Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
When Darcy reached Netherfield, it was later than expected.
Before speaking to the vicar, he had returned Georgiana to Netherfield, warning the servants that, should George Wickham arrive, they were to deny him entry.
If he attempted to force his way in, they had his permission to shoot the man on sight, and he would explain the reasons to the authorities.
They had looked at him oddly, but he had no further words to share on the matter, and departed.
Entering the church after such an afternoon was a relief.
Its cool, musty air and preternatural quiet brought his mind instantly to hours spent in silent prayer and contemplation in his youth, and he deemed it a good place to be wed.
He would have preferred his own chapel at Pemberley, but he knew it could not be.
Elizabeth would desire her family to be present, and with Mrs Collins— Well, with Mrs Collins unable to travel, along with his reluctance to host all of the Bennets for a prolonged period of time, a Meryton wedding was an ideal choice.
The vicar was a kindly man who asked why Elizabeth was not with him, and when Darcy explained, he promised to say a prayer for Mrs Collins and the babe.
He also promised to send a letter to Pemberley’s clergyman, and to have the banns read there, as well.
Darcy would also write to Mr Nathanson to tell him of his news.
The vicar had known Darcy since his parents were still alive, and had guided him through many difficult moments of his adulthood.
The kindly man and his wife, Julia, had comforted him in his grief and occasional loneliness.
He owed them both the joy of good news. Unfortunately, Darcy’s hand still throbbed, making him shudder at the idea of writing anything. Perhaps Georgiana would do the honours.
Given the ache in his hand, which had lessened, and in his soul, which had not,—for seeing Wickham had shaken him to his core—he decided to stop at the inn for a brandy before riding back to Netherfield.
When he entered, he was pleasantly surprised to see Goulding.
As he approached, he noted that there were two empty glasses at Goulding’s table.
Goulding rose to shake hands. “I enjoyed last night’s card game, and would have welcomed taking your money again at Haye-Parke if I had known you would not be at the Bennets.”
Darcy chuckled. “I shall beat you at cards one day, my friend.”
“Unlikely,” Goulding said with a smirk. They both knew he was right, for in all their years of friendship, Darcy had yet to win more than the odd hand.
“Gesturing at the glasses, Darcy said, “I do not wish to intrude—”
“Nonsense. The gentleman is gone. And just as well. I know you and Wickham have never gotten on.” He stopped speaking and then asked, “Are you quite well?”
Darcy could not answer.
Goulding called for a glass of brandy, which was brought so quickly that Darcy hardly had time to sit.
Goulding asked, “Do you know why Wickham is here?”
Darcy took hold of the glass, noting how stifling the room was. Before allowing himself to answer, he consumed the brandy in one quick tilt of his head. “To beg for money.”
“I thought he had received a fair sum upon your father’s death.”
“Yes, that and more.” Darcy’s lips curled, but he did not offer further explanation. “Did he tell you that?”
“No, you had. But he did tell me that the bruises on his face were from you, and that you had caught him off guard. He called you a few choice names, as well.” Goulding laughed heartily, which Darcy did not appreciate.
Running fingers through his light hair, Goulding added, “From the look of your bruised hand and pristine face, it seems he lost that tussle.”
Darcy clinked Goulding’s brimming glass with his empty one, and puffed up slightly with pride.
Goulding continued, “Just before you arrived, Wickham spotted some men through the window and ducked out the back. They looked like the sort who did not wait for excuses.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they’ll add bruises to both his face and his pride.”
“We would all be better off with that man dead.”
The innkeeper stopped at their table and asked, “Another, sir?”
Darcy shook his head. He desperately wished for more, but did not trust his ability to sit his horse if he drank too much. It was difficult enough with one hand unable to grasp the reins properly.
The men spoke for a bit, and then Darcy declared he must depart. He desired nothing more than to stop at Longbourn to see Elizabeth—how strange to call her that, but stranger still that he would soon call her “wife”—but he knew he ought to see to Georgiana.
And if things had turned tragic with Mary, he could not face it, knowing his very presence was responsible for her suffering.