Page 52 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Lowering himself to Papa’s level, Mr. Wickham squeezed his shoulder. “All will be well, sir. You shall see. Sir Bradley is a reasonable type. A gentleman. I have no doubt that he will excuse this whole mess and you will be done with it before a fortnight has passed.”

The reading of the will was precisely a fortnight away. Likely Mr. Wickham had chosen the time period at random, but Elizabeth could not help but note the coincidence.

Her father looked up at him. “I am indebted to you. How can I ever thank you⁠—”

“Pray say no more on the subject. Any gentleman would count it a privilege to do the same.” Elizabeth doubted that, but she gave no voice to the thought. It would only trouble her father more.

The colonel rose and bowed his farewell. “It was a delight to make your acquaintance. I wish it could have been under more favorable circumstances.”

“Will we see you again, Colonel?” asked Kitty.

“I must return to London this very day.”

Elizabeth was sad to hear it. When he perceived the gloom his reply provoked, he added, “However, I have no doubt that our paths will cross once again in the near future.” His gaze paused on Elizabeth, and her mind promptly suggested a time—a fortnight. At first she dismissed it, but on second consideration, she realized the correctness of her inclination. Colonel Fitzwilliam was the nephew of Mr. George Darcy. Of course, he would be at Pemberley for the reading of the will. Would Fitzwilliam Darcy be there… somehow? Did the colonel know anything? Had she missed her opportunity to ask?

His eyebrows tilted upward in sympathy as if he had read her thoughts. “To echo Mr. Wickham’s confidence, I have a feeling that all will turn out well for you, Miss Elizabeth. Despite what the papers say.”

There was a shift in the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sympathetic expression remained unchanged, and Mr. Wickham’s smile did not falter, yet she sensed tension between the gentlemen. “I hope you are correct, Colonel.”

He nodded at her, and the steadiness in his look almost made her believe that all might end well. He must be an effective leader; such a look would inspire so much confidence in the men under his command. Robbie was similar in that regard. So steady, calm, and confident.

As though to prove her point, Robbie stood and saw their callers out. He took the last of the composure remaining in the drawing room with him.

CHAPTER 29

Darcy followed Richard and Wickham outside, where Johnny proudly held out the reins to their newly brushed and watered horses. Wickham snatched the leather from the boy, too pleased with his treachery to notice anyone who did not directly serve his purpose. Richard, on the other hand, took a moment to inspect his mount. The boy held his breath, doing his best to stand still as he looked on and waited for a verdict of approval.

Darcy hoped that Wickham would depart, but he lingered. “This is a waste of time.”

“Are you in a hurry?” Richard replied. “You need not wait for me.”

Wickham’s horse shifted its feet, but he held the mount steady, making it clear he would not allow them any private conversation. After some time, Richard stood and took the reins from the boy. “What is your name, lad?”

“J-J-Johnny, sir.” To this stilted reply, he added a clumsy salute. Although Richard kept a straight face, Darcy coughed into his elbow.

“Johnny what, young man?”

“Johnny Tibbs.”

Richard nodded seriously. “Mr. Tibbs, you have gone above and beyond the call of duty in your care of my horse. His coat is gleaming, his hooves are picked, and if I am not mistaken, they are also polished.” He flicked a coin into the air and then tossed it to the boy.

A smile burst over Johnny’s face. “Thank you, sir!” He tucked the coin into his pocket and tripped over his feet in his excitement to find someone to show his prize.

Wickham still lingered, still smirked. Richard turned to him, dropping his voice. “You have become a better strategist over the years, Wickie.”

The hated nickname hit its mark, and Wickham’s charming facade slipped. “Strategy is not necessary when one holds all the cards.”

“How did you get my signet ring?” Darcy asked plainly.

Wickham paused before answering, watching for a particular reaction. He had always watched, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Just as he had done today. Darcy lifted his chin, refusing to display any visible concern. Giving up, Wickham said, “Your father gave it to me.”

“What?!” hissed Richard.

Darcy held himself steady, counting his breath as he inhaled and holding his hands loosely at his side as though he had not been struck a terrible blow. His lack of response put a frown on Wickham’s face. He wished to bask in his triumph, but Darcy spoiled his fun. All braggarts were the same. Darcy was grateful for it; it gave him something to focus on rather than the gnawing disappointment he had lived with for most of his life. Over the last few weeks, he had hoped… well, never mind that.

“Your father was so disappointed in you that he gave me the ring in your stead. He told me I was a better son than you had ever been and deserved to inherit that which you had scorned.”

“I do not believe it!” exclaimed Richard. Darcy wished he did not.