Chapter 10 #2
“Family matters brought me north. My late father had connections in the area, as you know. And finding myself in the neighborhood of my childhood home, how could I resist attending a local assembly for old times’ sake?”
A barely perceptible emphasis on “childhood home” caused Darcy’s hands to clench at his sides. Elizabeth observed this reaction with growing concern, recalling how Wickham had claimed his father was the old Mr. Darcy’s steward and that he himself had been raised alongside Fitzwilliam.
“Your sentimentality does you credit. Though I would have thought your recent commissions would take you elsewhere.”
“Ah, the militia. Yes, a brief but educational experience. I have since found other pursuits more... financially rewarding.”
The veiled reference carried particular meaning to Darcy, whose face remained impassive though Elizabeth sensed his growing tension.
“I wish you success in your endeavors. Now, if you will excuse us, Mrs. Darcy and I were just preparing to depart.”
“So soon? But I had hoped to renew my acquaintance with your charming wife. We were quite friendly during my time in Hertfordshire, were we not, Mrs. Darcy? I recall several most illuminating conversations.”
The deliberate reference to their past interactions, with its implication of confidences shared, was clearly calculated to provoke Darcy. Elizabeth felt a flash of anger at being used as a pawn in whatever game Wickham was playing.
“Our acquaintance was brief and of no significance, Mr. Wickham. And as my husband mentioned, we were preparing to leave.”
Genuine surprise crossed Wickham’s features at her dismissive tone, quickly masked behind his habitual charm. “Of course. Far be it from me to delay your departure. Though perhaps before you go, I might request the honor of calling at Pemberley? For old times’ sake.”
The audacity of this request clearly shocked several nearby listeners. Elizabeth felt Darcy’s arm become rigid beneath her hand.
“Pemberley is currently closed to casual visitors. We are entertaining family only at present.”
“How unfortunate. And here I had hoped to see how the old place has changed under new management. Perhaps another time.”
With a bow that somehow managed to be both correct and insulting, he moved away. Elizabeth was left with a distinct impression that the entire exchange had been deliberately crafted to discomfort Darcy while establishing his presence as something significant.
“Fitzwilliam, what was that about? Why is Mr. Wickham’s presence so disturbing to you?”
“Not here. We will discuss it when we return to Pemberley.”
His uncharacteristic abruptness concerned Elizabeth, but she recognized the wisdom of avoiding such a conversation in public.
As they located Georgiana and made their farewells to the Ashfords, she noted how Darcy positioned himself to keep his sister from noticing Wickham’s presence across the room.
The carriage ride home passed in uncomfortable silence. Georgiana, tired but pleased with her evening, seemed not to notice the tension, chatting instead about the music and Mrs. Grey’s kindness in introducing her to several other young ladies.
Only when they had returned to Pemberley and Georgiana had retired did Darcy finally address the evening’s unexpected development. He found Elizabeth in the library, where she had gone instinctively seeking familiar surroundings.
“You have questions about Wickham.”
“Several.” Elizabeth studied her husband’s face in the lamplight. The rigid control he maintained in public had slipped, revealing genuine distress beneath. “His presence affected you considerably. And you took particular care to ensure Georgiana did not see him.”
Darcy moved to the fireplace, staring into the flames before responding. “George Wickham and I have a complicated history. One that goes beyond what he may have told you in Hertfordshire.”
“He claimed you denied him the living your father had intended for him. That you disregarded the elder Mr. Darcy’s wishes out of jealousy over his affection for Wickham.”
A humorless sound escaped Darcy. “Of course he did. A tale calculated to win sympathy while painting me as the villain. Wickham has always been skilled at identifying his audience’s predispositions and crafting a narrative to suit them.”
“What is the truth, then? I confess I found his story convincing at the time, but my understanding of your character has evolved since then.”
Darcy turned to face her. “The truth is that my father did care for Wickham, whose father was indeed our steward. He supported Wickham’s education alongside my own, though not as an equal.
When my father died, he left Wickham a conditional bequest of one thousand pounds, plus the recommendation for the living when it became vacant. ”
“And did you withhold these from him?”
“The money, no. I gave it to him immediately upon my father’s death.
The living...” Darcy hesitated, gathering his thoughts.
“Wickham had no intention of taking orders. He approached me when the living became available and requested the monetary value instead, claiming he meant to study law. I agreed, somewhat against my better judgment, and settled three thousand pounds on him in lieu of the position.”
Elizabeth absorbed this with growing dismay. “So he received both his inheritance and compensation for the living he never intended to occupy.”
“Precisely. I heard nothing from him for several years, until the living became vacant again. He had exhausted his funds through gambling and disreputable living, and now demanded the position after all, despite having relinquished all claim to it.”
“And you refused.”
“I did.” Darcy’s hand moved through his hair—a rare gesture of agitation. “Not merely out of principle, though that would have been sufficient, but because I knew him to be utterly unsuited to clerical life. His habits and character would have made him a disgrace to the profession.”
The account aligned far more with what Elizabeth now knew of both men than Wickham’s version had. Yet she sensed there was more to the story, something that explained the particular tension in their encounter tonight.
“This explains the animosity between you. But not why his appearance tonight disturbed you so, nor why you were so concerned that Georgiana not see him.”
A shadow passed over Darcy’s features. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, weighted with pain. “There is more. Something that occurred last summer, after Georgiana left school. Something I have shared with very few people.”
Elizabeth moved closer, concerned by the rare vulnerability she heard. “Fitzwilliam, whatever it is, you can tell me. I am your wife.”
“Yes. You are. Which gives you the right to know, though I would spare you such knowledge if I could.”
“I would rather know the truth, however difficult, than remain ignorant of something that causes you such distress.”
Darcy nodded, gathering his resolve before continuing. “Last summer, I arranged for Georgiana to spend some time in Ramsgate with a companion, Mrs. Younge, whom I had hired to complete her education after school. I believed the woman to be respectable and trustworthy.”
A sense of foreboding crept over Elizabeth. “I take it she was not?”
“She was not. She had been previously acquainted with Mr. Wickham, though she concealed this during her interviews. Once established as Georgiana’s companion, she facilitated his introduction to my sister.”
Elizabeth grasped the implications immediately. “He sought to use Georgiana to revenge himself upon you.”
“Worse than that.” Darcy’s voice tightened.
“He convinced my fifteen-year-old sister that he had loved her since childhood, that their marriage was destined, that only her fortune would allow them to live as they deserved. Georgiana, innocent and lonely after the loss of both parents, believed him.”
Elizabeth reached instinctively for Darcy’s hand, offering silent support as he continued.
“They planned an elopement. Mrs. Younge arranged everything. Had I not decided to surprise Georgiana with an early visit, had she not in her excitement confessed everything to me the day before their planned departure...” He broke off, unable to complete the sentence.
“She was saved from a dreadful fate.” Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around his. “Thanks to your intervention and her trust in you.”
“Yes. Wickham vanished the moment he learned of my arrival in Ramsgate. He never appeared to face the consequences of his actions. Georgiana was devastated—not only by the discovery of his true motives, but by the knowledge that she had nearly brought disgrace upon our family name.”
The image of young Georgiana, heartbroken and ashamed, filled Elizabeth with protective anger. “That explains your reaction tonight. And your concern that she not see him.”
“Georgiana has only recently begun to recover her spirits. She still blames herself for being deceived, though the fault lay entirely with Wickham and Mrs. Younge. An unexpected encounter with him could undo months of progress.”
“Now, he has appeared in Lambton, so near to Pemberley, and with a manner that suggested some purpose beyond mere coincidence.” Elizabeth suppressed a shudder.
“Wickham never acts without calculation. His presence here, his approach to us at the assembly, his veiled references to calling at Pemberley—all suggest some new design we have yet to discern.”
Elizabeth considered this troubling assessment, recalling Wickham’s careful phrasing and deliberate provocation. “Could he mean to attempt access to Georgiana again?”
“I think not. He knows my awareness of his character now makes that impossible. No, this is something else. Something connected to you, perhaps.”
“To me? But I barely knew him in Hertfordshire.”