Chapter 29
Darcy followed Richard and Wickham outside, where Johnny proudly held out the reins to their newly brushed and watered horses.
Wickham snatched the leather from the boy, too pleased with his treachery to notice anyone who did not directly serve his purpose.
Richard, on the other hand, took a moment to inspect his mount.
The boy held his breath, doing his best to stand still as he looked on and waited for a verdict of approval.
Darcy hoped that Wickham would depart, but he lingered. “This is a waste of time.”
“Are you in a hurry?” Richard replied. “You need not wait for me.”
Wickham’s horse shifted its feet, but he held the mount steady, making it clear he would not allow them any private conversation. After some time, Richard stood and took the reins from the boy. “What is your name, lad?”
“J-J-Johnny, sir.” To this stilted reply, he added a clumsy salute. Although Richard kept a straight face, Darcy coughed into his elbow.
“Johnny what, young man?”
“Johnny Tibbs.”
Richard nodded seriously. “Mr. Tibbs, you have gone above and beyond the call of duty in your care of my horse. His coat is gleaming, his hooves are picked, and if I am not mistaken, they are also polished.” He flicked a coin into the air and then tossed it to the boy.
A smile burst over Johnny’s face. “Thank you, sir!” He tucked the coin into his pocket and tripped over his feet in his excitement to find someone to show his prize.
Wickham still lingered, still smirked. Richard turned to him, dropping his voice. “You have become a better strategist over the years, Wickie.”
The hated nickname hit its mark, and Wickham’s charming facade slipped. “Strategy is not necessary when one holds all the cards.”
“How did you get my signet ring?” Darcy asked plainly.
Wickham paused before answering, watching for a particular reaction. He had always watched, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Just as he had done today. Darcy lifted his chin, refusing to display any visible concern. Giving up, Wickham said, “Your father gave it to me.”
“What?!” hissed Richard.
Darcy held himself steady, counting his breath as he inhaled and holding his hands loosely at his side as though he had not been struck a terrible blow.
His lack of response put a frown on Wickham’s face.
He wished to bask in his triumph, but Darcy spoiled his fun.
All braggarts were the same. Darcy was grateful for it; it gave him something to focus on rather than the gnawing disappointment he had lived with for most of his life.
Over the last few weeks, he had hoped… well, never mind that.
“Your father was so disappointed in you that he gave me the ring in your stead. He told me I was a better son than you had ever been and deserved to inherit that which you had scorned.”
“I do not believe it!” exclaimed Richard. Darcy wished he did not.
“How else would I have the heir’s ring unless it was given to me?” Darcy knew the answer, but his inclination was to remain silent on that point. Besides, if his father really did give Wickham the ring, it would not matter.
Richard was dumbfounded. “That you would use it to fake Darcy’s demise is proof that you do not deserve it.”
Wickham sneered. “Your father, the Earl of Matlock, verified the authenticity of the ring himself. He was quick to tell me that if Darcy does not appear at the reading of the will, he believes you will inherit. Do not stand here and pretend you have nothing to gain from this.”
“And yet you are so confident that you have become his heir?” countered Richard.
Wickham smiled, turning over his hand to inspect his nails. “Remind me upon whom Mr. Darcy bestowed the heir’s ring?”
Silence.
He continued, looking down at Richard. “You have not told Darcy, have you?” Richard’s eyes narrowed, and Darcy’s heart lurched in his chest. Learning of his own demise had been enough of a startling revelation; he hardly needed another.
“You have not mentioned that Lord Lisle lost most of your family’s fortune in a speculation?
That your father is counting on you being the recipient of Pemberley’s fortune to cover over the viscount’s blunder? ”
Richard clenched his hands into fists. “Do not assume that my father’s wishes are my own. I have never entertained the idea that I might inherit a property intended for my cousin. It is his, and he shall have it.”
Wickham clucked his tongue. “You would defy your father to assist a cousin who turned his back on the family—a man you have not seen or spoken to in ten years?”
“I will do what is right!”
“You will? Even though it means betraying your own family?” Wickham turned his critical eye on Darcy to add, “For him?”
Darcy was rather tired of being spoken about as though he were not standing right there.
It was obvious what Wickham was doing—planting seeds of doubt and discord—and he hated how effective he was in doing it.
What Wickham said was true: After ten years of silence, Richard did not truly know Darcy.
Nor could Darcy claim to know Richard. It was a risk for either of them to trust the other.
However, it was a risk Darcy was willing to accept. Richard had been an honest man when he was younger. Until Darcy saw evidence to prove otherwise, he would trust his cousin to behave honorably. Just as he himself would do.
Wickham jabbed his horse on the side to make it leap forward, then jerked the animal’s head around to face them.
“You cannot tell the Bennets the truth now, Darcy. She will hate you if you do and come running to me—the hero, their savior. I will inherit Pemberley, and she will choose me over you… just as your father did.”
Darcy thought of Smyrna, of the life he had carved out for himself there.
He thought of the fortune he had amassed for himself, the respect he had earned over years of honest work.
He thought of the place he could so easily return to…
and his heart whispered that he could not leave Elizabeth behind.
By God, he would do what was right by her.
Darcy would surrender his fortune, his prospects, and his good name rather than allow Wickham, Uncle Matlock, her family, or anyone else to cause Elizabeth more misery.
In his agitation, Wickham pulled on the reins so hard, his horse reared. “How does it feel to be second best?”
Richard waved him off. “Take your bluster and be gone.” Turning to his cousin, he tilted toward the road with his head.
“Care to walk with me for a spell?” Darcy joined him, Richard’s horse trailing behind.
Wickham spun in circles around them before his patience was spent.
He finally galloped down the road, leaving a trail of debris in his wake.
Once the dust had settled, Darcy spoke. “Why did you not tell me about your family’s debt?”
Richard sighed. “You have enough troubles of your own without burdening you with mine.” Darcy waited for Richard to expound.
It took two steps. “Lisle convinced Father to invest in a speculation, one guaranteed to double their fortune.” He scowled.
“Perhaps I have been a soldier for too long, but I have become content with less and appreciate the finer things when they come without expecting more. I urged them not to risk their comfortable incomes on a shaky prospect, but they soon began speaking about their impending wealth as though they already possessed it. They spent a great deal, purchasing on credit and faith.”
Darcy groaned. Greed made too many men turn a blind eye to reality and good sense. It was not surprising that Richard’s older brother was such a fool, but he would not have expected his uncle to succumb to the siren call.
“When the speculation went south, Lisle turned to me. He convinced Father that, as I was Uncle’s favorite nephew, I must be the one he named to inherit Pemberley if you do not appear to claim it yourself.
” Their callous attitude was as Darcy had expected, yet it pained him to hear his long-held belief confirmed.
His own family would rather he did not exist. “The longer you stayed away,” Richard added, “the stronger their conviction grew.”
“How inconvenient that I am alive.” Darcy grit his teeth. “How long ago did this happen?”
Richard kicked a rock out of their path. “Two years ago. My father’s title has delayed the inevitable, but it also prevents them from living as modestly as they should. He has sold some property, but the estate house is intact… minus some valuables.”
“I am sorry I was not here for you, Rich.”
He shrugged. “We manage. My family does not know it, but I took a few pupils under my wing to train in the art of soldiering. It is sufficient for my meager needs.” This lightened Darcy’s heart.
It was one more thing they had in common, a subtle social rebellion they shared.
Had Father known? “Uncle knew about it.” Darcy’s step faltered.
“I never asked for his help, but he furnished it in ways I did not recognize until it was too late to repay his generosity.”
“What did he do?” Darcy was intrigued.
“Little things that saved me scores upon scores of pounds. My landlord lowered the rent. The groom at the mews knew a gentleman looking to rid himself of a new saddle at an amount I could afford at a time I badly needed one. Things such as that.”
They walked in silence for a few lengths. Darcy wished he had known the man who noticed the needs of others and kindly found a way to provide for them. Father had done the same for the Bennets. If only Darcy had returned sooner. If only he had sought to make peace before it was too late.
“What do you make of Wickham’s claim that your father gave him the ring?” asked Richard. “I wish I could disregard it.”
The change in topic ought to have been a relief. Which was worse: bone-deep regret or stomach-gnawing dread? “I feel the same.”
“So… you did not take the ring with you?” Richard looked at him askance.