Chapter 20
Darcy stacked the wood. Then he sat on top of the chopping block and let the breeze cool his skin and his temper until he could put on his coat. Whatever Wickham was telling Elizabeth about him, it would serve Wickham’s interests, not Darcy’s. Certainly not Elizabeth’s.
When the curricle pulled into the drive, Darcy crossed the yard to assist her.
Her touch jolted him as thoroughly as it had when he had handed her into the vehicle.
If she felt it, too, he could not be certain.
The high color in her cheeks could be credited to the outdoor drive in the crisp autumn breeze.
Turning to the carriage, she thanked Wickham and pulled her hand away from Darcy’s arm. “I shall see which of my sisters is ready for their turn.”
Wickham’s smirk grew until the front door of Longbourn closed behind her. “Robinson. It has been many years since I have heard that name, although I most often heard it shortened to Robbie.” Darcy said nothing. There was protection in silence.
Eyes pinched and narrow, Wickham leaned closer.
“You do not deserve Pemberley.” His voice was sharp, a stab of the tongue.
But Darcy had been prepared for this, had known the threats would come.
This was only the beginning. His silence seemed to anger Wickham.
He clenched the reins so tightly, the horse snorted and shuffled.
“You were always a disappointment to your father.” The blow struck its mark because Darcy knew it to be true.
Still, he maintained his composure. One must never expose weakness to a bully.
“You are a disappointment to your entire family.” Wickham sat taller in the seat and affected a charming demeanor. Somebody must have been looking out of the window.
Darcy had learned how to deal with his type over the past ten years. He would hear Wickham’s threat before the next Bennet sister appeared. “How do you intend to use your knowledge about me?”
A slow, cruel smile stretched Wickham’s lips. “I intend to take what is mine—what your own father educated me to manage in your place.”
A chill shot through Darcy. Miss Lydia skipped out to the curricle, ending their conversation.
But he had heard enough. Wickham had no intention of settling for a paltry sum of money he would spend like a fistful of water.
No, he meant to steal Darcy’s inheritance from him.
And with his awareness of Daniel Robinson’s true identity, Wickham had the advantage.
Talk around the dinner table that night centered on Wickham. Darcy felt Elizabeth’s curious eyes rest on him several times, and he attempted to look politely attentive without displaying his disgust. In one afternoon, Wickham had charmed the entire Bennet family.
“He told me in confidence that he has every expectation of coming into a grand inheritance,” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed.
Darcy bit his tongue and kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
Pemberley. He had never considered returning to that place, but he would not surrender his childhood home and all the people who worked to maintain it to a rapacious man filled with delusions.
True, Pemberley had come to symbolize everything from which he had run away and cut ties.
For the past ten years, he had resolutely clung to that correlation.
It had served him well. Kept him from feeling homesick. Assuaged the guilt.
Now? He admitted to himself that, while he held many miserable memories of Pemberley, it had also been a place of much love and good.
His mother had seen to that, as had Mrs. Reynolds.
Georgie had been a constant source of joy.
Even Father was not harsh and demanding all the time.
Darcy had enjoyed riding over the property with him, hunting, fishing, and discussing improvements.
It was usually the days after returning from school and the days leading up to his departure again when tension filled the halls.
What a hot-headed boy he had been! No wonder his father despaired of him.
After dinner, Darcy retired to his room rather than hear another word about Wickham.
The following morning, he forsook his breakfast, choosing instead to continue listing all the items which might be sold to pay Mr. Bennet’s debt.
He did not know when the representative for the Collector of Customs would arrive with the bailiff, but he wished to make the process as painless as possible for the Bennet ladies.
As for Mr. Bennet, Darcy had given up all hope that the man would come to his family’s aid.
So confident was Mr. Bennet in his daughter’s advantageous match with an influential gentleman of fortune and connections that he did not trouble himself over the matter.
Darcy would never presume to worry Mrs. Bennet with the concern, and he was not inclined to trouble the other sisters prematurely.
Therefore, it was mostly Elizabeth who helped catalog every item in the household.
Mrs. Hill, too, was a great help, having worked for the previous Bennet before the current one.
It was her assistance Darcy sought out in the less occupied areas of the house where he hoped to work without interruption, distraction, or any thought of Wickham and the oily smiles he bestowed upon kind-hearted, unsuspecting Elizabeth.
List in hand and inkwell within his arm’s reach, Darcy painstakingly documented every painting, embroidered pillow, and piece of furniture, only showing the list of items of questionable ownership to Mr. Bennet once it had filled the page.
Whenever Mr. Bennet’s attention was gained, Darcy would not waste it.
Every time, he was informed that he was wasting his energy; every time, Darcy replied that he would rather err on the side of caution.
To expect fairness from a system that was more interested in extricating funds where it could than in seeing justice served was the height of foolishness.
Even if Darcy proved beyond all doubt that Mr. Bennet was the victim of a forged partnership and therefore free from all the debts incurred upon him by the crooked company, if the letters Darcy needed did not return before payment was demanded, Mr. Bennet might have to pay the sum or go to prison until his name was cleared, and he had no hope of ever getting his money or lost property back once it was taken.
He would be free from debtor’s prison, but what would he come home to?
And how would his family be affected in the meantime?
The damage would have been done, their reputations ruined.
The pearls bought for Mrs. Bennet to celebrate ten years of matrimony would be sold.
The horses they used and the livestock they raised to supplement the estate’s income would be gone.
The income Elizabeth counted on for purchasing seed for next year’s harvest and property repairs—all of it gone like a puff of smoke.
Everything Elizabeth had worked hard for and took well-deserved pride in would be taken from her, sold off piece by piece until nothing remained. Darcy could not bear to see it, and so he continued counting and recording down to the last piece of silver and length of thread.