16. Past and Present #3
“I intended to join them within days.”
“When I arrived...” He looked away toward the orchard. “I found Georgiana greatly distressed.”
“What had happened?”
“She had formed an attachment.”
Elizabeth waited.
“To Mr. Wickham.”
Silence settled between them.
“He had persuaded her,” Darcy continued, “that he admired her. That I wished her married. That their union would relieve me of responsibility.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened with pity.
“Oh...”
“He encouraged her to conceal the matter from me.”
“Poor Georgiana.”
“She confessed everything before irreparable harm occurred.”
Elizabeth released a breath.
“I am glad she trusted you.”
“So am I.”
She considered this for several moments.
“And Georgiana named Mr. Wickham specifically?”
Darcy answered without thinking.
“Yes.”
Then the memory returned.
Georgiana’s pale face.
Her trembling hands.
The stammer.
His confidence faltered.
“Well...”
Elizabeth watched him closely.
“She did not actually speak his name.”
Her brows knit. “No?”
Darcy shook his head slowly. “She began to.”
“And then?”
“I supplied it.”
“You... supplied it?”
Darcy’s jaw stiffened. “Yes, and she nodded.”
Elizabeth remained silent.
He suddenly heard the conversation again precisely as it had occurred.
“Who?”
“W-w...”
“Wickham!”
Elizabeth spoke with evident care.
“Mr. Darcy...”
“She nodded.”
“I believe you.” She looked at him with compassion.
“It was Wickham.”
“I am not saying it was not.”
She chose her next words with painful precision.
“I think... something is not right.”
He stared at her.
She continued.
“Your account of Mr. Wickham bears no resemblance to the gentleman my family has known.”
“You think us deceived.”
“I think there is a contradiction.”
“He deceived my father for years.”
“I know.”
“He deceived Georgiana.”
“If indeed it was Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy’s patience snapped.
“Elizabeth.”
“I am asking—”
“Why do you refuse to trust me?”
The question escaped him harsher than intended.
Immediately he regretted it.
Elizabeth did not retreat.
Instead she looked genuinely saddened.
“That is not the case.”
“It appears so.”
“No.”
She stepped nearer.
“I trust you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why—”
“Because my judgment has never failed me.”
The confidence in her words halted him.
She continued.
“I have observed people since I was a girl. I have been mistaken in little things, perhaps, but never in character.”
“You believe yourself incapable of error?”
“No.”
“I believe experience deserves consideration.”
She gestured gently toward Longbourn.
“My father.”
“My mother.”
“Jane.”
“My uncle.”
“My aunt.”
“Lydia.”
“We have all known Mr. Wickham.”
She met his eyes.
“Our experience has been wholly different from yours.”
Darcy folded his arms.
“You say you have not seen him in how many years?”
“Three.”
“Since he relinquished the living?”
“Yes.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“And during those years people may change.”
“So may they perfect deception.”
He began pacing.
“I should have known he was lying in wait.”
Elizabeth watched him.
“Is it possible...”
He stopped.
“...that this is all some great misunderstanding?”
He laughed bitterly. “A misunderstanding?”
“I cannot help feeling we lack some vital piece of information.”
“Sometimes matters are straightforward, Elizabeth.”
“Sometimes.”
She offered no further argument.
Perhaps because she recognized he would not yield.
Perhaps because she herself remained uncertain.
Either possibility exhausted him.
He drew a slow breath.
“I wish to speak of something else.”
Relief flickered across her face.
“Very well.”
“How did my interview with your father become the least interesting conversation either of us has had today?”
She smiled.
“I wondered the same.”
He reached for both her hands.
She offered them willingly.
The simple trust of the gesture eased something inside him.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
She laughed.
“I believe you have permission to use my Christian name.”
“I do.”
“Provided we are not overheard.”
“Elizabeth.”
He had spoken the name before.
It had never sounded so entirely his privilege.
“We are officially courting.”
Her entire face lit with happiness.
“Truly?”
“Your father has consented.”
“Oh...”
She laughed again, brighter now.
“I had hoped.”
“I scarcely dared.”
“You?”
“I have discovered courage deserts me in unexpected circumstances.”
“I shall endeavor not to create too many of them.”
“I believe that impossible.”
She squeezed his hands.
“I am very glad.”
“As am I.”
He bent instinctively nearer.
For one brief instant the rest of the world disappeared.
Elizabeth remained—the warmth of her hands and the impossible fortune that she had agreed to give him a chance.
Yet beneath the happiness another awareness persisted.
It lingered behind every smile.
Behind every affectionate glance.
The question of George Wickham stood between them like an unopened door.
Darcy chose not to dwell upon it.
Time would resolve the matter.
Truth would prevail.
Elizabeth would see Wickham for what he truly was.
Until then, he would simply love her well enough that no disagreement could permanently divide them.
He believed it with all his heart.