Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy had always been a prudent man. He attended very few balls when he visited London, and he thanked providence that none of the local families he dined with when he was at Pemberley had unwed daughters to be pushed at him.
A man of his station had to be careful, for he never ventured anywhere without word of his fortune spreading; when it was matchmaking mothers doing the whispering, Darcy was often too uncomfortable to even dance, though he enjoyed the pastime – when it would not fill a young lady’s head with fanciful expectations.
Since their day in the grove, his distrust of Jane Fairfax had grown into a high esteem for Elizabeth Bennet. As an heiress of fortune and property, favored in looks, manners, and wit, she might have any man she chose falling at her feet; she had no need to resort to any paltry arts to entrap him.
Thus he took her request seriously as he covertly pursued her outdoors; she must have something of import to say to him, which would be worth hearing. He did not expect her to appear quite so anxious about it, however – in happiness, crises, and fury alike, she had ever exuded poised confidence.
“Are you unwell, Miss Bennet?”
“I find myself unaccountably nervous,” she said with a rueful laugh.
“Shall we walk in the hedge maze? You need not look at me, if it will make it any easier to speak.”
“Because the very sight of you must drive me to distraction? No, you need not have any fear of that sort,” she teased as she took his offered arm.
Darcy was nearly wounded; her allure certainly had that very effect on him, particularly now, when the moonlight bathed her pale skin in an otherworldly luminescence.
Darcy led her away from the manor, into the hedge maze.
They soon discovered it had not been well kept during the years of the manor’s vacancy, and they were obliged to walk very close to avoid the unkempt boughs and branches.
After a dozen paces in silence, one of the rogue brambles snagged the delicate sleeve of Elizabeth’s gown; he immediately removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders, and Elizabeth smiled up at him with wide eyes, swaying a little. “Thank you, sir.”
“Of course; I could not countenance any damage to your beautiful gown, or worse, if your bare arms had been scratched….”
She linked her arm through his once more, still walking very close.
“I know you to be a gentleman of honor; I even suspect you to be one of great depth of feeling, sir. Therefore, I feel I must warn you that last evening I heard a slanderous account of your alleged dishonesty. I shall confess I am curious to hear it not only refuted, but perhaps an explanation for the motives that moved a certain person to speak to me about you in such a way.”
“I think you mean Miss Bingley,” Darcy murmured. “You have undoubtedly noticed that she and I are not on the warmest of terms, despite my friendship with her brother.”
“Yes, and I had wondered at it, though of course it is not for me to ask. But I would not object to hearing why she would disparage you so severely.”
Darcy let out a heavy sigh. He had known it would be awkward to encounter Miss Bingley again; it ought not to surprise him that Miss Bingley would attempt to spin his rejection to her own advantage. “What did she say of me?”
“That you betrayed a lifelong friend and defied your father’s dying wish in an infamous manner.”
This was the last thing Darcy expected to hear. He could hardly account for how Caroline might know anything about his dealings with Wickham… unless she had met with him somehow. Fury churned in his chest at the thought of that wretch.
But before him was a beautiful woman whom he admired and respected; who in fact held him entranced in her thrall as they strolled together in the ethereal light of a full moon.
He checked his temper at once. “I thank you for bringing this matter to me – you know better than to believe her, I presume.”
“I should trust her less than the very devil,” Elizabeth laughed
“As much as I can believe it of her, I am sorry that she would stoop to such behavior. I am even sorry to think that she has been influenced by someone so far beneath even her notice; she does not make up lies about me, I do not think, but rather repeats the fabrications of another.”
“Who do you mean?”
“I refer to the friend of my youth, George Wickham. His father was a good and respectable man who served as my own father’s steward for many years.
My father was kind and generous, and had not overly much happiness in his later life.
George brightened him with his lively manners and youthful antics, for which I was once very grateful, as I could never manage to achieve that effect myself.
But George Wickham concealed his true nature from my father, who supported him at Eton and then at Cambridge.
We were classmates together, and I saw what he really was – a reprobate, a cheat, and a wastrel.
His habits were such as I ought not describe to a lady, and yet he felt entitled to far more than what my father provided.
I believe he would have been satisfied with no less than being treated as a second son. ”
“That is shocking indeed! My own father’s steward has a son, and though Papa is a generous man, he has done no more than allow young Freddy the use of his library, and the occasional present.” Elizabeth sighed and made a low, strangled sound.
“What is the matter, Miss Bennet?”
“My father spoke to Jane about his desire for a son – I had thought it a lark, but perhaps it is true. Oh, forgive me – it is nothing – pray, continue your story, Mr. Darcy.”
He laid his free hand atop hers, which rested in the crook of his elbow. After a moment of walking in silence, she wound her thumb around his own as if to anchor his hand in place.
“The incident to which Miss Bingley referred must surely have been misrepresented to her by Wickham himself. My father desired him to take orders, and intended to bestow upon him the valuable living at Kympton, not far from Pemberley. I believe my father was motivated out of a wish to keep him close, rather than thinking Wickham particularly suited to the position. Knowing him in ways my father did not, I was relieved when, after the reading of my father’s will, Wickham declined to take orders.
In addition to the sum of one thousand pounds bequeathed to him by my father, I gave him three thousand as compensation for the living.
He professed an intention of studying the law, though I did not entirely believe him; I was only relieved to consider the connection finally severed between us. ”
Elizabeth peered up at him, her expressive eyes studying him closely. “I suspect that was not the case.”
“Unfortunately, it was not. Over a year ago, I brought my younger sister to Ramsgate with a paid companion, Mrs. Younge, in whose character I was entirely deceived. She was in collusion with Mr. Wickham, who also went to Ramsgate, where he reminded my sister of his kindness to her in her youth, and persuaded her that she was in love with him. Mrs. Younge encouraged their visits, until finally Georgiana agreed to an elopement. By happenstance, I arrived to pay her a surprise visit on the very day they meant to flee to Gretna Green, and I put a stop to it.”
Elizabeth drew in a trembling breath and grasped at the lapels of his jacket as she drew it tighter around herself. “The lovers you separated.”
“Yes. My sister has a sweet and gentle heart, and saw only the good in him, as my father did, though her na?veté is no fault of her own. She was but sixteen years old. It tore my heart to shreds that I was obliged to inform her George Wickham only ever wanted her dowry, and I suppose to avenge himself on me in the cruelest way imaginable.”
“How awful – that poor girl! I can well understand. Last autumn a regiment of the militia quarters in Meryton, and Bessie warned me to be on my guard, that my fortune might make me an object of prey to a fortune hunter. My father wanted little to do with the officers – I now wonder if it reminded him of his own time as a soldier, when he met my mother.”
Darcy smiled sadly, pained that she, too, bore the same burden of fortune as his sister. He knew all too well the disenchanting reality of being sought after for his wealth and not his own merits. “Who is Bessie?”
“Our housekeeper; her late husband served in the militia with my father – they were quartered here in Highbury. She has been with us all my life, and has been the nearest thing to a mother I have ever known. Papa is like an impish elder brother, or an indulgent uncle, rather than a father.”
They both signed, looked at one another, and then laughed. “We are very tragic, sir, and I suspect you have still not finished your tale. What became of your sister? And why should Miss Bingley, whose brother clearly thinks you to be the fount of all wisdom, believe any slander of you?”
Darcy could not bring himself to face the first question, not yet. Elizabeth had confided her secrets to him – ruinous secrets, even, but they were her own secrets. He had wronged his sister enough without spreading tales of her shame.
“Miss Bingley must have met George Wickham in the last six months, when she would have reason enough to be receptive to his lies and tales of woe. He can be vastly charming when there is something in it for him.”
Elizabeth let out a little gasp. “Yes, she did say that six months ago she would never have thought ill of you. What happened in February? Did you fall out?”