18. The Wisdom of Cheapside #2
“I have it on good authority that such a man not only coaxes tailors and shopkeepers into extending credit he has no intention of paying, but that he also cheats at cards and is not above beguiling young women into providing gifts. But while I was at Meryton, we all believed this man to be a perfectly upright character, a member of the militia, and a most engaging and personable gentleman.”
“And now, you fear that he might set his sights on Lydia and Kitty?” Mr. Gardiner’s voice was gruff.
“Yes, Mr. Wickham has quit the militia. He claims to have been admitted to Lincoln’s Inn to study law, and he has applied to Uncle Philips for a clerkship. He has been to Longbourn twice. Mamma is in raptures.”
“Lincoln’s Inn,” Mr. Gardiner repeated. “That can be easily checked. I shall have my solicitor inquire. Wouldn’t your uncle Philips have also inquired?”
“I believe the claim is false. Mr. Darcy informed me that Wickham was given a substantial sum specifically for legal study. He spent every penny on other pursuits and never set foot in a lecture hall. This is his established pattern. He constructs the appearance of respectability until the appearance is exhausted, then moves to the next deception.”
“Darcy told you this directly?”
“He did. There is more to Wickham’s history that I cannot share fully, because some of it involves a private confidence that is not mine to disclose.
But what I can tell you is that Wickham courted Mary King in Meryton for her ten thousand, but her family removed her.
And he is now in the vicinity of Kitty and Lydia while claiming to be a solicitor. ”
“I will write to your father tonight,” Mr. Gardiner said. “And to Philips. If Wickham is using my brother-in-law’s practice to establish false credentials, Philips has professional grounds for severing the arrangement.”
“Papa will ignore the warning, as usual.”
“Probably.” Mr. Gardiner’s voice held the weary honesty of a man who knew his brother-in-law’s weaknesses.
“But the letter creates a record. I shall also advise against my sister coming to London; however, if she does bring both Lydia and Kitty, then I would advise your father to join. They will need his authority while in town.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Elizabeth agreed, although she doubted her father would exercise any restraint, preferring to hide in Lady Sophia’s library.
Mary returned to the Gardiners’ modest upright in the corner and began a quiet Haydn sonatina, and Alice followed her to the bench. The music filled the parlor, allowing Elizabeth a moment of respite.
Then the Gardiner’s maid appeared in the doorway, looking puzzled.
“Ma’am, there is a gentleman. A Sir Geoffrey Hale. He says he was calling on an associate on Lombard Street and noticed Miss Bennet’s barouche outside. He wishes to pay his respects.”
Elizabeth’s teacup hovered midair. Sir Geoffrey Hale was the horseman from the promenade. She had spoken to him for all of thirty seconds before Darcy whisked him away like a sacrificial pawn.
And now he had tracked her carriage to Cheapside. Persistent, if nothing else.
“How curious,” she said. “He had left a calling card, but I told the butler I was not taking calls today.”
Mr. Gardiner caught her tone. “Shall I send him away?”
Elizabeth considered for a moment. She had faced Lady Lucas’s ambitions, Lady Matlock’s field strategies, and Mrs. Rolleston’s opinions about her complexion.
She did not see any harm in speaking to a man recommended by Lady Prideaux.
Besides, her uncle was present, which was more than could be said about Darcy.
“Show him in,” she said. “I am curious, Uncle. Let us see what the man is about.”
Sir Geoffrey entered the Gardiner drawing room with the assured bearing of a man accustomed to larger rooms and more deferential company. The contrast between his tailored coat and the comfortable furnishings was exactly the kind of dissonance Elizabeth had learned to observe.
He was tall, well-made, with the sun-weathered complexion of a serious rider. He carried a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper with a ribbon.
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed. “Forgive the intrusion. I was calling on a business associate on Lombard Street and noticed your barouche. Your coachman confirmed you were visiting family, and I could not in good conscience pass by without inquiring after your welfare.”
“My welfare is excellent, Sir Geoffrey. How kind of you to ask. May I present my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner?”
Sir Geoffrey turned to Mr. Gardiner, barely looking him in the eye. “Mr. Gardiner. A pleasure. I believe we share a mutual acquaintance in Mr. Hartwell of the Exchange?”
“We do,” Mr. Gardiner said. “Hartwell mentioned your family’s interest in the canal ventures. Sit down, Sir Geoffrey.”
“Only for a moment. I brought a small token,” Sir Geoffrey said, presenting the parcel. “A new volume of verse from Hatchard’s. I recalled that you admire poetry, Miss Bennet.”
“We spoke for approximately thirty seconds in Hyde Park, Sir Geoffrey. I cannot recall discussing poetry.”
“Lady Prideaux mentioned it.”
“Ah, I see, then Lady Prideaux is remarkably well-informed about everyone’s preferences.”
Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat. “That is a generous thought, Sir Geoffrey, but I am sure you are aware that my niece cannot accept a personal gift from a gentleman to whom she is not closely connected. I must ask you to keep the volume for yourself, or perhaps donate it to a lending library where it may be enjoyed more widely.”
The correction was delivered with the gentle, implacable courtesy, but Sir Geoffrey, even though smiling, seemed affronted.
“I assure you, Mr. Gardiner, I meant no disrespect. Your niece is rumored to be a woman of great intelligence with literary merit. I had hoped to request the supper dance at Lady Harewood’s ball next week.”
“Sir Geoffrey.” Mr. Gardiner rose, signaling his dismissal. “I must ask you to keep the volume for yourself. As for the ball, I believe Miss Bennet’s dances are arranged by her guardian, Mr. Darcy, who serves as deputy to Lady Sophia Mottistone. You may apply to him.”
“Darcy?” Sir Geoffrey’s voice held incredulity. “I find it hard to believe that an unattached young man would serve as Miss Bennet’s guardian when she has an uncle in town.”
“Be that as it may, you do not have my permission to address my niece.”
“Of course,” he said. “Forgive me. I intended no impropriety.”
He abandoned the bookshop parcel on the side table and departed without further ceremony. The front door closed behind him with a thud.
Elizabeth eyed the parcel. The ribbon looked ridiculous now—like a party hat at a funeral.
“Well,” Mr. Gardiner said mildly. “That was educational.”
“He did not ask what she wanted to read,” Alice observed from the piano bench. “He decided for her. That is not kind.”
“Alice, the book was meant as a gift,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
“That is not kind either. Books should be chosen by the person reading them.”
Mary’s laugh—full, unguarded, delighted—rang across the parlor, and Alice looked pleased with herself in the specific way of a child who had made a grownup laugh and understood it as a compliment.
“This is what concerns me, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “These men are not seeing you as anything but a number on a ledger.”
“Aunt.” Elizabeth set down her cup and grinned, although she hoped it didn’t appear as painful as her heart inside.
“I see through every one of them. Every charmer, every braggart, and every man who believes his title entitles him to a place on my dance card. Not a single one of these gentlemen would have paid me the slightest attention when I was a country miss with mud on my hems. Except Mr. Darcy and he?—”
She stopped, and Mrs. Gardiner raised one eyebrow. “What about Mr. Darcy? This trustee of yours who vets callers and fills your dance card?”
Elizabeth swallowed the tight lump in her throat.
“He is only doing it under the orders of Lady Sophia. He would like nothing better than to return to Pemberley and forget about me. Although he is too honorable to say so when his godmother requests that he be her deputy for my Season.”
“I see.” The other eyebrow rose, the one that told her aunt that Elizabeth was dissembling.
“Jane, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner said, rising. “Perhaps you and Mary might take the children to the kitchen. Cook has promised to teach Rose the proper way to frost a cake, and I believe Thomas requires supervision before he removes any additional shoes.”
Jane understood immediately, gathering Mary and the children to the kitchen for the promised cake. Her uncle returned to his study, and Elizabeth found herself alone with her aunt.
“Come,” Mrs. Gardiner said, taking Elizabeth’s hand. “Walk with me in the garden. The roses need looking at, and you need to breathe air that is not heavy with unspoken things.”
She stepped out with her aunt’s hand over hers, walking arm in arm, blinking back the tears that threatened, her heart rent in pieces, and it was all her doing. The only sound was their boots crunching the gravel over the narrow path between two buildings.
“Now then,” Mrs. Gardiner said, her voice gentle but implacable. “Would you like to tell me what is actually troubling you, or shall I guess?”
“I do not?—”
“Elizabeth.” Her aunt stopped walking and turned to face her. “Something has happened, my dear. Beyond Wickham and your mother’s schemes. I should very much like to know what it is because it is tearing you apart.”
Elizabeth had no words. No wit left. Nothing to deflect the single tear trailing down one cheek. Her aunt’s eyes were kind, and the garden was quiet, but it was that kindness that breached her remaining defenses.
“I have made a terrible mistake,” she said, and her voice broke on the last word. “The worst in my life, and I do not know how to fix it.”
Mrs. Gardiner said nothing. She simply waited, her hands warm around Elizabeth’s.