Chapter 17
The following two days in Elizabeth’s constant company passed more pleasantly than the work they accomplished together ought to have allowed.
From the attic to the cellar, Darcy helped her sort through every object, separating what belonged to the estate and therefore protected by the entail, and what belonged to the Bennets and would be sold.
All of this in preparation for the arrival of the Custom House officer and the bailiff, who Darcy hoped would reward their hard work and initiative with more time.
Several times, Elizabeth had reminded her father of the importance of transferring bank funds to her uncles, who would keep them secure.
Every time, he assured her that the transactions were at the top of his mind, to which she urged haste lest the bailiff arrive before they expected.
Finally, Mr. Bennet determined to go to town, leaving before dawn so that he might have sufficient time to conduct his necessary business and return in time for dinner.
Mr. Wickham was their guest, and Darcy anticipated a wretched meal.
The devil was certain to tighten the noose he himself had placed around his neck the moment he had introduced himself as Daniel Robinson.
The soup course had not ended before the harmless talk of the weather, the roads, and Wickham’s general impression of Purvis Lodge and his Meryton neighbors was exhausted.
It started with the purposeful mention of Derbyshire.
Had the Bennets traveled that far north?
Darcy choked down another spoonful of white soup, measuring whether he had eaten enough to avoid notice or if his lack of appetite would betray his tumultuous thoughts.
He felt Wickham’s gaze on him, looked up to see the smirk on his face. Darcy forced down another bite.
Quite naturally, or so it would have seemed to the other occupants at the table, the conversation turned to Pemberley.
Wickham extolled the grandness of the estate, the charm of the surrounding villages, and the happiness he experienced in the company of the Darcys, who were kind to the humble son of their land steward. Darcy reached for his wine glass.
“I do not know what Mr. Darcy saw in me to grant me so much favor, but he took it upon himself to provide a gentleman’s education.
He believed I had great potential.” Wickham paused and clutched his chest, as though overcome by the rush of fond memories of his generous mentor.
Clearing his throat, he said with a gravelly voice, “He treated me like a son.” Darcy imagined launching over the table to strangle Wickham.
“Were you close to his son?” Elizabeth asked.
He glanced at Darcy and dabbed his lips with his linen napkin, hiding another smirk. “We were like brothers.” The claim was a blatant slap in the face. They had never been like brothers.
“Did Mr. Darcy have no other brothers or sisters?” asked Miss Mary.
Darcy’s heartbeat thrummed in his ears. The Bennets did not know about Georgiana?
He was certain that his father knew everything that could be learned about the Bennets.
He had assumed Mr. Bennet would have done the same—but then, judging by what he had recently learned about the man, it was not surprising.
Wickham had grace enough to look uncomfortable. “He had a sister—twelve years his junior.”
Miss Lydia pounced on this information. “A sister! How lovely! Would she be about our age, do you think, Mr. Wickham?”
“Yes! Tell us all about her!” agreed Miss Kitty.
Darcy stared at the red wine in his glass, his vision blurred and his limbs numb.
“I regret to inform you that Miss Darcy died when she was quite young.” To his credit, Wickham seemed sincerely sad.
Darcy remembered him pushing Georgiana on the garden swing and running around the maze as she shouted directions from atop his shoulders.
There had been some good moments, but she would have needed protection from the man he later became.
“Oh, how terribly sad,” said Miss Lydia.
“What a tragic loss for the family,” agreed Miss Mary.
“It happened quickly—the fever. She was only four years of age.”
Miss Bennet pressed her hands against her heart. “So young!”
Mrs. Bennet dabbed her eyes. “Her poor, dear mother! However did she bear it?”
Darcy continued staring at his glass, his stomach heavy.
“She died shortly after,” Wickham replied. Darcy squeezed his eyes closed. “The loss was too great for her heart.” More than that, Wickham did not say, and of that Darcy was grateful.
Elizabeth was remarkably silent, and when Darcy looked away from his glass, it was to look at her. Her eyebrows bunched together, her chin tucked against her chest as though she had received a blow.
Wickham continued, “Darcy tried his best to be a worthy son, but much is expected of a gentleman born into such a prominent family.” He sighed, and Darcy began to wonder if perhaps he had judged Wickham too harshly. “Over and over, Darcy proved to be a disappointment.” Ah, there it was.
“Disappointment?” Elizabeth asked, clearly seeking more information. Darcy could not blame her curiosity, only her choice in asking Wickham for answers. Then again, who else could she ask? Certainly not Daniel Robinson.
“His father secured the best tutors for Darcy, sent him to the best school.” Bile churned in Darcy’s stomach.
He had no good memories of that dreadful place.
“Any other young man would have flourished under the guidance and attention given to him, but Darcy was proud and resentful.” Darcy clenched his fists under the table. There was so much more to it than that.
Mrs. Bennet frowned. “Traits of a young man not yet matured, no doubt. I am certain he has grown to become a gentleman his father would have been proud of.” Lord, Darcy prayed it were so.
Wickham produced the small smile of a person who could not bring himself to agree but was too polite to contradict, thus reaffirming the unfavorable impression he sought to give of Darcy: a haughty heir who believed himself above the work of managing his own estate.
Darcy measured his breath and fixed his glare on the untouched plate of venison and potatoes getting cold before him.
There was nothing he could say in his own defense, as Wickham well knew.
“No doubt, you are correct, Mrs. Bennet. While my knowledge of Darcy as a young man is as accurate as that of a brother, I cannot claim to know Darcy the man. You see, after the death of his mother and sister, he and his father had a terrible falling out. Right when his father needed his son’s support the most, Darcy abandoned his family, his estate, and the responsibilities he had been trained to undertake.
He fled to the continent and nobody has heard from him these ten years. ” Every word branded Darcy a coward.
“He will return now that his father is gone. He will have to, so he can marry Lizzy and inherit his estate,” pronounced Miss Kitty confidently. Elizabeth groaned.
“Your sister?” Wickham exclaimed as though he had never heard the name of Darcy’s intended bride.
He looked at her directly. “You are the chosen one?” His face fell.
“Forgive me. I ought to have been more selective in my choice of words. Far be it from me to give a poor impression of Darcy. He was an intelligent young man, and I am certain he has become a man worthy of the name he bears. I would stake my reputation on that.”
He knew very well the damage he had done.
His acting skills had only grown stronger over the years.
In one evening, he had slipped a few drops of poison into the Bennets’ minds and had done so in a way that inspired their confidence in him as a reliable source of information about Pemberley and its residents.
And there was precious little Darcy could do to stop him.