Day 7
Lady Catherine de Bourgh had been a formidable force.
In Darcy’s other life, she had ruled Rosings with an iron fist, not allowing the whims of any one person to drown out her own will.
Her behavior since his arrival had left him stupefied, and he was grateful her fortitude had resurrected the previous evening.
He still had no idea what his aunt was about with her summons to Rosings.
Still, he knew she did not intend to forget their appointment, as Wickham had so unceremoniously stated the night before.
And she had not. With rugs tucked around her legs and a hot brick at her feet, the party of three passed the village of Hunsford.
“And who do you have watching your shop today?” Lady Catherine asked Bingley, her eyes fixed on the passing fields out the carriage window.
“I have a boy from the village who helps, Mr. John Clarkston’s son, Your Ladyship. He is quite capable.”
“That is well, then. Maybe you will learn economy and your father’s fortune will be replenished.”
Bingley seemed to stiffen but offered a small smile as a reply.
“And you, Mr. Fitzroy? What do we know about you?”
“I have an estate in—”
“Yes, yes, in Salisbury, I have been told. But what about you threatens Mr. Wickham so?”
“Pardon?” Darcy asked, raising a brow. “I am uncertain of your meaning, Lady Catherine.”
“You must know something. The man is never at ease in your presence.”
No matter what life I am in, Wickham fears me. He caught the smile, which was twitching at his lips, before it was exposed to his aunt’s observant eyes.
“It has also come to my attention from my niece that you visited Pemberley as a child, and even remember the cook, Mrs. Rogers.”
“All true.”
She turned her head back to the window and sat quietly for a full minute. “I find it rather odd that such a young boy would remember the name of a cook from someone else’s household, which he had only visited once.”
Within the carriage was silent before he replied. “Her apple bread was unforgettable.”
“Indeed.”
The scene outside the window began to change, and Darcy realized they were approaching the old estate.
He craned his neck to see around the bend that led to the burned-out ruin of the original Rosings House.
Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s family had abandoned it after a fire and began new construction in the park.
Although not in its original form, there are still some small nods to the past.
“Mr. Fitzroy. I believe it is time to tell us exactly who you really are.”
Darcy attempted a nonchalance he did not feel. “I am William Fitzroy—”
“Yes, yes… But who are you? Who are your mother and your aunts? Who are your uncles?”
The question hung between them while he collected his thoughts, ill-prepared for the onslaught of suspicion from Lady Catherine. “Who would you have me be, m’lady? I cannot claim to be someone I am not.”
She looked at him, incredulously. “I am not one to be trifled with, Mr. Fitzroy. I have looked into your claims, and although you are the current master of Pembrook in Salisbury, I believe you are someone else entirely.”
His face remained even as he felt Bingley’s eyes on him.
“But yes,” she said, knocking her cane on the floor of the equipage, “I am sure you are wondering why I invited you out today.”
Darcy inhaled. “To be frank, Your Ladyship, I am more in awe of your present demeanor, as it is quite the opposite of the frail woman I first met at Rosings.”
His words were met by an ugly laugh. “I understand your confusion. Suffice it to say, Mrs. Abernathy is no longer in my employ. According to a trusted servant, Abernathy was paid handsomely to increase the dosage of my prescription. Hence, my odd behavior for the last several months. But, thanks to said servant, that problem has been eliminated. Or, shall I say, it will be eliminated. Now, as to why you are both here?”
At Darcy and Bingley’s silence, she continued. “I have been contemplating the situation for myself, my daughter, and my niece, and I realize it is one you both have a stake in.”
“Your Ladyship,” Bingley began, “with all due respect, George Wickham is the last man…let’s say, we do not get along.”
“Hmm…” She smirked before replying. “It must be difficult for you to reside in the same village as the man at whose hand you lost your fortune!”
Bingley stiffened.
“I am aware of your circumstances, and I must say that you handled yourself admirably last night. But, today…today, I offer you something you cannot refuse.”
“And what might that be, Your Ladyship?”
“I wish for you to dispose of George Wickham.” Both men gasped. “It matters not to me by what means, but I want that son-of-a-steward removed from England with a guarantee he will never return.”
“Lady Catherine,” Bingley began, “I cannot in good conscience—”
“I will reinstate your fortune.”
Bingley stared.
“And I will provide for your ruined sister in America.” Darcy looked sharply at Bingley, while Lady Catherine said, “Do not think me ignorant of her circumstances. You cannot believe she carries the first illegitimate child of George Wickham? No, you are wiser than that. You are surely aware of his cunning with maidens and other men’s wives, but there is no need to speak of such ugliness. ”
Bingley remained mute, but Darcy spoke. “How did this all come to pass? How does Wickham hold such power, Your Ladyship?”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the approaching ruins. “He has discovered something I wished to remain a secret, and he seeks the proof to use it against me. Now that I have my wits about me, by any means, I will find a way to stop him.”
Only the rhythmic clop of the team of horses outside filled the silence. Darcy looked at Bingley before he began. “Lady Catherine, as much as I wish to help you—”
“I will ensure your fortune.”
“Money is not an obstacle for me. I am quite well-situated. I require noth—”
“Pemberley. Pemberley shall be yours.”
It was late. His meeting with Lady Catherine had been nothing he’d expected.
She had peppered him—and Bingley—with demands and promises.
Yet, his thoughts always returned to Pemberley!
The possibility of his home, his father’s home, and every other Darcy generations before, belonging to him in this lifetime.
Lady Catherine must know who I am. But how?
He glanced at his watch and could see by the moonlight it was a quarter past ten.
He had gone home with Bingley to discuss the propositions Lady Catherine had put before them.
Pemberley! It had been a difficult tale to hear—how Wickham had been playing cards when a stranger had taken a seat at the table.
The man had won moderately at first, playing into Wickham’s bravado.
Then the tides turned. After losing a considerable amount, the stranger had a string of luck and stripped Wickham of all his earnings.
With his pride and vanity at stake, Wickham had called on his good friend Charles Bingley to front him money to cover his bet.
As a gentleman, Bingley had agreed, foolishly setting forth a substantial amount to keep Wickham in the game.
He lost it most miserably and was prepared to play anew when the stranger stood to leave.
Facing the possibility of losing more, Wickham raised the stakes to entice the man back by throwing down the deed for Pemberley.
That is what the stranger had been waiting for.
As a secret emissary of Lady Catherine, the stranger played the game, underscoring all of Wickham’s weaknesses, and won the prize he had been so well paid to achieve.
Pemberley! That Lady Catherine owns it but refuses to make that known to anyone for fear Wickham and Georgiana will leave her house, and he will use whatever information he has against her.
And Bingley. A pall came over him as he thought about his good friend.
For Bingley, that was the beginning of his financial downfall. Having invested in overseas ventures and mortgaging his father’s factories to extend himself to the Chesterfield’s debts and crumbling estate, it was not long until he was in complete ruin.
Aware everyone in the house would be asleep, and not yet ready to be stifled by four walls, he walked toward the back of the house, to lose himself in the moonlit garden.
The memory of his aunt’s request from earlier in the day filtered back into his consciousness, and he was lost in contemplation. He was surprised to come upon Elizabeth sitting on a stone bench.
“Miss Bennet. What brings you out this late?”
“I cannot sleep. My mind is full of thoughts and cannot settle.”
“As is mine. Would you feel it improper for me to join you in the garden, unchaperoned?”
“If we were at a ball or assembly, it would not be deemed so.”
“True.” He grinned. “But then, we have the possibility of cackling hens watching our every move. In this dark garden in Hunsford, it is only you, me, and Luna.”
Elizabeth looked up at the moon. “And she is ever so bright tonight. We are quite safe.”
Wordlessly, he sat on the bench and leaned back against the bushes.
“Did you meet with Lady Catherine?”
“It was enlightening. Lady Catherine is quite a…spirited woman.”
“Spirited?”
“Yes. Surprisingly so. She is very opinionated about what she desires. It is as if she has been reborn to what she must have always been.”
“Truly? I have not heard her speak more than ten words together before last night, although both Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Wickham assure me of her civility and interest in numerous topics. I can barely believe you, Mr. Fitzroy.”
The levity in her tone and the smile playing at the corners of her mouth indicated he was in for quite a tease. “Are you questioning my integrity, Miss Bennet? Is that what you think of me after I have allowed you to help nurse me back to health?”
“Allowed me?” she said, attempting to stifle a chortle. “I do not believe there was any choice in the matter on my end. I could not allow a creature of God’s to suffer needlessly.”
“So, I am as a wounded animal?”
Her eyes sparkled, and she weighed her words. “I believe a wounded animal would have been of more help to himself. You were quite lifeless, sir.” They stared quietly into the sky.
“Lady Catherine gave me more reasons for you to be leery of Mr. Wickham. I ask you once again to always be on your guard.”
“I assure you, I do. I should not be gossiping, but the servants say at night he has taken to scouring the attic, book room, and looking through piles of old papers. Peculiar practice, wouldn’t you say?”
“I agree. I am curious why a man with such a lovely wife would spend his time in such dusty and isolated pursuits?”
He saw her roll her eyes. “I can honestly say I do not care to understand anything that man does, as long as it does not negatively affect my friend. I am quite content living in ignorance.”
Yes, Elizabeth. But Wickham always has a reason for everything he does. He is looking for something, and I mean to find out what it is. And why.