. She will be coming out to society in a year or two.”
“Ah, but I am her brother as much as you.”
“Half.”
“Such hostility.” Wickham affected a wounded expression. “One might think you did not trust me.”
“I do not trust you. I have never trusted you. And I will see you in hell before I allow you to set foot in Pemberley as anything other than a temporary guest under strict supervision.”
Wickham regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a genuine sound, rich with amusement.
“You have changed, Fitzwilliam. Marriage has given you fire. Or perhaps it is fatherhood—defending your little bastard with such passion.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Very well. Iwill come to Pemberley. I will sign your papers. I will relinquish my claim to the boy, although….”
Darcy waited for the condition.
“In exchange,” Wickham continued, “I wish to occupy your guest suite, strictly supervised, mind you, and I should like to see how little Miss Bennet manages as mistress of Pemberley. Whether she has risen to the occasion or remains the sharp-tongued country girl who found you so objectionable.”
“You are to respect the position my wife holds.” Darcy knew Wickham was poking him, as he always did, trying to get a rise out of him. “Now, we depart. I hope you are in condition to ride.”
“Ride? I should like a barouche at the least if I am required to relinquish that precious boy. I’ve grown quite attached to the child ever since I signed the registry claiming him.” Wickham stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I hear he is a charming child, quite unlike you in temperament.”
Before Darcy could respond, a waiter approached, followed by a young man in Pemberley livery holding a letter.
He bowed. “Mr. Darcy, sir. A letter from the mistress. She deems it urgent.”
