Chapter 27 #2
They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.
“Oh dear,” said Elizabeth suddenly, “Lady Jersey will be most displeased.”
Darcy laughed, taking her hand in his. “Not at all. She wrote to me that, if Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet were to change her name to Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, then she would still retain her position as partner at Child and perhaps, if she were to be in London during the season, then as a patroness of Almack’s, she might acquire consequence sufficient even for a Darcy. ”
Elizabeth stared at him in horror: was she the only one who had not known of her love for him?
“She taught me to hope,” said Darcy, as they turned back towards the house, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. That you would not be forced to choose between myself and being yourself, a woman of great competence, esteemed by the highest levels of society.”
“No, sir, there was never any competition. Pemberley has a siren call I cannot resist—as I cannot resist the call of its master. Truly, Fitzwilliam, you have my heart and more besides.”
* * *
They continued in quiet, joyful conversation until they reached the house and ascended the stairs hand in hand. Winthrop opened the door, a small smile on his lips when Darcy did not relinquish Elizabeth’s hand as they stepped into the hall.
“There are visitors, sir, ma’am. Waiting in the drawing-room. Lady Catherine and Miss Darcy are with them.”
Upon entering the room, they saw Mrs. Younge sitting opposite her ladyship and Georgiana. Wickham, who had been sitting next to her, stood immediately.
Before Darcy could speak, Wickham held out his hand to Mrs. Younge, who, slightly embarrassed, arose and stood next to him.
“May I introduce my wife, Mrs. Wickham… Mrs. Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy.”
The lady curtseyed, and Elizabeth, seeing the awkwardness of the introduction, immediately stepped forward. “Mrs. Wickham,” said she, “you have my sincerest congratulations. Mr. Wickham, the lady does you great honour.”
Wickham chuckled. “We came to thank you, Mrs. Elizabeth, for without your assistance, I fear I would have lost my dear Mrs. Wickham to another, for she truly is a treasure.”
“George, indeed a surprise,” said Darcy, bowing to the lady, and stepping forward to shake Wickham’s hand. “I trust the lady is not scatterbrained having accepted your hand? Oh, my apologies, Mrs. Wickham, but I have known Wickham since we were breeched.”
“What a tender reunion,” said Lady Catherine, drily. “Georgiana has called for tea—perhaps something a little stronger is appropriate. Elizabeth, if you don’t mind, dear, I will take a sherry—Mrs. Wickham, what is your preference?”
“Tea will suit me perfectly, your ladyship,” the lady replied, seating herself. “It is so strange to come to the house as a married woman, and not as Miss Darcy’s companion.”
Darcy offered Wickham a port and waited until the footman had poured for them. As was Elizabeth’s habit, she decanted sherry for both Lady Catherine and herself.
Darcy looked querulously at Elizabeth. “When I departed for Ireland, you were Georgiana’s companion, Mrs. Younge—and now Mrs. Wickham. There is a story here of which I am unaware.”
Elizabeth spoke up, interrupting before Wickham could reply.
“I must own it, Mr. Darcy,” she said, “that as Mr. Wickham alluded, I do have some small part to play in this courtship. If the gentleman will allow me, I shall speak of it, then he can recount his part, for I suspect it is a tale worth telling.”
Wickham nodded his assent.
“I shall be brief,” said Elizabeth, “for there are details of which Mr. Darcy will most likely wish to apprise himself later. You may recall, Fitzwilliam, your father’s will bequeathing Mr. Wickham one thousand pounds and the living at Kympton.
As you know, Mr. Wickham had not taken orders, so was eligible for the alternative bequest, a portfolio of shares worth three thousand pounds. ”
Darcy began to see where the story might lead. “Please continue, Elizabeth. There is a strange connection here, which I am not sure I wish to hear.”
Elizabeth smiled, taking his hand. “Never fear, sir, your fortune is safe with me—though, perhaps, I should seek more pin-money.”
Both Lady Catherine and Georgiana were looking at her strangely. It was not Mr. Wickham’s story that had them confused, but Elizabeth holding Darcy’s hand, and her calling him Fitzwilliam. There was an ease and playfulness in their manner which they had not seen before.
“You have guessed it,” continued Elizabeth, “the shares were those of Royal Canal stock, which your father had purchased in 1789. They were lost, and Mr. Wickham never received them. Of course, with the company likely bankrupt, they are, for all intents, worthless. Except, the call should have been made against Mr. Wickham, being the rightful owner. Which leaves the ￡184,500 loan from Child to Mr. Wickham, who owns the shares; to the Royal Canal Company itself, for the money was given to them to complete the canal? The legal costs alone, and the interest… It would take years to resolve the matter, draining Pemberley’s coffers, even though, no doubt, the outcome would be decided in Pemberley’s favour.
It seemed prudent to make good on Mr. Darcy’s bequest. As agent acting for yourself and Child perhaps a position as a steward on a small estate, but, as you know, I have more ambition than that. Mary—Mrs. Wickham—and I have talked it over: we will migrate to New South Wales. My fortune, thanks to the kindness of Mrs. Elizabeth, is more than enough to secure land in the colony. I received a letter from Sir George Shee, Under-Secretary of State for the Colonies, with the promise of a grant of one thousand acres. Perhaps more, because—I am told—Governor Macquarie is an exceedingly generous man. Mrs. Elizabeth wrote a letter of recommendation to her uncle, Mr. Gardiner—he and I have put together a cargo to sell in the colony. There I can become, not a wealthy man, but respected for who I am, not for my birth alone.”
“I wish you well, George.” Darcy laughed—“and I promise never to tell of the time I smuggled a woman from your chambers at Cambridge. None of the proctors believed that I would do such a thing—the benefit of a prudish reputation, no doubt—but I am sure they would have inspected the overlarge carpet bag if you had struggled to carry it beyond the university walls.”
“Mary and I must be off, Darcy,” said Wickham, once more shaking Darcy’s hand.
“Pemberley has been good to me, but the Earl Spencer waits in Liverpool to carry us to New Holland. Take care of Mrs. Elizabeth, for she is a true jewel—I do believe Pemberley will once again come alive as it was when your dear mother, Lady Anne, was mistress.”
* * *