Chapter Seven #3
“I believe it is the same man who importuned Georgiana in Ramsgate last summer,” he told her solemnly. “I had an opportunity to finish him then, and I did not take it.”
“Finish him?” Elizabeth asked. “You mean John thought you should end the man’s life? Because he was a fortune hunter who tried to woo Georgiana? It was despicable, to be sure, but hardly a hanging offense.”
“It is not that I did not kill the man, as much as he might have deserved it. But I let him go, Elizabeth. Told him he would never see a shilling and let him run.” He shook his head.
“It is more than Ramsgate, love. I would explain it but I do not know how much time I have been given to say goodbye.”
“You are not going to say goodbye to me, Fitzwilliam. John is not my guardian.”
“But he stands in for your uncle,” Mr. Darcy reminded her. “I would not wish for there to be a rift between you on my behalf.”
“Will there not be a rift between you and your Aunt Catherine on my behalf?”
Mr. Darcy smiled sadly. “It hardly compares. You love your cousin, whereas to be severed from my aunt would be a blessing.”
“You do not mean that,” Elizabeth chided him.
He chuckled without mirth. “I mostly mean that.” He kissed her hands. “I promise that I shall do whatever is needed to bring this crisis to its conclusion, so we may wed.” He bent to her, his lips hovering near hers for a moment before brushing them softly, then lingeringly.
Elizabeth’s entire body tingled even after her betrothed pulled away. “Do not go, Fitzwilliam,” she begged as he released her. “Please, do not go.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I will not be far, Elizabeth. I will manage this, and then we shall be together.”
“Stubborn man,” she breathed, both annoyed and saddened. “Do you promise?”
He smiled down at her, but his expression was clouded with regret. “I promise.”
Olivia Russell had never seen her niece so distraught.
Lizzy was crying too hard to speak coherently.
From the little she could make out, it was John’s fault.
The man had forbidden Fitzwilliam Darcy to return to the house and as a man of honor, Mr. Darcy intended to obey.
Well, she thought crossly, leave it to the men to muck it all up.
“Enough now, Lizzy,” she said bluntly. “Nothing will be accomplished with tears. You must tell me what has happened.”
As she always did when there was a difficult conversation to be held, Olivia pined for Phillip.
His negotiation skills were sharply honed, and he could always effect a compromise.
She missed him constantly; it was the refrain of her heart.
But it was in these moments that his absence was particularly distressing.
It took several long minutes for the girl to regain her composure and another few to wash her face. Calm at last, Lizzy sat on the side of the bed and began to explain. “Do you recall when Georgiana was having trouble with her companion last summer?”
“Of course,” she replied, not having expected this beginning. “We sent a private rider. You told me you received a letter from Lady Matlock afterward confirming Georgiana’s safety.”
Lizzy nodded. “I did. But I have had nothing from Georgiana since, though she writes to her brother.”
Olivia frowned. That was not like the girls, to be out of contact. “The letters all came through me, as we did not wish to publish your whereabouts, dear. Check the stack on my desk before you go. Perhaps I have missed it?”
Lizzy nodded. “I shall, thank you.” She plucked at the blanket. “Georgiana never did tell me who the man was, the one who pushed her to accept his hand. Mr. Darcy knew him well. He gave his name to John this morning, and I badgered my cousin until he told me.”
It washed over Olivia then, with a sort of absurd clarity. “George Wickham,” she said decisively. “That boy was always shockingly loose in the haft.”
“Aunt!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Olivia waved a hand at her. “There are times when polite language will not do the job. This is one of those times.”
Lizzy slid her hand under Olivia’s where it rested on the sheet. “Evidently you and Uncle Phillip knew him?”
“He was George Darcy’s godson, and George favored him.” Olivia said with a sigh. “He preferred him, in many ways, to his own son.”
“What do you mean, preferred him?” Lizzy asked, indignant. “To Fitzwilliam?”
Olivia sighed. “Sometimes,” she said, “it is easier to bestow love on a child to whom you do not have any true duty. George treated young Wickham as he might have treated a second son, and I believe the boy considered himself as holding that position.”
Lizzy gave her a hard, shrewd look. “So much so that he believed the line of inheritance would include him?”
Olivia sighed. That is probably just what he thought, and why not? “There is no telling what he expected,” was what she said out loud. “George did say how angry the boy was to be sent to work after Cambridge.”
“What did Mr. Darcy say?”
“I have had this from Phillip, dear, so it is second-hand. Still, if it can help…”
“It will help,” Lizzy said. “It will.”
Olivia reached over and traced the back of her hand along Lizzy’s cheek.
“Young Wickham barely made it through university. He was intelligent enough, but lacked discipline, and he had certainly never been censured by your Mr. Darcy’s father.
Phillip and I explained to George that the boy was a threat both to the maids in the house and to Fitzwilliam himself. ”
“John mentioned an incident near the stables.”
Olivia nodded. “After the boys returned from Cambridge, George had a conference with his protégé. He asked what young Wickham’s plans were, now that he had completed his education.”
“Oh,” Lizzy said, understanding. “I cannot believe that was well received.”
Olivia shook her head. “It was not. According to Phillip, Wickham was offered a position as a private secretary to a wealthy man in the south of Devonshire who had contacts in the Navy. He was an acquaintance of George’s.
The salary was excellent. The work was plentiful but not difficult, and there was room for advancement.
After some years, he might be recommended for a position at the Admiralty, at which point he could increase his income substantially.
” She turned Lizzy’s hand and traced the girl’s palm with her thumb.
“George felt he must do as much for the boy since he had promised his steward that he would see young Wickham well settled.”
“I assume he did not accept?” Lizzy asked.
Olivia frowned. “He asked George if he might instead be given three thousand pounds to study the law. According to Phillip, the boy thought he would cut a fine figure as a barrister.”
She watched Lizzy’s brow furrow and knew her clever niece had come to the same conclusion that George Darcy evidently had. He would have thrown the money away in short order and come back for more.
“And did Mr. Darcy agree?”
Olivia shook her head. “He had a reason for choosing Devonshire. London would not have suited his purpose.”
Lizzy pursed her lips. “It is nearly as far from Derbyshire as one can be and yet remain in England.”
“He wanted young Wickham far away from Fitzwilliam,” Olivia agreed. “And I believe we now know that he was right to arrange it.”
“Did Mr. Wickham know that Uncle was the one who had discredited him?”
“Phillip was sure that he did. However, it was I who prompted the discussion,” Olivia said plainly.
“Phillip tried to speak with George—Mr. Darcy—on many occasions, but the man was as stubborn as his son seems to be. Your uncle had given it up as a family matter. But I could not let it rest.” She smiled at Lizzy’s shock.
“Do you not think your aunt capable of such a breach in propriety?”
Lizzy’s eyes danced, and Olivia thrilled to see it.
“I can imagine it all too well.” She kissed Olivia’s hand. “You were protecting Fitzwilliam and the maids just as you have always protected me.”
“Which is why you were never taken to Pemberley when George Wickham was in residence,” Olivia said plainly. She reclined against her pillows. “In any case, Mr. Wickham accepted and was packed off to Devonshire. That was the last I had heard of him, until today.”
Lizzy’s eyes grew stormy. “John has laid the blame on Fitzwilliam, but there is as much fault on the Russell side as the Darcy. We have all of us stood in the way of the life Mr. Wickham wanted, the life to which he felt entitled.”
Olivia pushed herself back up. This was important. “George Darcy did not know what he had set in motion,” she said, “but he tried to remedy his mistakes. It is only young Wickham who is to blame here.” She drew Lizzy into her embrace. “We shall make them both see that, Lizzy.”
“I care not whether John sees it,” the girl said, her chin jutting out determinedly. “I have my own home, and if His Grace will not listen to reason, I shall repair there.” She took her aunt’s hand. “Are you well enough? To accompany me to Kensington?”
Olivia smiled. “Let us hope it does not come to that, dear,” she said softly, but her Lizzy was an obstinate girl and very much in love. If John would not listen, to Kensington they would go.
Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into the chair behind his desk.
He tried not to focus on the dull pain behind his eyes as he went over the facts yet again.
There was the letter to Mrs. Russell. “One will die and one will mourn,” he said to the walls.
Wickham had very nearly accomplished that with the threat alone.
He tossed Aunt Catherine’s letter on the desk’s surface and stared at it.
He did not believe it had been sent from Darcy House at all, though there was no way of knowing for sure.
Susan could neither read nor write; she had found the atlas last night because she had been given an exact description of it.
Another sign pointing to Wickham, who was familiar with the house and could tell the girl what he wanted her to take.
The letter to his aunt—what was the point of it?
Even had his father written an actual contract, such marriages would not be approved by the church unless both bride and groom agreed.
The most she could have done was demand some sort of remuneration, yet Anne was of age and would have her own solicitor contact him should she wish to pursue it. Lady Catherine had no standing.
He knew Aunt Catherine fretted over Anne—rather excessively, in his opinion.
She wanted Anne to marry him to be well cared for as Mrs. Darcy.
He had tried to explain that between his Uncle Matlock and himself Anne would be well-cared for regardless, but Aunt Catherine was horrified by the thought of her daughter as a spinster.
Not unlike Mrs. Bennet, he thought suddenly.
The state of Anne’s health meant she would not be able to remain alone at Rosings, nor would the family wish it.
Aunt Catherine had long spoken of the humiliation attendant upon Anne were she shuffled between households.
His aunt wanted status for her daughter, but there was nobody other than Aunt Catherine who believed a marriage between the master of Pemberley and the heiress of Rosings would ever come to pass.
Perhaps Collins, he thought, his humor darkening as he worked through the letter again.
If Wickham was the writer, he knew that all the letter could do was ruffle Lady Catherine’s feathers and cause him a little embarrassment; the risk did not seem proportionate to the prize. Why would he need me in Kent?
His musings were interrupted by Richard’s entrance. His cousin had a pained expression on his face.
“What?” he barked. I cannot take one more bit of bad news. “Good God, man, what is it now?”
“I went to the club,” Richard said, unperturbed by his cousin’s anger. He crossed his legs and unconsciously ran a finger along his boot. Darcy watched it—up and down, up and down.
“There are rumblings.”
“About?”
“Phillip Russell,” Richard replied. He rubbed his eyes.
Darcy waited.
“Rumors are that Phillip Russell was a smuggler and, among other things, owned slave ships and a plantation in the West Indies.” Richard leaned back in his chair. “Not illegal at the time, but certainly morally repugnant and currently unfashionable.”
Darcy tipped his head heavenward. Elizabeth was to inherit from Phillip and Olivia Russell.
The rumor would taint her inheritance, was obviously meant to taint it.
He drew out a piece of paper and began to pen a missive to Bedford.
He might not be allowed to contact Elizabeth, but Phillip Russell had been Bedford’s best friend.
The duke should know what was circulating.
“It is a concerted effort to defame Elizabeth,” he growled as he wrote. “Wickham still has friends from university who are probably spreading these lies. But how do we prove it?” He finished writing and sanded the letter. “Was it Hollander? Truscott?”
His cousin shrugged. “I do not know.”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is all in bits and pieces, Richard. We have suspicions, but no evidence other than the focus of his malice.”
“If it was Wickham last night—and with Susan’s description, it very well could be,” Richard answered cautiously, “he is still here, lurking about, spewing his poison and waiting for us to make a mistake.”
“He is counting on us to act defensively,” Darcy concurred.
“So let us do the opposite,” his cousin suggested. “In striking out at Miss Russell, he is striking out at Bedford. For some reason, he feels secure in doing so.”
“He may have overstepped there,” Darcy said. “Why would he be so confident?”
Richard ran a fist along his jaw. “I say we find out.”
Darcy eyed his cousin warily. “Tell me what you have in mind.”