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Darcy drew a sharp breath at the sound of his former friend’s name. “Wickham?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Wickham and Aunt Lydia. I sometimes saw the two of them together.”

Darcy closed his eyes and exhaled a worried breath over the prospect of what his son may have witnessed between those two.

Darcy felt the colour rise in his cheeks, and he hoped Ben did not notice his sudden discomfort. Thoughts of the deplorable circumstances in which he had found young Lydia—the filth, the stench, and the bleak despair—flooded his mind. Her attachment to Wickham had been the product of weeks, not days, as Darcy and Collins had taught themselves to believe. Her scheme to entrap Bingley now makes sense. It was all the product of Wickham’s depraved mind.

“What exactly do you mean when you say you saw them together, Ben?”

Ben raced over to the window and picked up his spyglass. He held it to his eye as he looked out the window. Darcy walked to Ben’s side and accepted the proffered instrument. Pointing, Ben said, “I sometimes saw them coming and going together in that area. Aunt Lydia never goes anywhere without Aunt Kitty, and that is why I supposed she was on a secret mission with the militia on behalf of the country.”

“So, what you are saying is that you only saw the gentleman and your aunt walking together—nothing more?”

“That is all I ever saw, but as I said, I have seen nothing of the sort since just before you left town. I know that Aunt Lydia has gone away. Is she in town?”

“Ben, I have news about your aunt Lydia. She is in town—or rather she was in London. She has since travelled to Newcastle.”

“New castle? Oh, I love castles. Is it very far away? I should very much like to explore it. Shall we journey there for a visit?”

“Yes, Newcastle is far away—very far. It is not exactly a castle, but rather a town in the north. However, we shall not be travelling there.” God willing. “You see, your aunt is not alone. She is recently married—to George Wickham.”

“But … but…” Pausing to fashion his thoughts, Ben bit his lower lip. “I have a new uncle? Does this mean that we no longer hate him?”

“Hate is a very strong emotion, Ben. Dislike, distrust—I feel both of these sentiments are more fitting.”

“No—I was rather certain we hated him.”

“It is complicated, Ben. You know that George Wickham and I were the closest of friends at one time. However, as we grew older he proved himself to be deplorable. I never wanted anything to do with him, and I certainly never wanted him anywhere near our family.”

“Now he is my uncle. He is our family.”

“Your uncle and my brother.” Darcy nearly choked on the appellations. “We must endeavour to tolerate him.” The prospects of which are tenable with the promise that it will be a long time before we lay eyes on him again.

“Da, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course you may, son.”

“You said that you and the lieutenant were the best of friends when you were young, but then he did something to cause you to hate him. Is that the reason you do not like Samuel?”

“Ben, I do not dislike Samuel.”

“Well, you do not like him either.”

“No … well, yes…” After a couple of starts and stops attempting to clarify his stance, Darcy said, “Samuel is nothing at all like my former friend. He is a good person—honest and trustworthy—and I am sorry I gave you the impression I felt otherwise.”

“But do you like him?”

“Yes, Ben. I like him very much. You are fortunate to have such a friend.”

“Oh, Da! I am delighted to hear you say that, for I have missed Samuel more and more each day. I am so sad he will never see my fortress.”

“It is not too late for you to share all this with Samuel.”

“Do you mean to say that the next time we visit Hertfordshire Samuel will come with us?”

“Actually, I was thinking we might reconstruct all this at Pemberley—the three of us.”

Ben’s brightened countenance reminded Darcy of that which he had missed most over the past weeks.