Chapter XI
Darcy could never have imagined what awaited them when he and Fitzwilliam returned to Longbourn bearing Georgiana’s effects.
The notion that Georgiana would speak of such a sensitive subject, especially before those who were so little inclined to restraint as certain members of the Bennet family had not penetrated his mind.
Yet it appeared to be so, given the testimony of Georgiana herself, coupled with Miss Lydia’s demeanor, a mixture of anger and uncertainty, a clear sign of a girl who had been chastened.
It appeared he might not have worried for the continued secrecy of Georgiana’s experience, for the Bennets hastened to assure him that no word of it would make its way to society from them.
“Your sister’s confidence is safe with us,” declared Mrs. Bennet after they had made the events of the past minutes known to Darcy and Fitzwilliam.
“Indeed, I am inclined to put the blame for the entire affair on the shoulders of that libertine you once called a friend.” Mrs. Bennet was rigid with offense.
“To think we revered him as an excellent gentleman! It appears we were all deceived, for he has used your sister most cruelly!”
“Aye, that he has, Mrs. Bennet,” said Fitzwilliam, bemused by the situation. “Wickham excels at misrepresenting himself wherever he goes. If others knew of his true nature, he would not find welcome nearly so much as he does.”
“His true nature?” demanded Miss Lydia. “At present, all we have are your assurances of his true nature. I wonder that my family has taken the word of those with so little connection to us.”
“Lydia!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, her voice high-pitched as it was during her infamous boasting at the ball at Netherfield.
“No, Mrs. Bennet,” said Darcy, stepping in but not unaware of the irony that what had so annoyed him then was nothing less than satisfying now. “Miss Lydia is not incorrect, for we are asking you to take our word of his worthlessness with no proof.”
Miss Lydia nodded as if she had just scored a significant point while her mother and sisters looked on, apparently uncertain. Mr. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, he noted, watched him with an air of expectation, as if they knew he would not allow matters to rest there. They were correct.
“We have offered no evidence at present,” continued Darcy, “but it does not follow that verification does not exist.”
The girl’s self-satisfaction fled, and she scowled at him. Rather than take offense, and speaking quickly to forestall the reprimands of more than one of the party, Darcy smiled at her.
“It does you credit you would defend your friend, Miss Lydia. Unfortunately, you do not have all the information that would allow you to make an accurate judgment.”
Miss Lydia regarded him through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I presume Wickham has spoken of his history as the son of my father’s steward?”
“I do not care for that!” protested Miss Lydia with some heat. “What does it matter if he is a steward’s son?”
“It does you credit that you judge him without considering his descent,” said Darcy agreeably. “My purpose was not to point out those details, but to determine what you have heard of our history.”
The girl sniffed with disdain. “Mr. Wickham has spoken of your friendship as children and how you disrespected your father’s wishes and denied him a family living.”
“Yes, I denied him the living,” replied Darcy. “But again, Wickham has left out enough of the truth to render himself blameless and leave me the blackest of villains.”
“As is his wont,” said Fitzwilliam, disgust dripping from his tone. “I have never seen a man who is as proficient at using the truth in just such a way as to lead others to a specific conclusion.”
For a long moment, Miss Lydia regarded them, clearly not wishing to believe anything they said, but curious nonetheless. The girl had little ability to mask her emotions, for the anger and uncertainty swirled in her eyes and raced across her face.
“The truth, Miss Lydia,” said Darcy, deciding to strike while the iron was hot, “is Wickham was my playmate when I was young, though it is a stretch to term us friends. We associated with each other more of necessity than inclination, at least on my part, for there were no others of our age in the vicinity. I did not appreciate Wickham’s manners even when we were boys.
“My disapproval for him grew as we aged, and by the time we went to Eton, we had different circles of friends. Our time at school, and later at Cambridge, reinforced my opinion of him. Whenever there were cards at hand and money to gamble, Wickham was in the thick of it, and his debts of honor, and those at the local shops were substantial. Debt is an old friend of Wickham’s, for he accumulates it wherever he goes.
I shall say nothing about the deficiencies in his behavior toward the ladies, for they are not fit for gentle ears.
“The most salient point,” continued Darcy, seeing her disinclined to interrupt, “is the living of which he loves to speak was a conditional request to assist him in his future profession. Is it not necessary for one to be ordained to act as a minister?”
Miss Lydia frowned as if she had not thought of that. “Mr. Wickham did not study at a seminary?”
“He did not, and he had no intention of accepting the living,” replied Darcy. “Not long after my father’s passing, he approached me and informed me he had no interest in the church. Instead, knowing my father’s direction, he applied to me for support in the study of the law.”
Darcy shook his head at his own folly, the eagerness to be rid of Wickham and the conviction any money he paid out would be well spent if it would free him of Wickham forever.
“I suppose I should have gone about it a different way, but I confess, I wished for nothing more than to end our association. Thus, we negotiated a sum of money as recompense for his resignation of the living, and I sent him on his way, hoping I would never see him again.”
“How much?” demanded Lydia.
“That is enough, Daughter,” said Mr. Bennet.
“I have no objection to sharing it, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy. “There was an immediate bequest of one thousand pounds in my father’s will. Our negotiations settled on an additional three thousand.”
The girl’s eyes bulged, and her mouth fell open. It was another who responded.
“Four thousand pounds?” gasped Mrs. Bennet. “Why, that is more than my husband’s estate produces in an entire year!”
“It was a substantial sum for a man in Wickham’s position.”
Darcy regarded Miss Lydia, the girl still shocked by what she had learned. Perhaps this would be the genesis of an increase of caution and showing some suspicion for Wickham, and as such, Darcy spoke to ensure she understood the point.
“With such a sum, a prudent man could lay the foundation for future prosperity, such as I understand your uncle has done. If he did nothing but leave it in safe investments, he could have lived off that money for a lifetime, even if he did not work for his own bread. Wickham did neither, as evidenced by his current situation as an officer in the militia.”
As he spoke, Miss Lydia’s expression hardened again, though he thought he noted a sense of doubt about her. Mr. Bennet’s stern gaze was still on her, and she did not respond, but Darcy knew he had not yet convinced her. It was enough to introduce a hint of caution.
“To Darcy’s testimony,” said Fitzwilliam, ever the faithful friend and cousin, “I can add my own. I am aware of every transaction between Darcy and Wickham by virtue not only of our close friendship and ties of blood but also because my uncle left the guardianship of my young cousin,” he smiled at Georgiana, “to myself as well as Darcy.”
“If that does not suffice,” added Darcy, “I have at my estate proof of Wickham’s debts and the contract he signed resigning all claim to the rectorship of Kympton parish. Knowing what I do of Wickham’s audacity, I ensured there would be no question of the legalities of our agreement.”
“Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Bennet, her tone far more compassionate than any he had ever heard from her, “this man used you in a manner most reprehensible. A scoundrel has taken us in. On behalf of my family, I apologize to you for believing his lies so readily.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bennet, but I do not blame you. Wickham has taken in many fine people, including my father, who saw him as an excellent young man and regarded his ways as nothing more than high spirits.”
What Darcy would not say was how surprised he was that Mrs. Bennet had offered the apology and that she was entirely sincere.
That it was partially because of Georgiana’s experience with Wickham was not lost on Darcy, yet it showed the woman was not nearly as silly as he had always supposed.
It had also not escaped Darcy’s attention that Mrs. Bennet had treated him with barely concealed hostility since the beginning of their acquaintance, and as he suspected he knew what had provoked it, he was not at all disposed to consider it unwarranted.
“Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, his tone warning, “there is no question of Mr. Wickham’s worthlessness, not with Darcy’s offer to provide proof of his assertions. Or do you suppose Miss Darcy would invent such a history with Mr. Wickham from whole cloth, thereby risking her reputation?”
A grimace was the girl’s response, accompanied by a shake of her head. Whatever she believed, it appeared she would no longer speak openly of whatever doubt she still harbored.
“Good,” said Mr. Bennet. “Let us have no more of this. The Darcys are guests in our home; let us treat them as such.”