Chapter 8
A WAGERING MAN
Darcy saw the moment she noticed his approach; her eyes, her lovely, expressive eyes widened. Then, as he watched, she straightened her spine, donning her self-possession like a shawl she wrapped around herself, hiding misery and pain beneath it.
He bowed. “May I sit?” he asked.
She nodded.
He wondered what he ought to do now…extend an apology? He certainly owed her one. It seemed that his offer of marriage had not compensated for much. But if she did not accept it, did it mean she would not go through with the wedding?
The sudden sense of grief, of loss, at the very thought, told him that he had utterly failed to consider something extremely important.
He wanted this marriage. It was why he had sent Havers to London.
Somehow bumbling into her room that night had not affected him much, except to make his next steps clear.
What if she did not want the same things as he?
Horror of horrors, what if she is somehow infatuated with George Bloody Wickham?
He swallowed, sitting beside her and feeling somewhat helpless to know what to do. However, one thing was obvious—she must be told of his enemy.
“I saw you speaking with an old acquaintance of mine,” he began.
She looked at him sharply. “Not…not Mr Wickham?”
“Yes,” he agreed, waiting, hoping she would share what their exchange had been about. She remained silent.
He cleared his throat, and wished he had permission to take her hand in his; perhaps circumstance entitled him to the right, yet he knew he had not earned it. “Wickham is—was—my father’s godson. His own father acted as steward for all the Pemberley estates.”
“Your home in Derbyshire,” she murmured.
“Yes. His good father and mine were the best of friends, and as close as brothers. My father’s hope was that Wickham would take orders, and thus he supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge.
His mother was of excellent birth, but her gambling habits prevented his father from saving for such things.
It was not a happy marriage.” He recalled the arguments, the melancholy his father’s friend had suffered trying to cover the extravagant debts of his wife, who was known for playing deep with some of the area’s chief inhabitants.
“It sounds awful. My parents do not always see eye to eye, but there are no open hostilities. Poor Mr Wickham.”
Darcy had to use extreme control to avoid utterance of what he wanted to retort.
Wickham had been given every chance for a successful life, and had ruined himself instead.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth did not know him, and Darcy had once felt the same sympathy, back in the days of his youth when he and George had played across forest, fields, and hills of the estate, becoming soldiers and knights and Robin Hood and his merry men.
Entering George’s house had always made him feel uncomfortable—not because it was much smaller than Pemberley, but because his parents had always been at odds with each other, and the boys often became pawns in their bickering, especially by Mrs Wickham.
Darcy took a deep breath, and forced himself to continue.
“I tell you this so that you may understand how well I know him, although we have not been close in several years. And I ask you now, most sincerely, and with my only motive an altruistic one—are you…involved with him? Is there an attachment there?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “No!” she cried. “I have only just been introduced to him this very morning!”
He felt a relief of tension in his frame. “Are you willing to tell me what was your business with him?”
For several moments she remained silent, and he thought she might refuse. But then her chin lifted, and there was a definite defiance in her tone.
“I persuaded him to purchase a ticket on today’s post to London.
I told him it was for my maid to join her man, that I could not buy it myself because of my father’s disapproval, but I lied.
I intend to be on that post, to travel to my uncle’s home on Gracechurch Street, and beg him for refuge.
I am not ready to be married to a man who thinks me barely tolerable, and I am not at all convinced of the wedding’s necessity.
I believe that if I stay in town for a period of months, the gossip will die down and cease to affect me or my sisters. ”
Darcy’s mouth opened in shock. Impossible that she planned to travel alone, via stage, to London!
To escape…me! It was only with effort that he closed it again.
His heart beat hard, his skin flushed; but amongst the insult of her words, he heard her sentiment—barely tolerable?
Unbelievable that she should think so! In the next moment, however, the words he had spoken at that assembly weeks ago replayed in his head, when Bingley had been pressing him to dance with her.
He had been in a horrible mood, had hated everyone in the room at that moment.
She had evidently caught his rebuke, meant for Bingley, but he had hardly cared whether she heard it too.
It had not been well done of him. Shame suffused him.
“I apologise for ever saying that, for ever even thinking it. It has been some time since I have thought you the handsomest woman of my acquaintance. In all my life, I have never before walked in my sleep. I have no clue how it could have happened. I can only believe that somehow, in some way, you were in my dreams and unintentionally, I sought you out. I am sorry, deeply sorry, to have behaved so dishonourably. I can assure you it was most unconsciously done.”
It was her turn to look shocked. But quickly, she returned to her other points.
“I thank you for the compliment, and for the apology. However, you do not know me, not really, and you cannot wish for a marriage to a near-stranger. I am certain you have always held the highest expectations for yourself in such a connexion, and you must know that my fortune is the furthest thing from large. How long before you resent me for entrapping you in this position?”
“As I recall, it was I who accidentally entrapped you,” he replied. “I am in the fortunate position of being able to marry where I choose, to the extent that worldly goods are concerned. I am a gentleman; you are a gentleman’s daughter. Insofar, we are equals.”
She laughed softly, bitterly. “Did you know that my uncle Gardiner, to whom I would go for refuge, lives in Cheapside, sir?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am aware. It changes nothing concerning my feelings on your suitability to be Mrs Darcy.”
She appeared a bit flummoxed at this, as though she had expected a much different answer.
But she clearly remained unconvinced. “Yes, I am a gentleman’s daughter, but my mother is the daughter of a solicitor.
My aunt and uncle Gardiner are very respectable, and I would never be ashamed to know them—but it does not change the fact that he is in trade.
I have no ‘attachment’ whatsoever to Mr Wickham, but it seems to me that he, a well-educated son of a well-born mother, currently an officer in the King’s militia, is much closer to the sphere I inhabit than yours. ”
He never would know why he said it; it came from his mouth in thoughtless retort. “You gave Wickham how much for your ticket?”
She suddenly appeared wary, and slightly suspicious. Still, she answered him forthrightly enough. “I gave him ten shillings.”
“I will make you a wager. If he emerges from that inn with your ticket in hand, I will hire you a private chaise myself to take you to your uncle, and your life is henceforth your own. If he does not, promise you will marry me Wednesday, as planned.”