Chapter Six
London
Darcy
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was waiting in the hall when Darcy came down, his coat still bearing the dust of the road and his expression carefully composed into something less than the alarm he plainly felt. He had evidently arrived only moments before.
“I saw Georgiana as I came in. She would scarcely lift her eyes to greet me, and looks as though she has not slept properly in a week.” Richard kept his voice low, mindful of any servant who might pass through the hall.
“What has happened, Darcy? Your note said only that you had returned from Ramsgate with your sister and required me here directly.”
“Come into the study.”
Darcy led the way and shut the door firmly behind them, unwilling that a single word of what must now be said should travel beyond the room.
He did not immediately sit. For a moment he stood with one hand resting upon the edge of his desk, uncertain where an account so nearly disastrous ought to begin.
“I very nearly lost her, Richard. Georgiana.” His fingers tightened against the polished wood. “She meant to elope. I discovered it only by chance, the day before they were to leave.”
Richard went very still. “With whom?”
“Wickham.” The name came with a bitterness Darcy made no effort to disguise.
“I arrived at the house in Ramsgate without giving notice and found him there, standing at the door as though he possessed every right to cross its threshold,” Darcy continued.
“Two years I have sought that scoundrel, since he took my father’s ring from the house and disappeared with it, and at last I find him in my sister’s company, entirely at his ease. ”
Richard stared at him. “You never told me he took your father’s ring.”
“Now you know.” Darcy sank at last into the chair behind his desk, the exhaustion of the preceding days asserting itself now that he had begun the telling.
“It is only one offence amongst many. There have been debts enough these past years, difficulties I settled quietly for my father’s sake and, afterwards, from some lingering sense of obligation I ought to have abandoned much sooner. I believed myself finished with him.”
Richard made an impatient motion with one hand, as though Wickham’s earlier offences, however contemptible, might be put aside until the greater matter was understood. “Wait. You said Georgiana meant to elope with him?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s expression darkened. “When I left Georgiana with Mrs. Younge at Ramsgate at the end of May, Wickham contrived to renew his acquaintance with her. I had never told Georgiana the full extent of his conduct. She remembered him from Pemberley and had always regarded him with affection. He made use of that familiarity.”
“And persuaded her to receive him?”
“He persuaded her that he loved her.” Darcy looked away. “And that I would never consent to their marriage.”
Richard stared at him, his astonishment rendering him speechless for several moments. “She believed herself in love with him?” he asked at last.
It was not a question.
“She did. He convinced her that the only obstacle to their happiness was my refusal, and that there was therefore no hope of obtaining my consent by ordinary means. They meant to leave for Gretna Green the following day.”
Darcy’s hand had closed into a fist upon the desk. He became conscious of it and deliberately opened his fingers.
“I had been reading her last letter and determined, upon little more than impulse, to surprise her with a visit. Had I delayed another day...” He stopped. Even now he could not comfortably follow the thought to its conclusion. “I arrived in time. That is the whole of the mercy afforded us.”
Richard ran a hand through his ginger hair, as though it might somehow help him make sense of the matter.
“And Mrs. Younge?” he asked at last. “Surely she did not permit all this beneath her own eye.”
“Mrs. Younge is dismissed.” There was something in Darcy’s voice which caused Richard’s expression to harden before anything further had been said.
“She knew?”
“She did considerably more than know. She was party to the whole scheme. She arranged their meetings and provided Wickham every opportunity he required to press his suit without interruption.”
Richard uttered something under his breath which Darcy did not ask him to repeat.
“I have since discovered that most of the references she presented were false.”
“False?” Richard leaned forward. “But they answered your enquiries. I remember you telling me how highly she was recommended.”
“That was precisely the difficulty.”
Darcy rose again, unable any longer to remain still, and crossed towards the window.
“I never met any of those families myself. I wrote to them, and they replied. Every answer confirmed precisely what I wished to know of her character and experience.” His mouth tightened.
“Mrs. Younge confessed enough at Ramsgate for me to understand how it was managed. Wickham supplied names respectable enough to satisfy the agency’s enquiries and contrived matters so that my letters received the proper answers.
Whether he provided false directions, had someone within those households watching for my letters, or managed it by some other means, I do not know.
Nor can I say whether he wrote the replies himself or employed another to do it. ”
Richard stared at him. “Then this began before Ramsgate.”
“Long before.”
“How long?”
“Mrs. Younge claims Wickham had been looking for some means of placing a person near Georgiana since I last refused him assistance.”
The significance of that silenced Richard.
Darcy turned his gaze towards the empty grate. He remembered with painful clarity the satisfaction with which he had spoken to Richard the previous autumn. Mrs. Younge had answered every requirement. Georgiana liked her. The arrangement had appeared to prosper beyond expectation.
“I congratulated myself upon having chosen well.”
“Darcy.”
“I placed that woman beside my sister.”
Richard shook his head. “You cannot lay this entirely at your own door. We both interviewed her, remember? I saw nothing in her manner to distrust any more than you did.”
“The decision was still mine. I engaged her.”
“Wickham deceived you.” Richard held his gaze. “He deceived us.”
“And I afforded him the opportunity.”
“He has known you nearly all his life,” Richard said firmly.
“He knew what you would require. He knew which assurances would satisfy you and how respectable references ought to appear. If he spent months arranging the deception expressly for you, then you were not careless merely because the deception succeeded.”
“It affords me very little comfort, however reasonable it may sound.” Darcy pressed his fingers briefly against his eyes before dropping his hand.
“I ought to have met those families myself. I ought to have made further enquiries. Georgiana might have paid for my mistake with her whole future, Richard, and she is but fifteen.”
Richard settled back in his chair. For some time he said nothing, and Darcy was grateful for the silence. His cousin was angry, that much was plain, but whether with Wickham, Mrs. Younge, or himself, he did not attempt to discover.
At length Richard spoke again.
“What do you mean to do for Georgiana now? She cannot remain without a companion.”
“I have sent for Mrs. Reynolds. She will come from Pemberley and remain with Georgiana until something more permanent can be settled.”
Richard nodded. “And afterwards?”
“I do not know.”
“You must engage someone new eventually.”
“I am aware of it.”
There was something in his tone which made Richard regard him more closely.
“You cannot suppose every woman who presents herself will prove another Mrs. Younge.”
“No.” Darcy gave a humourless breath. “But I supposed Mrs. Younge would not prove Mrs. Younge.”
Richard could offer little answer to that.
“I shall find someone,” Darcy continued after a moment. “But she must be older. A woman of established character, with sufficient sense and steadiness not to be drawn into another person’s schemes. Someone who may remain with Georgiana for more than a season.”
“And the references?”
“I shall verify them myself. In person, where it is possible. Every one of them.” Darcy returned to his chair. “I will not make the same error twice.”
“That seems wise enough.”
Richard watched him for another moment before his attention turned towards the greater concern.
“And Georgiana? How does she bear all this?”
Darcy rubbed a weary hand over his face. “She is ashamed.”
“She has little cause to be.”
“Try persuading her of it.” Darcy looked down at his hands. “She has scarcely ceased apologising since we left Ramsgate. She believes she has disappointed me beyond forgiveness.”
“And have you told her otherwise?”
“Repeatedly.”
“Then continue telling her.”
Darcy gave him a look of mild incredulity, as though Richard could not seriously suppose he had done otherwise.
Richard’s expression remained grave. “She is fifteen, Darcy. Whatever she believes she ought to have understood, Wickham knew her age and her inexperience when he approached her. Indeed, I imagine he depended upon both.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Darcy’s eyes narrowed, but Richard did not retreat.
“I have no doubt you have already told her what her actions might have cost the family. Nor do I deny that the consequences would have been dreadful. But she is ashamed enough already, Darcy. Take care that she does not begin to believe your anger is directed towards her.”
Darcy was silent. He had thought of it already, though perhaps not often enough.
His anger had been difficult to govern since Ramsgate.
Georgiana had seen it, however carefully he had attempted to conceal it, and a frightened girl might not distinguish between anger felt on her behalf and anger directed against her.