Chapter 11 #3
“You cannot endure that I am preferred.”
“You mistake preference for indulgence,” Darcy said.
Wickham stepped closer. “You must help me. I was treated most unfairly.”
“Are you mad? You had a fortune.”
“A thousand pounds!” Wickham scoffed. “A generous gratitude for years spent amusing your father, flattering his opinions, dancing attendance upon his every whim.”
“You might have followed your father’s example – or any honest profession. You were given precisely what you asked for. I was more than generous.”
“Because you wanted me gone.”
“Can you blame me?”
Wickham’s eyes flashed. “You have no idea what it is to live without means,” he said. “You have never had to calculate every guinea. Never had to wonder how a gentleman maintains appearances when his purse is empty.”
“You are not a gentleman,” Darcy replied.
The words landed like a slap.
“Your father thought otherwise.”
“My father was generous, for your father’s sake,” Darcy said. “You mistook generosity for blindness.”
Wickham leaned forward.
“I devoted years to him,” he said quietly. “Years. Making him comfortable, making him believe what he wished to believe. And for what? A thousand pounds and dismissal.”
“You were offered a living; you did not want it. Heavens, I tire of this conversation.”
“I needed money. And why should I not?” Wickham demanded. “You inherited everything. Lands, consequence, influence. I inherited nothing but expectations.”
“You inherited opportunity,” Darcy said. “You squandered it.”
A tense silence followed.
Wickham’s voice dropped. “You owe me more than you gave.”
“I owe you nothing. You received more than most men earn in years – and wasted it. You have no understanding. I work hard for what I have. It is not just privilege; it is duty. You could have invested it… Why do I waste my time talking to you?” He turned away.
“Nothing would satisfy you, so you resorted to the most despicable action. You will get nothing from me.”
“Had matters gone a little differently, Georgiana’s fortune might once have concerned me more nearly,” Wickham said suddenly, the words soft but vicious.
“You forget yourself,” Darcy said coldly.
“Had fortune favoured me a little longer, you would have said goodbye to it.”
Darcy’s stillness changed. Not visibly – but decisively. His hand tightened on the back of the chair.
“You will take care,” he said, very quietly. “And you will be silent – or you will leave this house at once.”
Wickham’s smile did not waver. “Georgiana was always delicate,” Wickham said softly. “Society can be remarkably unforgiving when a young lady’s judgement is questioned. It would be a pity if certain stories were… misunderstood.”
The door flew open.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway.
Her composure, so carefully worn all evening, had vanished. She did not look shocked. She looked furious. “Say her name again, Mr. Wickham,” she said quietly.
Both men turned.
Wickham recovered first. “Miss Elizabeth – this is hardly…”
“Do not,” she interrupted. “Do not presume upon my former patience.”
Darcy stared at her, but she did not look at him.
“If you so much as repeat that insinuation,” she continued, advancing one step, “I shall ensure that no respectable household in this neighbourhood admits you again.”
“Miss Elizabeth…” Darcy began.
Wickham laughed lightly, incredulous. “You?”
“Yes, I. All I need do is inform my mother that you intend to ruin Mr. Darcy’s sister’s reputation, and you would find yourself unwelcome even at the inn. Mr. Darcy has become a favourite with my mother, you see.” She stepped toward Darcy, aligning herself with him.
“This is all a misunderstanding, Miss Elizabeth. Nothing more.”
“Perhaps,” she replied. “But I think you have outstayed your welcome here. You should leave before I call my father.”
A beat of silence.
“You have already found one father unwilling to trust you this evening,” she said. “You may test how many others are equally cautious.”
Wickham’s expression altered – not fear, but calculation. “You would defend him?”
“I would defend what is right,” she answered. “And I will not have you trade upon a lady’s name for profit.”
Wickham looked from one to the other. “This is not concluded,” he said at last.
“No,” Elizabeth replied. “It is.”
For a moment, it seemed he might persist.
“Leave. Now.” Darcy ordered him.
Wickham looked at one, then the other. Then, with a shallow bow, Wickham withdrew, his step measured, his smile restored.
Silence settled in the library. For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Elizabeth became suddenly aware of the room – the quiet, the closed door, and Mr. Darcy beside her with an expression she could not immediately interpret.
The anger that had carried her into the room began slowly to recede. “I believe,” she said at last, with a faint exhale, “that I have interfered.”
Darcy did not answer at once. He went to the window and looked outside.
Elizabeth found herself saying, “I had no intention of listening. I merely passed the door and heard… enough.” She paused. “And once I heard your sister’s name,” she added more quietly, “I could hardly pretend I had not.”
Darcy turned and regarded her steadily. “You were not meant to hear it,” he said.
“No,” she admitted. “And I suspect you would have preferred that I had not.” A trace of colour rose in her cheeks now – the first sign that the moment had begun to weigh upon her. “I fear I have taken a liberty,” she continued. “One that was not properly mine.”
“No,” Darcy said. “He had no right to speak so,” he continued, his voice controlled once more. But you should not have been drawn into it.”
Elizabeth met his eyes then. “I defended a lady who was not present to defend herself.”
Her answer hung between them for a moment.
Elizabeth drew a small breath. “If I spoke too freely,” she added, “you may attribute it to temper. Mr. Wickham has tried my patience before, but tonight he exceeded it.”
Darcy’s gaze did not soften, yet something in it altered. “He exceeds it everywhere,” he said quietly. “You may have created an enemy.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “I cannot pretend to understand the whole of it,” she said carefully. “But I understand enough to know that he meant harm.”
Another silence followed – not uncomfortable now, but thoughtful.
Darcy looked at her with new attention. “I must say… You held yourself admirably.”
Elizabeth gave the smallest shake of her head.
The corner of Darcy’s mouth moved faintly. “You threatened to ruin him through the influence of Mrs. Bennet.”
Elizabeth blinked – then laughed softly. “Well,” she said, “it appeared the most immediate authority at my disposal.”
Darcy’s expression almost warmed. “I must then be grateful that I have recently become one of her favourites.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened with amusement. “Yes,” she said. “You have improved very much in her estimation. Indulging her at the table and tonight dancing with her daughters has done wonders for your reputation.”
“I shall endeavour to maintain it,” he replied gravely.
She regarded him with a look that was half playful, half thoughtful.
“I do not think my mother’s favour is easily withdrawn once secured. You may find yourself very firmly established.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “A formidable alliance.”
Elizabeth’s smile lingered – then slowly faded as the moment returned to its quieter seriousness.
“I hope,” she said more gently, “that your sister will never know her name was used so lightly.”
Darcy held her gaze. “She will not.”
Elizabeth nodded once, satisfied. “I will not share this with anyone. I believe,” she added after a moment, “that we have both been absent from the company longer than is advisable.”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed.
She moved toward the door. After a step or two, she paused and turned slightly back. “I am glad,” she said simply, “that I passed this way.”
Darcy looked at her – and for a moment, the composure he had worn all evening softened. He inclined his head toward her. He could not trust himself to say more.
Elizabeth did the same and opened the door. Light and music spilt once more into the corridor as she returned to the ball.
Darcy had once seen her brave mud and distance for her sister’s sake. Tonight, she had shown equal courage for a lady she had never met. The evening, he reflected, had taken a very unexpected turn.