Chapter 19 #2
“Then why did you pay me?” he asked candidly, and she knew he was right. He suddenly looked over her shoulder and hailed a man. “Melrose, is that you? How do you do?”
She turned in time to see that the man looked like he wanted to pretend he did not hear Wickham. He hesitated, but touched his hat, and she recognised him as an acquaintance of Darcy’s from some of the parties this past month.
“Mrs Darcy, have you met Melrose?”
Mr Melrose bowed to her. “My wife and I owe you a visit, but we have sent round our card, if you recall.” She said that she did, and then in a more serious voice, he said, “I saw you at Lady Summerlin’s ball.
I spoke with Darcy that evening, in fact.
” His gaze flicked to Wickham for a moment.
“I did not know you were well acquainted with Mr Wickham.”
This man did not like Wickham. They were bowing acquaintances, perhaps, but not friends. He barely held his contempt in check. It reminded her of Darcy’s haughty manner toward Wickham at the Ramsgate assembly.
“We met in Ramsgate,” Wickham said cheerfully, “where I was friends with her before she became Darcy’s wife.”
“We are not as close as we once were,” she said quickly, with an imploring look at Mr Melrose.
“Nonsense,” said Wickham. “I adored all the Bennet girls, but I think the former Miss Elizabeth was my favourite. And now she is my dear sister and we are even closer.”
Elizabeth wanted to hang her head, but she had to look as though she had done nothing wrong.
All the while, the shame of her situation felt like it would eat away at her heart and consume her soul.
What would happen now if Mr Melrose told her husband she saw them together, that Wickham claimed they were good friends?
There was judgment all over Mr Melrose’s face as he touched his hat and went on his way. Or did she imagine it? Her thoughts were so disordered. Regardless, he must be curious why she was with Wickham when everyone knew Darcy had nothing to do with the scoundrel his sister ran off with.
Once he was gone, Wickham turned to her. “I am wounded, dear sister. Are we not good friends anymore?”
She scowled at him. “Give me back my journal and hair ornament.”
He shook his head. “You can pay me another fifty after Christmas. That should gain you a little breathing-time. I am not unreasonable, after all.”
How could he ask that of her? “Give them back. Please, I gave you fifty pounds. That is a fortune. You could live for a year on this.”
“Hmm, very humbly. And I do not want to live humbly. I want my new wife in better keeping.”
She now doubted any of this money would find its way to Georgiana’s care.
“You still have the legacy from old Mr Darcy; that gives you forty pounds a year, and you might find a profession. Or do you use that money for other purposes?” she spat, hating him for what he was doing, and hating herself for allowing it to happen.
“What do you mean?”
“Will you use the income off that thousand pounds to drink and game with men who have higher incomes than you? Will you visit brothels and pretend you can afford the courtesans who prefer richer, grander men?”
A darker part of herself wanted to enrage Wickham, but he only shrugged. “Well, my dear Mrs Darcy, some courtesans prefer a rich, grand man, as do you. You are no better than a common prostitute. You married a man because he was rich.”
“No,” she whispered, feeling tears in her eyes. She married him to protect her reputation, and her sisters’ reputations. But she loved Darcy now—and he would never believe it if Wickham spread his lies over London.
“And yet you lust after me and gave me the expensive jewellery your rich husband gave you, all because you prefer your brother-in-law to Darcy.”
“Keep your voice down,” she murmured. It was not crowded near the wall by Lansdowne House, but she did not need him overheard.
“All of good society must have thought this could happen. He is wealthy, and you were poor.”
“Wealth had nothing to do with it.”
“The truth does not matter. You are a woman, after all,” he said plainly.
“After reading that journal, anyone would say you married Darcy to gratify a weaker part of yourself; in short, you married merely to lie with a man.” Elizabeth gasped, and Wickham smiled.
“Clearly, you were eager for it, and it appears as though you did not find satisfaction with him and wrote these indecent lines to me. And is not this matrimonial whoredom? You use Darcy for his money and me for…everything else. It will all come out. He will be humiliated and pitied, and he will hate you forever.”
Her stomach lurched, but she said, “I cannot pay you more.”
“We have been seen together. A word in Melrose’s ear that you warm my bed after Georgiana leaves it will be in every club before Darcy steps foot inside.
How confident are you that he will stand by you?
” Elizabeth felt her chest tighten, and a wave of nausea struck her.
“I do not know a man more concerned with family pride than Darcy. Will he still love and respect you?” He opened the journal to the last used page and tapped it. “Will he still want to…do any of this?”
Wickham then chuckled. “He probably will. He is a man, dull as he is. But I doubt you would get any enjoyment if he hates you while he does it.”
She saw no way out. No one could know Wickham was extorting her, certainly not know that she had been seen with him. What would Mr Melrose say if asked about the encounter? With Wickham’s innuendo and Mr Melrose’s assertion they met, everything tilted out of her control. “But I have no more money.”
“Now, I know I cannot expect another payment so soon. I am not unreasonable, my dear sister. Another fifty pounds next quarter will encourage me to be silent.”
“I cannot pay it.”
His smiling demeanour fell. “I am being extraordinarily gracious. Are your husband’s affection and peace of mind not worth two hundred pounds a year?”
Darcy’s happiness was worth any price. But there was no way to hide it if she had to give Wickham all of her pin money.
“It is only the eleventh of October,” Wickham said, his cheerful smile back in place. “Nearly three months to find a way. You might be more economical in your own expenses. Or ask your husband to indulge you with gifts, then you can sell them. Or ask him for more money. He has enough of it.”
Wickham had no idea how Darcy spent his income.
He seemed to think it was all for entertainment, but she had seen the ledgers.
Darcy did not spend recklessly. He paid his servants well and kept every structure at Pemberley in good repair.
He did not spend it all on clothing and horses, and he saved more of it than her father ever did.
There was no way she could hide two hundred pounds a year from Darcy.
“How am I going to do this?” she muttered into her hands.
“Just ask him for more. Darcy knows you married him for his reputation—and his money.”
“I did not!” she shrieked, drawing the attention of others passing by. “Just sell the diamonds and leave me alone.”
“No, this will be worth more in the long run. The trinket and the journal together make my case. If you tire of this, be on your way, and I will know how to act.”
She could not allow that to happen. She had to protect Darcy’s good name, but this was a perpetual nightmare.
What woman accused of moral weakness ever recovered?
If she was thought to be an adulteress, Darcy would have to divorce her to protect his respectability.
No one would accept an invitation from an adulteress. No one would invite them anywhere.
“Very well,” she whispered. “Another fifty pounds in January. But I do not want to see you before then.”
“Ah, that is a shame, for I will miss our strolls. Enjoy the rest of your autumn, dear sister.”
Elizabeth went home with her heart full of what she now had to conceal. How to come up with another fifty pounds?
A new thought struck her as she went home and laid down on the bed. Perhaps Wickham knew she could never pay in the long run and expected her to go to Darcy. He might want to force Darcy to give him Georgiana’s fortune rather than extort her, since it seemed he would not win in court.
If she confessed to Darcy, the cost would be more than fifty pounds a quarter or even the value of the fortune Wickham wanted.
She had defied Darcy, defied their agreement not to support Georgiana.
Lied to him. Stolen from him. He would despise her.
Resent her. Lose all respect for her. Never love her. And if he believed Wickham—divorce her.
She did not know what to do before Wickham’s next deadline, but telling Darcy felt impossible.
Darcy heard Elizabeth’s tread on the stairs and rose from the library to open the door.
He had not seen his wife today. Her maid said that his wife had come home from a walk Friday afternoon and went straight to her bed.
She might have been ill, or she might have been avoiding him.
He ought to apologise for losing his patience on Thursday.
He did not know how to be a husband, but demanding her confidence, or kissing her when he suspected she would rebuff him, was not the way to gain it.
“Would you come in?” he asked. She started, as though she had been lost in her own thoughts and not even noticed him. Elizabeth met his eye and nodded, moving past him without a word to sit in a chair by the fire.
He noticed the lines of fatigue etched into the corners of her eyes. Their disagreement might weigh on her as much as it weighed on him.
“I wanted to apologise,” he said haltingly. “I should not have kissed you when you did not welcome it, and I should not have demanded you confide in me. It is a privilege to be earned, not demanded.”
“No, I have been…” She sighed tiredly. “I want us to be friends, and I do wish to speak with you as we did before—before you went to Pemberley. And I should have yielded to your—”