Chapter 18
DARCY
London swallowed men who wished to disappear, but Wickham had never been able to give up comfort long enough to become invisible.
I began with his debts.
The creditors remembered him. A tailor on Bond Street had received a promissory note signed with a false name.
A wine merchant knew an address where Wickham had had six bottles delivered before leaving the lodging without paying the rent.
A former regimental comrade had seen him in a gambling house near St James's.
Each lead cost money, time, and another measure of my patience.
Mr Gardiner proved invaluable.
He was not impressed by my name or my orders. He knew London differently than I did: the streets of commerce, the men who talked when treated with respect, the networks of landlords and clerks that gentlemen rarely noticed. We worked without rest for four days.
Elizabeth waited at Darcy House.
I sometimes returned after midnight. She was always in the small drawing room, a lamp burning, an open book she wasn't reading. She rose as soon as she heard me.
“Nothing?” she would ask.
“Not yet.”
She never cried in front of me. She took my coat, called a servant for supper, made me eat and drink. The third night, she placed her fingers on my temple.
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’ll sleep when we’ve found them.”
“You won’t find anyone if you collapse in the street.”
“Such touching confidence in my constitution.”
“Fitzwilliam.”
Her tone forced me to look at her.
“Rest for two hours. I’ll wake you.”
I yielded.
I lay down on the drawing room sofa, too weary to make it to my chamber. Elizabeth sat beside me. I woke before dawn with my head in her lap and her hand in my hair.
She had fallen asleep sitting up.
I lay still, my heart aching with a hope I refused to name.
On the fifth day, we found Wickham.
He was lodging with Lydia in a furnished house in Clerkenwell, under the name of Mr and Mrs Williams. The landlady believed they were married. Lydia herself seemed to believe the marriage was merely a formality delayed by lack of funds.
She opened the door wearing a dress far too showy, a delighted smile on her face.
“Mr Darcy! What a surprise! Is Lizzy with you? Wickham was just saying you’d end up helping us.”
Every word deepened my anger.
“Where is he?”
“In the sitting room. But don’t be harsh. We were going to write as soon as everything was arranged.”
Nothing was arranged.
Wickham rose when I entered. He looked unwell, but his smile still held that easy charm that had deceived so many.
“Darcy. I wondered how long it would take you.”
Mr Gardiner remained near the door. Lydia wanted to follow us; I asked her to return to her room.
“Oh, you’re going to talk about money,” she said. “Wickham assured me that men always prefer to do that without the ladies.”
When she had gone, I closed the door.
“You will marry her.”
Wickham poured himself some wine.
“That’s an unfriendly opening.”
“You removed her from the Forsters’ protection, brought her to London, and set her up under a false name. You will marry her.”
“With what? My military prospects have grown disappointing. My creditors are not patient men. Miss Lydia possesses a thousand pounds upon her mother’s death, which is hardly an immediate fortune.”
“Name your price.”
His smile widened.
“There’s the Darcy I know. Always ready to pay to keep the world clean around Pemberley.”
I took a step toward him.
Mr Gardiner quietly placed a hand on my arm. I stopped.
“Your debts will be settled up to a verified amount,” I said. “A commission will be purchased in a distant regiment. A modest annual income will be placed in Lydia’s name and will not pass through your hands. In exchange, the marriage will take place immediately.”
“Modest?”
“Enough that she won’t lack for necessities. Not enough to fund your gaming tables.”
He took a sip.
“You’re generous with the Bennets. Two sisters in one season. The first cost you more, I imagine.”
I felt the blood pounding in my temples.
“Do not speak my wife’s name.”
“Mrs Darcy, of course. What a remarkable elevation. She always had wit. I didn’t think she’d use it to land such a fine bargain.”
I seized him by the collar before Gardiner could stop me.
The glass fell and shattered.
“One more word about her and no arrangement will protect you from me.”
Wickham paled, then recovered his smile.
“Always so sensitive where a woman is concerned. Georgiana could testify to that.”
My hand tightened.
“You will never speak her name.”
“The world is always eager to hear the stories a man tells about a young lady too well-bred to answer. I could describe Ramsgate in terms far less favorable to your family.”
The rage turned cold.
“You would be lying.”
“A rumor need not be true. Your sister is reaching the age when people will speak of marriage. Do you wish to discover how many can tell the difference between a deceived child and a consenting young woman?”
I released him.
I saw Georgiana at Ramsgate again, trembling and ashamed at having been duped. Wickham had kept no proof. He needed none to ruin a reputation.
“State your terms.”
Mr Gardiner turned his head toward me.
Wickham demanded an absurd sum. We negotiated.
Two hours later, we had a written agreement: his debts would be settled up to a verified amount, a commission purchased, and the marriage would take place as soon as the license was obtained and Mr Bennet’s consent secured. My solicitor would handle the formalities.
I dispatched an express to Longbourn that same evening. Twenty-four miles on horseback, a signature, twenty-four miles back: Mr Bennet could give his consent within two days without leaving his library, which should suit him perfectly.
I did not believe Wickham capable of honor; I believed only in his self-interest.
Lydia entered when everything was decided.
“Is it done? Can we marry the day after tomorrow? I want to write to Kitty before she hears the news from someone else.”
I looked at her.
She had scarcely more sense now than she had at sixteen, despite her eighteen years.
She understood neither what she had risked nor what her marriage would cost her.
I could not save her from all the consequences of her choice.
I could only prevent her from being abandoned without a name, without protection, and perhaps with child.
“If your father signs his consent and if the license is issued,” I replied.
She kissed me on the cheek.
“I knew you were much kinder than you appeared.”
Wickham laughed.
I left the house before I struck him.
In the carriage, Mr Gardiner kept silent until we had crossed two streets.
“I will repay every pound I can,” he said at last.
“No.”
“Mr Darcy, she is my niece.”
“And my wife’s sister.”
“That does not oblige you to pay Wickham’s debts.”
“My silence allowed him to maintain a reputation he used against other young women. I bear a share of responsibility.”
“Not for Lydia’s decisions.”
“No. But I can reduce their consequences.”
He regarded me with benevolent gravity.
“Elizabeth loves you.”
I turned my head.
“She told you so?”
“No.”
Hope fell.
“Then do not give me a certainty you do not possess.”
“I possess eyes.”
I did not answer.
At Darcy House, Elizabeth was waiting in the entrance hall. She descended the steps before the servant had even closed the door.
“You found them.”
It was not a question. She had read the answer on my face.
“Yes.”
“Lydia?”
“She is well. The marriage will take place in two days, as soon as the formalities are completed.”
Her legs gave way. I caught her in my arms.
She buried her face against my chest and began to cry.
I carried her to the small sitting room and held her on my lap while she clung to me. Her tears soaked through my shirt. I stroked her back, her hair, murmuring what comfort I could: Lydia was safe, the marriage would take place, Jane and the others would not be ruined.
When her tears subsided, she lifted a devastated face to mine.
“How can I ever thank you?”
The question pained me.
“Don’t.”
“Fitzwilliam…”
“Especially not with what I desire most.”
She froze.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t say anything out of gratitude.”
Pain replaced the relief in her eyes.
“So you believe everything I might give you can be bought?”
“I believe you are vulnerable today, and I will not take advantage of this moment.”
She rose abruptly from my lap.
“You have decided not to govern my thoughts, but you reserve the right to interpret them for me.”
“Elizabeth.”
“No. You are right about one thing: this is not the moment.”
She left the room.
I stayed where I was, too exhausted to follow her.
I went up to my study and opened the estate ledger to its last page.
A few weeks of tight, cramped writing. Her habits. Her silences. The names of her tenant farmers and the state of their roofs. The exact hour at which she stopped being polite. Books left open. Tea too strong.
Everything was there.
Except what she had just tried to tell me.
In the neighboring drawer lay the duplicate key to the secretary—the one I had made and never used. I took it, turned it between my fingers, then put it back.
I had observed my wife with the same care I devoted to my lands, then mistaken my notes for the truth only she could give me.
No man was ever loved because he kept accurate accounts.