Chapter 33 #2
He increased the pressure on her hand. “Robinson is an intelligent man—” Her gaze shot to him at the mention of Robbie.
“He is highly capable and respected in his profession. The evidence he mounted in such a short time, the thoroughness with which he addressed your father’s predicament, is admirable.
” She nodded. All of this was true. Robbie had won her respect.
She trusted him… which made his recent behavior toward her confounding.
Her chest ached at the thought. “You seemed to work well together. His departure will be difficult for you.” There was no jealousy in Mr. Wickham’s remarks.
“I lost a friend,” she admitted, only realizing her mistake once it was said. Robbie was not gone yet, but he might as well be. She shrugged, letting her statement stand.
Mr. Wickham shook his head and sighed. “And just when you need friends the most.” He paused, turning to her.
“Miss Elizabeth, I wish you to know that I intend to assist him in securing a permanent position. The connections I have and those I am soon to gain will guarantee his living will be a comfortable one. You see, I…”
His gaze flickered away and he took a deep breath.
“I struggle to know how to proceed. Wrayburn advised me to keep the matter to myself, but to do so is a great injustice to you.” What was this?
Elizabeth burned with curiosity. If Mr. Wickham was in Mr. Wrayburn’s confidence, she might learn something about her future before the journey to Pemberley.
She held her breath and bit her lips. Much as she wished to press Mr. Wickham to tell her what he wished to say, she understood that would be to persuade him to break a confidence.
“You will not demand an explanation?” he asked. She shook her head, not trusting her tongue. “That settles it. I simply must tell you, but I will do so entirely from my perspective, thus preserving Wrayburn’s confidence.” That was enough for Elizabeth. She nodded, an eager audience.
“For you to understand what I am about to reveal, you must understand my history with Mr. George Darcy. From the moment I entered school and showed some promise, he took upon himself to provide me with a gentleman’s education.
He had already taken on the role of my godfather, as he and my father—his own trusted confidant and steward at Pemberley—were trusted friends.
Any topic I was interested in, he encouraged.
We had many discussions in his study, and I cannot count the times he used his estate to teach me what he wished me to learn.
As I got older and more experienced, he even consulted my opinion.
This happened on more than one occasion. ”
He twisted his hands together, his brow furrowed, visibly selecting his words.
“While I treasured these conversations, they made me uneasy. Why did he take me under his wing in this manner when his son was away at boarding school? I asked him why he singled me out when his own son ought to have been present. While I refuse to say anything negative about Darcy—may he rest in peace—his father’s reply was not favorable.
When Darcy left England, I did my best to console Mr. Darcy.
We spent a great deal of time together, and I soon felt as close to him as I did to my own father.
I believe he felt the same of me, as a son. ”
He blinked heavily and looked away, visibly composing himself.
“I had hoped to befriend Darcy when he returned, to support him at Pemberley so he might benefit from the guidance his father bestowed upon me. It would have appeased my conscience at having taken his place in Mr. Darcy’s affection.
It grieves me to be deprived of the chance to mend the great breach between father and son. I might have helped them.”
The last thread of hope that Fitzwilliam Darcy might yet be alive frayed.
And yet, she had been summoned to Pemberley.
Elizabeth turned that single fact over in her mind as one turns a coin, examining all sides.
Mr. Darcy had been such an influence in her life and that of her family, perhaps he had something else in mind.
A portrait of the son she would have wed.
A painting of the estate of which she might have been the mistress.
Perhaps, more suitably, a sapling from the orangery from which he had provided them with delicious fruit over the years.
A token by which to remember him favorably after all his plans collapsed.
She had considered the possibility, pondered what to do if her betrothed was truly lost to her.
She had no money to allow herself and Jane a London Season.
Once Longbourn passed to the heir presumptive, she and her sisters would be scattered.
With her family’s reduced expectations, perhaps she could re-ignite the friendship she remembered enjoying with their Gardiner relatives in town.
They had children now. Elizabeth found that she looked forward to meeting her younger cousins.
So far had her thoughts carried her from the room that she startled when Mr. Wickham resumed speaking. “Only a few days remain until the reading of the will, then my expectation shall be confirmed.”
“Expectation?” Elizabeth asked, lost.
“Mr. Darcy trained me to care for Pemberley in his son’s stead.”
“You expect to inherit?”
“It is what he trained me for.”
Before Elizabeth could collect her scrambled thoughts to draw a cohesive conclusion, he took both of her hands in his, speaking rapidly.
“With Darcy’s tragic end, your security and that of your family is in peril.
The connections you have anticipated benefiting from for years are effectively severed.
Since I first met you, you have impressed me with your intellect and loyalty.
I am now in a position to offer you everything you lost if you will agree to be my wife.
You will still be the mistress of Pemberley.
You can live up to the promise your father made with Mr. Darcy for the benefit of both estates.
I promise to be a friend to you, to allow you all the luxuries you could want as a lady in your station.
” He caressed her hand gently, raising it to his face.
She tugged on her hand, and he loosened his grip with an apology. “Pray forgive my outburst. I assure you that my feelings are genuine. It is my hope that, in time, you might return my affection.”
Elizabeth looked at him—truly looked. His manner was gentle. His reasoning was sound. The evidence he had provided supported his account at every point. And yet something sat uneasily beneath all of it. Something she could not identify or describe.
She thought of the ring, warm and heavy in her palm.
She thought of Robbie—the quiet steadiness of his attention, his soothing voice and comforting trustworthiness in sharp contrast to the past ten days of deliberate avoidance.
She thought of Mr. Darcy, the man to whom she was promised and had never met.
That man was very likely gone. Almost certainly dead.
Here before her was a solution to every problem threatening to undo her family, offered freely and warmly, by a man who claimed to want nothing more than a chance to earn her regard. It would solve everything.
He smiled at her, his eyes hopeful. “Dear Elizabeth, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” The room was quiet, the tick-tock of the mantel clock echoing off the walls.
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Wickham’s expectant face and experienced a sudden clarity of thought that bolstered her confidence. She stood at the edge of a precipice from which she could not step back.