Chapter 16
Pemberley
A Week Later
In spring and summer and autumn, the trout stream in front of the house fed a placid, still lake that spread out into a lovely water feature.
In winter, thin skiffs of ice floated and bobbed like rafts down the stream to duck under a thick crust of ice frozen over the lake.
At least once a winter, Darcy enjoyed strapping on his skates and gliding across the pond, enjoying the crisp cold and swift, smooth movement.
Today was one such day. Servants had come down earlier in the day to sweep the snow from the ice and test its thickness.
A favorable report had been carried back up to the house, and preparations had commenced to skate.
The season had been good for it this year; no warm spells compromised the integrity of the ice, and snow fell frequently.
Even now, the tall fir trees surrounding the pond wore picturesque mantles of white, heavy glittering cakes of snow that bowed the dark-needled boughs beneath their weight.
It was a lovely scene for a day of recreation.
Darcy had been skating since he was five years old, and his skill showed his much practice.
Georgiana, likewise, had excellent balance and went swishing about the ice like a white-clad and joyous snowflake.
Perhaps these years of experience had made him cocky, for Darcy barely caught himself when suddenly he tripped over his own skate.
Eyes on the ice, he thought wryly; he had absolutely not been looking at where he was going or even taking in the beauty of the scenery around them.
Instead, his attention had been fully on the third person on the ice with them.
If Georgiana was like a snowflake, then Miss Elizabeth was like a robin, dressed in warm brown wool, a red scarf muffling her face and a matching hat pulled down over her dark hair, flitting about the lake with birdlike grace and speed.
Darcy had not thought it got cold enough in mild Hertfordshire for someone to practice their skating as much as Miss Elizabeth apparently had.
Yet he must have been wrong, for she sped across the ice like a bird on the wing.
Only a narrow strip of her face showed between scarf and hat, but her eyes were alight with joy, and the tip of her charming little nose was rosy with cold.
With an effort, Darcy dragged his attention away from the alluring picture Miss Elizabeth made and focused on the ice before his own feet.
It would be unbearably mortifying if he were to trip and fall all over himself like a complete beginner.
Miss Elizabeth would likely not laugh at him, for she was kind, but he had no wish to be humiliated or appear unskilled before the woman he loved.
And yes, he loved her. Darcy could no longer deny that to himself, even if he wished to do so.
He had realized his attraction to the lady some time ago, of course, but now that they were living in the same mansion, he recognized the full strength of his admiration, though even now he doubted he had plumbed the depths of his respect and fondness for this resilient, remarkable young woman, who had not allowed the recent hardships of her life to harden her generous heart.
She was in every respect estimable, clever and intelligent and endlessly kind.
He was not the only to have noticed; shy, timid Georgiana had not taken long to open up to their young guest and learn to love her.
Great-aunt Gregson, warm-hearted and adventuresome, also had no qualms in declaring her affection for Miss Elizabeth.
She was everything Darcy could ever want in a woman.
He wondered if she knew it, if she had caught his lingering glances and the warmth in his gaze, or if she had extrapolated from his solicitous attention just how much he cared about her.
Likely not, he admitted; he was not a demonstrative man, and he had not overtly expressed his adoration.
No, he would need to gird himself to tell her plainly of his devotion and love.
On the other hand … Darcy watched as Miss Elizabeth swooped by again, her skates flashing and her light, joyful laugh floating through the air in her wake.
She was happy here, safe and content. What if she were unaware of his affection?
The absolute last thing he wanted was to make her feel pressured by yet another undesired suitor.
If he were to speak of an unrequited passion, he had little doubt that Miss Elizabeth would believe it necessary for her to depart at once, not only from under his roof but also away from his protection, and that was unthinkable.
He could not have her slipping off to stay somewhere in London without provision or protector.
At least for now, he would hold his peace.
Perhaps things would change after her birthday when she would reach her majority and would no longer be under her father’s control.
Right now, what Miss Elizabeth required most was safety, security, peace and provision.
She needed him to stand as her friend, not attempt to woo her.
He would hold his tongue and see to her well-being.
Perhaps one day he could lay his heart at her feet as he wished to do, but not until she was perfectly safe to refuse him.
***
Study
Netherfield Hall
Jane Bingley stepped softly into her husband’s study and then stopped. Her husband sat behind the desk facing the door, but his gaze was entirely on the letter in front of him.
She took a moment to consider her beloved husband. He was a handsome man, Charles Bingley, with light brown hair and dancing brown eyes. His face was pleasing, his figure good, and he stood six inches taller than her, which always made her feel safe.
She was exceedingly grateful for her marriage. Meryton had been sorely lacking in eligible gentlemen for many years, and her dear Charles had been as manna from heaven when he came to the area a few months previously.
She had thought, briefly, that she had lost him when the letter arrived from Miss Bingley indicating that the entire Netherfield party would spend the winter in Town. But he had returned, her darling Charles, and asked for her hand in marriage, and they were so happy together.
He looked up suddenly, and his solemn face was instantly transformed into joy.
“Jane, my love,” he said, rising to his feet and hurrying over to her.
They shared a kiss, and Jane leaned against his chest for a minute, relishing the feeling of his arms around her.
She hoped that her parents had been content in the early days of their marriage, but she was also intelligent enough to know that the Bennet elders were in many ways incompatible.
“Jane?”
She stepped back and looked into her husband’s face. “Yes?”
“May I show you a letter I just received from Darcy?”
She frowned, surprised, but said, “Yes, of course.”
“Sit down by the fire, please,” he directed, gesturing toward the wingbacked chair nearest the flames.
She obediently did so, relishing the warmth, and waited until her husband brought over the letter.
“If you could read the back page, I would appreciate it,” Charles said, handing over the letter. “The first page is about estate business, and while you are certainly welcome to read it, it does not pertain to the issue in question.”
She obediently turned the letter to the back side, shifted slightly so the light from the window landed on it, and began reading.
…best to fix fences before cattle escape, definitely.
Bingley, I now wish to turn to another matter of considerable concern.
You surely remember me mentioning George Wickham, who is, last I heard, serving as a lieutenant in the militia in Meryton.
Wickham and I have a long and complex history.
He is the son of a fine man who served as steward of Pemberley for some twenty years, and my father treated Wickham very well by making the young man his godson and paying for his schooling, most necessary support because his mother was extravagant and kept the older Wickham poor.
Unfortunately, Wickham is, to put it clearly, a rascal, a rogue, and a gamester. He runs up debts wherever he goes and has taken advantage of innocent tenant girls and shopkeepers’ daughters.
When I encountered Wickham in Meryton, I should have said something to you, or Colonel Forster, or the shopkeepers. I should have warned you all that Wickham is not to be trusted, that he will run up debts, that he will cheat and lie at the slightest need.
But I was tired. I have been cleaning up his messes for literally a decade now. I ignored him. I should not have done that.
So I am sending you a request, Bingley, that you will do what I did not.
I am confident that by this time the rapscallion has run up at least one hundred pounds in debts at the butcher and the haberdasher and the Pig in the Poke pub.
I would be pleased to pay for any debts you can buy up in the village, which will allow you to have Wickham sent to Marshalsea.
He never has two coins to rub together and will not be able to pay off the debts.
Let me add one thing more; many years ago, my father wished for Wickham to become a clergyman and recommended him for a valuable church living in Kympton near Pemberley after the current rector died.
Following my father’s death, Wickham approached me with the news that he did not wish to become a clergyman and asked that I pay him to give up all rights to the living.
I was eager to do so, as Wickham ought not to be a parson given his character.
I paid him three thousand pounds to give up the living and another one thousand directed to him in my father’s will, and I have the document proving that Wickham gave up all rights to the living.
Four thousand pounds would, in the four percents, provide one hundred sixty pounds of income per year, not a large amount, but a frugal man could live on it easily.
Wickham spent it all in a few years, and when old Kympton rector died, he approached me demanding that I award him the living in spite of the fact that I had already paid him to give it up.
I refused, of course. Wickham is an unrighteous man, and further, he had not taken Holy Orders or made any effort to do so.
Regardless, my old friend, now enemy, was furious at my decision, and he has embraced every opportunity to lambast my name.
I should have done something about that too.
I should have explained the true situation, but my pride overcame my sense, and I allowed the man to slander my name to all and sundry.
I convinced myself that their views of me did not matter, when what I should have considered was that the good people of Meryton and the environs have the right to know that they have welcomed a snake into their midst.
I understand that this is not truly your responsibility, and if you do not wish to become involved, I beg you to refuse my request. However, if you are willing to act, I would gladly send you some of the receipts from the hundreds of pounds of debts I paid off for Wickham in Lambton, along with the document showing that Wickham gave up the Kympton living.
I imagine that Colonel Forster, who seems a good man, would not be pleased to learn that one of his officers had and continues to run up debts he does not intend to pay and has lied about his dealings with me.
Sincerely,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
“I cannot believe it,” Jane said after she had read the letter twice.
“Truly?” her husband asked from the chair next to her own. “Darcy has always been most reliable…”
“Oh, I am sorry,” the lady interrupted. “I do believe him. It is just that it is positively awful. I heard about the disputed church living and thought there might be more to it than Mr. Wickham’s story, but to hear that he lied so viciously! What a scoundrel!”
“Yes,” her husband agreed, reaching out to take her right hand in his strong fingers. “I remember that you mentioned the matter at the ball back in November. I was more interested in you than the story of a church living and failed to ask Darcy about it.”
Jane nodded and then, after a minute of cogitation, said, “I think that Mr. Darcy is right to blame himself for not giving a reasonable warning. We had no reason to distrust Wickham’s story, especially when Mr. Darcy insulted Elizabeth the first day they met…”
“Insulted Elizabeth?” Bingley asked. “What do you mean?”
She arched one eyebrow and said, “She is not handsome enough to tempt me to dance? You were speaking with Mr. Darcy at the time, so surely you heard him say that.”
Her husband looked horrified and said, “Oh Jane! Yes, I do remember but … but surely … you are telling me that Elizabeth heard him say that?”
Jane stared at her husband, and then a reluctant smile graced her lips. “My sister has very quick ears, Charles. Yes, of course she heard him.”
“Oh,” Bingley said, releasing her hand and wiping his forehead dramatically. “Oh Jane, I am so sorry. I feel responsible given that I brought Darcy here…”
“It was his decision to be rude, not yours,” Jane said. “Let us speak of the letter, my love. I think we ought to do something about Wickham, Charles. For a shopkeeper, a few pounds either way can make a big difference, not to mention the damage he could do to the lives of young, gullible women.”
“I agree,” Charles said firmly.