Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
“What are you planning to do with Mr Wickham?”
Bingley sounded uneasy; accusations that his friend used witchcraft clearly had him befuddled, but he also heartily disliked confrontation and, Darcy recalled, knew nothing of the enmity between himself and Wickham, a man whom he had only met a few weeks prior.
“Go to your lady,” he advised, arms crossed, leaning against the faded blue wallpaper in Longbourn’s front hall.
“This night is for you and Miss Bennet, not for bitter anger.”
Bingley flashed a grin. “It is, indeed.” He made as if to go but turned back, his brows raised in curiosity. “But, Darcy, you must agree it is all quite odd—why would Mr Wickham put Lydia up to such a thing? Stealing your quizzing glass?”
“The ruby in this glass is worth a great deal of money. Wickham is a cur who amuses himself by hurting others—cheating at cards, running up debts, carousing with servant girls and maidens.” Hearing Bingley’s shocked exclamation, Darcy added quickly, “He was the son of my father’s steward.
His licentious behaviour was known to me in the past, and while I hesitate to besmirch the name of a man I have hardly seen in some five years, it is evident he has not changed.
I shall speak to his commanding officer. Forster, is it?”
Bingley nodded before expressing himself in lower tones of concern. “Lydia grew agitated when peering through your quizzing glass. I know you are rather protective of it. Is your eyesight so bad, my friend, that you have wished to keep it a secret? Have my jokes at your expense been in poor taste?”
Bingley has more questions on my eyes than on a contract to purchase an estate!
“Have I not always bested you in billiards and shooting, without need of my glass? I can tolerate your jokes as well as your poor aim.” Patting Bingley’s shoulder, Darcy gave a dismissive shrug.
“Miss Lydia is both young and artless, and made unsteady from the thrill of mischief and the punch she and many others so liberally partook of this evening.”
“Darcy!”
“It is a night of joyful celebration, and I think perhaps Miss Lydia is the liveliest of her sisters. One fewer glass of punch and she may not have taken up Wickham’s challenge.”
“She is young and enjoying herself.” Bingley, already standing close and speaking quietly, lowered his voice another notch. “I notice you, too, are enjoying yourself in conversation with another of Jane’s sisters. Do you find the neighbourhood more refined than on your first impression?”
Ah, Bingley did not easily grasp the intricacies of business, but he certainly could sense other, more pressing, particulars. Affecting nonchalance, Darcy merely shrugged. “See to Miss Bennet. She is likely overrun with eager company. I shall speak to you later.”
Looking eager himself, Bingley walked quickly towards the drawing room.
Darcy had kept a steady gaze on Wickham throughout their conversation, watching the miscreant’s reflection in the large hall mirror as he gave half an ear to Sir William and two chattering ladies while turning this way and that, as if looking for someone.
Abruptly, Wickham bowed to the group and hurried towards the door, where he sought his hat from a harried Mr Hill.
Darcy pushed off from the wall and stepped towards him, taking the hat from the servant as he did.
“You do not merit an officer’s hat, Wickham.”
Wickham turned, appearing displeased but unsurprised. “No? You will give me the living I deserve, or perhaps the small estate in Warwickshire your father meant for me?”
“Another fiction you have imagined?” Handing Wickham his hat, Darcy reached for the door handle, and against Wickham’s protests, manoeuvred him outside to Longbourn’s drive.
Wickham’s pallor darkened to the dusky shade of a shameless liar exposed and angry about it. “Take care when you speak of fictions, Darcy, for we both know you are hiding a secret that could ruin you.”
Darcy laughed derisively. “A secret? Indeed, I have long kept silent about your ruinous behaviour, and tonight I witnessed you encouraging a young girl to steal from me. A man less benevolent than myself might seek to punish Miss Lydia, but even I, whom you find so cold and small-minded, know where the true blame lies.”
“It was a joke! Do you threaten me with the magistrate for a jest that led a silly girl to seize your ridiculously bespoke quizzing glass?”
“Which you claimed was yours.”
Wickham smiled meanly, but Darcy cut in before he could respond. “Your ‘jest’ contained a promise to give Miss Lydia the ruby on its handle.”
Wickham shrugged. “Like all women, she is drawn to shiny baubles.”
‘All women.’ Darcy wished to hit him but swallowed the impulse; there had been enough spectacle tonight.
“Miss Lydia is a gentleman’s daughter, above you in birth and breeding.
You were raised to be a gentleman but have thrown it off for a life of idle debauchery, drawn to those who will benefit you, be it young girls or the fat pocketbooks and wallets of widows and rich men inept at cards. ”
“One must make a living. I enjoy a tasty bit of beef and a soft bed as much as you, Darcy, for I, too, was raised with expectations of continuing my happy life as—”
“The women you left ruined or with child wish to live in comfort too. You cannot take what you wish—or claim—to be yours, uncaring of the destruction you wrought.”
“Unproven allegations.” Wickham waved his hand dismissively.
“Have you called the magistrate? Perhaps I shall, for there is a crime being perpetrated by you on the entire populace of England.” He stepped towards Darcy, his contemptuous tone becoming menacing.
“You are the most perfect man in England—rich, vain, and all too wise for one who lacks the kind of shrewd understanding and experience that I can boast. Never put a foot wrong, never make a mistake—ever! Something came over you when you inherited from your father and began carrying that infernal quizzing glass, sticking it to your eye to dismiss and judge everyone.”
“Vanity is a fault, not a crime.”
Wickham sneered and kicked at the gravel on Longbourn’s drive.
“So smug, and yet how is it that you are flawless in business and have bettered your stables and investments whilst not finding any lady to measure up to your standards of perfection? I wager it is something in that quizzing glass. You see defects and imperfections, and determine who and what is worth your while.”
“It is a quizzing glass passed down through generations of Darcys. The same can be said of paintings, jewellery, and furnishings, much of it more valuable than this trinket.” Darcy patted his pocket, knowing he was taunting Wickham, but feeling their connexion had reached a final turning point, he cared little for his erstwhile friend’s feelings.
Wickham tapped his ear. “I was not the only one who heard Miss Lydia cry out about magic and enchantments when she peered through your precious quizzing glass,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “Are the Darcy fortunes due to nefarious acts? Are you practising the dark arts?”
“Of this you accuse me?” Darcy’s voice sank in disgust. “Can you truly sink so low?”