Chapter Twenty-Seven
Darcy
The fire crackled softly in the cottage’s small sitting room as evening settled over Matlock.
Mr Wickham sat in his usual chair, wrapped in quilts despite the warmth from the hearth, whilst Darcy occupied the seat beside him.
The old man’s breathing had grown more laboured since his collapse, each rise and fall of his chest a reminder of how precious their remaining time together had become.
“You fuss over me like a mother hen,” Mr Wickham observed with a weak smile as Darcy adjusted his blankets yet again. “Georgiana does the same. I shall be perfectly well with a bit of rest.”
“The physician said you must avoid exertion,” Darcy replied, though they both knew such precautions would only delay the inevitable.
“Physicians always say such things. Now stop fretting and tell me what troubles you so deeply. You have carried some burden since your arrival, and it grows heavier each day I observe you.”
Darcy’s hands stilled on the blanket edge. “It is nothing that cannot be managed.”
“Nonsense. You forget I have known you since boyhood. When distress weighs upon you, every line of your face betrays it.” Mr Wickham’s voice carried the gentle authority of a father who would not be denied. “What has happened?”
The words pressed against Darcy’s lips like caged birds desperate for flight. “Elizabeth and I… we kissed today. Truly kissed, for the first time.”
Mr Wickham’s expression grew puzzled. “And this distresses you why? She is your wife.”
“That is precisely why it distresses me. It was our first kiss. The very first time we have shared such intimacy since our marriage.”
The silence that followed stretched until the old man spoke again. “I am at a loss. How can you not have kissed your bride before today? And why have you told me so little about the true circumstances of your marriage? You speak as though you were strangers when you wed.”
Darcy’s throat constricted. “The truth involves your son.”
“George?” Mr Wickham straightened in his chair despite his weakness. “What has George to do with your marriage to Elizabeth?”
“I cannot burden you with this knowledge. Your health—”
“My health be damned. If my son is connected to whatever brought you and Elizabeth together, I have every right to know. Out with it, Fitzwilliam.”
The command in the old man’s voice broke through Darcy’s resolve.
“George appeared at the Hartford estate whilst I was serving as steward,” he began. “He had abandoned his living and was seeking opportunities for advancement.”
“What manner of opportunities?”
“The sort that would elevate his position through compromising a young lady of quality.” The words tasted like poison in Darcy’s mouth. “I tried to warn him away from the family, particularly from Elizabeth, but he would not listen.”
Mr Wickham’s face had gone ashen. “Continue.”
“During their ball, I watched him, knowing he meant mischief. When Elizabeth went into the garden alone, he followed her. He propositions her, she declined and thus she left for the garden. George took advantage and followed her. He attempted to kiss her, to provoke her into a compromising situation.”
“Good heavens.”
“I fought him off, but we were discovered in what appeared to be a difficult position—Elizabeth dishevelled, myself helping her to her feet.”
“And George?”
“Vanished into the night like the coward he has always been.” Darcy’s voice grew stronger, fuelled by long-suppressed anger.
“He hid at my cottage and when I confronted him, he begged me not to tell anyone what I had seen. That it would be the death of you if he were to be arrested. I hated letting him go but I feared for your health. Anyway, I was questioned by Lord Hartford and I claimed the darkness prevented clear identification. Elizabeth was certain it was your son, but without my corroboration…”
“She was made to doubt her own memory.” The horror in Mr Wickham’s voice cut through Darcy like a blade. “And you allowed this deception rather than speak the truth?”
“I feared the knowledge would destroy you. Your heart, your health—I could not bear to be the instrument of your death. I thought it would be a simple lie that would soon pass but then Lord Hartford insisted I marry Elizabeth as without George’s testimony, we could not prove that I merely meant to protecter her, that I was not the one who compromised her. ”
Mr Wickham’s hands trembled as he gripped the arms of his chair. “You are about to give me apoplexy, but not because of what George has done. Because of what you have done.”
The words struck Darcy hard.
“I always expected George to disappoint me,” the old man continued. “He has been failing to meet even modest expectations since he learned to walk. But you, Fitzwilliam—you were the boy I trusted to always choose what was right, no matter the personal cost.”
“I was trying to protect you—”
“You were protecting yourself from the pain of my grief whilst condemning an innocent young woman to doubt her own sanity!” Mr Wickham struggled to his feet despite his frailty, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. “How could you be so selfish?”
“I have wrestled with my decision for weeks,” Darcy said desperately. “But I cannot tell Elizabeth the truth now. She would never forgive me.”
“She deserves to know the truth regardless of your comfort. You are her husband solely because you chose to shield my worthless son rather than defend her honour properly. Her entire life has been altered. Oh Fitzwilliam… George’s arrest would have upset me but this upsets me more.
Two lives ruined because of George.” He paused, then patted Darcy’s hand.
“I did not mean to be harsh. I love you like a son, you know this. I only hate to see you be unhappy because of something you thought you were doing for me. I am stronger than you think.”
He wanted to protest but got no chance to.
“You must tell her. Tonight. This very hour.”
“I fear what she will say when she learns—”
“What she will say,” Elizabeth’s voice cut through their argument like a sword, “is that you are a contemptible wretch who has lied to me and made me question my own sanity for months.”
Both men turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face white with shock and blazing with fury. The devastation in her eyes revealed she had heard far more than anyone intended.
“Elizabeth, please—” Darcy rose and stepped towards her, his hands extended in supplication.
“Do not dare touch me.” Her voice shook with rage so profound it seemed to fill the small room. “Do not dare speak my name after what you have done.”
“If you would only let me explain—”
“Explain what? How you allowed me to believe I was losing my mind? How you watched me doubt my own memory whilst knowing the truth all along? How you married me under false pretences whilst protecting the man who attempted to trick me into marriage? The way you have done?”
“I was trying to protect—”
“You were protecting everyone except the one person who deserved your protection most.” Elizabeth’s voice broke on the words.
“Your silence has made me complicit in my own ruin. Every moment I have spent doubting myself, every night I have lain awake questioning my own perceptions—all unnecessary torment you could have ended with a single word.”
She stepped back towards the door, her decision crystallising with terrible clarity. “I am leaving. Tonight. Immediately.”
“Elizabeth, wait—you cannot travel alone in darkness—”
But she was already moving, already gathering her resolve like armour around her wounded heart. “I will not spend another moment under the same roof as a man who has betrayed me so thoroughly.”
“Please, just listen—”
The cottage door slammed behind her with finality that echoed through the sudden silence. Darcy stood motionless, watching through the window as Elizabeth’s figure disappeared into the night, taking with it any hope of redemption he might have harboured.