Chapter Fifteen #2
Stone inclined his head in acknowledgment and took the offered seat, though there remained in his posture a readiness that suggested he would as soon stand if required.
His eyes flicked briefly between the two men before returning to Darcy.
He had, under pain of death, been sworn to secrecy about Darcy’s true identity.
The man was nothing if not discreet and had maintained his word.
“You sent me to gather what might be learned,” he said. “I have done so.”
Lucien leaned forward, his earlier ease replaced by keen interest. “Then you have not come empty-handed.”
“No, sir,” Stone replied. “I have much to tell.”
Darcy did not sit. He remained standing near the mantel, one hand resting lightly upon it, his expression neutral, though his attention was wholly fixed. “Begin.”
Stone inclined his head. “You wished first for information regarding those gentlemen you named—Mr. Hargrave, Mr. Langford. You also wished me to learn what I could of your sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened at the last name, though he gave no outward sign beyond a minor tightening of his jaw. “Proceed.”
Stone folded his hands loosely before him. “Miss Darcy, sir, is now a married woman.”
The words landed with restrained force.
Lucien glanced at Darcy, but Darcy did not move.
“To whom?” Darcy asked, his voice level.
Stone met his gaze directly. “Mr. George Wickham.”
For a moment, there was no sound in the room at all.
Lucien swore under his breath.
Darcy did not. He did not move. Only his hand upon the mantel tightened, the knuckles whitening almost imperceptibly before easing again.
“How?” he asked, after a pause that was perhaps longer than it ought to have been.
Stone did not hesitate. “The marriage took place some years past, sir—shortly before your…absence became known.”
Darcy’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes hardened, sharpened into something far colder.
“Explain,” he said.
“Yes, sir. From what I have been able to determine, Mr. Wickham had already established a connection with Miss Darcy prior to your disappearance. He continued that connection in your absence and persuaded her to elope.”
Lucien stared at him. “At fifteen?”
Stone nodded. “Just so, sir.”
Darcy’s gaze remained fixed upon the runner. “And this marriage—what consequence did it carry?”
Stone answered without hesitation. “Control.”
Darcy did not blink.
“Through the marriage, Mr. Wickham gained legal standing in matters concerning Miss Darcy’s fortune and interests, which were considerable given the…
death…of her brother. It appears that, soon thereafter, certain agreements were executed—agreements that transferred the mining rights of Pemberley to Mr. Hargrave. ”
Lucien sat back, his expression darkening. “So that is how it was done.”
Darcy’s voice was low. “The timing.”
Stone inclined his head. “It aligns precisely, sir. Mr. Wickham’s attentions toward Miss Darcy began before your disappearance. The marriage followed closely upon it. The transfer of rights came soon after.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, though there was no relief in the motion. “While I was…otherwise occupied.”
Stone did not answer that.
Lucien’s voice was sharp. “He married her while you rotted in a cell.”
Darcy said nothing. He did not need to. A silence fell, heavy and deliberate. At length, Darcy spoke again. “Wickham himself?”
Stone shifted. “He spends the greater part of his time in Town, sir. He is known at several gaming establishments and is not…moderate in his habits.”
“Drinking,” Lucien said.
“And gambling,” Stone confirmed. “To excess, by all accounts. There are debts—though they are frequently settled, and often by means not entirely clear. It is likely some of the funds come from the mining proceeds.”
Darcy’s gaze narrowed. “He avoids Pemberley.”
“Yes, sir. He resides there only intermittently. The estate itself is managed by the steward, though I am told the direction does not always originate with him.”
Darcy’s expression did not ease. “It would not.”
Stone inclined his head. “There is more.”
Darcy gestured. “Go on.”
“Mrs. Younge,” Stone said. “She remains at Pemberley.”
Lucien’s brows rose. “Still? Darcy, a married woman does not require a companion…not usually.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone confirmed. “She is in Mrs. Wickham’s employ.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened further. “Explain.”
Stone hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Mrs. Younge is connected to Mr. Hargrave.”
Darcy’s voice lowered. “In what manner?” There was something building in his gut. It clenched and twisted, making him nauseous.
Stone met his eyes. “She is his sister.” The words settled with a finality.
Lucien let out a low breath. “That is too convenient to be coincidence.”
“No,” Darcy said, his tone very still. “It is not coincidence.”
He turned away, his thoughts aligning with swift, cold precision. “She was placed. From the beginning.”
Stone inclined his head. “It would appear so, sir. Furthermore, the house in Ramsgate, Mill House, is owned by Hargrave.”
Darcy was silent, then said, “You will learn everything you can of her. Her movements, her correspondence, her associations. I want her life laid open.” It was clear the conspiracy to imprison Darcy was more tangled and complex than he had suspected. They planned this for months.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Hargrave? What of him?”
Stone nodded. “He is well established, sir. He moves freely among the first circles, presenting himself as a man of enterprise and considerable means. His money has bought him access.”
Darcy’s lip curled faintly. “Means and money acquired at my expense.”
Stone did not contradict him. “He hires ships to do his bidding. He exports iron—Derbyshire iron—and engages in various import ventures as well. Hargrave promises substantial returns to those who invest with him.”
Lucien gave a short, humorless laugh. “And no doubt delivers just enough to maintain confidence.”
“Just so, sir,” Stone said.
Darcy’s gaze was distant for a time, then returned, focused and sharp. “And Langford?”
Stone’s expression shifted. “Langford is…more discreet. He holds influence, though it is not always visible. It is believed he has assisted in certain legal matters for Mr. Hargrave.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of matters?”
Stone held his gaze. “Documents, sir.”
Darcy did not move.
“Forged documents,” Stone expounded. “From my investigation, I have found that Langford uses his position as magistrate to forge documents to further his purposes. There is reason to believe he played a role in the creation of papers…used to condemn a certain individual as a spy.”
Lucien swore again, more forcefully this time.
Darcy’s voice, when he spoke, was very calm. “You will find those papers.” He wanted evidence. He needed the proof.
Stone inclined his head. “It will not be easy. By my reckoning, Langford and Hargrave are exceedingly expert at hiding their misdeeds.”
“I did not expect it to be. You are up for the challenge, I think.”
Stone hesitated. “There will be risk.”
Darcy’s gaze did not waver. “Your compensation reflects that.”
Stone gave the faintest of nods. “It does.”
Darcy stepped forward. “You will proceed with absolute discretion. No name is to be spoken. No connection drawn. If you are discovered, you do not know me.”
Stone met his gaze evenly. “Understood.”
“And your pay,” Darcy added, “depends upon your success—and your silence.”
Stone’s expression did not change. “You will continue to have both.”
A pause followed, not uncomfortable, but final.
Then Stone said, “There is one further matter.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened. “Speak.”
Stone folded his hands once more. “Your cousin, sir. Viscount Bramley.”
Darcy’s expression did not betray the shift within. “What of him?”
“He is married,” Stone said.
Lucien glanced toward Darcy, but Darcy did not react outwardly.
“Yes, I know that,” Darcy said impatiently. “He called upon this house and told me as much.”
Stone consulted his memory. “If you recall, sir, you wished to know the identity of his bride. She was a Miss Bennet, sir. From Hertfordshire.”
The room seemed to still.
Lucien looked sharply at Darcy.
Darcy did not move. He did not speak. Miss Bennet. There could be no mistake. There could be no other.
Elizabeth.
For a brief instant, the careful structure he had built within himself threatened to fracture.
Married. The word settled like a stone that was both expected but somehow unendurable. Of course she had married. Of course, she had not remained as he had left her, suspended in memory while the world moved on.
How cruel fate is.
He inclined his head once, the motion precise. “I see.”
Lucien did not speak. For once, he seemed to understand that no words would be welcome.
Stone, unaware of the full importance of what he had said, went on, “The match is considered a good one, sir. The viscount’s wife is well regarded.”
Darcy’s voice, when it came, was entirely calm. “I have no doubt.” He turned away. “You have done well, Mr. Stone.”
Stone rose at once. “Thank you, sir.”
“You will continue as instructed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gibbs appeared as if summoned by the moment itself, and Stone was shown out with the same efficiency with which he had entered.
The door closed. Silence returned.
Lucien remained where he was, watching Darcy closely. “There may be other Miss Bennets of Hertfordshire, Darcy,” he said.
Darcy did not answer.
Instead, he moved toward the window, his gaze drawn—unbidden—to the street beyond.
Across the way, the doors of Matlock House stood open. A moment later, a figure emerged. A woman. She descended the steps with composure, two young boys at her side, their small hands clasped in hers.
Darcy’s breath stilled.
Elizabeth.
There could be no doubt now.
She turned as she reached the pavement, her expression softened by something gentle, something familiar. One of the boys spoke, tugging at her hand, and she bent toward him, her attention wholly engaged.
Darcy did not move.
Married.
The word echoed again—but now, faced with the sight before him, something in it rang…false.