Chapter Twelve
Lizzy grabbed his arm as the carriage wheel on her side dipped into an unavoidable pothole. “Mr. Darcy, you must tell me his name so we can be on our guard against this man.”
He stared down at her. “Are you and your sisters heiresses?”
Lizzy made a scoffing noise. “Not at all.”
“Then he will have no interest in any of you.”
“Unless you mean to take Georgiana away immediately, then she might be in our company when this man intrudes on her life.”
“This cannot happen.”
“Then, you must take her away, now,” Lizzy said in a firm voice. “It is the only sure way of keeping her from meeting this fellow. But, are you certain that is the best option?”
“I do not take your meaning.”
His sharp reply caused Lizzy to swallow, but she kept her nerve. “Without knowing the entire story of your altercation, may I assume from your remarks that it had to do with Georgiana?”
A muscle in his cheek tensed. “Yes.”
“Is it likely that his position in society will allow him to come into contact with her once she is out?”
“Possibly. He is charming, you see. Though a mere hanger-on, his charm gets him invited to social events above his station.”
“Then, when you are not nearby, Georgiana may encounter him at social engagements once she is out?”
In a voice of steel, he said, “I will see to it that she does not.”
“How?”
The bluntness of her question startled him. He drew the horse to a stop and glared at her.
“You must turn there,” she said, pointing up ahead.
“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth, keeping his blazing gaze on her face. “I suppose you have a suggestion to assist me with my sister’s future?”
“I do, as it happens.” She twisted the strings of her reticule around in her lap.
After taking a deep breath, she spoke in a rush of words.
“I think you should let her meet this gentleman here in Hertfordshire. That way, she will not be startled in the middle of a London ball, which would cause all sorts of uncomfortable talk. The story of her altercation with this man might become known.”
“That cannot happen,” Mr. Darcy said, furious anger showing in every line of his body.
“It will not happen if she can face her tormenter here, amongst friends, instead of in front of the ton. She must greet him as an old friend. No one will mark the occasion if you betray nothing of your antipathy for him. Laugh at him. Treat him as though he is nothing to you.”
In a tight, angry voice, he said, “I do not know if I can.”
“If he is beneath you, then you may treat him as such.”
Mr. Darcy took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly, before saying, “He will tell everyone he meets that I have done him wrong.”
“I will not believe his lies,” she told him.
“I am a hard woman to fool, you know. But, come, tell me his name. I am sure to discover it on my own in due course. And remember, since he will be here long after you have gone from Meryton, we must encounter him and should ward ourselves against his charms—unless you mean to stay until the militia leaves in the spring?”
“I do not.” He took another deep breath and said, “Very well. His name is George Wickham. He is a lieutenant.”
“George Wickham,” Lizzy murmured, committing his name to memory.
“I should have called him out,” Mr. Darcy muttered.
“Humph, that would have been carrying foolishness beyond permission,” Lizzy said tartly.
“If you had killed him, you would have had to flee the country, leaving your poor sister to cope on her own, unless you would have dragged her away with you. And, it is possible that you would have been killed instead. Do not be so idiotish.”
Darcy discovered he wanted to laugh at her strong stance. Instead, he gave the horse his office to continue. A dark alley is what I need. If I use a garrote, I could kill him without any blood. Darcy chuckled darkly and silently. He felt Miss Elizabeth’s hand on his arm.
“The puppies will cheer you up,” she told him, nodding emphatically.
Darcy looked down into her eyes and read sympathetic resolve in them. “No doubt.”
“With your permission, I will tell Mary and Jane this man’s name, though in strictest confidence. I will not, however, say anything about him to Lydia and Kitty, who cannot keep anyone’s secrets.”
With Miss Mary being my sister’s new, particular friend, I suppose this only makes sense. Even so, I hate the idea of anyone knowing. I must be sensible, however.
“Very well, Miss Elizabeth, you may tell them.”
She nodded and indicated an access point between hedgerows where a sign read, Godbed Farm. “Here is the place. The farmer’s name is Mr. Godbed. He and his good wife have three children, Tommy, Janice, and Gilbert, who are fourteen, twelve, and eight, respectively.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said. He took several deep breaths to calm himself further. “Are they expecting us?”
“They are,” Miss Elizabeth said. “I sent around a note this morning.”
By the time Darcy had parked his gig at the side of the house, the farmer and his wife stood nearby with their children ranged beside them.
The brick and flint house had a handsome front, with a centered door, a large window on either side of it, and a row of windows above, all trimmed in white.
A timber framed barn sat back a little from the house.
Chickens scratched in the yard and pigs grunted as they rooted about in their pen.
Darcy climbed down and assisted Miss Elizabeth to alite.
“Good day to you, Mr. Godbed. Mrs. Godbed,” she said, smiling radiantly.
His mood immediately lifting, Darcy turned to face his hosts. Mr. Godbed, a large and jovial-looking man, took off his cap, revealing auburn hair, cut short. His kind-faced wife curtsied.
“Good day t’ye, Miss Elizabeth, ma’am,” Mr. Godbed said. To his children, he said, “Make yer curtsy, Janice, dear, and you boys take off yer caps.”
The children obeyed without saying a word. Janice stared at them owlishly. Both boys, though, only had eyes for Darcy’s horse. Mrs. Godbed smiled proudly at her three children.
“I would like to make known to you, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said, indicating his person with a graceful wave of her hand.
Darcy nodded to them. “Mr. Godbed. Mrs. Godbed. Thank you for permitting me to come and look at your puppies. Miss Elizabeth claims they are handsome beasts and that one will make a fine pet for my sister.”
“Aye, she would know,” Mr. Godbed said. “We’ll bring ‘em up to the shed behind the kitchen, sir. They’re not allowed, strictly speakin’, into the ‘ouse. Come and give me a hand, you lot.” The three children hurried before their father, heading for the barn.
“We’ve made it nice and cozy in there, sir, miss,” Mrs. Godbed promised. “Follow me, if y’would.”
Darcy took Miss Elizabeth by the elbow, and they followed the farmwife around the side of the house to the back.
The good-sized, open-sided stone shed looked sturdy and in good repair, attached to the rear of the house.
Firewood, stacked shoulder high in three tight rows, filled half the space in the rear of the shed.
In front of the rows. several kitchen chairs had been set in a circle around the flagstone floor, which had been swept clean.
A parlor table had been brought out, a cloth put over it, and a glass pitcher of what appeared to be mint tea sat upon the cloth.
A plate of buttered loaf slices sat in the center beside some napkins.
“How lovely this looks, ma’am,” Miss Elizabeth said, taking the chair indicated by her hostess. “Is this your famous cobnut loaf?”
“‘Tis so, miss,” Mrs. Godbed said, beaming now. “Please, sir, sit yerself down.”
“After you, ma’am,” Darcy said, holding onto the back of one of the chairs for her.
She blushed, clearly pleased with his manners. “I thank ye, sir, but I’m goin’ t’give ye a slice of me loaf and a drink of tea before those puppies get here.”
Darcy sat in a chair that faced the farmyard and accepted a glass of the cool tea and a slice of loaf. He drank half of the refreshing liquid right away, being parched. Then, under Mrs. Godbed’s watchful, eager gaze, he bit into the loaf. He chewed and swallowed.
“Excellent, thank you. The loaf—and the tea—are just sweet enough, in my opinion,” Darcy offered, going in for a second bite.
He never had any trouble making conversation with everyday folk.
He only fell into reserved speech when speaking to individuals of his own class.
Perhaps his comfort level formed as a boy, due to his interactions with his father’s tenants and servants.
He and…never mind who…used to run and play all over the estate and nearby villages.
When he gained his twelfth year, his father began to teach him about running the estate and Darcy became too busy to galivant about.
“Indeed,” Miss Elizabeth was saying, smiling with relish. “Mr. Darcy is so right. Just the perfect level of sweetness.”
“I played with m’recipe, miss,” Mrs. Godbed said, smiling widely and perching on the edge of a chair.
She folded her hands in her lap. “‘Willful waste makes woeful want’ as the saying goes. I can now make three loaves usin’ the same amount of honey as two loafs used t’take.
‘It’s not cake, it’s a loaf’ I says t’meself. ‘It needn’t be so sweet’.”
“I perfectly understand you,” Miss Elizabeth said before she took another bite.
“Your butter is superb,” Darcy said. “What breed of cow do you have?”
“We’ve a small herd o’ British whites, sir,” Mrs. Godbed said. “Good fer both dairy and eatin’.”
Darcy raised his eyebrows. “Ah, I see. My herdsman wishes us to diversify our herd of cattle with British whites—we have Ayrshires at the moment, you see,” he said. “Do you recommend the British whites?”